#and I didn’t even have a proper support team for him yet!!

[villainology]

SHUT UPPPP argenti is sooooo good 😭 im trying to get his lightcone as well, and when I do I really wanna get some eidolons of him 👉🏻👈🏻

[no-144444]

Meetings from the past- l.sargeant (no.2)

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summary: logan and you reconnect after a few years apart.

pairing: logan sargeant (no.2) x fem! singer! reader

song is 'circus' by brittney spears :)

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

Logan walked into yet another party with his head held low, knowing this was one of his lasts with f1. It sucked, knowing that he was leaving. But he was going to indycar, and that was something, right? Prema was good, right? He just felt so… used. He hadn’t even been given a chance to prove himself in f1. He hadn’t even been given a proper goodbye by his shitty team. 

“Who’s she?” Lando leaned in to Oscar beside him. Logan looked up to see who he was talking about, and there you were. Dancing in the middle of the party like no one was watching, but everyone had their eyes on you. You were fucking gorgeous, at least that’s what Logan thought. 

“That’s Y/n,” Oscar chuckled. “She’s Hattie’s friend, we grew up together.”

Beside you was Oscar’s sister Hattie and Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend. You were all dancing along to the music being played far too loud in the club, singing along. 

“That’s Y/n?” Logan gawked. Being friends with Oscar he’d met you when you two were kids and grew up together. He’d had a crush on you since he was about 12 years old. “How long has it been?” You two hadn't spoken in years, but you stayed in each others comment section and offered support when it was needed.

“Too long,” Oscar laughed as Lily spotted him and ran up to the group, hugging him. "You should talk to her."

"Like that went well the last time," he scoffed, downing more of his beer. The last time you two had spoken face to face, you'd been breaking up. You were both sobbing crying, just hugging each other, and you kept apologising, wishing it hadn't worked out the way it did.

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

"This isn't fair," you frowned, wiping your tears on the sleeve of your hoodie. "This is shit."

Logan chuckled, this sad, half-hiccup, half-sob noise and he sighed. "I fucking love you so much."

You fell into his arms like you'd done so many times before, and you cried against each other for a good hour on his front porch.

"I would give up singing if it meant that we could be together forever," you whispered. Maybe it was silly, and you were only 18, but you knew Logan was your person. He was your everything.

"Don't say that," he cooed, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head. "I love hearing you sing for me."

"I love singing for you," you looked up and pressed a kiss to his cheek as the taxi rolled up beside his house. He watched as you left, both of you crying as you walked away from the greatest thing you'd ever lost.

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

Hattie followed Lily, dragging you behind her as you complained about wanting to dance more. Hattie pulled a little too hard and you fell forward, straight into Logan. 

“Fuck!” you squealed as he grabbed you, keeping you upright. You looked up, only to be met with the eyes of the guy you’d liked since you were 12, and your first boyfriend. “Logan?!”

“Y/n,” he smiled. He didn’t drop his hands and you both just stared at each other for a few seconds. Then the song changed, some 2000’s song he remembered hearing too often as a teenager, and your smile widened. “Follow me Sarge,” you chuckled, pulling him onto the dancefloor. Logan Sargeant was not a dancer by any means. He wasn’t one to take the spotlight either. 

He didn’t complain about it when it meant you had your hands all over him, and he got to put his hands on you. 

You two were 15 when you got together, and you broke up when you two were 18. 3 years was a long time in teenage years, and you were both crushed, but you were going on tour for the first time, and he was always too busy with racing. You two didn’t talk, or see each other, so you called it quits. There was always love there, you’d always love each other, but it just didn’t work.

“How have you been?” you asked as you danced together. “I’m sorry about Williams.”

He shrugged, pulling you closer. “I’m going to indycar, it’s not like my life is over.”

You smirked. “Exactly,” you spun in his arms.

As the night progressed and you two spent some more time together, you fell into an easy flow of conversation. Spending time with Logan always made you feel at-ease. He was your comfort person. You huddled into his side as you stood outside the bar, trying to keep under the awning as the rain poured.

"Not ideal weather for a race, huh?" you smiled, trying to kill the silence that had fallen on you two in recent moments.

Logan sighed. "I guess not."

"Well, you've always excelled in the wet," you winked as you lit a cigarette and he laughed.

You stayed silent for a moment, all too aware of the way he was staring at you.

“You still think about us?”

You weren’t one to beat around the bush, he admired that. 

He chuckled. “Sometimes,” he shrugged. 

Your eyes widened. “Me too! All the time!” You stamped out your cigarette, your voice excited and bright.

He stopped moving, stopped breathing. “Oh yeah?”

How he was keeping it cool was beyond him. He’d wanted you to say that for his entire adult life. 

You nodded slowly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Still love you.”

He could’ve fainted. Going out tonight was the best idea Oscar had ever had. “Good,” he smiled, his heart beating out of his chest. “‘Cause I still love you too.”

Your smile widened. “So kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

-------------- When he woke up the next morning, he had a pretty bitching hangover, but also your number, so he wasn’t that upset. Last night had been exactly what he needed, you were exactly what he needed. Someone fun, someone free, and someone completely uninterested in racing. Don’t get me wrong, you liked it, and you watched it, but you didn’t give a shit about the championship or how Logan was doing. You loved Logan, not Logan Sargeant, f1 driver. You’d always been like that. Unconditional.

Then he remembered about the kiss outside the bar, because his mom, your mom, Oscar, Oscar's mom, Lily, Hattie, Alex, Lily, and you were all texting him at the same time, as well as hundreds of thousands of messages from every social media platform.

liked by: pierregasly, oscarpiastri, landonorris, logansargeant

comments

user89: hey so this is insane.

user62: WHY HER AND NOT ME????

-> user69: have u seen her? THAT'S why.

user38: LOGAN LIKED?????

y/ny/l/n: @ logansargeant rue, when was this?

-> logansargeant: 🤷🤷🤷🤷

-> y/ny/l/n: damn I wanted to do it again 🤷

-> logansargeant: YES PLEASE I LOVE YOU

liked by y/ny/l/n

-> landonorris: WTAF U TWO MET LAST NIGHT???

-> oscarpiastri: nah they dated throughout their teenage years

-> logansargeant: exactly, lando no-rizz

user45: WTF HOW DID WE NOT KNOW???

user12: power couple fr

user90: what did he do to deserve THE it girl of the century?

-> logansargeant: no idea 🤷

-> y/ny/l/n: big dick and big heart 🤷

-> yourbff: EWWWWW KEEP IT TO YOURSELF

comments:

logansargeant: photo creds?

-> y/ny/l/n: my virginity back?

-> logansargeant: MY virginity back?

-> y/ny/l/n: touché

comments are disabled.

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

Four months on from the bar, you two were still going strong and you were happier than ever. He was doing better mentally, and in races. He'd somehow gotten a Williams up into p6 in quali, and got p5 as a result. When he got out of the car, he ran straight to you and kissed you in front of everyone. It was amazing.

Sadly, Logan's last f1 season finally came to an end in Abu Dhabi, where he fought hard and got his first podium. P2. You'd never been so proud. He stood up there, proving that he wasn't a failure, to himself, and to the world. You'd cried so hard as you watched in the paddock, screaming with joy as he won his first f1 podium.

That night, you two retired to your hotel room, both exhausted.

"You were amazing," you yawned, curling into his chest.

"Well, you're my good luck charm," he chuckled. "You have to be at my first Indycar race-"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," you promised him. Logan meant everything to you. You were everything to him.

comments:

alexalbon: missing you already man 😭😭😭

-> logansargeant: me too 😭

maxverstappen: you're going to go far in Indycar mate 👍

oscarpiastri: missing you brother :(

-> logansargeant: missing you too :(

danielriccardo: onto bigger and better things brother 🫶

logansargeant: god, you’re so hot. @ y/ny/l/n 🤤

-> y/ny/l/n: so are u 🤤

[inkpot909]

How They Text the Reader Headcanons #2

↳ Characters included are Giorno Giovanna, Pannacotta Fugo, and Narancia Ghirga. Gender neutral Reader; implied everyone lives AU.

A/n: Thank you all so much for the support on my last text headcanon list. It was so fun to write, and I hope that y'all enjoy the second-half of the main part five cast. Once again, I had a blast while writing this!

Warning(s): None.

Giorno Giovanna

You expected him to be a dry-texter, in all honesty. Straightforward and to the point; only ever texting out of necessity. You couldn’t really imagine him as the type to sit down, and have a silly conversation over text.

And at the beginning, that was certainly the case.

Being introduced to the team all at once is certainly overwhelming, and although Giorno adjusted well, he still didn’t know you or the others.

Within the team’s groupchat, he only ever spoke up about important matters as that were being discussed. Whenever a more lighthearted conversation arose, usually because of Mista, he would grow completely radio silent.

Does he really read those texts at all? you recall yourself wondering, Or does he tune us out completely? Can’t really blame him if that's the case; this team... takes time to adjust to.

And eventually learning that he always read those conversations, it was one of the first indications you saw of his character. One of the first times you realized he can and will find his place on the team.

So, while you were in the process of just getting to know Giorno, you developed low expectations when it came to communicating with him over the phone. Hell, you hardly expected him to text you at all.

Oh, what a fool you once were.

As the relationship blossoms, Giorno still texts you as usual. With proper grammar and punctuation, as well as the occasional emoji or two.

But he's far from being a dry-texter. On the contrary, he’s rather cheeky.

And because of his position in Passione after a certain point, work soaks up a lot of his time. He’d much rather call you, but that’s simply not an option most days.

So he simply pokes and teases you over text. Sitting alone in his office, he almost always wears a tiny yet pleasant smile on his face when he reads whatever you send him.

Giorno doesn’t send memes or funny pictures often, but when he does, it’s either pure gold or ridiculously unfunny. Merely doing it every now and then to get a little bit of a rise out of you, of all things.

And he loves it even more if you’re the type to tease him right back:

Pannacotta Fugo

Practically the inventor of double-texting.

He’s got no shame in it either, and if anything, he would argue that him sending multiple messages means you ought to reply. He’s not exactly impatient with you, though.

He usually uses proper grammar over text as well. More than that, he’ll lecture anyone case for not doing the same. He even once pointed out a simple mistake Abbacchio made.

It’s merely lighthearted teasing if you’re the type to not use proper grammar over text, though. Fugo wears his favoritism for you on his sleeve whenever he gets on Narancia’s case for the same exact reason.

That said, when he’s angry, forget about grammar- you just want to be able to understand him.

He complains to you over text... a lot. The outlet is good for him, in a sense. Fugo’s incredibly grateful to have someone like you who will listen to him so earnestly, and he expresses that often. Considering his temper, it really does mean so much more to him than he knows how to express.

It makes knowing whether or not he’s genuinely upset or just playing around easy for you to figure out, at least. Are his text messages legible? If so, there's no reason for concern.

Once, he was ranting to you about a disagreement that arose between him and Abbacchio. His texts were steadily becoming hard to understand, and you prepared yourself to talk to your boyfriend through his anger.

But before you could, he stopped texting you all together.

That was rather confusing, as he’s the type to continue blowing up your phone when frustrated. It wasn’t until almost twenty minutes later, when you saw Mista’s contact pop up for a phone a call, that you found out why.

It was Fugo on the other end, calling from Mista’s phone to bashfully inform you he chucked his own phone out of anger and ended up breaking it.

Later that year, you got him one of those expensive cases that could likely protect a phone falling from absurd heights for Fugo’s birthday. He seemed a bit embarrassed over it, but appreciated the gift nonetheless (He won’t admit it but it does come in handy).

You just cannot stop yourself from teasing him a little bit, especially over the phone. His indulgent reactions are worth it every single time:

Narancia Ghirga

He’s bound to make you cry from laughter over text. Whether it’s his words alone or a meme he sends you from his vast collection (His phone is almost always on the brink of running out of storage), making you laugh comes naturally to him.

It’s a source of pride for him, so reacting bombastically over text is exactly what he’s looking for.

Narancia is also a major sucker for gossip, so he loves sharing everything he hears with you over text. From a random conversation he eavesdropped overhead while out, to drama taking place within Bucciarati’s group.

Doing the same in return is greatly appreciated, as he adores hearing your input.

He’ll also text you at random asking questions like “What did Buccarati want me to do again?” and “Do you happen to know where I put my notebook?” Whenever he racks his brain and cannot find an answer to a dilemma, he’s almost always going to voice his confusion to you with little hesitation.

He’s sent you those types of texts... while on missions. Snitching to Bucciarati is not advised.

You’ve tried telling him he could type those sorts of things down in his notes, but he either forgets to do so or wrongfully assumes that he’ll remember.

Narancia, Mista, Fugo, and you have a groupchat separate from the others on the team. Considering the madness that regularly occurs on it, Narancia’s proud to mention he’s the one who originally suggested the idea.

That said, as much as he likes to text you, he’s not the type to text you good morning and good night every day. Rather, he texts you only when “he has something to say.” Which... is often enough on its own.

He will also complain to you over text often as well. Although, it's not usually out of outright anger:

[natalynsie]

5 Times Alejandro Flustered Tyler and 1 Time Lindsay Noticed Why (Aletyler Oneshot)

“Go Tyler! Go Tyler!” Lindsay screamed across the baseball field.

Tyler smiled at Lindsay. Lindsay was known for showing her friends support all the time. Even if it was just a friendly game between two teams from the same school during summer. Lightning had bet the juniors that the sophomores could beat them at baseball, and Tyler never turned down a challenge.

So, Tyler got everyone who would come roped in for the game. They didn’t have enough people for a proper team, but a game was a game. Tyler managed to round up Geoff, Duncan, Cody, Owen, and last but not least, Alejandro. Lightning managed to get Scott, Brick, Jo, Mike, and B. At the beginning of the game, he said something about it being “guys versus guys”. Tyler was pretty sure he still didn’t know that Jo was a girl.

There was only one person watching the game, and that was Lindsay. No one else really cared enough about some bet between Tyler and Lightning of all people. Yet, for some reason, Lindsay was still out cheering out on the sidelines.

“Tyler!” Lindsay yelled. Not cheered. Yelled.

Tyler turned towards the field.

A baseball was soaring at him.

Pow!

“Ugh,” Tyler groaned, falling back on the field. His head hit the grass, just like how the ball hit his face.

“Tyler!” Lindsay shrieked, horrified. She ran from the sidelines to Tyler, crouching next to him.

“Amigo.” Alejandro got on his knees next to Tyler. “Can you hear me?”

“Huh?” Tyler asked, in a daze. He looked side to side with squinted eyes, seeing two Alejandro’s. He had double vision. Not like he was a stranger to that.

Alejandro took Tyler’s hand, gently pulling him into a sitting position. “Are you alright?”

Tyler blinked a few times, and smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay. This is all grood! Happens all the slime.”

Alejandro chuckled. “Uhh, Tyler, I think you need to sit on the side with Lindsay for a little bit.”

“What?” Tyler asked. “No! You’re really fine! Wait, I mean-”

Alejandro gave Tyler a pat on the shoulder. “You need a break. I’m sure Mike wouldn’t mind sitting out to even out the teams.

“Dang,” Tyler sighed. Lindsay helped Tyler up, and he went to sit on the ground with her.

She smiled. “You said ‘slime’ instead of ‘time’.”

“Aw man, I did?” He folded his arms. “That’s embarrassing.”

“You also said ‘grood’.”

“Ugh…”

~~~

“I didn’t even see that,” Alejandro mumbled. “Good move.”

“Hah, well, you know,” Tyler responded. “I mean, how am I supposed to win sports without a sick sense of strategy? Also, my gym teacher accidentally put me on the chess team for all of ninth grade, so I learned to crush it.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Duncan muttered.

“I should’ve been there,” Alejandro stated. “Maybe then I could kick your butt even harder than I am right now.”

Alejandro moved his knight to Tyler’s king, knocking it over.

“Checkmate.”

“Woah! That came out of nowhere!” Tyler exclaimed. “You’re really good.”

“Thank you, amigo,” Alejandro smirked and brought a hand to Tyler’s face. “Although, you did put up quite the fight.”

Duncan gave Lindsay a look with one eyebrow raised. She returned it with a smile.

Tyler shot back from Alejandro. “You’re also really good. Obviously,” He squeaked. “You beat me.” He chuckled.

“I did.”

~~~

“Thank you again for holding all of our stuff.” Alejandro slipped his three bags of clothes from individual stores onto Tyler’s arm. “We appreciate it.”

“Yeah!” Lindsay smiled. She dropped her bags into Tyler’s arms, and he stumbled backwards. She most certainly had more bags than Alejandro had.

“Mhm,” Justin acknowledged that they were giving thanks and hung a bag on each of Tyler’s right fingers. Tyler remained upright. He just wished his upper body strength as a whole was as good as his finger strength. With that, Justin walked into the changing room.

“Well, you know,” Tyler grunted. “You’re spending the money so I gotta carry the bags.”

“It’s our money, you’re still doing us a favor.”

“You’re doing a favor by looking pretty and stuff.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty? Why thank you.”

Tyler’s face turned slightly pink. “Yeah, uh, well I kind of said that on accident but like, you are pretty I just meant that-”

“I know what you meant, amigo.” Alejandro gave Tyler a smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler managed to vocalize.

“Well. I’m going to try this shirt on.” Alejandro walked into a nearby changing room.

“Aw, you think he’s pretty,” Lindsay grinned. “So nice of you to compliment him.”

“You look pretty too,” Tyler smiled.

“Yay! I know I do, but thanks!”

~~~

“You gonna come in, Linds?” Tyler asked.

“No, I need to work on my tan. And my hair is straightened,” Lindsay replied.

“Aw man. But it’s beach day!”

“Come on, amigo.” Alejandro placed a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler’s eyes dashed to look at it. “Let’s just go swim. Bridgette and Geoff are waiting.”

“Yeah! Let’s go. Um,” He peeled his eyes from his shoulder, and to Alejandro’s eyes. “Yeah.”

Alejandro and Tyler stood still, staring at each other.

“Uhh, are you guys okay?” Lindsay asked.

“Yes!” Alejandro tore his hand from Tyler’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Tyler nodded and turned, walking towards the beach.

“Bye guys,” Lindsay said, slightly confused.

“Bye!” Tyler waved his hand backwards.

