#emotions of having to be at the funeral and he just couldn’t handle it

[hogans-heroes]

.

[dxstopiaa]

Justified Jealousy…

Synopsis: A series of provocative glances, or a unwanted momentary touch drives your lover crazy, envy lacing their face.

Characters: Jealous! Zhongli, Ayato and Al Haitham x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: None, perhaps just suggestive and description of jealousy. [Reader wears a sari/lehenga in alhaitham’s bc i said so, something that isnt nsfw lately? Also quite a lengthy fic, aaaaaa enjoy! but 200 followers aaa \(^ヮ^)/]

[Now Playing: Earned it]

Zhongli

• If there was one ability the former archon had learned over these millennia, it was controlling his emotions. Initiating battles, losing his dearest ones, witnessing his darkest fears accumulate- all of it. Ardour washed away with tides of erosion yet one remained with the sight he saw before him.

• You were seated next to the young harbinger, his acquaintance, smiling fondly at his words as he seemed to entertain you. Of course, Tartaglia did have that passionate charm within him, those fierce eyes and a grin worth remembering. Yet the sickening concoction of fury, envy and frustration built up in Zhongli’s stomach.

• He approached your table at Third-Round Knockout, seating himself beside you. You greeted him kindly, pushing a glass of wine towards him. He graciously accepted it and took a measly sip, not intending to get intoxicated as soon as Childe had.

• It was apparent how much of a lightweight he was, slurring his words ever so slightly. Likely the reason for his boldness. The consultant dismissed it, listening to the storyteller intently. That is, until the Snezhnayan diplomat began speaking.

• “So, Mr. Zhongli, who do you think has a better chance of attracting little miss here?” Childe brashly raised, returning his daze to you. You averted your own eyes from the man, humming. Appeared as if the Harbinger was oblivious to social cues also.

• The archon, still poised, rested his glass on the surface. Inside was a different matter however, for he wished to draw his polearm at that instant, so harsh and imprudent. Zhongli looked over again, seeing your subtly entertained face stung him.

• “Childe, I remind you, handle your alcohol more responsibly. As for that question, it’s none of your concern.” He half-hissed possessively, unusual for his nature. Pleasantly surprised to say the least, Tartaglia chuckled.

• “Hah! That’s more like it, I knew you weren’t as reserved as you present yourself!” The younger man snickered, watching Zhongli’s expression morph into something akin to displeasure. He simply crossed his arms flush against his chest, eyes squinted.

• You noticed the prior grasp the brunette had on the glassware, positive it would of shattered. Sure, the funeral parlour consultant was a gentleman, but what further feelings did he conceal in his heart?

• “Oh i see the issue, you’re jealous!” Childe gasped, dramatically clasping his hands over his ajar mouth. Irritating as always. Zhongli huffed, about to leave the table with that irked countenance of his. Until you stopped him, clasping tightly onto his gloved hand and pulling him down.

• With nothing else in mind, you kissed his cheek, which was reddening rapidly. You despised seeing such a look on his handsome face, resolving it with another drastic action. Despite its quick ending, the consultant’s mind was clouded. He excused himself, what a stuttering mess you’ve made of him.

• Giddily approaching his workplace, which he should of been at an hour ago, his boss exclaimed strings of words he couldn’t make out. Perhaps these emotions he’s avoided are his own drug.

• “Stop smiling, Mr. Zhongli! It’s beginning to scare me!”

Ayato

• As a prominent figure in the Tri-Commission, Ayato was not exempt from meetings and gatherings to discuss Inazuma’s development, and neither were you as his wife from another clan yourself.

• The heavy burden of the nation’s wellbeing weighted heavy upon your shoulders, the fear of directing your people in the wrong direction ever-present. A gentle grasp and comforting squeeze of your hand pulled you away from your thoughts.

• Your husband smiled warmly, using another hand to stroke your hair. He could almost sense your apprehension, if it wasn’t from the brief frown on your face. Right, you were currently waiting for the other nobles to join you in Komore Teahouse. The exorbitantly expensive teacups in front awaiting your other guests in the same manner.

• The tranquility was short lived as two other commissioners sat opposite you both, one face painted with a rather imperious expression. The other seemingly focused on your appearance, unpleasantly. Maybe you were being paranoid, you thought, greeting the men as respectfully as one could.

• Ayato was quick to discuss the subject, immediately presenting the paperwork, sipping his tea whilst he awaited a response. The Tenryou spokesman glanced at the terms, signing them off with the flutter of a quill pen.

• “Perfect, though i can’t help but take notice of you, My Lady, what importance do you have here other than to look alluring?” The man spoke up, rather confidently. Your breath hitched, unwillingly smiling, pushing the statement aside as not to anger him.

• Your husband eyed the man, clearing his throat to retrieve his attention once more. Ayato was patient by nature, but his fists clenched tighter at his ignorant words. Was your relationship not obvious enough? Or worse, did he choose to ignore it?

• The representative continued his conversation, although the constant flickering of his eyes towards you was quite daunting. Poor attempts to be subtle finally catching up to him, deciding to be outright confrontational.

• “I’d like for you to join my clan, after all you aren’t married from what i can see, i’ll provide you with everything and anything.” Again, the plain incomprehension. The Tenryou Head droned on, almost as if he was under the influence of alcohol.

• No matter how you stammered that you weren’t interested, he persisted. Ayato grew angrier by the second, struggling to keep his composure. He latched onto your hand, bringing it up to the table and infront of the commissioner, playing with the golden ring on your finger.

• His indigo irises never left your own, contemplating whether he had to kiss you infront of the ignorant clan member to show his love for you. The stare he gave you wasn’t cold; more so irritated and envious. The thought of you with anyone other than him was ill-fitting, the way his name rolled off your tongue was a melody only he should hear.

• “May i remind you that this is a professional matter? I assure you my wife isn’t interested in the slightest.” Ayato partially threatened, malice dripping from every word, taking your hand in his and kissing it delicately. Reputation won’t be an issue infront of such a vile being.

• The stammering man’s face was red with sheer embarrassment, claiming how he was very sorry and how it wasn’t his fault. The Kamisato heir hoisted you up from your seat, disregarding the meaningless protests as you both left the room, entering another desolate one.

• “Do i have to physically prove you’re mine? How about carrying my bloodline further, sweetheart?” He secured you against the wall, smoothing his thumb over your lips.

Al Haitham

• It was well known how gorgeous the sunsets were in Sumeru, countless couples sitting upon stone benches to cherish it, or friends giggling and joking with eachother, basking in it’s glow.

• Al Haitham didn’t know where he’d place your relationship with him on that scale. Would you both be in the developing rosé hues, friendly with a sense of intimacy? Or would you be in the deep saffrons, an established unbreakable infatuation? Or perhaps a blend of the two.

• Deciphering your perception of him was much more challenging than he expected, a price which came along with bonds. Moreover, he needed to recognise his own feelings first, putting that matter beside once your voice could be heard behind him.

• You tapped his shoulder, smiling warmly at him, intending not to startle him from the thoughts, or books even, he often indulged in. Al Haitham knew your charismatic character differed from his reclusive approach, but that’s what drew you together, he supposed.

• Usually, you’d be asking him how his day went, or if anything happened whilst you were gone, but you were oddly quiet. He glimpsed at you momentarily, observing your timid demeanour as you followed beside him. You’d open up eventually.

• “I don’t understand why Nilou made me wear this, it makes it seem like we’re a couple…” The Scribe looked at you again, except for much longer than before. Right, the turquoise lehenga and veil draped across your shoulder fitted quite well with his own colour scheme. A little too obviously than he had planned it to.

• “How unfortunate.” Al Haitham sarcastically stated, not missing the way you side-eyed him, almost hearing his smirk through his words. “..Anyway, i need to pick some items up from my home, care to accompany me?”

• You were piqued by his offer, although you had met him a few times outside his house, you never had the opportunity to see inside, causing you to nod your head enthusiastically. You wondered if he was as organised as he claimed he was, or if his house was a mess in disguise.

• Simultaneous footsteps pattered against the stone pavement, coming to a halt a little further from the heart of the city. The residence was actually quite nice from the outside, simplistic yet larger than most.

• Al Haitham reached into his pocket, pulling a golden key from it and began unlocking the door, pushing it open and gesturing you inside with a brief nod. You could hear a series of light tapping sounds before it stopped, more steps upon wooden floors approaching.