~~~

Heather snorted. “What is with your hair?”

Alejandro looked up, as if he could actually see his own hair. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You don’t even have enough hair to do a ponytail so you only did half of it. You look ridiculous, Alejandro.”

“Hey! It’s a style,” Tyler defended. “It’s a half-up-half-down.” He turned to Lindsay. “Right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it works that well with his hair type-”

“I think he looks cute!” Tyler yelled, a little too loudly.

Alejandro stood still.

Lindsay stood still.

Heather gave Tyler an eyebrow raise. “You mean the hairstyle looks good?”

“Yeah!” He exclaimed, now a little nervous as he took in his friends’ stares.

Alejandro stood up straight. “Yeah, Heather. Tyler likes it. It’s clearly just a you problem.”

“Well, I-” Lindsay butted in.

“Come on Tyler, we have a game to play.”

The two of them walked off, leaving Heather and Lindsay alone.

“God, what an idiot,” Heather insulted.

“Don’t talk about Tyler like that!”

“Not Tyler,” Heather rolled her eyes, “Alejandro.”

“What?”

“He’s so stupid for not noticing.”

“Noticing what?”

“You are too.”

“What?”

~~~

“And guess what?” Lindsay asked, through mouthfuls of popcorn. “She said my nail polish was cheap! Cheap! I never spare a dime when it comes to accessorizing, she knows that.”

“You should cut her off,” Alejandro advised.

“I guess,” Lindsay said. “But seriously!” She shot her hands in the air, hitting Tyler straight in the nose.

Alejandro fell backwards and off of the footrest he had been sitting on. “Oughhh.”

“Tyler!” Alejandro stood up. “Are you alright?”

Alejandro held a hand out to Tyler and pulled him back onto the footrest.

“I-I like girls!”

Alejandro chuckled, and continued to hold his hand. “I know.”

Lindsay looked between the two.

Tyler looked down at Alejandro’s hand before letting go.

“By the way, what time is it?” Alejandro asked.

“Nine,” Lindsay responded.

“Oh, I have to go. See you, Tyler.”

“Bye Al!”

Alejandro grunted, walking away.

Lindsay waited until she heard a door open and shut, and then turned to Tyler.

“Do you have a thing for him?”

“What?” Tyler asked. “No, I don’t, nah, we’re just friends.” He waved his arms around in denial.

“You totally like him! Eee!”

“Do not!”

“Do too! The other day you said he was cute, and today you said you like girls when he helped you up. You totally like him!”

“Aw man,” Tyler sighed. “I do. But only a little!”

Lindsay squealed and gave Tyler a hug. “Yay! You should ask him out!”

“No way! He’s so out of my league.”

“I’m out of your league, but you dated me. Why is he any different?”

“Hey!”

[macabr3-barbi3]

New Love, New Skin (Chapter 4)

Roller skating shenanigans, Vincent's past, and an unwelcome bird (I hope you like even more backstory!)

Tags: roller skating, gender stereotypes, bitchass bird, morning sex lol PS another thank you to @fraugwinska for the banner and for being my #1 hype woman, ily <3

Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺  Chapter 4  💛 Chapter 5

June 1959

Despite how much he wants to- needs to, really- Vincent doesn’t ask anything about Gideon past that first time, when Kora had her nightmare.

It eats at his mind though- that the guy had been such a piece of shit, taking advantage of Kora’s kindness and good heart, had still gotten to marry her, took away any chance of a life of her own for his own agenda, and she still kept his photo on her nightstand like a tiny shrine. He didn’t deserve that; Vincent would burn the damn thing if he thought he could get away with it, but the thought of Kora turning those sad puppy eyes on him always stops him from reaching for it, from letting the force of his frustration crack the glass that covered that smug fucker’s face.

He found solace in the form of bringing Kora down to the station to get a proper photo with her, arm slung around her shoulder and her hand on his chest. Richard- now one of Vincent’s biggest fans and supporters at his job- had been more than happy to lend one of the stations newspaper photographers for the job while they gave Kora a tour, and when the photo came back to them fully developed Kora had squealed with delight, framing it and putting it on display in their living room. Sometimes when he came out of the bedroom he would see her looking at it with an affectionate smile, and that was more than worth the picture of that bat bitch on her side table.

Richard had also been advocating with the management team for Vincent to have a more involved role at the station- he was shifted to the evening news production team to work with Rich directly, not on screen with him (yet) but behind the scenes in compiling his notes, working on scripts for the teleprompters, visual checks on the recording equipment and such.

That did mean that he was around Joy Jagoff more often, an unfortunate downside, but she mostly left him alone aside from the occasionally muttered comment about dogs that Rich always reprimanded her for- he was extremely fond of Kora, asking Vincent about her constantly, asking when he was going to bring her around again.

It was harder to line their schedules up now that he was on a different shift, which was an unfortunate downside to his moving up at the station. Monday through Saturday he worked 8 to 4AM, usually coming home with just enough time to cuddle up to Kora for a bit before she got up for her daily walk.

(He had a good success rate with keeping her in bed for a quick orgasm these days- they took their time on Sundays, the only day that they had off together, but he had a special weakness for her voice all husky from the remnants of sleep and crying out his name as he gently fucked her into the mattress.)

When he gets home early Sunday morning of that week, Kora is already out- he strips and settles into bed, hoping he can coax her back under the sheets with him when she returns from her walk. There’s no coffee brewing yet- these days she usually makes a pot for herself in the mornings and then another for him just before she leaves for the diner, so he wakes up to a fresh pot and the reminder that she made things better for him. He’s not tired, not feeling the siren call of sleep yet when the front door slams open, the photos on the wall rattling with the force and Kora calling his name from the living room. He’s barely sat up before she’s flying through the door, a bundle of excitement and wagging tail launching herself onto the bed. She thankfully manages to avoid anything sensitive with her knees and elbows as she presses a few smiling kisses to his screen and neck, golden tail in the air.

“Mornin’, Goldie. What’s got you in a tizzy?” He asks her, and she grins, teeth on display when she wraps her arms around him and rolls so that he’s hovering over her- he can still feel the shifting of the sheets under her where her fluffy appendage hasn’t stopped moving.

“I ran into Eris on my walk,” she says excitedly, practically vibrating with the force of it, “and she said that Viv is having a party for her sister at the skating rink and some of her friends canceled- so since the diner is closed tonight anyway and the number of people was already paid for they said that everyone on the staff can come with! Eris won’t be there, she said she had something else going on but I think it would be cool to introduce you to everyone.” 

“That could be fun,” he agrees, not wanting to tone down her excitement, but not thrilled about the prospect of his fragile screen in a place full of quickly moving bodies. “You’re sure you want me to meet all your coworkers?”

“Of course! It can’t possibly go any worse than my meeting Joy.” She flashes a grin, all snark and mischief at the memory of how pissed she had made the anchorwoman, how often Vincent came home with stories about how bitchy she was towards him now that they worked more closely together. “I think everyone will love you- and if not, there’s only so many jokes that can be made about television.” She knocks on the side of his head, running her hands down his chest before she tries to leap up from the bed again.

He wraps his arms around her middle, dragging her back down. “Hold on, doll,” he murmurs, kissing at her neck as she tries to squirm away. “C’mon, you're having fun- make it a good morning for me, too.” Kora laughs and turns into his embrace, lets him strip her bare and fling her clothing out from under the sheets before she slides under them herself to kiss and suck at his cock, heavy with arousal and need for her. 

She waits until just before he’s about to orgasm to release him from her mouth and climb on top, sinking down on his length and grinding her hips, claws digging little indentations into his pecs that he’s going to savor the sting of when he showers later. Her eyes are half lidded and mischievous as she rides him, harsh pants of his name tumbling from her lips, head dropping back in pleasure. 

He gets a hand back to grip at her tail like he’s learned that she likes, and he’s rewarded with a whine, low and sinful. “Come on, Kora, good girl, that’s it,” he mumbles to her, and her walls ripple around him at the praise- he loves that she likes him running his mouth when he fucks her, a mutually beneficial act that they find themselves playing out more often than not. He can’t help that she feels so fucking good he can’t keep his mouth shut, filthy words pouring from him like a spigot when she starts to clench down, when she rides him well like she was doing now. “Fucking perfect, baby, keep going-”

Kora’s voice comes out as a growl, her blue eyes glowing when she brings them back to his face. “Vin- fucking close, oh my God-” One of her delicate hands comes down between her legs to rub at her clit, the fluttering of her cunt signaling her imminent release.

He gets his feet under himself so he can buck his hips up to meet her thrusts, the hand not wrapped around her tail tangling in her hair to drag her down to meet his lips. His own orgasm is barreling towards him, but his ego won’t let him finish before she does- he was a fucking gentleman, damn it, and the day that he came before Kora would be the day he would walk naked into the street during an extermination. “Go ahead, sweetheart, come for me- you feel so fucking good-” 

She tenses in his arms, hoarse cry leaving her throat when it hits her; she shudders in his embrace, the motion reflected with the rippling of her soft walls around him, and he grunts “fuck, baby, coming ” into her ear as he spills his release into her warm, wet heat.

Kora snuggles into his side long enough that his screen is dimming before she finally gets up and he drifts into sleep. 

He’s been thinking and dreaming a lot about his life up top- more details about his childhood and his family and the people he had known and grown up with. 

There are more memories of his father than he would have liked, and not enough of his mother with how young he was when she left. A blue collar factory worker, he had been a hard-ass on Vincent as far back as he could remember- always griping at him to do as he was told, obedience is all that anyone values; don’t show emotion, that shit is for girls and gays; don’t show weakness, there will always be someone waiting to take advantage of it; be better, be more, be worth something more than he was; don’t ever cry, don’t ever scream, don’t ever back down from a fight, be a man. His pains and hurts were ignored if they weren’t beneficial to teach him some lesson, his mother never quite able to protect him completely from that particular brand of education. 

And despite it all, Vincent had wanted his attention. His recognition. His approval.

It was his motivating force behind nearly everything that he did. Once his mom walked out and it was just him and the old fuck he nearly killed himself ten times over to make him happy. He never turned down a dare or a friendly fight, resulting in more scars and bruises in his teenage years than he had known how to keep track of- including the one over his eye that reflected down here in Hell, not a matter of faulty wiring like Kora had assumed when they first met. He made sure that he was always the most charismatic person in the room, the funniest, the brightest. It got him a lot of recognition- and pussy- in college, but it never came from where he wanted it.

That didn’t stop him. He graduated and went right into news, wanting people to see him, notice him, pay attention even if it wasn’t his father. He got good ratings, he was charming and funny, he was an absolute riot at company parties; people couldn’t get enough of him.

It was never enough. He had enough sense now to know that what he was chasing couldn’t come from popularity, no matter how much of it he had had. Maybe if he had known it then things could have been different.

He had finally remembered how he had died- an exclusive interview live on the prime news slot at the new shark exhibit at a local aquarium. He was humble enough to know that it had been his own fault, that his ego hadn’t been thrilled about the attention being pulled off himself to the investor of the exhibit and his thrilling tale of how he had captured the creature, escaped their altercation with only a couple of missing fingers. Vincent had wanted to bring the eyes of the audience back onto himself, where they belonged- using the edge of the tank as a balance beam in a showy act of charisma had seemed a great idea until he had slipped and tumbled into the water, dragging the microphone and the wiring it was attached to into the tank with him.

Honestly, he figured he had gotten off pretty easy- if the electrocution hadn’t killed the shark along with him, he would have made a tasty snack.

Vincent hasn’t told Kora about it yet- he’s not sure he wants to, if he wants to see her eyes grow dark with disappointment at his pride and how he had ended up here, even if it had placed him in her path. He wants her to think the best of him, he realizes. She deserves so much more than what the afterlife has to offer, so much more than he currently could offer her. He had spent so much of their time together so far riding on her coattails when she rescued him, picked him up off the street and fixed him. He wanted to give her everything back that she had given him, tenfold; he simply wanted to give her everything that she deserved.

He had never experienced anything like their relationship when he was alive, and they weren’t even dating- they still had yet to apply any sort of label to what they were doing together, but he thinks that they have a real chance if they want to try going properly steady instead of the casual thing they had going on now. He had only ever been a hook up or a one night stand on Earth, never met a girl’s parents or family or kept a photo of her in his wallet. He’d never felt the necessary sentiments, figured that eventually he would settle down when he met the right woman, when chasing the high of fame and recognition had been fulfilled. Women were mostly interchangeable to him when he bothered with trying to get his dick wet, and he knew that he was hot so when he wanted it, sex was easy to come by.

He had no shame about the fact that the sin that had landed him here was Pride. He just still couldn’t grasp the fact that Kora was in Hell with him at all; sometimes she seemed to just radiate the feeling of Heaven, of sunshine and flowers and happiness and that weird, warm feeling in his chest that made him uncomfortable and pleased at the same time. Disgustingly sentimental, Vincent thinks that he could spend his afterlife at her side and never get bored, never want her to leave.

When he wakes hours later, internal lights powering up and making his screen glow, he decides that he’ll ask her about it tonight. He can hear her humming something out in the kitchen as he comes back to the world of consciousness, excitement over the prospect of skating later still evident in her tone. He catches himself smiling, dopey expression on his face, and he hopes that this, at least, he doesn’t fuck up.

🩵❤️🩵❤️🩵

Kora looks too fucking good in the twirly little skirt that she wore, the cab driver giving her a glance that lasts a couple seconds too long when they clamber out of the vehicle together, Vincent tossing the payment in his direction with a sneer and a slam of the door. The skating rink is located in some sort of warehouse outside of Imp City, painted all sorts of bright, fun colors that make it stick out like an eyesore amongst the usual red and black  and dark color scheme of Hell. Kora leads him in through a side door, waving to someone inside the building as they approach, arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close.

It doesn’t work for long- she’s sliding out of his grasp as soon as they’ve obtained their skates, lacing hers up before he’s even taken his shoes off and gliding away with the grace of a swan to spin in circles in the middle of the rink. She got a lot of practice at work, he knew, with Viv’s being one of those places that had all the waitresses running around on wheels- it was something else to see her in action though. He watches some women come up to her, all smiles and laughter, and something aches inside him, his hands stilling on the laces he was trying to tie.

“Need some help?”

A feathered hand is sliding along his calf, the touch so unexpected and unwelcome that he feels his face go full static for a moment before he registers that someone has seated themselves beside him. Their face is tilted downward so their long and narrow beak isn’t shoved directly into his face, making their expression almost coquettish as they look at him from under their lashes. White feathers fade to black along the outer edges of their face, the darker shades slipping into colors that remind him of an oil spill, dark greens and blues reflecting with the light when they tilt their head. The feathers cover their body, peeking out from a small white shirt with the slightest hint of breasts and shorts that would have been near illegal on Earth, before fading above stick-thin orange legs tucked into what was clearly a custom made set of skates.

They smirk at him, the line of their mouth hitching upwards. “What, ya only show silent films or somethin’?”

“I talk just fine,” he says, carefully sliding a chair over and dislodging their hand from his leg- his skates still weren’t on properly. “I don’t, however, take kindly to strangers touching me.”

The hint- if you could call it that, with how very obviously and unashamedly he had moved away- is ignored. The bird shifts into the seat he had just vacated. “We don’t have t’be strangers,” they say lowly, casting a glance around the room before sliding a winged arm over his shoulder and tracing a finger over the back of his screen. The motion makes his skin crawl, pulling his head as far back from the person as he can even as they follow him back, their other hand coming up to grip at his bicep. “C’mon, there’s a nice lil supply closet down the hall we could get acquainted with- could get me on my knees and-”

“Jesus Christ,” he says desperately, his renewed effort to get away landing him solidly on the floor as he falls out of the chair and his skates slide out from under him. “I’m not interested, fuck -”

“Whaaaat? I was just gonna offer t’tie ya laces up.” They give him a wink, violet eyes fluttering innocently, and he’s tempted to tell them where they can shove their offer when a more welcoming hand is laid on his shoulder, Kora’s familiar scent of almonds and coffee filling his senses.

“Vin, you okay? I saw you fall over- I’m so sorry, I should have helped you with your skates…” She trails off, settling onto her knees beside him and looking him over for any possible injuries or pains. She glances up at the person who had sat beside him, and he prepares for her to tear into the bitch like she had with Joy.

Instead, a smile lights up her face. “Eris! I thought you said this morning that you couldn’t make it?”

“Eh, cleared up somethin’ in my schedule,” the bird smiles- Eris, he knew now- and offers a shrug. “Ya didn’t mention bringin’ such a handsome friend, babe.”

“Oh! Yes, this is my boyfriend, Vincent.” Kora places a hand on his chest where she crouches beside him, arm sliding around his back to start helping him to his feet. He catches a glimpse of Eris’s face scowling and relishes in it before what Kora has said clicks.

My boyfriend, Vincent.

My boyfriend, Vincent.

His plans for the night- a sweet little outing, asking her out officially, maybe a nice night between the sheets to mark the occasion- sputter and crackle with the wires in his head. If Kora notices the faint buzzing noise now coming from him she doesn’t mention it as she gets him standing and keeps an arm around his waist to hold him steady on the skates. 

How long had she considered them being dating?

Had he been fucking up being her boyfriend this whole goddamn time?

How the fuck did he miss this?

He’s still processing as she leads him away from Eris and out onto the rink, letting her keep him upright until he gets the hang of it and goes into a sort of auto-pilot; he manages to stay standing, at least, and even if he can’t keep up with her he hasn’t fallen and cracked his screen open in front of a bunch of kids- nieces and nephews of Viv’s, to his understanding. Every once in a while Kora will leave his side to do some fancy spins in the middle of the rink, met with cheers and laughter from everyone nearby, and he feels that familiar pang in his chest that he gets when he looks at her these days.

While he’s distracted Kora skates up to him, a crease in her eyebrow and her mouth turned into a frown- Fuck, he thinks, I’ve fucked it up already.

“Are you okay?” She asks him, and wrings her hands together while her legs keep a steady pace. “I’m sorry for springing that on you- I guess we never really talked about if we were like, telling people about us? I should have asked or something, I’m sorry-” She’s rambling a bit, something that he’s noticed she does when she’s nervous.

“No! No no no,” Vincent interrupts, and guides her over to the side wall where they won’t get run over by any passersby. “I just wasn’t expecting it- everything is fine. I’m perfectly okay with people knowing.”

And he was- he was fine with people knowing, he was fine with the need to ask being taken from his responsibility. There was no reason to fear rejection now, since she had simply announced it as being so. It was a nice change from the girls he had ‘dated’ on Earth, keeping them mostly under wraps from his friends and co-workers and family, not wanting the external pressure of them telling him to settle down when he wasn't ready, before he could move on to the next. Kora was different; she was funny and kind and didn’t take shit from anyone, and she was perfect. He would do everything in his power to make sure that she was happy if she had decided she wanted to be with him.

Her smile was a beam of light, and she places her hands on his chest. “Me too. I want people to know, Vin- you make me happy.”

“Fuck, Goldie, you make me happy, too.” He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, ignoring the cooing and shouts coming from the rest of the people in the rink with them. He knows he’s got to have a stupid expression on his face right now and can’t bring himself to care- he kisses her right there on the skating rink floor with a hand braced on the wall beside them, the other splayed across the small of her back as she presses into him, and he thinks some signals might have gotten crossed when he died because there was no way that he could be this happy and still be in Hell.

Vincent lets himself get pulled into the excitement of a new relationship pretty easily- he holds Kora’s hand as they circle the rink a few times, or she’ll grab hold of his arm and rest her head on his shoulder as they move. They take a break to enjoy a milkshake and he gets to experience that cheesy moment of two straws in a single glass- even if Kora does end up sucking most of it down on her own when he gets distracted by a couple old sinners that fly around the rink like spinning tops and crash into each other in the center of the rink. He can’t bring himself to chastise her about it when she looks so goddamn cute, giving him that look that she knows he can’t fucking resist, so instead he dips his fingers into the remnants of the shake and swipes it down her nose, and her laughter rings in his ears. 

Once the mess of the two sinners has been cleared off the floor, the DJ plays something sweet and slow; Kora offers him her hand and he’s powerless to deny her, following her in shaky legs back to the floor. They’re one of a few couples that sway together on the floor, one pair really going above and beyond and throwing one another into grand dips and twirls to the rhythm of the music. But he’s content to rock gently with Kora, his hands on her waist and her head tucked up under his against his chest while the singer croons something about the world being enchanted or some shit. 

“You know,” she murmurs against his shirt, “I think Eris might have been trying to flirt with you earlier.”

He chuckles when he looks down at her- she must not have seen or heard the obvious proposition that Eris had given him. “You don’t say.”

“Mmm.” She rolls her skates a little closer. “It’s silly- she was one of my first friends down here before I found Gideon again. Is it bad that I’m a little pleased that she might be kinda jealous right now?”

“Not at all.” In fact, he’s glad- let the bitch be jealous. He’s never heard anything but shit about Eris from Kora even if she was never downright mean. “I’m a fucking catch, baby- if she’s cooking up some jealousy let her stew.”

She smacks him lightly against the chest but laughs, bringing herself as close to his body as she can, and he loves the warmth of her, how she feels held against him and safe in his arms. “Don’t get cocky,” she admonishes, but her tone is affectionate- and that’s allowed now, he realizes, he doesn’t have to pretend like he doesn’t fucking like this woman as much as he does. He’s her fucking boyfriend now.

His returning excitement at that is cut short when the music picks back up again, and a wave of children rushes back onto the floor- they surround him and Kora, and one of them brushes closely enough that Vincent is thrown off balance. He has enough of a mind to take his hands off Kora so he doesn’t take her down with him, and he lands hard on his ass when his ankle turns in a direction it definitely is not supposed to, the wheels taking the foot out from under him entirely. He catches himself, mostly, before he can smack his head off the ground, and from his position on the floor he sees Kora whip a nasty look in the direction of the child that took him out.

Viv, Kora’s boss, is already on it. “Take care of your man,” she calls to Kora, an older imp woman with a thick accent that Vincent can’t place. “And you!” 

The child that had knocked him down freezes in his tracks.

“That’s right, Johnny- you get your ass over here so I can hand it to you on a goddamn plate.” The kid has the nerve to look back at him with a glare like its his fucking fault the bastard had used his ankle like a goddamn kickboard for velocity, and he hopes Viv really gives it to the little bastard- his wish is granted when the child slinks off the floor with his tail between his legs and Viv swats him in the back of the head before dragging him over to what he would assume is the kid’s mother.

“Vin? Fuck, are you okay?” Kora is back in his line of sight, her face creased in concern while she helps him to his feet- or foot, rather, since he can’t really stand on the one that twisted. “Damn it- come on, can you balance on one foot? Yeah just like that-” She helps him roll off the floor with one leg held up like a figure skater. He feels a little ridiculous, he’s sure people are laughing at him, a tall, muscular demon with a television for a head being led away like a ballerina by Kora, a little wisp of a Golden Retriever. But he likes her hands all gentle and caring on him, so he lets it- and himself- slide until she can get him close enough to a chair to sit down.

Vincent lets her fuss over him for a bit, but he sees the way that she keeps glancing back at the skating rink as some of the crowd starts to clear out. “Go on, Kora,” he says, nodding at the lit up floor. “I’ll be fine over here on my own- go ahead and get the rest of your skating done, I know you want to.”

She almost looks like she wants to deny it, but sighs and concedes. “Okay,” she agrees, and cups his head in her hands to press a kiss to the top of his screen. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Take your time. I’ll focus on getting these damn things off,” he says, gesturing at his skates. “Have fun, baby.” She offers him a sweet smile and skates backwards back into the fray- just to show off, he’s sure.

“Hey there, handsome.” As soon as Kora has left his side Eris sidles back up into the seat next to him, and Vincent just manages to keep his face from twitching in displeasure. “Kora left ya on your own? That’s not very nice.”

“I’m a grown man,” he tells her, pointedly not making eye contact as he pulls off his skates as gently as he can, wincing in pain when his ankle gives an unhappy twinge that radiates up his leg. “I can handle myself.”

“Grown man? Ha! Looks to me like you’re Kora’s bitch.”

His head whips around to look at her, her gaze directed at the bright pink nails that adorn the ends of her fingers. “Excuse me?”

She shoots him a glance with a nasty smile. “I mean, I’m just a bystander but that’s how it looks- she took ya in and took care of ya for a couple months when ya first got here, that’s what Kora said! And what, ya made dinner and did dishes while she was out workin’? Cleaned up that little apartment of hers?” She hides her giggle- poorly, he notes- behind a wing, her violet eyes sparking with malice. “If she’s the provider- and it looks like she is, with what I know and how she was oh so sweet taking care of you just now- that essentially makes ya the woman of the house.”

“Who gives a fuck?” His blood feels like it’s running slowly through his veins, something hissing in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like his father- he tries to ignore it. “First of all, we contribute equally now that I have a job; secondly, this is Hell, nobody cares about that bullshit down here. And what Kora and I do in our relationship is none of your fucking business.”

She holds her hands up as if in defeat. “Easy there, big guy! I’m just sayin’, I figured a man like you woulda been all about makin’ sure his woman was provided for, not the otha' way around.” She glances out onto the floor of the skating rink, where Kora holds hands with an imp child and lets her do little spins and slides, holding her so she doesn’t fall. When she notices them looking she throws a wave in their direction, her smile bright under the reflective lights bouncing off the mirrors that cover the walls. “Kora is a great gal,” Eris continues in a tone that suggests she thinks otherwise, “I’d just hate to see her not gettin’ what she deserves from her man, ya know?” She gives him a sarcastic smile. “That husband of hers wasn’ even fuckin’ her and he was doin’ more for her than you are from what I can see. Step ya game up, yeah?”

She stands from the chair, tail feathers flicking out from over the top of her skirt. “I got shit to do so I’m gonna go- tell sweet thing over there I’ll see her around. And you, of course,” she adds, trailing a hand down his arm before she turns and swans out of the building, a wave thrown over her shoulder at the women she works with on the side of the rink before the door slams shut behind her.

🩵❤️🩵❤️🩵

He doesn’t let himself think about it for a while- at the very least the conversation stays shoved into the back of his mind until he and Kora manage to get home. Rather than cuddling together on the couch like they usually do- and yeah, Vincent had still called it ‘cuddling’ when he thought they weren’t together, but now it was cuddling with a purpose- Kora herds him to the bedroom. Despite his best efforts, she won’t let him strip her of her twirly skirt and get under the covers with him right away. Instead, she helps him to the bed and disappears back to the living area, coming back with a steaming cup of tea that she insists on him drinking. “It’ll help with the swelling, Vin, come on,” and he only agrees to it when she concedes to sit on his lap as he does so. He chugs it, far too fast, but Kora is even faster; she’s up and out of his lap before he takes his last swallow.

“You keep your hands to yourself,” she warns, “or I’ll sleep on the couch.” And he knows that she’ll do it, too, since the woman had no qualms about falling asleep reading on the couch under normal circumstances, let alone those where Vincent wasn’t bending to her will. 

“Fine, fine,” he acquiesces, and holds an arm out when she strips down and changes into her pajamas to climb into bed with him. “I’ll behave, promise.”

The glare she shoots him is convincing- especially since not half an hour later she’s squirming in his arms and fogging his screen with the heat of her breath as she rides his fingers, gasping his name in ecstasy- he doesn’t let her reciprocate, doesn’t think he can focus on much else with the insistent twinging pain in his ankle, but he’s happy to make Kora come so she drifts a little easier into sleep beside him.

He’s up for hours after- he reads the book he keeps in his bedside drawer (something written by someone down here in Hell, and it's not as good as the stuff that comes filtered down from upstairs) and tries to focus on the words before him, on Kora’s even breathing at his side, on anything but the hiss of his father’s voice in his head telling him that if he’s not the right kind of man then he’s nothing. It’s not even entirely Eris’s fault, Vincent realized- she had just spoken aloud something that he hadn’t been letting himself think about.

That he was letting Kora down, had been since even before they were properly dating (whenever that had begun).

He had been a leech, letting her take care of him all that time before he had finally gotten a job and started contributing to the apartment. To her apartment, he reminded himself; he helped with the rent and bills but everything was in her name, it was her  space, and even if he was her boyfriend now it didn’t sit right with him. Especially with his epiphany this morning- that Kora deserved more than the life they currently had, in this shitty apartment, at her shitty job with Eris as a shitty friend. He wanted to provide for her, give her more than what they had now.

There was no resentment towards Kora herself, of course- it wasn’t her fault that he had taken a back seat, and it seemed like it was just in her nature to be good to people, to help them. He would never begrudge her that, could never blame her for just being herself; that was what he wanted, for her to be happy and not have to worry about things like keeping the lights on or whether they could afford to get ice cream with their groceries. 

He glances over at the photo of Gideon on Kora’s nightstand and glares at it. What had he done that was so great that he had even Eris singing his praises? Vincent knew next to nothing about Kora's husband- she was frustratingly tightlipped about who he was as a person, what their lives had been like down here in Hell before he had found the end of an Exorcist's blade. He didn't know what job he held, what money he made or how he contributed to Kora's happiness.

The bat hadn’t deserved her but Vincent would- he would work more hours at the station, rise the ranks, get a good promotion like he had when he was alive. And then Kora could have the afterlife that she should have. She deserved to be spoiled, pampered, to live a life of luxury that they couldn’t have together if Vincent didn’t step his shit up. Maybe it would put a bit of a strain on their relationship for a while, since even now they didn’t have much quality time together, but it would be worth it in the end. 

He thinks he can get them into an ideal spot within a year; then he could ease up on his work and focus more on her, spend more time together, fuck to their heart’s content. She wouldn’t have to work, could spend the time he was at the station working on her crafts or reading or doing whatever the fuck she wanted to do. Vincent would take her on vacations, to LuLu World, he would rent out the entire skating rink for her to twirl and spin and dance so he could just admire her and relish in the fact that he had made her so fucking happy.

He watches Kora sleep, her breath even, her nose scrunched up the tiniest bit and her eyebrows furrowed, indicating a nightmare. He pulls her closer into his arms and she calms, settling against him.

Just a year, he thinks, and he finally starts to let his head power off, the light of his screen dimming. Things would be hard for them for a year and then it would all be perfect, like they deserved.

🩵❤️🩵❤️🩵

I am once again presenting on an ethereally lit pedestal my commissioned art from Chef because I will literally never stop talking about how perfect they are

Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺  Chapter 4  💛 Chapter 5

[cottonfeltgembira]

[WIP] Im finally writing a full proper fic in months now... (Rolls over on the floor)

Yosuke heaved a sigh, “Something tells me while you won't press me any further, you definitely wanna figure out what's up with me today.”

Yu, who was semi preoccupied with dusting a collection of music CDs on the bottom of the rack let out a chuckle, his response slightly muffled by the medical mask he was wearing.

“How did you know? And yes, I would like to know what's going on with you and if you allow it I'd like to help.”

“God, you are too good, man. And it's… really stupid.”

Yu got up from the floor and disposed of his medical mask and disposable gloves into the trash bin, turning to Yosuke with his hand on his hip. “Yosuke, if it's bothering you then I don't think that whatever it is it would be considered stupid.”

“That's the thing!” Yosuke sat up from his previous slumped position. “Look, just promise me you won't laugh when I tell you.”

“I promise.”

After Yu promptly dusted his shirt off he made his way to the couch, taking a seat next to Yosuke. “So, what is it?”

“The truth is… I'm stuck on the fact that I don't have a girlfriend.”

Yosuke’s silver haired friend only stared blank eyed, he wasn’t sure what he expected from Yu but his poker face wasn’t one of them.

“Uh, Earth to Yu Narukami? This is the part where you either break the promise and laugh or realize it's over for me.”

“Sorry, I guess I was expecting something else.”

“Something else?” Whatever it was Yu thought of, it couldn't have been good.

“Mmm, I was thinking you forgot Teddie in the freezer in Junes and you had to defrost him for a whole day.” He knew it…

“Well actually that did almost happen once- Hey!”

“But in all seriousness,” Yu changed his tone from his light jest. “I don't think you should let that worry you, I'm sure you’ll find someone. Besides, didn't you mention before you were going on dates?”

“Those were just dates, they’re different!” And they were different, Yosuke swore he tried everything in the book of dating and romance but not a single girl he went out with considered a second date. Was he not charming enough? Was there something about himself Yosuke didn’t know that girls just didn’t like? If only it were easy, like Yu would ever truly understand his plight. Yu could say he wanted a girlfriend and 30 girls in his near vicinity would drop everything to run at a chance to be his.

“Hmm, I don’t really get it. I think love comes when it wants to, you just have to be yourself.”

“Man, easy for you to say. Aren't you dating like 3 girls simultaneously right now?”

“Snrrk.” A loud snort came Yu, “Yosuke, you believe in me way too much.”

“What?”

“Actually, I’ve never dated, not even once.”

“WHAT!?” Yosuke shouted, thank god neither Dojima nor Nanko was home. He couldn't believe it, Yu could easily be pulling his leg but he sounded genuine, there was no way and yet…

Yosuke had to confirm,”You’re not just saying this to make me feel better about my dating failures, right?”

“If I was lying to you I would’ve said I’ve only been on a date or two.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious.”

“Oh, I am serious. I’m showing you it's really not the end of the world if you haven't found anybody by now. It's different for everybody, Yosuke.”

And he was right, as displeased as Yosuke was to hear it from Yu. Maybe he was just too eager. Yeah- Yeah that had to be it.

“I guess you’re right…Hey wait, didn't you had a thing with Ebihara?”

Yu tilted his head, almost akin to a fox, “Ai-san? No, she was troubled at the time. She did suggest dating but she was doing that out of wanting validation, she just needed a friend who could understand her and support her.”

“How did that even happen?” Yu only shrugged, another mystery to the strange array of acquaintances Yu had. From creepy nurse to grieving old woman to a middle school kid he tutored, it’s miraculous how he made the time to get to know these people, hang out with the investigation team and solve the case at the same time. That was his partner alright.

“Speaking of Ai-san, I wonder if it's still in my closet.” Yosuke watched as Yu eagerly got up, walking towards his closet and began digging through the drawers. As Yu dug for whatever buried treasure he had in his closet from being reminded of a female friend, Yosuke stopped the music on his mp3 player and took his headphones off for once, placing them on the coffee table.

Love comes when it wants to, huh?

Yosuke wondered if that love will ever come, at this point it started to feel bleak. Countless failed attempts with girls, maybe he wasn’t made to ever be in a relationship. It’s silly but he can’t deny it made him feel miserable. Yosuke Hanamura, still a loser at 21 and forever alone.

At least there was his partner. Yu was the first person who he’s ever felt truly close to, he saw Yosuke in his ugliest moments and didn’t bat an eye, Yu reached out to Yosuke and he’s been holding onto that hand ever since.

Yosuke admired Yu, he was smart, headstrong, and always got back up no matter what. At the same time, envious of the same things he liked so much about his best friend. It’s an ugly feeling, one he thought Yu beat out of him years ago at the riverbank. But every once in a while, jealousy would rear its head, and Yosuke sometimes wished it would show itself as a shadow so he can whoop its ass instead of doing it the hard way.

[buddie-buddie]

we will find a way (through the dark)

9.2k - t - ao3 In which President Evan Buckley is kidnapped and Secret Service Agent Eddie Diaz falls apart.

This whole Wyoming trip was a bad idea. Eddie had said as much when the travel plans first crossed his desk. Buck, to his credit, had agreed. Neither one of them seemed to understand why a speech at an hour-long ceremony warranted a three-day trip, but that ship had apparently long since sailed.

“What’s there to do in Wyoming anyway?” Buck had asked one of his advisors. “Can’t I just fly in for the ceremony and leave as soon as it’s over?” 

Eddie thought that was a brilliant idea. The less time they had to spend away from the White House– the less time they had to spend in Wyoming, of all places– the better. 

Unfortunately, Buck’s team was prepared with an answer, quickly launching into some long-winded explanation full of Washington jargon like strategic and good faith and precedent-setting. It was buzzword salad, as far as Eddie was concerned. 

The way Buck’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they spoke indicated he felt the same. 

Buck going anywhere other than the White House or Camp David is already less than ideal, and heading to some rural area of Wyoming, where there’s bad reception, limited resources, and guns outnumber people 4:1 is pretty much Eddie’s personal hell. 

Now that they’re here, his feelings haven’t exactly changed. His team is incredible, as is the entirety of the Secret Service. They’ve been hard at work clearing buildings, mapping travel routes, surveilling, and filling the gaps left by the less-than ideal amount of local law enforcement support they’ve been provided. 