• “You’re back already? Ugh, I didn’t even get to-” The unfamiliar man had ceased to speak, simply looking back and forth at you and the Scribe. His crimson eyes squinted slightly, and then widened in some sort of realisation.

• “Don’t tell me, you’ve actually got a girlfriend? I almost feel sorry for her already.” He continued, voice contorted into a discredited tone. Girlfriend? You two weren’t dating!

• “Yes Kaveh, and what?” You snapped your head towards Al Haitham at his words, scrunching your brows. To your surprise, he was nodding his head, still seeming unbothered as ever. Now he’s lying too?

• “Haitham, We’re-” His hand tightening further around your waist told you enough, an inaudible message saying to be quiet. Kaveh sighed, rolling his eyes. Honestly a reaction you would give to the insufferable man beside you too.

• The Scribe merely chuckled, sitting you down on a cushioned couch, right beside him. The blonde-haired man sat opposite, apparently still in disbelief as he stared quite unnervingly at you, a small grin present.

• “She’s too pretty for you, i’m sure she’d prefer if she was dating me instead.” Kaveh spontaneously admitted, laughing as heat crept up your face. Though this would be an opportunity too amusing to pass on, now that you thought of it.

• “Maybe.” You replied, enjoying the slight blaze of envy in Al Haitham’s irises. If he was going to tease you, he should expect the same back. It was your turn to giggle, resting your head on your ‘boyfriend’s’ shoulder.

• Your sudden playfulness surprised him, whilst he knew this was only a comical tease of yours, he wanted nothing more but to make you and that roommate of his realise just how far he’d go for your love.

• Kaveh focused his attention on him instead now, he knew that the Scribe was just putting on that stoic act to refrain from shouting infront of you. Why not add salt to the injury?

• “How did a grumpy ogre like you catch the heart of a princess such as her?” The architect cackled, winking at you. Another suppressed laugh from you, covering your mouth with your palm, intending not to hurt Al Haitham too much.

• What you didn’t expect was for him to tilt your chin to the side, cupping your cheeks as he pressed his lips onto yours. His soft lips parted slightly, melting whatever dignity you had left and drowning out the gasp you emitted. Passionate enough for your heart to accept it as an unspoken confession, begging for more. Al Haitham pulled away, pressing a last, delicately light kiss onto your forehead.

• “That’s how.” He simply stated, almost ignoring the reality of what he had done, wordlessly wrapping you around his finger just as you did, excusing himself from where he was sat, draping his cape over your shoulders before he headed to his room, “..Goodnight, love.”

• Between you and his roommate, you couldn’t decide which of you were more shocked. Kaveh almost resembled a gaping fish, jaw dropped, looking as if he wasn’t far from losing it. Appears as if the Scribe’s plan had worked.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — two. one more time.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 700+. a/n: me taking my least engaged fic and making a series out of it? more likely than you think. summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

previously

    Your palms are undeniably sweaty following the anxious feeling you had in the pit of your stomach. After transferring you made a successful career as a profiler for the Crisis Negotiation Unit, so it wouldn’t be the first time seeing Hotchner after all, you saw him at seminars, you read his book, his face and his voice were still a strong presence in your mind.

    But being close to him, talking to him, working with him again… That was making your mind swirl. The BAU needed a senior profiler, again. You had rejected the transfer at least two times before and the upper ups found someone else for the job. Not this time, this time you had no choice. 

    You try to feel comfortable on his office’s couch, looking around to notice the little things before him and the rest of the team arrive, profiling each other wasn’t very well seen in the BAU, you remember that much from your years there, but you knew Hotch, you were just basking at the familiarity his office brought you. 

    Pictures of him with his son, his late ex wife, awards, piles of cases organized. It all pointed to him being more serious than when you worked together first. It made sense not only considering what he had been through, but his nearly obsessive nature. 

    Throat cleaning is the sound that brings you back, his face lighting up when he notices it’s you, but letting the smile disappear seconds later. “It’s been a while. how can I help you?” 

    Oh. Politeness. The tone. Not asking how you are. He’s mad. Possibly because you never called. Never answered his calls. Never talked to him when he was around your unit. Always sent other agents when the BAU needed negotiators. You made impossible efforts to avoid him. And yet here you were, in his office. 

    “I get that you haven’t looked into your new profiler’s paperwork.” You were always snarky and that made him huff trying to hide a laugh. He didn’t have to look at the paperwork to know you wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t mandatory. “You look good, big office, the suit. It fits you.” 

    He stays silent, and you wish you could read his mind like you did before, but it was different now, all you could read from him was how… Sore he was in your presence. Like you were there just to cut open old wounds. You couldn’t blame him, you prided yourself of being his best friend for so long and sure it was a weird gray area you both danced in, but he got divorced, was stabbed countless times, Haley was murdered, you never even called. You couldn’t even pretend you didn’t know, you kept in touch with Rossi.

    He moves to his desk, sitting and looking through your paperwork without much care, enough that he caught you staring at the picture he had of Haley, Jack and him by the bookshelf behind him. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” 

    “Dave told me to go, but… It felt disrespectful to Haley.” Hotchner takes a deep breath, it finally hitting him that at least there and then it wasn’t about avoiding him, it was about Haley, as it was when you left Quantico. He didn’t want to hurt her, you didn’t want to disrespect her, that was always the central point of why you two couldn’t be. That relaxes his demeanor, his features soften. Your heart beats faster. 

    “Think you can handle BAU rhythm after a decade away?” He smirks, that one you know so well, that one that meant trouble. And he finally looks up from the file, locking eyes with you. 

    “You should be worried about keeping up with me.” And just like that it feels like you’re ten years younger, flirting with your partner, hoping he will flirt back. And by the look he gives you, it almost seems like he would if his phone didn’t ring, getting his attention away from you in a flash of a second. 

    Got caught up, will be there soon, yeah, love you too.

    “Sorry, that was my–my girlfriend, Beth. I have to get going, see you tomorrow?” You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek for some relief. 

    10 years. 10 years of running from it. Just to get back exactly where you started: At the BAU, heart out for Hotchner when he couldn’t take it. 

    So much for keeping your FBI career and not going against orders.

[marie-swriting]

Everything Will Be Okay - Emily Prentiss [1/2]

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : When Emily hears Ian Doyle escaped, she knows she has to do whatever she can to protect you from getting hurt, even if it means breaking you heart.

Warnings : start during 6x13 and finishes during 6x18, character death (not reader), angst, break up, sad ending, funeral, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.7k

Song Inspiration : Last Kiss (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

“Ian Doyle vanished from prison. Interpol can’t find him”

Sean’s sentence resonates in Emily’s ears. She can’t believe it. Ian Doyle was supposed to be a part of her past. His name was supposed to only be a memory.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s off the grid, Emily.”

“Do you think he’s heading here ?” Emily asks before marking a pause. “Am I in danger?”

“We all are.”

Worry makes its way onto Emily’s face as she understands the gravity of the situation. It’s only a matter of time before everything goes down, she’s aware of it. She has to think of what she has to do to protect herself.

Her thoughts are cut off by the ringing of her phone. She takes her eyes off of Sean and takes out her phone. As soon as she sees your name and your picture on the screen, she softens before reality hits her. She has to protect you, too. Ian Doyle could go after you to get her back. She clears her throat then answers, taking a natural tone.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay?”

“Hey, Em’, I’m calling to know if I should wait for you tonight or if you come home late.” you explain. Emily can hear you’re getting in your car.

“I have some paperwork to do. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping at home. I have some stuff to handle with the team.”

“Oh, okay.” you say, trying to hide your disappointment. “Keep me updated. I miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

On these words, you hang up. Emily looks at her screen for a few seconds before talking with Sean about the information Interpol has on Ian’s escape. While listening to him, her brain is working at speed light, searching for every plan to stop Doyle and to protect her loved ones. 

After she leaves her former colleague, Emily spends the night at a hotel. She has to be alone to think. She has to think of a solution so you can be safe and sound. The problem is, she can’t tell you about Doyle. She has to get you far away without you knowing the truth. Emily comes to the sad conclusion she has to break your heart - and by extent, her own. She’d rather leave with a broken heart and see you breathing than keeping you close to her and seeing you die by Doyle’s hands. She can’t take the risk. She has to break up with you. 

The next day, Emily wakes up with difficulty. Her sleep wasn’t relaxing, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she could tell you. 

She goes to your shared apartment when she knows you left for work, wanting to avoid you until you come back home in the evening. Whilst waiting for you, Emily packs some bags. 

Once you walk through the door, Emily’s face becomes neutral. She has to show no emotion. She absolutely can’t let her emotions speak. She knows what she has to do. With a big smile on your face, you walk toward Emily, ready to take her in your arms. Nonetheless, once you see her emotionless face, your eyebrows furrow. 

“Em’, is everything okay?” you question, putting down your purse.

“We have to talk, Y/N.”

“About what?”

“I think we should stop.” Emily bluntly announces and you need a few seconds to answer.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s no use to stay together. Lately, I’ve been pretty busy with my job. Besides, I’ll never be able to give you the life you deserve. It’s better for everyone.”

“W-what? You can’t be serious! Emily, where is all of this coming from?”

“I’m just stating a fact. I’m almost always away, we’re wasting our time.”

“Okay, you’re often away but we are not wasting our time. Our relationship is working just fine. We have a balance. Why do you want to throw everything away now?” you ask, confused and with teary eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now.”

“But everything was fine between us. I mean, that’s what I thought at least. Did I do something?”

“It’s no one’s fault, it’s just what’s best to do.” she affirms looking you right in your eyes.

“According to who?”

“Y/N, we knew very well this relationship was doomed. It wasn’t meant to last. Not when I have this job.”

“JJ makes it work.”

“It’s not the same. My decision is made anyway.”

“So you’re not even gonna try to talk about it? To fix the problem? You’re giving up this quickly?”

Emily knows you’re not going to give up. She can see on your face that you’re determined in spite of the tears in your eyes. Emily takes a deep breath before saying the most difficult sentence she’s ever had to say.

“I don’t love you anymore, Y/N. You’re a good person, I just don’t have feelings for you any longer.”

“It sure as hell didn’t feel like that this past few weeks.” you contradict, in disbelief.

“I tried to have feelings for you again but it’s impossible.”

Your eyes analyse Emily, searching for proof that the words coming out of her mouth aren’t the truth. However, Emily did everything to be convincing ; you have to believe her harsh words. Once you understand you correctly heard what Emily told you, your tears start running down your face. You don’t pay attention to it, trying to find a solution to keep Emily near you. As Emily sees your heart breaking in front of her, because of her, she wants to admit the truth. Yet, she tells herself it’s the right thing to do.

“I… I’ll go to a hotel for the next few days. I’ll probably have a case during that time, it’ll give you enough time to pack your things.” Emily softly informs while taking her two bags.

Your eyes are wide open at her last sentence. Sure, you couldn’t expect to still live with her if you’re not together anymore yet you thought you’d talk about it to know if you were going to sell the apartment or who was going to keep it. 

Emily feels bad about kicking you out but she knows she can’t let you have it. Doyle could find it with a simple research about Emily and she can’t take the risk of having him coming to your place while you still live here. She has to keep you as far away from her and your apartment as possible.

“Em’, please.”

Emily fights with herself when she hears you begging her. She doesn’t answer before walking past you and leaving your apartment. She holds back a sob until she gets in her car.

As for you, you stay on your feet, still in shock, your eyes staring at the door. You can’t believe your relationship with Emily is really over after five years. You never thought you’d ever hear those words. You never planned on her changing her mind. For you, she is - she was the love of your life. It looks like that's not the case for her.

One month has passed by since your break up. In a desperate attempt, you tried to contact her during the first couple of weeks without having an answer. It seems like she doesn’t miss you as much as you do. And you don’t know how to be something she misses. Therefore, reluctantly, you give up. You still can’t move on, you keep thinking about your relationship, searching for what you could have done differently to avoid this outcome.

You never imagined you’d end like this. You never imagined you wouldn’t know her routine anymore, where she is, what case she’s working on. You never thought you wouldn’t be holding her against you anymore. You never thought you’d have a last kiss. 

You try to look happy even if deep down, you’re in this state of numbness. But it has to change, you have to learn to move on. For this, nothing is better than to hang out with friends.

You meet Penelope at a cafe not too far away from your place of work. Beside Rossi, Penelope is the one you’re the closest to from the team, you consider each other as sisters. Penelope was shocked once she heard about your break up and she tried to make Emily change her mind without any success. 

As soon as you arrive at the cafe, Penelope takes you in her arms. You sigh in relief when you hold her against you. Her hugs have power, you’re sure of it. You sit down at a table after ordering. At first, your conversation is about random things - you hadn’t seen each other in a while so you’re making up for lost time. Then comes a moment when Penelope tells a fun story about the team which includes Emily; at the mention of your ex’s name, you look down, ignoring the pinch in your heart. Penelope stops laughing as soon as she sees your reaction.

“Oh, my God! I… I didn’t think… I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry.” Penelope exclaims, embarrassed.

“It’s okay. It’s been a month, after all.” you reassure her with a fake smile. 

“But still. You were together for a long time. It’s okay if it’s still painful.”

“I know. How is she?”

You can’t help it, you needed to ask this question, it was on your lips for a month. You need to know if what you think is true. Penelope takes a deep breath before replying.

“She doesn’t show anything yet I know she’s suffering as much as you. Sometimes, she keeps to herself a bit more. She seems more lost in her thoughts which is understandable considering the situation.”

“She’s the one who told me she didn’t love me anymore.” you drily retort. “Sorry, I didn’t say that for you to pick a side.” you correct with a guilty face. “I’m just still surprised by the way everything went down overnight.”

“You’ll find each other again. I’m sure of it.” she affirms, squeezing your hand.

“I don’t think so. She seems determined to stay away from me.”

“Y/N, the love you two shared can’t be lost. When the right moment comes, you’ll be together again and everything will be okay.”

You see on Penelope’s face, she’s firmly convinced by her words. She’s not saying them just to make you feel better, she’s sure she’s right. Yes, Penelope tends to see everything through rose-coloured glasses, but you need this bit of hope.

As soon as you come home, you put your purse down, next to the door then sit on your couch. You look at your apartment, indifferent. Despite all your efforts, you can’t feel at home. Home was your apartment with Emily. Home was Emily. But you don’t have Emily anymore and you never will.

You stand up from your couch and walk to the closet of your bedroom. You open it and take a box. You go sit on the floor then you search at the bottom of it for something specific. Once you find the frame, you turn it around to look at the picture.

This picture was taken two years ago, it was the beginning of July, you’re kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

You had gone on a trip in Paris - by some miracles, Emily had had two weeks off. You had a wonderful time in France. The highlight of this trip, according to you, was Emily speaking in French. You know she speaks numerous languages and you melt every single time you hear speaking in one of them. Yet, it’s not always so when you had the opportunity to hear her speaking in French for two whole weeks, you were over the moon. 

One night, towards the end of your vacation, you stayed in your hotel room. Normally, you’d enjoy your evening by visiting Paris a bit more nevertheless that night, you were too tired to walk ten more steps.

You were sitting on your balcony, enjoying the Eiffel Tower being illuminated in the distance, and you were talking about your future. You were making different plans, thinking about what your life would look like in one year, five, ten, even thirty.

“I can’t wait to grow old with you.” Emily stated with a smile.

“Me too. You’d be beautiful with grey hair.” you said, stroking her hair.

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me, you will be.”

“And you’d look beautiful in a white dress.” she affirmed, looking deeply in your eyes.

“What?”

“We never really talked about it but I’d love for us to get married. Not now, don’t worry!” Emily specified as soon as she saw your eyes wide open. “I don’t have a ring and this is surely not my proposal but I can see us saying our vows and kissing in front of our loved ones.”

“I can see it, too. I’d love to marry you one day.” you admited, taking her hand in yours.

“Good, like this, I’ll be sure you won’t get rid of me.”

“Trust me, you’ll get sick of me before.” you laughed and Emily shook her head.

“Never. I love you too much to get tired of you.”

And on these words, you shared a languorous kiss full of love. You had never been more sure of your relationship than during that night. You knew it was made to last and you were looking forward to creating new moments as romantic as that one. Unfortunately, just like you had a last kiss, you had one last romantic moment. These instants are now only memories in a picture frame.

A few weeks later, while you have your nose in your work you get a call. You take your phone, wondering who could call you this late. Upon seeing JJ’s name, your stomach drops. She almost never calls you. If she does, something terrible must have happened. With apprehension, you pick up the call.

“JJ, what’s going on? Is Emily okay?”

“You have to come to the hospital right now. Emily is in surgery.” JJ informs with a shaky voice.

“What happened?” you ask, standing up.