They’ve been here for a day and a half now, and while Eddie still isn’t feeling great about the trip, he’s no longer walking around with “resting bitch face so severe it might get stuck that way,” as Buck had so lovingly pointed out when Air Force One had first landed. 

Tensions had managed to grow since their arrival, which Eddie knew could be attributed to Buck’s overall frustration with this trip in the first place. A frustration Eddie shared, tenfold. 

Buck was exhausted after a particularly busy week, spread thinner than he had been in recent memory. Thinner than Eddie thought possible. And yet, somehow, even after all these years, Buck still manages to surprise him. 

The night before they were set to leave Washington, Eddie had brought up the idea of postponing the trip. It had been a long, draining week and to add a few days of travel on top of it felt like a cruel and unusual punishment, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. It physically pained him to see Buck so stressed, exhaustion materializing in the bags under his eyes, in the dark circles that cast an unwelcome shadow across his face. 

When Buck didn’t go for that, Eddie suggested shortening it to one day instead of three. He was met with protest, insistence that he’d rather go and be miserable than change his plans and disappoint his constituents. Buck had stopped for a minute, his half-packed suitcase in front of him, and promised that when they got home, he’d stay in bed for a whole day. 

“I’ll allow it,” Eddie had said, wrapping his arms around Buck from behind and dropping a kiss to his temple. 

“I have one condition,” Buck said, relaxing into Eddie’s arms, melting into his touch. 

“Let’s hear it,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s ear.  

“You,” Buck said, pausing and tipping his head back in an attempt to look at Eddie. “Have to stay in bed with me.” 

Eddie grinned. He couldn’t help but squeeze Buck a little tighter, fondness unfurling in his chest. “Deal.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, turning Buck so they were pressed chest to chest, their foreheads resting against one another. “Yeah,” Eddie murmured, stealing a proper kiss. 

-

The first day of the trip goes according to plan. Buck is exhausted, and Eddie can tell he’s losing steam towards the end of the day, but he still manages to keep a warm smile on his face until they make it back to the hotel room. Eddie follows him inside, locking the door behind them as Buck heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“You did well today,” Eddie says, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his suit jacket before crossing the room towards the bed. 

“I– I feel like you guys are smothering me.” Buck’s reply seems to startle both of them. 

Eddie tries not to take it personally. It’s not his fault there are fewer police officers in the entire state of Wyoming than there were students in his high school! Usually when they travel, local police come in to support the Secret Service. The small police population out here has meant fewer support officers than they’re used to. It left Eddie and his team feeling a little stressed, and they had come to the decision that the best way to fill the gaps and compensate for the change in routine was to increase the presence of Buck’s personal detail. 

Instead of two agents shadowing him, they bumped it to three. Instead of four agents surrounding him in open air, they’ve had six. 

Frankly, Eddie isn’t a huge fan of the change in routine, either. He’s been on edge since the second they got here. But if it means keeping Buck safe, he’ll adopt whatever changes are necessary. He might not like it, might spend all day longing for the status quo, but he’ll do it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant keeping Buck safe. Nothing . 

“I’m sorry,” Buck and Eddie say at the same time. 

“No– no, Eddie. I’m sorry,” Buck insists, his eyes wide and searching as he holds Eddie’s gaze. “I– I don’t know where that came from. I just–” 

Eddie sits down beside him. Their knees brush, and the tension in the air dissolves immediately. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for telling me the truth,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry that we had to change your detail. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“There’s nothing here but open air and cows,” Buck grumbles, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with a sigh. “Can’t we decrease it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. Annoying as it is, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he does anything that could potentially put Buck in danger. “No, baby. I’m sorry.”

Buck makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, flopping back onto the mattress. Eddie sighs, taking comfort in knowing that even as tired as he is, Buck hasn’t lost his personality. 

“We just have to get through another day and a half. Not even. First thing Wednesday morning, we’re on the way home,” Eddie reminds him. “And then I believe there’s a deal involving a bed and a locked door that’ll need your attention.” 

-

The following afternoon is Buck’s big speech, the whole reason for the trip in the first place. He spends 15 minutes speaking at a ceremony to honor the 100th birthday of a national park that Eddie isn’t convinced he himself had ever heard of before learning of these travel plans. As Eddie expected, Buck absolutely crushes his speech, complete with a standing ovation before he waves goodbye and heads backstage to meet up with his team. 

“Nice work,” Maddie says, beaming as Buck makes his way down the stairs, trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Chim, and Hen. He strides over to where she’s waiting with a few of his advisors and a flock of additional Secret Service agents. 

Buck lets out a deep breath, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he thanks her. “Now what?” he asks, accepting the bottle of water Eddie passes him with a small smile. 

“Now, you have to go get changed into something more appropriate for skeet shooting with the governor,” Maddie tells him. 

She manages to keep the grin off her face, but Chim fails, chuckling as he claps Buck on the back. “Now this, I can’t wait to see.” 

It’s a twenty minute ride in the motorcade to the rifle club, where Buck is ushered into a sitting room and promised that the governor will be with him shortly. He takes a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs, directly beneath a taxidermy buck. 

“It’s Buck-ception,” Chimney muses. Eddie grins, though it may have less to do with Chim’s bad joke and more to do with the horrified look on Buck’s face as he turns his head and sees the deer mounted directly above him.

“I miss Washington,” Buck grumbles. 

Eddie doesn’t blame him. 

Washington has the Oval Office, which is free of dead animals hanging on the walls. Washington has four times more law enforcement officers in its 70 square miles than Wyoming does in its nearly 100,000. Washington has Christopher. Washington has the Residence. Washington has their bed–– God, Eddie misses their bed. 

Washington has their best memories and some of their worst ones too, but it’s home. And while Eddie’s never felt homesick when Buck’s in reach, he finds himself longing for the city just as much as Buck is. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the governor is striding into the sitting room and Buck is rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand. 

“Mr. President.”

“Mr. Governor,” Buck says with a warm smile. Eddie remains in awe of him– how even when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, doing something he doesn’t want to do, Buck still manages to be so friendly, so genuine. He still manages to share the best parts of himself.  “Thanks for having me.”

The governor returns Buck’s smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” He leads Buck down a hallway to a private locker room, Eddie, Bobby, and Chim trailing behind them alongside the Governor’s security. The Governor motions for Buck to use the room on the left before heading into the room on the right himself.

Chim stands to the left of the door while Bobby walks through the room, returning a moment later with a nod to signal that it’s empty and safe for Buck to enter. He steps into position, standing on the right hand side of the door as Eddie moves to follow Buck inside. 

“I think I can handle this by myself, guys.” Buck motions to the bag in his hand. Eddie tries not to take it personally. He knows Buck is feeling overwhelmed. He said as much last night. And yet, there’s still a pang of rejection at Buck’s words. But he shoves it down, nods, and steps to the side, as much as he hates the idea of Buck being out of their sight. 

But it’s only for a minute. They’re in a building that’s crawling with agents, and this is a private room– Eddie remembers as much from when he saw the building’s plans during his briefing this morning. There are no exterior doors, no doors that connect to other rooms. Just a small changing area connected to a private bathroom. And Buck is only getting changed out of his suit and into whatever sort of skeet shooting attire Maddie put into the bag that’s slung across his shoulder. 

He’ll only be a minute. 

The Governor reappears a few minutes later, his own suit traded for a flannel shirt and a dark khaki vest with matching pants tucked into calf-high boots.

Eddie catches the way Chim’s eyes light up, already anticipating Buck’s getup. He shoots him a look, silently begging him to behave. 

They wait for another minute before Eddie starts to get antsy. He has no idea what could possibly be taking Buck so long. He’s pretty efficient when he gets dressed in the morning, only slowing down to swap lazy kisses with Eddie as they move around the walk-in closet at the same time. That and tying his tie. But Eddie’s out here in the hallway and he’s hard pressed to believe Maddie would pack him a necktie for an afternoon at the rifle club. 

Something must be wrong. 

Eddie steps forward, knocking on the door. “Mr. President, all good?” He waits with bated breath for Buck’s answer, only it doesn’t come. 

“Mr. President?” Eddie tries again, more insistent this time. Again, no response. 

He looks between Chim, Bobby, the Governor, and the two state troopers trailing the Governor, concern written across all five of their faces. 

Fuck. 

Eddie doesn’t waste another second. 

The door is unlocked, but there’s something blocking it. He’s able to twist the knob and push it open, but it only goes a few inches before he’s met with resistance. He slams his shoulder into the door, using all of his weight to push it open far enough that he can make it through. 

A leather-trimmed bench has been dragged over from the middle of the changing area, if the dents in the carpet are any indication of where it once sat. It was shoved in front of the door, clearly meant to slow down anyone trying to make their way inside. Buck’s suit jacket is in a pile on the floor, just beside his dress pants and shoes. His bag lays sideways on the floor, a pair of olive green pants hanging out of the opening. 

His white button-down is in the middle of the floor, stained red with what can only be blood. 

There’s a lot of blood. Too much blood. 

A trail of it starting in the middle of the room, leading out through a wide-open window. 

Shit. 

There are bloody footprints on the carpet. Three pairs in the middle of the floor – two made by shoes and one made by bare feet. By the window, there are only two pairs. Both shoes. They dragged him out. 

The realization burns in Eddie’s chest, nearly breaks him. They dragged him out. 

How did they all miss this? How did none of them hear it? Eddie thinks he might be sick.

Behind him, he hears Bobby radioing in a mayday and calling for a total lockdown. He hears boots in the hallway, voices echoing in his earpiece. The Governor’s saying something, the state troopers, too.

But he can’t focus on any of that. Not when Buck is gone. 

No, not gone. 

Taken. 

The worst of it is the tiny black rectangle in the corner of the room. Buck’s panic button. Eddie beelines toward it, dropping down to get a better look. It’s still intact, which has Eddie trying to wrap his head around why Buck didn’t hit it– it must’ve been in his hand at some point if it made it all the way out of his pocket and across the room. Why didn’t he hit it?

He’s careful not to put any fingerprints on it, pulling a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and using it to flip the thing over. He’s not ready for the sight of the bloody fingerprint, just to the left of the button itself. It trails off, as if the device was knocked out of Buck’s hand before he could get his finger onto the button. 

But he tried. 

Something about that makes it even worse.

-

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, walking into the sitting room, which has since become, for all intents and purposes, Secret Service headquarters. 

He just got off the phone with the director, briefing him on what had gone down. It’s been fourteen minutes since Eddie breached the door to the locker room and they discovered Buck had been taken. Closer to eighteen minutes since Buck entered the locker room in the first place. The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows steadily with each passing minute. He’s desperate for an update– a real update. Not just “Yeah, he’s definitely gone,” which had been the latest one a few minutes ago, before Eddie stepped out to call the director and try to tamp down the rage burning within him before it consumed him. 

“We have footage,” Bobby says, looking up at Eddie from behind a laptop screen. He’s sitting in the same oversized leather chair Buck had been in before, the stupid taxidermy buck above his head. 

God, what Eddie would do to go back to that moment. The things he would change. The things he could prevent. 

“Let me see,” Eddie says. Bobby hesitates, one hand on the laptop screen, as if to shield Eddie from view. 

“Eddie,” Bobby begins. “I just watched it. I think–” His voice is gentle and sympathetic in a way that has Eddie feeling absolutely terrified. 

“No,” Eddie insists. He can hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. He clears his throat, takes a quick breath. “Let me see.”

Bobby hesitates once more, but Eddie steps up next to him, standing over his shoulder and staring down at the screen. Reluctantly, Bobby hits play. 

It’s from an exterior camera, one that had a perfect view of two men dragging Buck out of the locker room window. Eddie stands there fuming, his blood boiling beneath his skin as he sees Buck, covered in blood, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a strip of tape across his mouth. 

He kicks and claws, thrashing around as they pull him out of the open window and throw him in the back of a waiting golf cart. It has a miniature flatbed in the back, and one of the men jumps in beside Buck, locking his legs around him and holding a hand over his mouth to keep him still and quiet. 

The other man throws a tarp over the both of them, concealing them from view, before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding off. 

And then they’re gone. 

Eddie can’t breathe. Buck is gone– taken – on his watch. He’s out there somewhere, barefoot and covered in blood and at the mercy of the two animals who just dragged him through a window right under Eddie’s nose and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. His chest is tight and his head is heavy and everything hurts. He can’t– 

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice sounds far away, too distant to be coming from the man standing directly beside him. “Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie can’t get the words out. Can’t get the air in. Can’t do anything except stand here as his world falls apart and stammer out a broken,  “They– I– I can’t–”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even where Eddie’s wavers, smooth where Eddie’s grates against the lump in his throat. But the fire in his eyes burns just as furiously as the one in Eddie’s. The undercurrent of anger that Eddie can sense coming off of him is just as intense as the one thrumming beneath his own skin. 

And something about that is more comforting than the evenness of his voice ever could be. 

“We’re going to get him back,” Bobby says, matter-of-fact. There’s no room for interpretation, no doubt behind his words. 

“He’s… Bobby, I– I don’t–” 

“He needs you,” Bobby says, his voice low. Quiet enough that it doesn’t draw the attention of the other agents coming in and out of the room, but loud in all the ways that matter. Keep it together , is what Bobby doesn’t say out loud. Keep it together for him. And fall apart later. 

Eddie hears it all the same. 

He nods, managing to get a shaky breath. And then another one. The heat behind his eyes eases up, the pressure in his head and the burn in his chest ebbing away with each additional breath. Not all the way, but it’s enough. 

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes reassuringly in a way that has Eddie’s chest aching for an entirely different reason. 

And then Hen is running into the room, waving a sticky note in her hand. “I got a plate.” 

“Let me have it,” Eddie says. Bobby, to his credit, doesn’t protest as Eddie grabs the laptop out from in front of him and pulls up the database. 

Hen reads off the plate number and Eddie types it in. The system shows a match immediately. He pulls up the driver’s ID and his heart skips in his chest. That’s the same guy from the security video, the one driving the cart away. He’s sure of it. 

If the way Bobby stiffens beside him is any indication, he’s sure of it, too. They share a small nod, and Eddie sends a silent prayer of thanks to every God he can think of before keying his radio. “All agents, be advised, we have an ID on one of our suspects. Dixon Allan, age 31. Driving a white Silverado with a busted left tail light. BOLO is going out now.” 

“Last known address on our friend Mr. Allan is 129 Fox Hollow Road,” Bobby says, looking between Eddie, Chim, and Hen. 

“Well, let’s pay him a visit,” Eddie says. 

-

Eddie kills the Suburban’s engine three doors down from the house. The road has a more suburban feel to it than many of the streets Eddie’s seen since they first arrived two days ago. And yet, despite the paved streets and the houses close together, there’s not a single streetlight on the entire block. Though that’ll work in their favor. The sun is quickly setting, leaving them with only a few more minutes’ worth of daylight before the street is completely blanketed in darkness.

Another two cars pull up behind him, all of the agents careful to close their doors quietly and move silently as they head over to Eddie’s car.

Eddie swaps his suit jacket for a kevlar vest, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down up his forearms as Bobby steps up beside him, clad in his own vest. 

“Eddie.” Bobby says, the fear on his face giving way to something softer, more compassionate. “I can go in first.” 

Eddie’s chest squeezes, the onslaught of emotion catching him completely off guard. 

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Bobby says, the compassion from his face bleeding into his voice and softening the razor-sharp edge of the truth behind his words. 

“I know,” Eddie says solemnly. He knows Bobby is trying to protect him, offering to be the first one in, the first one to see whatever it is these animals have done with Buck. To Buck. 

But what Bobby must not realize is that this – whatever it is they’re walking into – is what Eddie deserves. He’s the one who let Buck into that locker room alone. He’s the one who waited too long to breach the door and get inside. He’s the one who failed. He failed his country, failed his people. Failed Buck. 

And whatever horror scene they’re about to walk in on, Eddie deserves every second of it. He can’t put that on Bobby. Not when all of this is his fault. 

“I’ll lead,” Eddie says, the words scratching against the lump in his throat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything more about it when his earpiece beeps, signaling an incoming communication. “All agents, be advised. SWAT is eleven minutes out.” 

It’s Eddie’s boss, the director of the Secret Service. The unspoken words there are Wait for them. Which Eddie has no plans of doing. 

Eddie keys his radio. “We’re moving in.”

“Special Agent Diaz––”

“Do you have any idea what can happen in eleven minutes?” Eddie demands. He gives zero regard to the reprimand he’s bound to get for interrupting his boss– and over the team comms for everyone else to hear, no less. “What they could do to him?”

“Stand down and wait for SWAT,” the director says. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it costs me my badge!” Eddie hisses, careful not to raise his voice to the point of giving away their position. “It’ll be on your desk first thing tomorrow if that’s how it has to be. But I’m going in there and getting my President. And I’m not waiting eleven minutes to do it.” 

The comms are silent for a beat before Eddie keys his radio one more time. “Respectfully, Sir.”

“I would never ask any of you to disobey–” Eddie’s voice trails off as he turns to face his team,  only to find them all in their vests, their weapons drawn. They’re ready to go.

“We know,” Hen says. 

Eddie tries again, shoving down the ball of emotion that’s started unfurling in his chest. “No one is under any obligation to–”

Chim cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all consenting adults here. Now, let’s go get our President back.”

Eddie nods. “Clip your lights on,” he tells them. “Stay light on your feet and wait for my signal.”

He’s met with a round of nods, each of the agents fastening their flashlights onto the top of their guns. As they’re walking down the sidewalk, approaching the house, his earpiece beeps again. 

“Be advised, SWAT recommends breaching at the alpha side.” 

Eddie knows that’s as close to a “You were right and I was wrong” as they’re ever going to get. He’ll take it. 

At least his badge is safe.

“Copy,” Eddie replies. He directs the agents to different sides of the house, approaching the front door with Bobby, Hen, and Chim on his heels. He glances back at them, and once he sees they’re all ready, he turns to the door and kicks it in.