“I’ll tell you at the hospital, it’s too long to do it through the phone. I’ll call you back if I have updates from the Doctors before you arrive.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes at most.”

You hang up and quickly get dressed before running to your car. On the way to the hospital, you’re controlled by anxiety. You’ve never driven this fast in your life. In your head, every scenario is happening, making you tear up. The lack of information from JJ doesn’t help to calm you down.

You run through the hospital, looking for Emily’s team. You find them sitting in a waiting room, a worried expression on their face. Hotch sees you arriving first and comes to meet you, JJ on his heels. Hotch keeps a cold head even if he can feel your stress in his soul. He invites you to go to a quieter place in the hospital while JJ grabs you a cup of water. When she gives it to you, Hotch is telling you about Doyle’s escape. As you listen to him, everything seems to make sense in your head.

You finally understand why Emily wanted to be away from you so suddenly, why she used such harsh words. She thought she was protecting you from Doyle by staying far away from you but in doing so, she didn’t think of protecting herself. Emily is in critical condition and you don’t know if you’ll ever have the opportunity of talking to her again, to hold her against you again.

As soon as you know the whole story, you go back to the team. Rossi informs you they haven’t received any updates yet. You sit down next to him and start biting your nails. You wait in agony for the Doctor who is probably going to tell you bad news. 

You wish you were anywhere but here. You wish everything was a bad dream. You wish you were in your shared apartment with Emily, cuddling in your bed whilst the sun is rising in the sky like you used to do.

One morning, about a year after your trip to Paris, Emily had a day off, allowing you to sleep in. You had woken up first - something rare - and you were staring at her. Her face was completely relaxed whilst her right hand was on your hips. You don’t know how long you had stayed like this, you just wanted to enjoy Emily’s presence. At one point, Emily started to wake up and she smiled, noticing you had spent your time watching her.

“Have you been staring at me for a long time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not creepy at all.” she joked, getting closer to you.

“It’s not a crime to admire my girlfriend!”

“We’ve arrested stalkers for less.”

“You’re gonna sleep on the couch.” you retorted with a fake angry face.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I missed you.” Emily suddenly stated

“I missed you too.”

“I hope we’ll always be able to wake up like this.”

“I’ll personally make sure that we do.” you affirmed before snuggling.

You raised your head toward Emily before kissing her. She kissed you back with passion and you spent most of the day in bed. 

Now, you spend most of the evening in an uncomfortable hospital chair. You’re vacantly staring at the floor while thinking at several happy moments with Emily and telling yourself you’ll probably never have others.

JJ comes into the room, a serious expression on her face and red eyes. You don’t need for her to utter a word to understand what she’s about to say. However, you don’t want to believe it. Sure, you weren’t optimistic about Emily’s condition yet a part of you was hoping, praying for everything to be okay and to leave all of this behind you. Penelope whispers a desperate ‘no’ while you keep your gaze on JJ. She avoids your eyes when she pronounces the sentences you fear. 

“She never made it off the table.”

Immediately, tears are streaming down your face. You loudly sob, shocked while Rossi leans in to hug you. You accept his embrace, shedding all your pain. You hear Spencer standing up but you don’t pay attention to him, trying to understand what just happened. 

You thought your heart had broken when Emily broke up with you but you were wrong. This time, the pain in your chest is worse. You don’t even feel like your heart is breaking. Your heart stopped beating and it won’t beat ever again. How could it? You’ll never see Emily’s smile again, hear her laugh, touch her hand. She is dead and your heart left with her.

Emily’s funeral is a few days later. For the first time since the announcement of her death, you get ready. Unlike when you broke up where you felt numb to everything you were doing, you’re feeling every gesture you make. The pain isn’t only emotional, every one of your members is heavy and is hurting you.

Rossi is the one to pick you up. Since Emily’s death, he has been taking care of you. Rossi always considered Emily like his daughter and he immediately liked you when you and Emily got together. He hates seeing you so miserable, he wishes he could take away your pain and add it to his.

Watching the team carrying Emily’s coffin, your pain heightens. You can’t believe the woman you love is locked in this box. You can’t understand how your story ended like this.

You don’t listen to the priest, you keep your eyes on the white flowers that are on the coffin. If Emily could have seen this, she would have said it’s too solemn for her, you smile at that thought. Penelope holds your hand until you’re the first to put a red rose on the coffin, your cheeks wet with tears. You stay next to Emily whilst the team does just like you. Rossi puts a hand on your back to comfort you and you do everything to not break down in his arms. By some miracles, you stay on your feet whilst Emily's casket is going down.

When you come back home, you don’t have the strength to go to bed. You sit on the floor of your bedroom after you put on one of Emily’s tee shirts. You had accidentally put it in your boxes and as Emily never asked for it, you kept it. You bring the fabric to your nose, hoping to smell Emily’s scent but it’s already gone. New tears roll down your cheeks as you realise that soon, every trace of Emily will be gone forever. She will only be a part of your past.

During the whole day, your mind is plagued by memories with Emily. You mainly think about the end of your relationship. You think of every last moment you shared without knowing there will never be a new one. Had you known what was going to happen, you would have enjoyed them more and if you could, you’d change some of them like your last kiss.

It was during a morning, it was early - too early for you -, you had woken up after Emily. Your eyes were closing by themselves whilst you were going to the kitchen. You were making your coffee when Emily appeared in the room. You quickly smiled at her whilst she was telling you she quickly had to leave for work. She pecked your lips and you didn’t even take your time to properly kiss her back, still too asleep. She said ‘I love you’ before taking her bag and leaving your apartment. You had only mumbled an ‘I love you’ back, needing your coffee to talk properly.

You wish your last kiss was different. You wish you had kissed her with passion, enjoying the movement of her lips against yours and you wish you had distinctly said ‘I love you’. Unfortunately, you can’t change the past and you will never have a new opportunity. This kiss is doomed to be your last just like you’re doomed to live without Emily for the remainder of your days. And you’re doomed to have her name forever on your lips just like your last kiss. In the end, Penelope was wrong, it will not be okay.

Part two

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

[fancifulplaguerat]

Need to rant about the Marble Nest because I just. I cannot get over it. It is everything to me. Every time I hear “Birdies... birdies... Gather ye here...” I want to eat door hinges and run up the walls and put myself in a blender

There’s something utterly tragic to me about the image of Daniil lying in bed delirious and feverish and dying while these children who care about this weird Capital doctor so much are trying to break his fevers like he taught them to, and it fucks me up even more considering when Spichka asks Daniil who looks after him when he’s sick Daniil just. Doesn’t answer him. And the narrator’s line (I love that they got Martin Cooke he absolutely ate and imo elevates the entire game) “a warm, dry hand seemed to have touched your forehead soothingly. It’s going to be all right” OH MY GOD I just. I can only wretch and sob about the fact that Daniil is being taken care of and at least for a moment he feels like it’s all going to be okay, exactly as he’s been saying throughout the beginning. Also when the narrator says “Somewhere, bells are chiming, softly. Bells are chiming around the marble nest. The bells, are chiming, softly.” Not only does Cooke’s delivery make me feral beyond words (particularly that last one where he whispers ‘softly’) but I mean. surely this is referring to Daniil hearing his own goddamn funeral bells which just SCREAMING CRYING BITING SCRATCHING COMMITTING UNSPEAKABLE ACTS. 

Plus when Spichka warns Daniil against giving Shrew nuts because, as we learn, Shrew wants to let Daniil die. I unfortunately can’t find the exact quote but I believe Spichka says smth about how Shrew doesn’t think it’s right for Daniil to suffer as he is (there is blood in my mouth !!!!!). She clearly just wants Daniil to rest and not be in pain anymore; she thinks she can create a Focus so she can still talk to him. I’m also Highly Emotional about Spichka because he’s so adamant about Daniil continuing to live, even if it’s just in his fever dream, this poor kid just wants Daniil to keep going. These kids have known Daniil Bitchelor for all of ten days and they care about him so much !!! 

I’m also hung up on everyone telling Daniil that he doesn’t know how to die properly, especially when Aspity likens him to a child covering his eyes because he doesn’t want to see the truth, which gets me too because it makes me think about how defeated and afraid Daniil probably is when he realizes what’s going on. I think it’s even more tragic in the sense that Daniil is dying having failed to meet Simon and save Thanatica, failed to prove death can be conquered, and couldn’t even protect the Town from the plague, either, and I can’t imagine Daniil would handle any of that well. I feel like he’d think everything—plague and all—was his fault, especially with the context of the Executor/Death saying, “Who was the murderer: a sickness that let no second go to waste—or you, who bothered not to hurry? I think it’s the latter.” 