The lights are off, the entire house swathed in a darkness that feels somewhat fitting for the gravity of the situation. Eddie steps over the threshold gun first, feet second. 

His stomach drops as he looks around. He freezes, the beam from his flashlight locked in place. His breath catches in his throat and from somewhere behind him, he can hear Bobby’s do the same. 

The front door opens up into a small entryway, just large enough for a coat rack and a small table pushed up against the wall, holding nothing but a single set of keys– no doubt belonging to the white Silverado parked out front, the same one they used to flee the scene– and a layer of dust Eddie can see from several feet away. Directly ahead is an open door that leads to what looks like the kitchen. To the left, a hallway. 

There are cobwebs in the corners and dust on the floor. The house is cold– too cold for anyone to be living here comfortably. But that’s not what has Eddie’s blood running cold, alarm bells going off in his head as he fights against the fire in his chest to get a clean breath. 

There, on the hallway wall, set clearly against the white paint, is a bloody handprint. 

Beside it, another one. This one messier than the first, the fingerprints trailing away, down the hallway, as if their owner dragged them across the wall. 

As if their owner was dragged. 

Not without a fight, though, if the fingernail scratches in the wall are any indication.  

“Jesus,” Chimney mutters. His voice is empty, hollow in a way Eddie’s never heard it before. Almost as if he’s shut off his emotions, tamped them down in the way Eddie so desperately wishes he was capable of doing himself. 

“Let’s move,” Eddie says, pushing the words past the fear that’s materialized by way of a lump in his throat.

He heads down the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes scan the trail of blood and scratches on the wall. The need to find Buck is the only thing more powerful than the rage burning deep inside him. It’s the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him from falling apart.

The intensity of the blood against the wall trails off the further he gets down the hallway, the heavy, robust marks fading into barely-there traces with each step Eddie takes. He tries to take comfort in knowing that it means Buck wasn’t actively bleeding– at least not from his hands– but any shred of relief is lost to the fear and the fury dangerously close to consuming him.   

The trail ends at the second door on the right. Eddie holds up his free hand in a silent signal to his team to freeze. The quiet footsteps behind him come to a halt, and he turns his head to see Bobby beside him. 

The anguish in his eyes has Eddie feeling like he’s looking in a mirror. Bobby has the same clenched jaw, the same creased forehead, the same fire burning behind his eyes that Eddie feels in his own. But there’s something more there. Something softer. At first, Eddie isn’t sure what to make of it. Then, Bobby nods his head towards the door, a silent offer. 

I’ll go first. 

He doesn’t have to say it out loud–– Eddie hears the unspoken words loud and clear. He knows it’s Bobby’s last attempt to protect him. To shield him from whatever might be behind the door.

Later, he’ll let himself feel the gratitude. Later, once Buck is home and Buck is safe. 

Later, he’ll find Bobby and he’ll thank him. He’ll tell him that he’s never had anyone care about him in the way that Bobby does. He’ll tell him how much the seemingly simple gesture meant to him. How he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby how even though it meant the world to him– maybe even more– he couldn’t take him up on the offer. He hopes Bobby will understand. No, he knows he will. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby “I had to do it.” And later, Bobby will smile and clap him on the shoulder and say “No, I know you did.” Later. Once this is all over. 

But now, all Eddie can do is meet Bobby’s eyes and hope the look he gives him is enough to say all the things he can’t right now. 

And then he moves. 

The door is locked. Eddie wastes no time kicking it open. It slams against the wall, the hinges rattling as he barrels into the room, Bobby and Chimney immediately behind him. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights. There’s a startled whimper from the far corner, and it’s a miracle that Eddie hears it over the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

“Buck!” Eddie crosses the room in three strides. Protocol says he needs to clear the room of any potential threats before entering, but he’s long past the point of giving a single damn about protocol. 

Someone behind him shouts out a “Clear!” and he hears Bobby on the radio, updating the other agents on scene. 

None of that matters to him. His sole focus is Buck. 

Buck, who’s sitting in front of him, eyes wide and wet even in the bright light of Eddie’s flashlight. He’s on the floor in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and there’s tape over his mouth. His captors are nowhere to be seen. He’s alone. 

For reasons Eddie can’t quite name, that makes the knots in his stomach coil even tighter. Buck was alone in here. Buck, who hasn’t been alone– not really, anyway– in years. Buck, who just minutes before being taken had insisted he’d be fine by himself. 

Sure, the alternative is that Buck’s captors could’ve been in here with him, doing god-knows-what to him. And that’s hardly better than Buck being left in here alone. But something about the sight of him all by himself, tucked in the corner of the room and looking smaller than Eddie’s ever seen him, has Eddie’s stomach turning, his chest squeezing beneath the agony of it all. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie promises, easing one corner of the tape up. He’s not sure if that last part is true. Not yet. But it needs to be.

“We’re here, we got you.” That part is true. They have him. 

Finally, finally, they have him. 

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asks. He can barely stand the half-second of wait time between his second and Buck’s reply, which comes by way of a quick head shake. No. 

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief, just as his radio beeps in his ear. “All agents be advised, we have both suspects in custody.” 

Eddie lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob. The relief is palpable, coursing through him and soothing the frayed edges of what little remains of his sanity.

“We got them,” he tells Buck. “It’s over.” 

Buck nods, eyes still shining in a way that feels like a knife to Eddie’s heart. “Gonna take this off, okay?” Eddie says, working hard to keep his voice calm and even. Buck nods eagerly. Bobby is there too, kneeling down at Buck’s side and starting in on the ropes wrapped around his wrists. 

Eddie brings one hand up to the side of Buck’s face, and his chest squeezes at the way Buck immediately melts into the touch. He pulls the tape off with his other hand, dropping it to the ground as soon as it’s off. 

Bobby gets the rope off at the same time and Buck collapses like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, falling into Eddie’s chest with a strangled noise that Eddie knows he’ll be hearing in his nightmares for years to come. 

“I got you,” Eddie says, fighting off a sob he can feel building in his chest. He swallows it down and brings a hand up to the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him close. “I got you.”

Buck’s chest heaves as he draws in a shaky breath, fingers wound so tightly in Eddie’s suit jacket that his knuckles have gone white. “I got you,” Eddie says again. It’s just as much for Buck as it is for himself. 

He holds Buck as close as he possibly can, buries his face in his hair and finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. His hair smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all there’s still the familiar minty fragrance of Buck’s fancy conditioner. It’s barely recognizable, but Eddie clings to it just as hard as he holds onto Buck.

Bobby backs off, gives them a moment to hold each other, to breathe. To let it sink in that this nightmare is finally over. Eddie’s gratitude knows no bounds.

“I– I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice is ragged, trembling in the same way his hands are. 

Eddie’s heart breaks all over again. 

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I told you… I told you not to–” Buck stammers. Eddie eases him back, putting just enough distance between them that he can take Buck’s face in his hands. 

“Buck, please–” It’s all Eddie manages to get out before his voice cracks, hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

He blinks them back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Buck’s. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, his voice wavering. He could apologize every day, every hour, every minute for the rest of his life and it still could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should– I should have insisted.”

Buck shakes his head. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” Eddie insists. “It is, I– I should have…” His sentence trails off when he registers the way Buck is shaking. He’s trembling in Eddie’s arms, his whole body fighting against what Eddie assumes is a combination of an adrenaline crash and the fact that he’s still barely clothed. Eddie lets go of Buck only long enough to stand up. Quick as their lack of contact may be, it’s still met with a sound of protest from Buck. Eddie helps him to his feet, and it’s the first time he gets a proper look at him, and it takes his breath away. There’s dried blood all over him. It’s caked onto his skin, his hair. It’s beneath his fingernails, stuck in the creases of his palms. Sweat-damp curls are plastered against his forehead, and dark circles hang beneath his weary eyes. 

“Come on,” Eddie says gently. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, taking on his weight as he leads him towards the door. 

He keys his radio with his free hand. “All agents be advised, I’m bringing POTUS out. Need medical on standby.”

“No medical,” Buck protests. “I– I’m fine. Just need a shower.” 

“Yes, medical,” Eddie shuts that nonsense down immediately. He leads him out the door and towards the waiting ambulance. 

Maddie is the first one to reach them, running over as soon as she sees them cross the threshold. She meets them halfway across the front lawn, pulling Buck into a tight hug. She’s the only person on Earth for whom Eddie would let go of his hold on Buck, and he doesn’t mind stepping back and letting them have a moment together. Eddie can’t make out what she says to Buck, but if the way his shoulders sag is any indication, it’s exactly what he needed to hear.

-

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the back of the ambulance, Eddie directly next to him. Buck’s head is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finally, finally feels like he’s able to breathe again. Buck is dressed in Secret Service issued sweats, a navy blue crewneck sweatshirt and matching pants. Hen had been quick to bring them over as soon as they made it out of the house, and Eddie’s not sure who was more grateful– him or Buck. 

Eddie was quick to help Buck into them, hoping they’d help to fight against the chill in the night air. He had grabbed a rescue blanket off the back of the ambulance, too, and draped that over Buck’s shoulders in an attempt to get him as warm as possible.

“I– I promise,” Buck says, voice still a little wobbly. “My, uh, my wrists are a little sore. That’s all.” 

“And your head,” Eddie reminds him. 

“And my head,” Buck agrees. 

There’s a small gash on Buck’s forehead, just above the spot where his birthmark kisses his eyebrow. It’s no bigger than an inch wide, and there’s an angry bruise already blooming across the skin behind it. The paramedics already cleaned it and applied a steri-strip, and Eddie was able to find a tiny bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t need stitches. 

That tiny bit of comfort was immediately chased away by rage when Buck explained that one of his captors had accidentally smacked his head against the window frame when dragging him out of the locker room, hence the injury. “It’s weird,” Buck had said, both to Eddie and to the paramedics as they tended to the wound. “He apologized. It was like… I– I don’t know. I almost feel like they didn’t want to hurt me.” 

Buck had also said that they dumped him in the room, tied his hands behind his back, and left him alone almost immediately. They didn’t hurt him, didn’t demand information or national secrets. Didn’t make so much as a single threat. Not that they would have had much time to do so– Buck hadn’t even been there an hour by the time the Secret Service arrived.

It all certainly tracked with what Bobby was getting from Dixon, who apparently started talking before the cuffs were even fastened. Bobby had come by a few minutes before and pulled Eddie aside. Maddie was quick to swoop in and sit with Buck while Eddie was briefed. Apparently, the two idiots were hired by someone to whom the governor had an outstanding debt. They were only supposed to rough him up, but upon realizing the man they had jumped from behind was the president, they panicked and took him. How kidnapping the president of the United States was a better decision than aborting the mission and making a run for it, Eddie will never understand. But all that matters is Buck is here. He’s safe. And Eddie isn’t letting him out of his sight any time soon. Possibly ever. 

Not even to deal with Dixon and his partner. Bobby had asked if Eddie wanted to speak with either one of them before PD took them away, to which Eddie had shaken his head. “You’d be wrong to trust me alone with either one of them,” he said. 

Bobby nodded, understanding. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Buck says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts and back to the present. “My head.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Eddie reminds him. He feels sick at the thought of it, the visuals playing in his mind sending his stomach churning all over again. “It was all over the locker room. And on the walls in the house.”

“Not mine,” Buck says. “It was his. The smaller one. He tried to grab me in the locker room and I– I pushed him off. He hit his head on the corner of a locker. And then he must’ve gotten scraped up on the window, cause his arms were bleeding a lot. He got it all over me.”

Eddie remembers seeing the smaller of the two kidnappers get in the back of the golf cart alongside Buck, the visual of it seared into his mind. That would certainly explain the blood in Buck’s hair, not to mention the streaks of it across his bare body. 

“Okay,” Eddie nods, comforted by the fact that Buck seems to be alright. At least physically. And for now, he’ll let himself take solace in that. For now, that can be enough. 

He tips his head against Buck’s, their temples resting against one another as Eddie takes a shaky breath. Buck’s voice is so quiet, so small, Eddie almost misses it. “I fought back.”

“I know, baby,” he assures him, rubbing reassuring circles into Buck’s back. “I know you did. It’s over now. It’s all over.”  

-

When they get back to the hotel, Buck beelines for the bathroom, eager to shower off the blood and the sweat still caked onto his skin. Eddie fights every instinct telling him to follow Buck inside, to keep himself plastered to Buck’s side. Instead, he tries to give Buck a little bit of space, tries to wait to follow his lead, painful as it may be. He leans against the door frame and watches as Buck turns the shower on and grabs a towel off the rack. 

“Can you–” Buck says quietly, and there’s something uncertain in his voice, something almost a little bit shy, that Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time. He looks between Eddie and the shower, biting on his bottom lip. “I– I don’t… I don’t want…” His voice trails off, his question left unspoken. 

Eddie hears him anyway. Understands him perfectly, in the way he always has. “Of course.” 

He walks the rest of the way into the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his own clothes before helping Buck out of his. Steam fills the room as Eddie guides Buck into the shower and steers him beneath the warm spray. 

Buck closes his eyes, tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, his back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, holding him close as the water sprays over them. Eddie can’t bear to look at it, can’t stand the sight of the water running pink as it swirls around the drain. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and closes his own eyes, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to relax into the feel of Buck pressed up against him.

“Thank you,” Buck’s voice is so small, Eddie barely hears it over the sound of the running water. “I don’t–” 

Eddie’s not sure how Buck was planning to end his sentence before his voice broke off. But it doesn’t change his answer. “It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Buck admits.

“You don’t have to be.”

He feels the sob tear its way through Buck’s chest before he hears it. Buck crumples against him, falling into Eddie’s arms as the gravity of the day’s events seems to finally hit him. 

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, taking on Buck’s weight and easing him onto the floor. He pulls Buck into his lap, holds him against his chest. He ignores the way the tiled floor is digging into the bottom of his thighs, and the way the water is beating on his back on the wrong side of uncomfortable. “I’m here.” 

There’s a certain weight behind his words. They hang heavier in the air between them, as if they’re suspended in the thick cloud of steam. They’re more than just an assurance. 

“I’m here,” Eddie says again. It's a promise. A pledge. And unspoken vow that he’ll never leave again. 

They stay like that for a while, until the sobs wracking Buck’s body fade into sniffles, until the water starts to turn tepid and Eddie gently eases him to his feet just long enough to wash off. He turns the water hotter and work’s Buck’s fancy shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing behind his ears in the way he knows Buck loves. Eddie’s stomach turns as it rinses out pink, the last of the blood disappearing down the drain. 

He follows it with conditioner, the shower filling with its peppermint fragrance. Buck has been using this stuff for so long, Eddie feels like one of Pavlov’s dogs with the way the smell of peppermint instantly soothes him. It’s immediately grounding, and never more so than tonight, as it covers up the metallic scent of the blood washing down the drain. 

Once they’re done and all of the hot water is gone for good, Eddie detaches himself from Buck just long enough to turn the water off and grab Buck a towel, passing it to him before grabbing one for himself. As they towel off and step out of the shower, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s wrist, holding onto him as he guides them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

Buck stands over the dresser for a moment before crossing the room and pulling a t-shirt out of Eddie’s duffle bag. It’s the one he wore to bed last night, and as he turns it over in his hands, Eddie can see some of the lingering tension bleed out of his shoulders. He looks up at Eddie, who nods without hesitation. “All yours, baby.”

They make their way into bed, and Eddie relaxes instantly as Buck curls into his side. Eddie shuts the lights off and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head.

“Thank you for finding me,” Buck says quietly, the words muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. But Eddie hears him loud and clear.

It feels like Eddie’s heart is splitting wide open. He wonders, briefly, if Buck is able to hear it do so from where he’s laying with his head atop Eddie’s chest. 

“Thank you for fighting,” Eddie says, running a hand through Buck’s hair. 

“I didn’t do much,” Buck replies. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You did more than you realize. You fought back, you…” he takes a breath, clears his throat as he searches for the right words. “You bought us time. You fought to make it out of there. You… you gave me– you gave us hope. We needed that.”

He shoves all thoughts of what might have happened if Buck hadn’t fought out of his mind and instead tries to focus on this, on being here with Buck. He tries to focus on the feel of Buck curled up against him, tucked into his side like they’re two puzzle pieces slotting into place. Like the two of them were made for each other.

Eddie likes to think they were.

Buck’s eyes are shining as he props himself up on his elbow, looking at Eddie properly. 

Eddie continues. “Even in our worst moments, we still make a pretty good team.” 

Buck smiles for the first time since this whole nightmare began, and the sight of it alone does more to mend Eddie’s battered heart than he ever thought possible. “You think so?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “I know so.”

"You know what could have stopped them even sooner?" Buck asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s looking more and more like himself with every passing moment, something for which Eddie has never been more grateful.

Eddie knows exactly where this is going. "We're still not giving you a gun. Nice try."

Buck lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “But what about a really sharp knife?”

"So you can end up with an accidental self-inflicted stab wound?” Eddie asks. “I don't think so." 

"What about…” Buck begins, his voice trailing off as he inches closer to Eddie. “A super smart…” He brushes his nose against Eddie’s. “Absurdly handsome Secret Service agent…” he drops a quick, playful kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “...Who carries both a gun and a really sharp knife?"

Eddie grins, only for Buck to chase it away with a long, lingering kiss. "Deal," he murmurs against Buck’s lips as they part.