Also when Daniil does agree to die properly and the Executor tells Daniil “Give me your hand,” and Daniil can say “Here it is”,,,,,, Yes I am being dramatic but actually it makes me insane to imagine Daniil finally taking Death’s hand after fighting it for so many years. Even though I love this horrible little man with all my heart, I disagree with his whole “no more death” thing. I’m not going to like. Expound on my philosophy about death here aafnkgk but suffice it to say I like the idea of Daniil accepting that death is not something that can be defeated; though, I don’t think his idealism is useless or a negative trait, only that it has to be tempered with some realism. 

So here is as good a point as any to scream about endings. 

It's a cycle. A pause. Things will change. And the day starts anew.

That. Tjat second sentence is lodged in my cortex and it is not coming out I ougghh I love stories that repeat so much. And I’ve played the Marble Nest just. Too many times (and I’ll do it again) and I might be imagining it, because I’ve never seen anyone else talk about it, but every time I’ve gotten a different ending the game is a little different when I play it again. I find that extremely immersive if I’m not just gaslighting myself, because it puts the player in the same situation as Daniil, with things changing subtly; you get to accompany Daniil on his Fun Fever Delirium Death Adventure. On the one hand I think it’s a little painful that Daniil is going to just live in this delirium forever, but on the other one, I like how Daniil’s decision to repeat the day encapsulates continuing to fight for life, even if it seems hopeless or in vain.  It feels very “Do not go gentle into that good night / Rage, rage against the dying of the light"

And finally The transition is real, and the timeline continues. So does the entity I call myself.

I don’t want to get into meta too much, but. I kind of like this line knowing people have written/drawn/etc. endings to this nightmare where Artemy saves him with panacea (Magpie Crown’s “Conjunction of Spheres” animatic !!). All these different endings people have given Daniil’s story in general. This is silly but I like to think of it as yeah, The Powers That Be played a cruel game with you, but other people are kinder to you (or make you suffer more, depends on their persuasion). Your story keeps going, depending on who picks up the thread, you’re going to keep going. 

Anyway everyone go watch CodexEntry’s video on the Marble Nest <3 

[elizabethemerald]

A Shade Darker than Red: Part 6

Jason was exploring the Infinite Realms when he felt something pull at him. Danny had trained him in enough of the common ghost skills that he would be safe exploring on his own. Apparently he, as a brand new ghost and Danny’s trainee, fell under the aegis of Danny’s crown. Few ghosts would seriously attack him and he was now skilled enough that any of the playful bouts with the other ghosts could go either way. He was obviously still not as skilled as the ghosts who had centuries to train, and was nowhere close to Danny’s own level, (a fact that irked him to no end). 

When he first felt the tug, stubborn and insistent pulling on something inside him, he carefully looked around like he had been taught by Danny. The situational awareness he had been previously been trained in was next to useless in the endless green sea of the Realms. He was about to dismiss the strange feeling when he couldn’t find any source to the possible threat. 

Then the tug began to burn. He screamed in pain and fear as something yanked on his core. Danny said the ghost’s core was everything to them, brain and heart and soul in one, and something was pulling on his fit to pull it from his body. He screamed for Danny, screamed into the ectoplasm of the Zone, just like he did when he first formed. And just like when he first formed, Danny answered. The King of All Ghosts bent the very Infinite Realms themselves to fly to Jason’s side. 

Danny wrapped him in his impossibly large and powerful aura, surrounded him as the pull became too strong to resist and took the pull upon himself. Jason sighed in relief as the burning in his core eased. He could now focus enough to feel the emotions behind the pull. There was grief and muted rage and grief and sorrow and grief and grief and grief and…

A crackling tear opened in the Realms surrounding them and they both slipped through, invisible and silent to hover in the light of the sun over a large crowd. For a moment Jason felt like he was drowning in the grief of the people below him before he could focus on what was happening. He and Danny had emerged in the air above a funeral. His funeral. 

.

The day of Jason’s funeral, his second funeral, was a bright and sunny one. Dick felt it was a betrayal. The weather of Gotham, normally so gloomy and dark, was bright when it should have been in mourning just like him. 

There was a lot of debate among his remaining siblings about what to do with Jason’s body. After his first death, Jason had been buried on the grounds of Wayne Manor next to Thomas and Martha. Bruce thought it was fitting that his son was buried next to his parents. However once Jason came back, the manor was never really his home again. He had never felt welcomed there, no matter how much his siblings and Alfred had tried. Even though Bruce was currently staying on the Watchtower they didn’t want to risk it. 

Eventually they decided on a small plot in an abandoned lot in Crime Alley. That was where Jason was born, where he lived, and where he died. They would lay him to rest there. Tim handled the purchase of the lot, which was long overgrown and the locals treated it almost as a park. Seemed like the perfect place to lay him to rest. 

They had expected it to be just a private affair, only siblings and Alfred. Except apparently word got out that not only was Jason getting buried, but that Jason was also the Red Hood. Hood’s lieutenants came along with some of the working girls from the Alley. The kids Jason had saved or protected filled out most of the rest of the seats. Really it was a packed house. All here to grieve Jason and acknowledge his impact on their lives. 

There were no capes present. The family were dressed in their civilian attire. Roy and Kori were patrolling the rest of Gotham and would come to pay their own respects later. The Justice League not only hadn’t been invited, they had been explicitly banned from the funeral and the city. Any reporters that tried to enter the lot were forcibly removed by members of Hood’s gang. 

Dick, Tim, Cass and Steph were the pallbearers of Jason’s second coffin. Damian wanted to take part but he was too short, so he and Duke formed an honor guard on either side of the coffin. They choose a simple pinewood box, rather than the more expensive modern coffins. Jason had managed to dig himself out of the grave once, if he had to do it again they wanted to make it easier. There was also a bevy of sensors to detect movement and an emergency beacon, just in case. Damian had even slipped one of his favorite daggers into the coffin so Jason could use it to dig himself out if he needed to. 

The family sans Bruce stood around the grave to say their piece. 

Dick sobbed as he told Jason how much he loved him, and how he was sorry he hadn’t been there for him. He tossed his flower onto the coffin. 

Cass signed her farewell. Saying simply that she loved him. Would always love him and that he was her brother. She set her flower onto the coffin. 

Tim’s farewell was given in a monotone as he tried to reign in his wild emotions. He apologized for taking Jason’s spot the first time. He gave his own forgiveness for Jason’s attempts on his life. He had to turn away and press his face to Dick’s shoulder after he put his flower on his coffin. 

Duke called Jason a brother, a friend and a fighter till the end. He said the hole Jason had left was one that could never be filled. He set his flower on the grave and held Steph while she cried. 

Barbara told her favorite story of Jason, from a time when she was Batgirl and he was Robin, though she kept her real meaning hidden in metaphor. She tossed her flower on his coffin and pulled Dick’s hand to her shoulder. 

Damian sounded furious as he set his flower on Jason’s coffin. His hands shook with suppressed rage, the boy unable to give voice to his grief in any way other than anger. He promised Jason that he would continue to protect Crime Alley in his stead. 

Steph’s voice cracked and broke as she cried through her farewell. She said that Jason was like a brother to her, that she missed the way he cooked and their pranking wars. She dropped her flower from on the coffin then had to grab Cass in a tight hug, hiding her face from the gathered audience. 

Alfred was the last of the family to say his farewell. He placed his flower with the same precision and elegance he brought to every part of his life. If his hands shook when he pulled it back, then no one mentioned it. He gave his apologies and a soft farewell of, “May his memory be a blessing.” 

The family stepped back, standing to the side to allow the other mourners to step forward, but they were hardly the last to say their goodbyes to Jason. All manner of people from Crime Alley came up to the grave with Jason’s coffin laying in it. Old grannies from corner stores that Hood had protected, thugs and gangsters of every persuasion who had worked for former crime lord stepped forward and gave their respects, prostitutes who had worked the street corners under his watchful eye sobbed as they spoke, and children he had saved from kidnappers came forward, some not even understanding what they were doing but they still laid flowers on the coffin. 

Some of those who said their farewells came up to the family, some offered hugs, handshakes, or just a quiet hand on their shoulders. Some of the grannies offered food for the family, saying they were always welcome. Some of the kids offered drawings that drew fresh tears from everyone present. 