"Great,” Buck leans in again, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss again. “I always did like Bobby."

Eddie can feel Buck’s chuckle rumbling in his chest, and despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he can’t help but laugh alongside him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “But you love me.”

Eddie nods, stealing another kiss. “I do,” he promises. “I really, really do.”

-

Eddie wakes up slowly, a tiny, content sigh falling from his lips as he turns over and reaches for Buck. Only instead of finding his warm boyfriend, all Eddie’s fingers are met with are cold bed sheets. “Baby?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He props himself up on his elbow and blinks slowly as his eyes adjust slowly to the low light. 

It’s too dark for the bed to be this empty. 

He glances over at the door to the ensuite bathroom, but there’s no light slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Buck?” he calls, a little louder this time. When he doesn’t get an answer, he kicks the duvet off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up properly. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking it onto the dimmest setting. It’s still enough light to have him squinting as his eyes adjust. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before standing up and looking around the room.

No. 

No, no, no . Not again. 

His stomach drops, his heart slamming into his ribcage. There’s a pool of blood on the carpet, just next to Buck’s side of the bed. And a trail of blood across the wall, leading from Buck’s side of the bedroom all the way to the door. Five lines for five fingers, fingernail scratches chasing after the bloody smears before cutting out abruptly at the door jamb. He stumbles, nearly falling over as he scrambles towards the hallway. 

“Buck!” The scream tears its way out of his chest, shredding against his vocal cords as he yanks the door open. “BUCK!”

“Eddie.” 

He blinks his eyes open. Buck is leaning over him, his eyes shining with concern. Moonlight pours in through the open window, dancing across his face as he looks down at Eddie. “It’s okay,” Buck assures him. He runs a thumb over Eddie’s cheek, his touch instantly grounding. “You were dreaming.”

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat and tries to catch his breath. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around, trying to get his bearings. 

They’re in bed, in the Residence. The window is open, just how Buck likes it. Buck is beside him. Buck is here. The walls are perfectly clean. No blood. No fingernail scratches. Nothing but wallpaper. 

And Buck is here. Buck is pulling Eddie into his chest, holding him and murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you,” and “You’re safe.” 

Buck is here. 

Eddie’s breathing begins to even out, his heart rate slowing down as he holds onto Buck, his arms wrapped tight around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes. 

“No need,” Buck says simply, as if Eddie waking him up in the middle of the night plagued with nightmares of something that happened months ago is no big deal. 

Self loathing burns in his gut. He hates that he still thinks about that awful, awful night in Wyoming. He hates that everyone else seems to have moved on, and yet there’s a part of him that’s still right there, still standing in that blood-soaked locker room. Still kicking down that door. Still finding Buck, tied up and covered in blood. 

He hates how vivid the memories are when they come. He hates how he feels like he’ll never be normal again. Like it’ll never stop hurting.

He hates the nightmares. Hates the sick, twisted dreams where he sees that bloody wall again and again and again. Hates the dread that consumes him, the darkness that lives inside him still, even now. 

He hates that it ever happened in the first place. That he ever failed Buck like that. 

Eddie remains in awe at how well Buck is doing since that terrible night. Sure, the two of them both clung to each other for the first few days after their return. And it was weeks before Eddie felt like he could breathe again anytime Buck was out of his sight. But Buck seems to be doing well.

He hasn’t been plagued by nightmares in the same way Eddie has. He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up every time their schedules don’t line up and they have to spend a few hours apart. Not like Eddie does, anyway.

He’s doing well. 

Eddie is not.  

“Was it Wyoming again?” Buck asks after a beat. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. Buck passes him a glass of water from the nightstand. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache. 

Buck is so good to him, so in tune. He always knows exactly what Eddie needs, always before Eddie knows it himself. Eddie could live a million lifetimes and still never find the one in which he’s worthy of being loved by Buck. 

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie says, his throat feeling better after downing half the glass of water. “I woke up and you had been taken again.” 

Buck sighs. “Oh, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie is quick to say.

“For what?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs, setting the glass down. “Everything,” he admits. 

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “Stop being sorry for that.”

“But I–”

“You came and got me,” Buck says, cutting him off. “Like you always do.”

“I always will.”

Buck smiles, and still, even after all this time, it’s the most beautiful smile Eddie’s ever known. “I’ve never doubted that.”

[houseofbrat]

They should have never let Catherine take the blame for the photo altering. Even if she did alter it herself, it only adds to everyone’s suspicion. I think she felt the need to put a photo out quickly and it backfired. Why didn’t the RP cover for her photo blunder?

Right. Literally anything would’ve been better than her of all people personally taking the fall for this! William would’ve been better, a random, unnamed intern would’ve been better, one of the kids fucking with the computer lmao idk. Just such a strange strange tweet to send out.

Someone should call KP and tell them we’re on mega thread #4 over here and we can’t have our mods getting sick from the “stress and fallout”, so just trot her out for a second or an audio message or even just a true statement sans doctored photos. And if she’s too unwell for that well gee maybe a smidge of transparency would gain them public support back . Nobody wants her medical info , just them to stop acting shady and disrespectful.  She can have her privacy and also stop the shiftiness and theatrics.  Unlike Reddit mods, the BRF gets paid. 

I think Kate is refusing to play ball. It's entirely possible she's had setbacks in her recovery or drew a line in the sand and said "I'm out until x/y/z date, so quit pushing," but this is a woman who's been in the public eye for 20 years. She knows how the media vultures and gossip mill operate. The speculation has now turned dark. We're getting everything from she's passed and they're covering it up, to she was injured in an 'incident.' Papers are running articles on William's rage issues. Kate could easily clear this up but she's choosing not to. It leads me to believe she's pissed at her husband and is enjoying watching him squirm. 

Just found out my best friend has independently fallen down the rabbit hole—which just illustrates how out of control this has gotten.

we’re both thinking it’s just a series of ‘own goals’ but are seriously hoping Catherine makes an appearance at Easter. If not, I think KP will have to make yet another announcement, and given how inept they’ve been, it’ll probably just make things even worse.

I’m just hoping she’s chilling with her kiddos, and is either not paying attention to the whole debacle or is highly amused by the shenanigans.

I would think that she is making an appearance at Easter but then wonder why KP wanted it to be known that she isn’t confirmed the attend Trooping of the Colour? Which was stupid on their part tbh

Princess Diana’s former private secretary on the matter from a CNN interview.

He’s kinda repetitious but still clear enough. He comes out critical of William for poor communications. Williams’s office created the vacuum of information which fueled the interest which fueled the out sized interest and the conspiracy theories.)

They definitely mishandled this situation. Supposedly Prince William just got a new private secretary. Hopefully they get a proper PR team again soon. While I’m not on team conspiracy theories and believe what has happened is exactly what we heard (Catherine had major surgery and is now recovering), they were way in over their heads in how they handled this.

Crazily, her secretary, Patrick Jephson, was my neighbor 8 years ago, super nice and very genuine guy. I definitely put stock in his POV.

This has been extremely poorly managed by KP. They’ve done irreparable harm to their image. The pressure they are now under for the next step/stage/messaging is immense. This is a defining moment for the royal family. Charles is not well, to what extent is not known. Kate is MIA and now three very questionable ‘proof of life’ photos have been released. The state of Will and Kate’s marriage is under a serious spotlight. It’s an information black hole. VERY rocky overall.

Charles and Kate are unwell. That is all. Kate is obsessed with her looks and image and she doesn’t want to be pictured looking anything but perfect that’s all. She will be back once she is looking like her old self. I honestly don’t believe the marriage in trouble stuff. Kate will never leave William that too so close to becoming the Queen? No chance.

Is it possible, in light of everything that has occurred so far, that Charles is letting Will have enough rope so Charles can use this PR disaster as his excuse to shutdown Kensington Palace office so everyone falls under his office at BP? Get rid of Will's staff and his vanity projects so he has to get on with the everyday drudgery that being a royal entails? It's not just film premieres and photo ops. It's hands on in the community at events with little or no fanfare. Service rather than PR grandstanding.

With no more competing offices, Charles can have his people oversee everything. That at least might get some consistency.

I kind of doubt it. William has the duchy money now. He can spend it however he wants.

I believe the most significant thing is that - at the very beginning of this whole story- the surgery wasn’t planned at all… she had the agenda full of duties, included a trip to Italy…  The narrative from the Palace was inconsistent from the first day. 

Reposting, because I think my comment got removed.

My takeaway from all the conspiracy theories floating around out there is that no matter what the truth is, look at what the main themes have become. Essentially, there are several theories about Will's behaviour and being a less than stellar husband. Also, the feeling that KP cannot be trusted. No matter what the truth is, the fact that these are the themes that have emerged is interesting.

William has based his entire reputation on being a nice protective family man. He doesn’t really have any other accomplishments or character traits that the public cares about. He put all his eggs were in the good dad/husband basket. Somehow, the Harry & Meghan crisis only bolstered that image. Now Stephen Colbert is doing bits about his alleged affairs, and all the normies know about his anger issues. Now personally, I’m the kind of person who thinks where there’s smoke, there’s fire. But even if there aren’t any flames here, Kategate has done some massive damage to Will’s reputation.

KP PR team is giving toxic boymom energy. Anything to protect their precious son.

Is anybody else getting annoyed at all the normies acting like Rose is William’s Camilla? I mean, maybe she is. Maybe they never even slept together. We don’t really know. But the assumption is getting on my nerves. Not every side chick is a Camilla!!

My mum calls my dads best friend (another straight male) his Camilla.

I was filling in my husband about this mess, and his comment was that he thinks maybe the PR team WANTS this drama unfolding because it keeps the royals in the news. Like essentially, "all press is good press." What does this community think? I was inclined to think that as the figurehead of a political state and a future king, Charles and William really can't afford this type of bad press, especially about DV. Obviously, the royal family do bring in money and tourism for the country, and part of that has always been an uneasy relationship with paparazzi and gossip rags, but given that QE II is gone and there are a lot of people who find them irrelevant and an unfair state subsidy, I think this would be a terrible PR move. Thoughts? Could their PR team be milking this?

Their PR team are likely pulling their hair out. "All press is good press" applies to celebrities who need to keep their names front and center to remain celebrities. The Palaces never want bad press. I think the issue is that William is incredibly stubborn and won't listen to their advice.

I've never been the type of girl to need closure when things come to an end, but if the season finale to this saga doesn’t answer every single question and include some bombshells I’d never even consider, I’m going to cry.

“She deserves her privacy, though!” Shut up, we’re all here for the same reason.

I just find it hilarious that the most interesting thing Kate has ever done in her life is disappear.

The whole ''she went shopping and we saw it, trust me bro'' thing is bad for them any way you look at it.

Either she wasn't really seen shopping and the story was completely fabricated with colaboration from the media, which would be pretty sinister and in line with everything else we've been getting lately, and at the least it would be a very North Korean-esque way of deceiving the public.

or

She actually did went shopping, was in ''public'' no matter how limited and controlled the public was, which means that she's physically capable + her face isn't bad or disfigured or whatever, as some people have suggested. Which portrays her as very irresponsible and weirdly uninterested in keeping up her image and popularity. Amidst all those very damaging rumors that could directly influence and traumatize even her children (forget about adults and public), she has time and will for shopping but not for a 10 second video, which is everything needed to dispell all the rumors once and for all?

All in all, terrible PR one way or another. The clusterfuck continues.

Do they actually think it’s a good look that she went shopping on St Paddy’s Day? She’s involved with the Irish guards and cancelled her appearance at their annual event… so she can’t work but she can pop out to the shops with Willy? Sure, Jan. Just fuck the Irish guards then right?! I mean, not that I remotely believe she went shopping. But another terrible PR bungle. These KP PR people are fucking idiots and I don’t understand why they still have jobs when they’re so clearly incompetent.

Even if she wasn't capable of attending a quick video message expressing her good wishes for the Irish guards etc etc would have worked wonders in terms of restoring good feeling towards them from the public and simultaneously would have quieted the conspiracy theorists. I don't buy she wasn't well enough to do a simple 1 minute video but was perfectly happy with a trip to the shops and watching sports with the kids where she would have been seen and possibly photographed. My personal view is that the trip to the shop didn't happen. There's no way that there's not a SINGLE snap taken on a mobile phone that's made it's way to social media.

I'm continually amazed at how badly the Waleses are botching all of this.

To be clear, I've been a royal watcher since they got engaged in 2010, and I'd definitely fall into more into the "fan" camp than not.

I've thought the conspiracy theories about all of this are nonsense. And even now after "Photogate", I STILL think they're nonsense and that what is happening is what they said - Catherine had serious surgery and needs time to recover.

But the artificially constructed Mother's Day photo is such a huge unforced error, made worse by Catherine then taking the fall for it.

Catherine's clearly not ready to show her actual face as it looks right now, and that's fine.

But then don't fake a picture! Post a quick video of William and the kids making breakfast in bed for Catherine for Mother's Day, or making cards or something. It'd still have the conspiracy theorists buzzing about why we're not seeing her, but it'd have been SO much better received by the general public than what they did.

She's absolutely entitled to her privacy, especially while she recovers. But the deal that the Royal Family has had with the press for decades now is that they get privacy most of the time in exchange for occasional, official, REAL pictures. It's clueless at best - and outright deceptive at worst - to do something like this and think no one will notice or care.

With the farmer’s market story, I’m even more convinced that Kate’s story is a red herring and there is something else happening they don’t want people to notice or know about.

This is still so odd. Either something is up (and I have no knowledge and make no inferences as to what or why) or a lot of people are profoundly bad at their jobs. Ok, the photoshop happens. Then they lie about it, even when they are trying to apologize for it. Why not put out a quick official and genuine photo of just her. If she isn't ready for camera's yet, put out a voice recorded statement saying, "I appreciate everyone's interest in my well being. Rest assured I am recovering well and I look forward to returning to my royal duties as soon as I am able". They could so easily kill all of this speculation and non-sense if things are as they say they are (she is taking car rides and shopping and up out and about). It would literally take 1 hour of her time at most, and instead KP's continued silence invites more speculation. You know what happens in physics why you make a vacuum? It gets filled. The same happens in the media/press. So again I say, either something is up (and I have no grounds with which to speculate what it might be) or this is the absolute worst PR advice and self-made crisis in recent memory.

Edit: Grammar

I joked about this in one of the earlier megathreads, but what if the *plot twist* in all of this is that Kate handles her own PR. I just remember when they got married how one of the little factoids that came out was that Kate did her own makeup for the wedding day. Like, royals! They're just like us!

Can someone answer why Royal Rota media are publishing these pics if there is a deal that they don't publish unauthorized photographs or was this a planned pap walk LOL? Is there a thread somewhere talking about this. I was listening to the Times (UK) Radio on YouTube today and the Assistant Editor for the paper (Kate Mansey) was unfairly criticizing listeners as strange people who are conspiracy theorists and says there isn't a pact or agreement that the family has with the media...yeah right LOL (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIKUvQB2Z_M). Have these people read about the Royal Rota and the unprecedented-in-the-modern-era pacts the royal family has made with the British media.

If the British media are posting it its because they got the ok to do so.

Their PR team needs to pick a lane. On one hand they're selling that Kate is healthy enough to be out and about twice in one weekend, walking around a farmer's market, watching her kids play sports, but on the other she's unwell to the point she had to fake a Mother's Day pic and pull out of an event in June? Which is it? Their messaging is all over the place. 

I hope that if we all take away one thing from this whole ordeal its that no matter how bad at your job you might think you are, you're still probably doing better than the KP PR team over the last couple of weeks so give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done and don't be so harsh on yourself.

what gets me and i know royal fans will call me a conspiracy theorist is that it's kinda obvious there's a story here. the impact or actual matter of it isn't what i'm questioning, but the motivation behind so many blunders. i am a writer/journalist and this entire story feels weirdly on edge of being something, anything.

like yes, let's presume kp was truthful from the beginning and she had abdominal surgery that took too long to recover from. great, but why throw her under the bus? or if all of this is a distraction, overplayed to the nines, what for? 

i am sure any tea is probably regular people tea to the max, like relationship dynamics, family stuff and whatnot. it's not like i believed she was killed and it was hidden, but usually when there's smoke there's fire and i'm curious about what fire, you know? 

i would love to be a fly on the wall and know what they disagree about, their relationship with staff and other royals. 

i find kate stylish and their wedding hype was charming, if a little gauche. i am against royals in general, not specifically them, but they could be great philanthropists if they wanted. 

the thing with Kate's personality (in public) is that it's nonexistent? i suppose that's the ideal, princess-like behavior that's expected from her. but i do wonder what happens behind the scenes with that. how curated it is x how many other blunders happened before.

The story seems to be that Will and Kate are going to find it much, much harder to be the center of the slimmed down monarchy than they realized.  Though if it turned out that they’d never really thought about how that was going to work on practice, I would believe you.  There aren’t as many working royals so the attention is on them, whether they want it to be or not.  The disappearing and the stonewalling isn’t super unusual for Will and Kate, though not previously to this extent, but we’ll see if they make any changes moving forward.  Judging from how this debacle has dragged on, I am guessing they won’t.