Eventually the crowd tapered down and drew back. Jason’s coffin was almost completely covered in a pile of flowers. An entire neighborhood united behind one family over the death of one man. If there was ever a greater testament to the impact Jason had made on the lives of those around him, Dick hadn’t seen it. 

As most of the crowd left the lot one of Hood’s lieutenants pulled Dick aside, a hand on his shoulder. Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to someone who was part of Jason’s criminal empire, but from what the man said over the coffin, Dick had to assume the two were close. 

“Do you know who did this to him?” The man asked. 

Dick weighed his response, it was an incredibly inappropriate question to ask at a funeral, but he knew the criminal underworld of Gotham worked on a different wavelength than the rest of the city. In the end his fury at Bruce won out. 

“The Bat.” 

The man’s face soured and he growled. 

“If any of those capes show their faces in Crime Alley, we’ll fill them full of lead for you.” 

That wasn’t what Dick wanted. That wasn’t what Jason would have wanted he hoped. In his hurry to correct the misimpression he let his mouth run ahead of his brain for a moment. 

“We didn’t want this to happen.” 

Even as his voice cracked on the words, he wished he could pull them back. The man’s eyebrows rose and Dick could watch the calculating look on his face as he turned and examined the rest of the family in turn. Dick was about to panic as the man turned back to him. 

“Don’t you worry none, Red Hood cared for you, even if he didn’t always say it. We’ll keep the Alley running just like he would have wanted it.” He hesitated for a moment longer. “I can’t believe the Bat finally crossed his line. Who would have thought that Batman would kill Red Hood?” 

.

Jason needed to leave. He needed to go. 

He had cried in Danny’s arms as each of his siblings said their farewells. He had cried as the flowers on his coffin had piled higher and higher, each person there remembering and mourning him in their own way. Danny had held him, swathed in his aura, keeping them silent, invisible and intangible throughout the proceedings. 

But now he needed to leave. 

Batman had killed him. Bruce had killed him. 

Like a flash the memories of his second death rushed through him. 

He remembered tailing Bruce to an Alley, aiming to question him on what he was doing in his turf. Bruce had triggered something that took out his coms, then led him into a nearby building. They talked, Bruce told him that his criminal activities were too much, that he would have to take him into Arkham. They fought. Bruce kept punching long after Jason was beaten. 

Jason never would have thought that Bruce would have finally crossed his own line and murder him. Bruce, who had refused to kill the Joker, no matter how many lives he had taken, no matter that he had taken his own son from him, had decided that Jason was human enough to be worth saving. He wasn’t human enough to count against Bruce’s rule. 

Danny pulled the two of them back into the Infinite Realms as Jason hyperventilated even though he no longer needed to breathe. He couldn’t hear more than the ringing in his ears, though he could see Danny’s lips moving. Danny surrounded himself in a green, protective bubble, and kept mouthing something. 

“Let it out. Let it out Jason.” 

Jason threw his head back and wailed. He put his grief, his rage, his betrayal into the wail, every ounce of power he could behind it. He wailed and wailed, the very ectoplasm in the air around them shivering and quaking in the face of his grief. Danny stood, safe behind his shield and watched as he wailed and watched as the wail died on his lips. And Danny was there again, wrapping him up tight in a full body hug, allowing Jason to rest in the safety of his overwhelmingly powerful aura. Darkness crept into his vision, before he finally passed out.

[awkward-tension-art]

Remain By His Side Ch.2

Chp.1 Chp.3

The funeral of your brother. died in Raccoon City.

You didn't expect to see Leon at the funeral.

warnings: Sibling death, loss of an older brother, mentions of broken family, reader is numb from grief, funerals, military funeral, honestly kinda playing fast and loose with lore and what Leon was doing after RE2, Not proof read at all

The only thing left of your brother was the folded flag in the hands of your parents. 

 

Died a hero in Raccoon City. 

 

Killed in action. 

 

Gone but not forgotten.

 

Your family was fractured. Your mother was inconsolable. Your older sister was destroyed. Your younger brother was a mess. Only your father was holding his head high, but you recognized the growing cracks. 

 

He was hiding his grief, all to appear strong. For your broken family.

 

You…had gone numb. Your brain shut off your emotions, unable to process at the moment. 

 

A woman approached you after the funeral. She had short brown hair and kind, deep blue eyes. She introduced herself as Jill Valentine, someone who trained with your brother. 

 

A woman who trained in Delta Force?

 

She must have been impressive in order to achieve such a feat. 

 

Jill offered her condolences. She gave you a card with her phone number and offered to be a friend if you needed it.

 

Her words sounded muffled. Apparently your attention span couldn’t handle much else. Your eyes gazed over the funeral attendees. They were all dressed in black. Some were military, wearing the standard ceremonial uniform. Others were civilians. Distant family you couldn’t remember the names to. 

 

Your eyes landed on someone you didn’t expect. 

 

Leon Kennedy.

 

His arm was in a sling. He seemed out of place. If it wasn’t for Sherry holding his hand, you would assume he wasn’t supposed to be here. but he was here for her, it seemed.

 

You walked away from Jill in a haze before approaching. 

 

“Hi…” You greeted softly. 

 

Sherry let go of Leon and immediately hugged you. Your hands went to her shoulders and you looked up at the former officer in front of you. 

 

He looked…tired. Probably more tired than you. 

 

“Hi.” He responded to you with a nod, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

You’ve heard that sentence too many times in the past week.

 

“I’m sorry…” you were about to repeat the words back to him. Who did Leon lose? What was left behind in Raccoon City? What parts of himself were burned away, just like your brother was?

 

“Thank you.” You ended up settling on. 

 

There was a silence between the two of you as attendees of the funeral mingled and chatted. 

 

“Is…is Sherry being taken care of?” You asked him, lowering your voice. 

 

You haven't been able to take your cousin with you. She had to remain in the government's hands. Even now, you knew the man in the sharp suit and sunglasses behind her was most likely her handler. 

 

Harmless testing. They called it. Yet, you knew it was anything but harmless. They were isolating a little girl because she had been infected and cured of the G-virus. Your cousin was no longer a person in the government's eyes. She was an experiment. A potential threat. Or potential weapons.

 

Sure, physically she might be fine. But mentally? Emotionally?

 

Leon nodded solemnly, “I’m making sure of that.” he answered you honestly. 

 

You couldn’t stop the small smile on your lips, “Thank you.” 

 

Sherry let go of your waist to grab your hand with her left. She then grabbed Leon's with her right, keeping the both of you together. 

 

Cute. You thought. You needed something cute today. your brother was now 6 feet under the ground. you needed some joy.

 

Your attention went back to the former police officer, “How's your shoulder?”

 

He moved it slightly in its sling, but winced ever so slightly, “It’s fine. The bullet went through, so recovery will be a few months.” 

 

You nodded in understanding. From what you understood, getting shot was probably a 10 on the pain scale. Something you hoped you never had to go through. Your eyes went back to Sherry. She was staring ahead, at the people around you. However, once her eyes rested on your mom, she let go and went over to her. She hasn’t spoken at all. Too emotional or overwhelmed maybe…

 

It occurred to you that Sherry was here because of him. If Leon and another woman you hadn't met, Claire, hadn’t found her. Hadn’t protected her, she would have been killed by the zombies. Or the bombs the president fired upon the city. 

 

You swallowed, deciding to ask something potentially crazy, “do you need a place to stay? While you recover?”

 

He was a stranger. It was stupid and potentially dangerous. People have been killed by opening their homes to random people. 

 

No, if Leon was like that, then he wouldn’t have risked his life and limbs to protect your cousin.

 

His baby blue eyes were wide. Clearly he wasn't expecting such a question, “I..uhm..” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “I…I’m not sure if…”

 

“If you need,” you quickly cut him off, hoping to make him feel less awkward, “I have a spare bedroom in my apartment…” It ate at you that Leon, being as kind and caring as he was, didn’t have anyone in the world to turn to. Where would he go? Did he have a place to truly call home ? or was your sympathy based on stupid assumptions?

 

“I appreciate the offer.” He mumbled, clearing his throat, “But once my shoulder is recovered, I'm….” His words faded off, as if even he wasn't entirely sure where he would go. There was a deep look of sadness in his eyes, “I’m going to be going to basic training.”

 

He didn’t have a home. Not anymore. Not when Raccoon City was a crater and a pile of ash. So he joined the military. At least he’d have 3 hots and a cot...