Well, I for one am very impressed by Kate's ability to emerge from her grueling 3 month surgical recovery looking like a radiant, bouncy 25 year old yoga instructor who doesn't have a care in the world.

[leqclerc]

i’m glad i’m not the only one worried here. great for the team and all, but this feels like chaos waiting to happen. i thought we finally had it. even if we didn’t get a wdc, they couldn’t even bother to try and prioritize charles for once.

You're not alone in feeling like this! Being worried and not immediately jumping for joy and accepting every decision the team makes isn't any less valid. Because this is weird, this is unusual, this is something I never thought would happen. It's a lot to process. I've cycled through all five stages of grief today, from "oh lol funny memes" to "alright what the fuck does this mean for Charles?"

I get that a lot of people are super hyped about this, especially if you've always supported both drivers, I get that it must feel like a dream come true.

I'm so conflicted because on one hand, okay, maybe our concerns are unwarranted, maybe this will be the best thing ever, just what the team/Charles needs, massive success all around. But unfortunately I'm a chronic overthinker with pessimistic tendencies so of course I worry 🧍🏻‍♀️

But also, like you said, I thought Ferrari were done with bringing in world champions in favour of making world champions, you know? This just feels like it's going to complicate something that's already very volatile and complicated all on its own (see: plethora of issues that usually held Charles back, whether it be mismanagement or poor strategy, etc.) It already felt like everything needed to come together perfectly for him to maximise his chance of winning and now they throw this massive curveball and I really don't know what to think. Especially given the "multi year" deal (2+1 is I think the version journalists have settled on.)

It kind of just feels like the issues that already existed with Sainz will be magnified, you know? The media machine around Lewis is huge, so that's going to be ten times as intense (Sky is already putting down Charles and it's just going to get so much worse), the fan wars ten times as intense... It just feels like he can't win in any scenario, like all the work he's put in so far to get Ferrari back to their winning ways will be overshadowed by the new big star signing. If they create a competitive package and start winning when Lewis enters the team (even if Charles did the heavy lifting in terms of feedback and development) he will be credited for the team's success. I mean, just look at the way this misleading narrative of Carlos "single-handedly saving the strategy" stuck. Oftentimes people don't care about the facts, if a narrative appeals to them they will perpetuate it.

Plus, there will be so much pressure on Ferrari to "get Lewis that 8th title!!!" Mercedes's inability to do so soured a lot of fans' relationship with the team. If Ferrari really puts team interests above driver interests, then I'm sure they'd see the value in being the team that makes that happen. History book worthy stuff. Kind of concerned that in the midst of that Charles and his ambitions and goals might fall by the wayside. And he's got way more to lose in this situation—no matter how Lewis's time at Ferrari goes, he's a multiple WDC, no one's ever going to take that away from him. Same with Fernando, same with Seb. Charles has never even had a proper chance to go for one title with the team yet.

Like, if you think about it, you have clear "eras", right? Someone says Red Bull, you immediately associate them with Max and/or Seb. Lewis will, I think understandably, be associated with Mercedes due to his long stint and all the success he's enjoyed at the team. I guess I imagined that Ferrari was finally gearing up to be that with Charles going forward. But this shakes things up massively and while winning a championship with Ferrari was already a tall order, now it's, like, full on a herculean task.

[happyinjection]

♠️♥️High Card Short Story 3 “Welcome Back, Leo-sama” (1/3)♦️♣️

The team had just started arguing about who’s supposed to be in charge of picking Leo up from school.

Original: https://twitter.com/highcard_pj/status/1534369905130102784?s=46&t=_qyNYzWUsoOCgSi5451Ppw

Author: https://twitter.com/poipheno

Artist: https://twitter.com/ebimoji3

“—and thus, I am unable to pick up Leo-sama today. Can someone please do it in my stead?”

Bernard-ojiichan declared to the four of us in the showroom. Long story short, he needed one of us to get a car out and pick up Leo from school. His request was met with complete silence.

“As expected, no one is willing to volunteer.”

Chris chuckled to himself as he wiped one of the cars displayed using a piece of rag.

“No one wants to be left alone with Leo, am I right? Because he would start nagging us to death one way or another.”

"Chris, that wasn’t very nice of you,” Vijay immediately chided him. “You think so too, right, Happy-san?”

“Who on earth are you talking—”

I was just about to ask, but then I noticed that Vijay’s eyes were on a pot of yellow flowers sitting on his desk. At the same time, Chris blinked for about one second too long. It was a signal intended for me. The gesture was easy to tell due to his long eyelashes.

Do not to dig too deep into Vijay’s business, that was what he meant. Got it. I turned to the desk of my other colleague.

“How about you, Wendy? Since you’re always glued to your desk, you should go outside once in a while.”

“Hey, brat.”

Taking off her black-rimmed glasses, Wendy lifted her head up and pointed her ballpoint pen straight at me.

“Do you know how much paperwork I had to do to support you on your missions? Everything from finding the computer power up button to pressing stamps, who taught you about those again?”

“.....I’m sorry.”

Such great power was contained in her concise words that I found myself standing upright with my head hanging down.

“Finn, what did I tell you! Do not pick fights with Wendy! Haven’t you been listening to my love advice?”

When Chris butted in, the subject of her rage shifted all of a sudden.

“It’s only natural that a rookie needs guidance! It is Chris who’s at fault for not giving him proper lessons! Finn didn’t do anything wrong!”

“.....Please accept my sincerest apology.”

Before I knew it, Chris was standing with his back straight and bowing his head down. As he returned to an upright position, Vijay patted on his back.

“Chris, are you crying?”

“Who wouldn’t cry after getting yelled at?! You’d better stop provoking Wendy, Finn! Or better yet, do not ever poke on her, not even the tiniest touch!”

“You made it sound like I’m some sort of pimple...”

Wendy grumbled while putting her glasses back on, then began tapping on her calculator. Chris let out a long sigh.

“I guess there’s no other way then. As per our tradition—”

“Let the Poker decide!”

“Absolutely not. I’m terrible at Poker.”

I was totally down for the idea, but Wendy seemed to disagree.

“Okay, but I and Finn and Vijay can still play.”

“Me? I don’t mind...”

“Not a chance! Vijay is even worse than I am!”

“Am I... not good at playing Poker?”

Wendy quickly averted her eyes when Vijay directed his unshakable gaze at her.

“Well, what I’m trying to say is...... even so....”

For a man so intelligent, Vijay was a remarkably terrible Poker player. He must be so smart that his thinking process was bent for about 300 degrees.

“It’s not good to take advantage of Poker to push work on each other to begin with. Right, Bernard-san.”

“As Wendy-san had said, this is also part of your job.”

As if on cue, Chris snapped his fingers.

“Alright! Finn, you’re going! This is your senior’s order!”

“Eeh!?! Why me! That’s not fair!”

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to pick up Leo anyway, so why not start now! Besides, I have a new car to do a test drive on.”

“Did you guys just hear that! Isn’t this a blatant abuse of power?!”

“No, no, this is your educational training! Hurry up, go! I may not be here when you return, though! Thanks for everything!”

“You would be perfectly fine, I believe…” Vijay calmly commented.

I wasn’t convinced, but an idea suddenly popped in my head.

“…Chris’ RAIKA has finished being repaired, hasn’t it?”

At that instant, Chris’ shoulders stiffened up so hard I could almost hear his bones creaking. RAIKA was Chris’ beloved car.

“If it’s okay with you, I want to take it on a ride. I’ve been meaning to drive it for a while now. Nice car, yeah?”

Chris turned his back on me.

“No way.”

“Isn’t it alright to lend that car for just a little while?”

Wendy tried to step in.

“No way, no way!”

“It would be a-okaaay. It’s not like anything’s going to happen to her.” I looked up at Chris expectantly.

“No way in hell! Why would I lend my mademoiselle to a newly licensed baby driver?!”

“Looks like it has been decided.”

Bernard-ojiichan, who had been listening quietly up to that moment, put an end to our conversation with perfect timing.

“Hehe. Come on, give me the keys.”

Chris chewed bitterly on his lip as he handed over the keys. Then he pulled out a bar of Fudgees out of nowhere and started biting on it in a feral manner.

I put on a pair of sunglasses that I had just brought out of my pocket.

“….What’s that?”

Wendy asked.

“Ain’t they nice. It’s Chris’ old pair which he gave me.”

The three of us except Chris exchanged looks with each other.

“W-what is it. What’s wrong with them?!”

“I… I see. Nevermind. No worries…”

“Ah, it must’ve something to do with me being a rookie! You guys are trying to trick me by making up stuff that never even happened!”

“…….”

“Spit it out!”

♠️♥️♦️♣️

TL notes: I’m in no way a professional translator so if you find any mistakes, please do not hesitate to inform me right away. I love the High Card gang and I found it very unfortunate that while it is meant to be a multimedia project, I can’t seem to find the translated versions of any materials (beside the anime) anywhere (if this is against copyright, I will take it down). Hopefully this small TL would help international viewers gain better understanding of HC universe and characters. The author of these SS himself said that he hoped fans would have their “so that’s what it is!” moments when they watch the anime after reading his short stories. So with that in mind, let’s enjoy High Card together~

[khepiari]

A Single Scene Exposes Centuries Of Misogyny So Well!

Odachii really had no business exposing how toxic men-talks happen in bar and how they plan to trap and abuse women in such details!

I rewatched this scene on loop! It didn’t hit me, like how easy it is as a society for a woman to lose it all and in order to survive give up on pride and become a man’s symbol of ego and prowess of his loins!

Odachii and the anime creative team couldn’t have hammered it harder than this: this scene is prime example of how Upper-class powerful men around the world—men in position of authority and considerable repute, will do anything to get a woman they want; especially a lower-class woman who dares to reject him and exercise her autonomy!

Look at how Mouse-man is giving Yokozuna Urashima step-by-step guide to trap a woman!

We know this has been happening for ages, where vulnerable women have had to force themselves to marry men who could “financially protect” them and give them the “legitimacy of existing as a honourable woman” in society in correlation to him; his wife, in some places as his concubine or mistress!

Urashima thinks he is great catch, because he is popular, has money and can provide everything material to Okiku, but most importantly him marrying her is giving her a social ladder up; because he is samurai-class and as his wife she no longer would be shunned as a lower-class woman! By this logic he thinks he is the “NICE GUY!” Because he is going below his standards to accept a tea house waitress into his household!

Yet his man-pride is hurt because a low-born woman dared to say no to him!

And when Okiku rejects him, he can’t fathom why would she reject such a good catch!

And look how fast the misogyny comes out! The moment he realises he has the security of social status and power over her; he really doesn’t need her consent to marry her because he is a man, a high class man, he immediately is open to the idea of destroying everything Okiku has just to make her financially and socially vulnerable and bereft of support and that will make her dependent on him!

What is even more interesting is, Urashima is also the symbol of status quo! Mouse-man is chastising him for setting a poor example. As in offer of marriage to a low-born woman would harm the hegemony of social class! How can they keep oppressing the poor and low-born if they don’t respect the hegemony! So Mouse-men is actually encouraging Urashima to shun ideas of making “proper wife” out of her, as he is being poor example to other high-born because why should he care if Okiku accepts his proposal or not! He is asking him to take her by force as there is no law stopping him from doing this— he is a high born man and he can do whatever he wants! Taking Okiku into his household without consent will drive the message into the hearts of the lower-class/low-born poor masses; that their lives are not theirs but they exist for rich and powerful to step on their bodies, claim their bodies, use their bodies as they see fit!

What I wonder is how would Urashima react, if he found Okiku was a transwoman? I bet like every other asshole on the Internet he would call her slurs, and try to kill her because this man doesn’t respect women. His idea of a woman is someone who is weak, needs the protection of a man and a home! And only a man dictate her life, while she births his children to inflate his pride!

Okiku is cis-passing transwomen, he would not digest it well, because how can he, Yokozuna Urashima the epitome of a strong, masculine, cis-man fall in love with a transwoman if not for trickery!

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

The Prince of Shadows - Chapter One

(Image of Karl belongs to this lovely artist on Instagram!!)

Word Count: 1,887

Rating: T

The voices come over the radio static, poor reception from this position, quiet even through the ear piece-,

“Bravo, Charlie, this is Alpha, confirm position, over.”

“Alpha this is Bravo, East side’s all clear, over.”

“Charlie here, West is covered, over.”

“Perfect, keep it that way. Iron Giant, what’s your status? over.”

“Got your six. Unless I’m looking at some other tactical heavy drone.”

“I didn’t ask for the commentary. Are you in position or not? Over.”

A deep huff, not heard by anyone else through the comms.

“Yeah. In Position.”

A short pause.

“Over.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters to himself, sure to have his radio off to avoid getting chewed out post op. Not that it wouldn’t happen anyways, Alpha takes his job far too seriously and he always finds things to pick about. Especially when it comes to Iron Giant. His insistence on proper radio communication being one of them.

With everyone in their confirmed position, Alpha moves slowly through the warehouse, gun drawn and held close, ready for an ambush, his posture speaks volumes of it. Iron Giant keeps a close watch on him from his bird’s eye view, thankful not to be cooped up in the surveillance van this go-round. It’s miserable being stuck in the van until he’s needed- if he’s needed at all. Joining the team may have been a choice, his spot in the operations never is.

Still- being the one to keep an eye on things from above is more enjoyable that nothing, even if it isn’t the same as being boots on the ground.

It’s still early, of course. Anything could happen.

Then again, the raid is simple enough: invade the warehouse, contain and extract the bio-weapon, and leave before it gets out of hand. They’ve done dozens just like it and have at least two more scheduled within the next few months. They’re reliable, efficient, and despite Iron Giant’s back talk they operate best out of all the branches of the BSAA. Nothing is too complicated or horrific for them. If something where to happen they could handle it, easily.

It’s glaringly obvious when Iron Giant feels the hairs on his arm begin to stick up ever so slightly, that tingling feeling racing just beneath his skin. His hand is fast to the radio to alert the squad, quickly searching over the lower floor for what he’s missed, not even daring a look over his shoulder to be sure the threat isn’t behind him. He’s not what’s important here, “Be wary, I’m picking up something else here. Over.” Quickly he brings his gaze back to the team then back to searching the corners and dark spots of the warehouse. He’s got a good advantage but the boxes and shipping crates create a few too many blind spots.

“Got eyes?”

“Not yet.”

Focus. Something, someone, else is here. Heaven forbid it’s their bio-weapon, that this is some sort of trap, they’ve been set up…

“Squad this is surveillance,” the woman’s voice comes in clear over the radio, “you’ve got company surrounding your perimeter, over.”

Still outside then. Good.

“Iron Giant, make sure no one gets in, over.” Alpha orders, even from up high it’s obvious how his posture tenses and his pace picks up as he sweeps the building, checking around the tall boxes as he makes his way to the center.

“I’m already on it.” Iron Giant responds, doesn’t have to move an inch to lower the rolling garage doors they breached through, sealing them by bending neighboring supports over them. That should work, for now.

Any other door is already locked, he made sure of it before confirming his position. He could feel the metal locks engaged with little effort.

“Alpha you should be good to continue without interference.”

“Keep sharp just in case.”

“Surveillance again, I’ve got a lot of disturbance out here, be careful.”

No sooner than the words ‘be careful’ fade out over the radio, an explosion sounds and the entire roof shakes as a hole is blown into it. Debris rains down below and everyone on the ground scatters for cover.

Ropes are thrown through the holes and soon after men begin to repel down them. How surveillance missed this is going to be one hell of a lot of paperwork later. Fucking interns.

Before their new enemies are even halfway down the ropes, Iron Giant tears his attention away from the team and focuses on bringing the damaged metal roof trusses inward to block their path. The iron groans under the hard bend and twist and a dull ‘thud. thud thud’ sounds as they hit the sudden obstacle, falling to the hard concrete below.

That’s at least a quarter of them incapacitated.

Gunfire breaks out on the ground and Iron Giant leaves his post. He stands, gun tight in hand, and rushes down the stairs. The loud thudding of his boots on the old metal rings out over the gunfire, alerting one of the men to his descent. He’s met with the barrel of a gun at the base of the stairs but he’s quicker on the draw with his rifle, firing two quick shots into the man where the armor doesn’t cover his body.

These guys are the real deal dressed like that. They were expecting a fight. Considering what they’re protecting? Shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Ensuring he’s dead, Iron Giant moves on, catching up to Alpha taking cover behind one of the large crates.

“What the hell happened?” He shouts over the noise, taking out another enemy that attempts to sneak up on them from the side while Alpha fires a few rounds around the corner.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. I thought you were on it!” Alpha barks, clearly displeased with the compromised mission, upset with just how messy it’s gotten. They should have expected this. No one is going to be harboring a bio-weapon and not guard it.

“Yeah well how was I supposed to know they were on the roof? I’m good but not that good. Had the doors locked at least, this could be way worse.” The bio-weapon could be dispatched against them. Whatever the hell it is.

“We aren’t out yet. Come on, I got eyes on the weapon.”

Alpha takes off down an adjacent alleyway made of crates. His precision in his navigation shows he had thought about it, having planned his moves while firing. Efficient. Just as always. Reliable and resourceful. That’s why they all follow him.

Iron Giant, however, is less tactful. He’s more or less clumsy in his attempt to wiggle his large frame through the tight space. If he had tucked his gun in first it would have been easier but regardless he manages to slip through to the other side. Just in time to follow Alpha down a corridor of shipping crates to the right.

Surveillance comes in yet again, “Iron Giant, you’ve got them coming through the western door! They’ve broken through!”

Iron Giant stops in his tracks, prepared to barricade the breached door and reinforce the rest. What he can’t see only takes more focus for him to control. Except Alpha backtracks to grab hold of his arm and get him moving again.

“Leave them!,” Alpha commands, “Bravo Charlie can handle it, I need you as my backup. I’ll be a target the moment I take the package.”

“Bio-weapon to protect the bio-weapon, got it.”

They approach the target container as the gunshots die down, a sign that hopefully their team has gotten the situation under control and not the other way around. The lack of any mayday calls only serves to uphold the theory.

“Locked tight, dammit,” Alpha mutters after one look at the large padlock over the door handle. He pauses for a short moment and when another uproar of gunfire rings out Iron Giant wishes he’d get a move on. “Stand back and keep a lookout. I’m gonna see if I can shoot the lock. Enough damage and it might fall off… maybe.”

Giving him his space, Iron Giant checks the area, ensuring they haven’t been followed. He startles when Alpha begins to shoot at the lock, paranoid for a moment he’s let his guard down, but the loud ringing of bullets on metal gives away the lack of threat.

“I got it!” Alpha shouts and Iron Giant rushes to his side.

The large container is completely barren.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Iron Giant scowls at the sight, nothing but dust and old air.