 

“Well…do you need a place to crash until your shoulder is healed?” Maybe you were being pushy. He said no. You should have just accepted his answer. or maybe he wasn't allowed.

 

There was a feeling in your heart though, that you should fight for him. Keep him in your life.

 

It was appreciation. Without him, Sherry would be dead.

 

Honestly, offering your spare bed to him was the least you could do.

 

Leon seemed unsure. Maybe even slightly embarrassed, “I…don’t know.” He admitted after a couple of seconds. 

 

You frowned, “well…” your eyes looked around, “Wait here.” Your steps lead you to your moms side. Wordlessly you dug through her black purse and pulled out a pen and some old recipe. She didn’t mind, you've done this many times growing up.

 

She was always prepared. Always had something on hand for any occasion.

 

You walked back to Leon, scribbling your apartment phone number on the small piece of paper. He looked confused, flustered even, when you handed your number to him, “Feel free to call me if you change your mind.” You smiled at him, hoping he’d accept at some point. 

 

He awkwardly took the paper from you and after a few moments nodded, “Right…thanks.” he mumbled, unsure what else to say. 

 

You were about to speak when your dad approached, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

 

It was time to go. 

 

“I hope I'll hear from you.” You gave Leon a farewell smile before stepping away to rejoin the remains of your family. To your surprise, or perhaps worry, you hadn’t cried yet. You were the only one among your remaining siblings that held it together. 

 

Honestly, at this point, you knew the moment you were alone you’d finally break. Finally cry, scream and sob over your brother. But right now, you’d take the numb feeling. The deep nothingness that overwhelmed your mind.

 

Sherry was pulled back to her handler, and you watched her rejoin Leon. he was looking at your number before slipping it into his pocket. The two of them were ushered away, most likely going back to…wherever the government decided they’d be.

 

Good. you thought to yourself, Maybe he’ll call.

 

You returned to campus 6 days later. And the wired phone in your apartment rang 2 days after that.

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Fallen King

Remember all the stuff I was saying about how Beast Chuuya is handling all of this? Good throw it out the window because we are reworking shit.

Beast Chuuya beat up and then stormed out the meeting that made Beast Atsushi the Port Mafia Boss. He aided Beast Verlaine and the other executives with making sure headquarters didn’t just fall apart.

Once the threat had passed Beast Chuuya ended up breaking down after being corned and comforted by Beast Verlaine. Because if anyone knows how he feels, it’s Beast Verlaine. Beast Chuuya missed the banquet because he’d taken a mission. He knows he should have attended but couldn’t bring himself too.

He needs to figure out his emotions and needed space. He’s hurt. He’s sad. Most of all he’s pissed off. At Beast Dazai, at Beast Atsushi and himself. Beast Chuuya does regret what happened at the meeting, not only is Beast Atsushi the boss now (as hard as that is to process) but he also is Beast Chuuya’s mentee as he was Beast Dazai’s.

Pride aside he does care for the kid, has cared for him since he met him. But the damage is done, there’s a wedge between them. Beast Chuuya is trying to figure things out so he can make amends somehow, he doesn’t want to lose Beast Atsushi.

It almost feels like square one all over again when he was trying to get the kid to trust him all those years ago. There’s also the fact that Beast Atsushi is avoiding him. He never gives Beast Chuuya orders and simply passes on messages to him through Beast Gin, Beast Kouyou and Beast Verlaine.

It’s not out of hate or anger like Beast Chuuya thinks though. He feels guilty for hurting Beast Atsushi who thinks he deserved it and worse.

Beast Chuuya doesn’t push though, even if Beast Atsushi wasn’t the boss because he doesn’t want to drive that wedge further. He messed up and his emotions are confusing but luckily his siblings and the rest of his odd ball family are there to help him.

Beast Chuuya does start to let himself lean on them as he grieves, even if he does roll his eyes at their antics. In contrast Beast Atsushi is repressing his grief and keeping everyone at arms length.

The first time they talk about something that’s not work is when Beast Atsushi approaches Beast Chuuya about making arrangements for Beast Dazai’s funeral.

Immediately Beast Chuuya notices that something is wrong.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Bad Ending 1: Catch And Release (And Catch Again)

It really shouldn't be a competition of which was worse -- being violently tortured by a psycho or being so, so lonely -- and yet Jonas still managed to pick the worst choice.

Yaaaaay, one of the first "Bad Endings" is here!! Since there's multiple different, fun ways Jonas's ransom could potentially end, I'll be branching out into many of the options! Some may be a one and done (endings where one of them dies) whereas others might span on for one or two sequel fics.

For this ending, Jonas's ransom was paid in full and on time, meaning he has been returned back home without any fuss (:

As always, if there’s a tag I missed or anything you’d like me to specifically mark, please let me know so I can add it for future fics!

Taglist : @whumpsday @painsandconfusion @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me

--

CW: Emotional Manipulation, Mentions of Neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Consensual NSFW

Word Count: 3.8K

--

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was so fucking stupid. What the hell was Jonas thinking in that traumatized little brain of his? The correct answer was that he wasn’t thinking at all or he might have realized how this could blow up in his face like a literal shotgun blast.

But he needed this. He didn’t know why he needed this, but something deep within him was telling him it was as necessary as oxygen. A longing he had never experienced, much less expected, that tugged his heart into his throat to do something before he lost what was left of his mind. This had to be a trauma response of some kind, right? A desire to reach closure during the worst chapter of his life? Something that had been broken in conjunction with his bones and spirit during his captivity that could only start to heal if he listened to his gut feeling?

Well, those were the excuses Jonas was going with in any case.

He could neither confirm nor deny how his psyche was healing due to his parents’ adamance he didn’t need therapy to cope with his ordeal. So, he chose to believe this was perfectly normal and reasonable behavior for a former victim. It wasn’t like he was being obsessive, not on the same level as Malik. He simply didn’t have anything better to do in his abundance of free time than to search up every funeral home in a two hundred mile radius. Family owned, company owned, new ones, old ones – Jonas dug through all the records and phone numbers he could get his hands on. He searched for listed associates with the surname Kelly and Kelley and Kellie and Kelee, for directors named Malick or Malik or Maleek, and every combination of the full name imaginable.

It had taken a good few days of amateur detective work, but it felt like this hit was the one. God, Jonas hoped it was. He wasn’t sure how many eighteen hour days he could spend pouring over phone books and internet results he could handle in a row. Not because he was obsessive, just because he had nothing better to do. Having gotten used to the routine of skipping meals and sleeping sporadically, it was a schedule he adapted to easily, despite the head butler urging him to leave his bedroom for fresh air after the seventh consecutive day of research. He could leave when he wanted and right now he had important matters to attend to. Important matters he could never share with another living soul unless he wanted to be institutionalized at his father’s request.

With the bedroom door locked, Jonas picked up the phone and dialed the number from the directory with shaking fingers. A part of him was hoping he’d found what he was looking for. A part of him was dreading the idea of his captor answering, instead wishing he would hit another dead end instead. He double and triple checked the bedroom door again to ensure he wouldn’t be interrupted, that prying eyes and ears couldn’t see what he was up to. It was highly unlikely his parents would come down this hall of the East wing and a housemaid had already collected his scarcely touched dinner plate. For all intents and purposes, Jonas should be completely alone. Just as he always had been.

The phone on the other end of the line rang a few times, each little buzz causing his heart to beat in matching rhythm. Stupid idea, stupid, stupid. Even if this was the man he was looking for, there was no guarantee he would pick up the call given how close it was to the end of their listed hours of operations. Jonas would never be able to leave a voicemail if that was the case. He could call back in the morning, perhaps, but would that make him look obsessive to call twice in a row? Because he wasn’t obsessive.

A soft click broke through the ringing. “Thank you for calling Kelley Funeral Home, how may I help you?”

Jonas felt like every breath that had been gearing up for full hyperventilation had been knocked right out of him. Weeks of searching had finally paid off when he heard that familiar deep voice, a southern twang on the syllables that melted the words into something smooth and rich. He found him, he found Malik. He found the man who had assisted in his kidnapping and kept him hostage in a basement for months, torturing him for sick pleasure and killing others for a grisly side business. A serial killer, a sociopath, an insane bastard who deserved to rot for all of his bloody crimes under the guise of being a small town sweetheart.

…now what?

“Hello?” Malik asked when Jonas had yet to respond to his initial question.