“I don’t understand,” says Alpha, “it’s supposed to be right here. We’ve tracked this stupid crate thousands of miles. It's supposed to be right here!”

“Yeah well either our surveillance has been botched from the get go or we’ve been led on a goose chase.”

“We can think about it later. If there’s nothing in here we need to get out of here before we risk one of the teams’ lives for jackshit.” Alpha switches to comms to alert the team, “Bravo Charlie, fall back. Mission’s been compromised. Evacuate site. I repeat, evacuate site. Use south exit.”

“Copy that.”

“You got it boss.”

“Yeah, copy,” Iron Giant echos, speaking directly to Alpha rather than over the comms, waiting for Alpha to make his move to leave. Except he doesn’t, not right away. Alpha lingers, dumbfounded by the situation, muttering curses under his breath as he glares at the container. “South is clear, let's go,” Iron Giant pushes, not wanting to linger around any longer.

Alpha mutters one final, “Dammit,” then turns to leave.

This time, Iron Giant leads the way to their exit, ducking and weaving through the crates expertly. He’d plotted out their escape course from up high, he knows where they’re going. He’s been trapped for far too much of his life, of course he’d have any escape memorized like the back of his hand. Even from the new angle he’s able to navigate the course as if he were seeing it from above.

“Bravo’s clear!” Iron Giant shouts, watching as the members of the bravo team flood out the door just ahead, the golden light of the setting sun a welcome sight.

“And Charlie is just behind. Let’s move!” Alpha orders, more gunfire breaking out behind them as their enemy gives one final go at them. A feeling of stupidity creeps in, feeling like a dog tucking its tail and running with this failure.

The moment that charlie team clears the building, Iron Giant pauses and puts his focus on slamming the door shut, baring it with the pipes that run up the side of the warehouse. His job done, he climbs into the nearby truck and no sooner than his feet are off the ground does the vehicle begin to speed off.

Dammit.

[legendssaga]

The Sacrifices we made

I wrote this for @jainadurron, and we both want the people who keep saying that "Han wasn't as sad about Anakin as he was about Chewie" to take a hint and understand this very basic concept of his character that Denning established in Star by Star. Now sit down and read what might be, admittedly, my very last fic on the "Solos grieving Anakin" trope.

27 ABY  - Before

Bad. Mentally, Han Solo prepared for the worst. It surely hadn’t been the first time Anakin got injured on an adventure - he could still vividly recall the horror he had experienced when Luke mentioned the boy had come face to face with a Krayt Dragon, and yet, this time it was different. This time he came face to face with enemies even trained Jedi Master Luke has had trouble defeating. Enemies he, the twins, and a bunch of other Jedi trainees tried defeating in their home arena, with help and support outside the small strike team virtually nonexistent - and he had seen in the solemn expressions of the other Jedi that the strike team had already faced several losses within the first day of their mission.

He wondered how the twins were faring at this very moment. The three of them together, supporting and protecting one another, was what kept Han remotely sane: as long as they had each other, they would make it out somehow, because they always had. 

Nonetheless, he was undoubtedly on edge, readying his ship for - he didn’t know what for, but he was preparing for any sort of potential crazy maneuver, even though he rationally knew the kids had to fight their way back - it had been in a one way trip, and any rescue from an outside-point would only get the wanna-be supporters killed.

He heard a tiny voice in his mind whisper “then why did you let them go?” and gritted his teeth. "Because I know they’ll come back." 

Or did he? He’d thought the same about Chewbacca, yet here he was - with Leia as his copilot, and a hole in his heart that could never be filled.

He refused to think about how much deeper a loss of his children would cut, as even just the existing possibility rendered him paralyzed from terror, and he didn’t like the thought.

Parents don’t outlive their children, especially not their Jedi children.

Han Solo might not trust the Force, but he decided to trust his gut on this.

27 ABY - After

Han found himself appreciating and regretting his previous naivety all at once. He looked down, finding Leia curled up at his side, where persistent tear streaks had wettened the fabric of the blanket he’d wrapped her in. Their evening had been horrendous, to say the least, and the only thing that had eased Leia’s anguish and made her calm enough to take the first proper breath in hours, was the medication the medical droid had eventually slipped her. Meanwhile, Lando had offered to take care of little Ben for the time being, and Han appreciated the sentiment, although it did have the nasty side effect of leaving him alone with his thoughts and feelings - or the lack thereof, with an ache so incomprehensibly deep and scarring that it didn’t quite fully reach his consciousness. Instead, ever since he’d settled Leia to sleep, the most solid evidence of his heartache was the void growing inside him, and the tears that streamed down his face no matter how much he had tried blinking them away. Eventually, he just let them be, realizing the act was in vain.

He pulled himself up, stumbling from their sleeping quarters down into the main area to look for something to drink, overcome by a sudden urge to simply down a bottle of Lando’s finest brandy until he could just forget - spent another precious minutes with the hopeful thought of reunification with Anakin, and the cocky security that as long as the kids had each other, everything would be fine.

But then, the sight of the bottle left him nauseated and mortified. Each and everything had started with his wish to drown the truth. Maybe, if he hadn’t done it, if he’d acted like the adult he was supposed to be - maybe Anakin wouldn’t have been so eager to settle things himself, make amends for his failures- failures which had never existed, which had only ever been imprinted on him by Han’s utter inability to handle his pain.

And Anakin had paid the price.

Noticing his vision blurr, Han barely managed to reach for the sink, spending the next few minutes trying to catch his own breath between sobs. It was apparent that the universe had made a mistake, and he had no idea how to fix it. He couldn’t go back, not to Sernpidal, not even a few days back, pending the votes in favor of a reckless mission. A reckless mission that could cost not just Anakin’s, but the twins’ life, too, because he knew no matter how much they might fight, and how preoccupied they’d been in recent days with other things, the twins had always loved and feverishly protected their little brother. He didn’t dare imagining the kind of scenario that could’ve ever led to this gruesome twist of destiny. 

Catching a break when his thoughts started swirling so violently that he failed to make sense of them any longer, Han found himself mindlessly filling a cup of water, drinking it, and then drowning in a mixture of a sob and a laugh when he reflected that the empty cup was a perfect representation of how he felt inside.

He filled it once more, then managed to settle on the couch, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. It reminded him dearly of the time when the kids were young, hidden away on Anoth on one of Luke’s very many hunches that turned out to be a well-considered but needless measure of protection, robbing him and Leia of precious hours with them. Would Luke have made the suggestion if he had known how little time they actually had? How many good-night stories had been delivered by Winter or Threepio, rather than him and Leia? How many chances of snuggling on the couch and watching a silly holo-drama? It was nothing he ever dreamed of wanting, and now his mind itched to have relaxed family nights in an ordinary home among ordinary people over an adventure on any day. They had pulled the kids into this, hadn’t they? By the way they had been brought up, he should’ve expected them to be roaming around digging their head into one mess at a time. Just that he, Leia and Luke, however bruised, injured or frozen they’d ended up, always clawed their way back to life. He never saw the glass flying, but he surely heard the impact when it shattered on the durasteel wall, breaking into a dozen little pieces. Some of them he knew he could repair. Some of them were large enough to be picked up and perhaps, with enough time and effort, be pieced back together. Others, however, smaller pieces, those that had shattered into crystalline fragments, invisible to the naked eye, would forever remain imprinted in the material, virtually lost to the world, a reminder of a present that had ceased existing.

Somehow, Han found it within himself to get up and look for Leia, scolding himself for how his grief-driven rage could’ve woken her up - she deserved the bliss of night for a little longer, even if the heartache would return as early as the new morning, when a happy dream would be ripped apart by reality. He leaned against the doorframe, wiping his eyes, marveling at the strength with which she had carried herself through her whole life, and how she’d managed to carry him through shared pain after they had lost Chewie, as if the weight had lasted any less on her own shoulders.

This was his burden to carry now, and he knew of the price he was paying. He knew of the holo-journalists and passerbys, old friends and acquaintances, maybe people closer to him, those who should know better, who hopefully would know better… better than to assume he swallowed his grief because he ached any less than his wife. He swallowed it, for it threatened to consume him otherwise, and Leia couldn’t handle yet another loss. Their relationship and marriage had started on the wrong foot, and he aimed to get the record straight, even if that meant suffering his loss in silence for as long as it would need to pick up all the lost pieces, and rebuilt something that resembled an ironic, misfortunate new “normalcy”, while he’d always yearn for what was lost in the process. There was one soothing thing about it, at least: from the bottom of his heart right to the top, Han knew it’s what Anakin would have wanted him to do. And that was motivation enough to keep going. But not tonight.

Tonight, he’d sit on the old couch in utter darkness and silence, contemplating all everything that was meant to be and never took place. Questioning whether the twins were alright, whether they’d return home to them. Questioning whether Anakin had to suffer in his final moments, or if at least, with a cynical gruesomeness, the Force had granted him some mercy. There was no way of knowing. There was only hope.

[kellanved-ammanas]

PyroMedic Week Day 6 - Angst or Fluff

[A/N] I did angst because I only included the 'or fluff' for folk who might want to participate but don't like angst. So Content Warning on this one: Major Character Death!

I was originally not gonna commit to it and have it be another 'being revived by some bullshit' fic to have some hurt/comfort after the death. But despite having an idea I really like for it, I choose not to (I might recycle that idea later though with a different ship though) mostly because I've already done that both ways with this particular ship. And I got a request to uncommit to the two character deaths I committed to for the Valentine's angst event (expect those in my TF2 Drabbles fic at some point) so I decided I wanted to commit to this one.

Also, happy birthday to me! Today (April 14th) is the day and the reason I hosted this shipweek. :)

~

Dying didn’t hurt as much as Medic had thought it would. Not that it was painless, just that it didn’t hurt bad enough to take away his thoughts or the awareness of his impending death. It was far colder though as his life oozed out of the wound in his leg and several other places. The femoral artery had probably been hit. The bit of shrapnel that had damaged it, still stuck in there, slowing the flow but likely not enough to get him back to base in time.

Bleeding to death was such a banal way to go. He’d always thought he’d go in a big grand way and/or as the result of his hubris finally catching up to him. Not in his lover’s arms as he tried to carry him to safety after the team had foolishly let the robots lead them into an explosive trap during what otherwise should’ve been a small skirmish, easily won. Even so, they’d still won, just nowhere near as handily as they should’ve. Medic was the one who was paying the biggest price for it. A shame especially in that it was just bad luck the medi-gun had been destroyed.

“You’ll be okay without me, right?” His voice sounded weak even to himself.

Pyro didn’t respond but his grip as he cradled Medic to his chest tightened a little, indicating he’d heard.

“Take care of the birds for me, all right?” Not that he needed to be told, he loved them at least as much as Medic did. “And yourself too. Even if you’re sad and don’t feel like it, remember to eat.” He had to prod Pyro to do that sometimes much like how Pyro had to prod him to get a proper amount of sleep.

“You’re not going to die.” Pyro sounded angry. That was better than despair, though, no doubt that would come later. “I won’t let you.”

If only either of them had a say in it. So far away from base and its powerful overhead medi-gun and store of blood for a transfusion, there was no way Medic was going to make it no matter what Pyro would allow or not.

Darkness already ate at the edges of his vision, threatening to pull him under. Despite being in the middle of the desert and how close Pyro held him, it was so, so cold. Cold enough that he should be shivering, though he lacked the strength for that.

He could just close his eyes and let himself drift off, was tempted to even. But he didn’t want to leave Pyro alone yet. Pyro would be all right… eventually, especially with the rest of the team to support him, but it would be hard for him for a while.

Medic should say something to him, right? Something sweet and heartfelt about how much he loved him and how much joy and peace Pyro had brought to his life. All cliche things Medic would’ve thought unnecessary to say under better circumstances because Pyro already knew them but now seemed important remind him of as the end beckoned. Perhaps he should even extract a promise that Pyro would carry on and live his life without him.

But as he took a breath he… couldn’t find the words. The darkness ate at his mind, difficult to fight. Unconsciousness would come before death but not by much. If he drifted off, he wouldn’t wake. And yet… he didn’t quite have a choice in the matter.

[erintoknow]

i yearn for the days where i could get away with fixating on writing all day - i told myself to focus on writing forward but i ended up feeling like i needed to do a leetle bit of editing to make that what comes next work anyway

Rivka’s phone rings, the caller ID showing up in her field of vision, a photo of a face half obscured by a lock of electric blue hair hanging over one eye. Jean. Finally. “You’re late.” “It’s the traffic sweetheart.” Answers a voice with a strange lilt. “Can’t get anywhere on this island during lockdown. Is this channel clear?” Rivka’s nails dig into the case of her phone. “You’re not Jean. Who is this?” “You didn’t get the news? Baptiste is a touch under the weather at the moment. I repeat, is this line clear?” Rivka snorts as she watches a protester who got too close to the police line get dragged off and forced to the ground. “I’m at City Hall, what do you think?” “Ah.” Rivka can hear the smile behind it. “Say no more. Let’s keep this short then. This is Moiré Hu, I’m a friend of Jean's. You’re staring down a protest, right? Can you get around the crowd? Let’s meet up somewhere less spicy and hash everything out, shall we?” How much planning has just gone out the window? How much can this Moiré be trusted? This is what she got for trying to delegate tasks. Rivka frowns as she watches the reflection of an approaching aid coming down the hallway behind her. “It will have to wait, I have one more meeting coming up.” “Such a shame, I’ve been looking forward to meeting the ‘great’ Dr. Abrams in person. Let me know when you’re free then.” Rivka cuts the call without so much as a goodbye, fighting the impulse to bite the inside of her cheek. This Moiré Hu is going to be a problem, she can already tell. Pushing the thought out of mind, she turns to stare down the approaching aid. The man taps a tablet in one hand, glancing up at her. “Ms. Abrams?” “Doctor.” Rivka stares down at him, crossing her arms. It was time for another tedious process of verifying identities, as if someone could have body swapped her in the half hour from the last meeting. Every clipped, irritated response made the man sweat more, to the point where it start to feel like a game to see just how unnerved she could make him before they finished. Finally with the security theatre satisfied, the aid – now gibbering nervously – lead her back down the hallway to a new meeting room. She pushed past the man through the open door. No need to take stock of the room, she already knew who was waiting inside. The man at the head of the table rose to greet her, offering his hand. “Ms Abrams, welcome to Boston. My name is Glen Sato, I lead–” “Yes, I know all about you. And your team.” Rivka cut the man off, giving his hand a quick perfunctory shake. She takes a moment to take in the room, forcing herself to meet eyes with the occupants. They’re nothing much to look at: tired, confused, already off kilter at having been asked to meet here. Nothing much to look at, just like their record. “We’ve been following the work of the Boston CTF and other like-minded organizations across the country with great interest over at Praxis. The potential threat that nanite anomalies pose to the social order can’t be understated. And yet neither can we as a society afford to forsake the benefit this technology has afforded us over such a statistically insignificant risk.” Rivka leans down to the table, collecting a pile of loose leaf papers and straightening them. Even for a telepath, first impressions were everything. Changing people’s memory later was tedious work. “Your invaluable work deserves proper support, far beyond then what this city has been willing to thus far provide you. Which is why, as part of a pilot program, Praxis Biotechnical Solutions has seen fit to appoint me as your official company liaison henceforth. You have our full support.”

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Shannon faces a harsh reality even if she doesn't want to. Jo does her best.

“Talk to me, Junior.” Jo squeezed her shoulder pulling her back outside her racing thoughts. 

“I won’t be able to go to Ireland anymore.” And while missing the trip wasn’t her concern, she was disappointed about it, but how all those fears had somehow decided to articulate that Shannon wasn’t quite sure. 

“You can if you want to. I’m not going to stop you.” She wants to. Jo wants to put her foot down. Lock Shannon to a hospital bed. Get that burn treated with a proper skin graft. Keep her home. Make sure she’s okay. Make her process this. Make sure she heals. Has support. Is here for the important things. 

“I’d miss his—” 

“We can delay it.” Jo isn’t sure why she was so quick to jump to it. It wouldn't make sense to. Not for a soccer trip. Especially not when—

“I won’t be able to play.” Shannon Shakes her head. Looking back over Jo’s shoulder at the room they had just come from. Back to her Dad, though she couldn’t see anything there with the door closed and the blinds folded down. 

“No. You won’t.” Jo slid to the side blocking Shannon's view again. She wasn’t really keen on needing to pull her girl from another round of overwhelming emotion so soon. Not when Shannon’s breathing was still too shallow for her comfort, and she was still stifling coughs every few words. 

“I shouldn’t travel with it either.” Shannon was sad. Matter of fact. But sad. 

“No. You shouldn't.” 

“Jo. If I can’t— what if I lose my scholarship?” 

Jo couldn’t speak to that but she knew Shannon’s coach was a reasonable man. Sean liked him, trusted him enough to send Shannon to his care. She had no reason to believe that Shannon’s place on the team, or at the school for that matter, was at any kind of risk. But if this was the problem Shannon felt like she could tackle right now? 

Jo would allow the distraction. 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

“But what if—” 

“We can give him a call. Or I can, if you want.” 

“I should do it.” It was what her dad had taught her for her whole life. Do the hard thing. Have the hard conversation. “And what about the funeral— I… I don’t know how how to—” 

“There… Shannon, you don’t have to worry about that. There was a plan.” Jo breathed a slow exhale. The middle of the hallway was not a fantastic place for this conversation. Especially not when Shannon was hunched over in another coughing fit. 

There isn’t a lot of talking when Shannon gets through the bout of coughing, just Jo ushering her back to the hospital room, whistling after Lucky to follow when they passed Benny and the rest of the lingering firefighters in the waiting room. 

Maggie came back in to hook Shannon’s IV back up after she was settled, curled on her side around Lucky. Her fist wrapped in his thick coat as she let him lick her face a few times before Maggie slipped the nasal cannula back over her ears, promising that it was just for a little while longer. 

Shannon pulled her phone out and placed it resting against Lucky’s shoulder as she looked at it, like watching it sit there locked would somehow make her be able to fast forward past needing to have this phone call. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Coach, she liked him. But she also knew she’d have to say it out loud. 

And that was not something Shannon knew if she could do yet. 

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