He hung up the phone, all but throwing the receiver onto his bed like the plastic had burned him. The air he thought he lost came back to him to suck in great gasps, heart racing and trembling from head to toe. Malik wasn’t even physically here and he could still reduce Jonas to a shaking mess with a how-do-you-do alone. Was that everything he had hoped to achieve during his wild goose chase in tracking down his previous captor? What was he honestly expecting to happen? What did he plan to do moving forward now that he had this information of Malik’s whereabouts on hand? The obvious answer seemed to be that he should take this information to the authorities.

Yet…a million different worst case scenarios ran through his head. The police might think he was in on this whole operation, there might not be any evidence for them to find if Malik knew how to cover his tracks, people might think he was obsessive for hunting down the man who tormented him for no reason. And he wasn’t obsessive!

So, he called the funeral home again once it didn’t feel as if he’d break down into a fit of hysterics.

“Thank you for calling Kelley Funeral Home, how may I help you?” He repeated.

“I…I,” Jonas felt his throat close up, unable to swallow whatever overwhelming emotion he was feeling. Fear, sadness, elation. Every hair on his body was standing on edge, the scars littering his tan skin throbbing with phantom pain as a reminder to what Malik had done. “I’m sorry, I-I just, um…”

“It’s alright, take your time,” Malik said in a wretchedly sweet tone that made Jonas want to scream. “I understand these kinds of phone calls can be tough.” He didn’t know the half of it. “Are you needing assistance with the loss of a loved one?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know why the lie came so easily. All he knew was that he wanted to keep Malik on the phone, wanted to keep him talking with that calm, soothing voice and trick him into thinking everything would be alright.

“May I ask who you’ve lost?”

Everyone, everything. Himself, Jess or Jane or whatever her name was, Carly, Todd, all the other nameless victims he was forced to watch meet their ends.

Jonas cleared his throat in the hopes of dislodging the lump trying to choke him up. “My…aunt.”

There was the sound of a few papers shuffling. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I’m sure she was a wonderful woman.”

“Yeah, she…sh-she was,” What was he doing, what the fuck was he doing. “I…I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

Malik hummed. “It’s good to ask for help during difficult times like these, you shouldn’t try to carry that weight by yourself.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being so well versed in the way of condolences when he was the one inflicting unimaginable amounts of hurt onto Jonas for sick satisfaction. It was unfair in the way his honeyed words could coat the inside of his mind and silence all those nasty thoughts. A warm comfort seeped into his bones, helping to ease the vibrating of his wound up muscles before they aggravated any of his more damaged nerves. Malik was right; he shouldn’t be struggling with this burden all alone. That was the point of therapy, of family and friends to fall back on, neither of which Jonas had at his disposal. All he had was a telephone and the business number for a serial killer. Someone was better than no one.

“I…I’m trying n-not to. But I don’t know who…who else to talk to.”

“Have you been able to process your grief since the incident?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s as good a place to start as any. It won’t help none to arrange a send off if you’re not able to let go yet.”

“How do I…know if I’m still holding on?”

“Seein’ as you’re not actually looking to schedule a real funeral, I’d say you’re holding on pretty damn tight.”

…huh?

“Y’know, lover,” Malik’s voice had dropped, sweet becoming sultry with a single octave. “This would have been a helluva lot more convincin’ if you had used that li’l star sixty-nine trick to hide your caller ID first.”

Jonas felt like a knife had been twisted into his gut, a sensation he was unfortunately quite familiar with. “Wh-what?”

“I saw the area code, Jonie. Ain’t no one calling from upstate for a service down in Ashton. ‘Sides the fact it came up as Robert Belmont. Is that your daddy?” He explained and oh, Jonas could hear the smirk in his voice.

“H-how…what,” No, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! Malik wasn’t meant to know it was Jonas on the other end, he wasn’t meant to know he still had his claws sunk deep into the poor boy.

Instead, he laughed at Jonas’s fumbling. “So, what do I owe the pleasure of my favorite pretty boy calling me at work?”

Yeah, Jonas, what was the reason you had spent the better part of two and a half weeks stalking a deepweb murderer with the intent to give him a call? Was he still going to grasp at straws to preserve his psyche, repeating the lie that it was for closure or police intel or something that was for the good of future victims? Those had to be the real reasons, because the younger man sure as hell wasn’t obsessed.

“I…I don’t know…” He whispered.

“You don’t know?” Malik drawled. Jonas could imagine him reclining back in the office chair looking bored as ever. “So you just felt like wastin’ my time this fine Thursday evening?”

“Fuck you,” The words slipped out before Jonas could stop them, leaving a bitter feeling on his tongue. It felt pathetic to say a shot of anxiety spiked his heart rate at the idea of talking back to Malik in such a vulgar fashion. Before, he would have gotten a backhand to the face and the threat to split his tongue. But he was safe now. He was safe. Malik couldn’t get to him here, despite the fact Tucker and his goons had managed to smuggle him out prior.

“We’re awful brave when there’s five cities between us, aren’t we? Where was that sassmouth when I had you all to myself, or had I already bled that outta you?”

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! He had no control over Jonas now! The heir refused to acknowledge the way his hands were trembling again as if they were cold, instead focusing on the heat of anger bubbling in his chest. “Maybe this is a wiretap, you psycho. I could be getting all the information I need to turn you in to the FBI.”

The older man snorted. “The fact that you said any of that is enough for me not to believe you. As if your folks would keep looking into any of this after they got you back. Deal’s a deal, Jonie.”

So much rage that had been burning within him fizzled into resignation just like that. Malik was right yet again; his parents hadn’t bothered to look deeper into his kidnapping or pressing legal charges against any of the perpetrators. Doing so would mean to continue keeping a police case open, which meant having to have a record of proceedings to inform potential business partners if it was ongoing. The idea of a company being primarily involved in a lawsuit, regardless of the details, was bad for investors. Not to mention that as far as they were concerned, the transaction had been made and there was no need to go back on the agreement. Tucker got his money, Jonas got to keep his organs. Why keep digging into old wounds?

Denying him therapy meant they could deny that there was anything wrong with him as a result of the kidnapping. The poor boy was nothing short of perfect, just as every Belmont was. The dark thoughts could swirl in his repressed memories as much as they liked so long as they never exposed themselves to the public. Besides, the entire manor had been upgraded in terms of security, both technical and in manpower – a hefty price to pay to give Jonas peace of mind. Ungrateful thing, no wonder they didn’t want him in therapy, who knew what kind of things he’d blab to a nosy doctor that could be taken out of context to smear the family name. Just because he was a troubled boy doesn’t mean he gets to lash out and throw a fit to bring everyone else down.

“Listen, lover,” Malik said, interrupting the other’s brief bout of self loathing. “When you figure out why you’re so obsessed with me, you’re more than welcome to call back.”

What!? Jonas wasn’t obsessed! Malik was the one who was obsessed, Malik had made his unnatural interest in the Belmont boy very clear from the start. Soiling his skin with scars that still ached in the cold temperatures, forcing him to develop borderline anorexia that refused to let him stomach more than a few bites of any meal, slicing off bits and pieces of him as if the man was attempting to peel away the layers of his soul. But sure, yeah, Jonas was the obsessed one just because he was the one that decided to make the first move after he had been booted from the basement. So much for being Malik’s ‘favorite’ considering he had never reached out once since their separation.

Or was that because Jonas had never really been his most beloved living victim after all, he wondered with icy realization. It was quite possible he was only treasured because he was physically available to be toyed with. A convenience. Similar to how most marriages worked in his family tree, the relationships were arranged based on end goals rather than true love, though in rare cases mutual feelings had been garnered. Malik, however, was not an individual who could grow to develop deep emotions like that. Love was a foreign concept to sociopaths, at least in the traditional sense. He had never genuinely loved Jonas regardless of the bloody affection he flaunted. Obviously he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have abused and mutilated him for personal enjoyment. Jonas had always known this.

So why did it feel like Malik had succeeded in ripping his heart out of his chest once and for all?

He was aware of the tears running down his cheeks before he registered the dial tone ringing in his ear, indicating Malik had hung up some time ago. His hand slowly lowered the receiver to his side, unable to do much else while he processed everything to the best of his traumatized abilities. Tears continued to blur his vision, but green eyes were hardly looking at anything. Alone again. After so much work to track him down, after so many months of listening to him sweet talk like a real spouse, Jonas was left all alone again. The fleeting taste of human connection was a sham, just as he had always known it was during his captivity. Yet now, for some reason, the promise of being loved had felt like the greatest high of his life. Of course, the lows were brutal and unforgiving, but they were so easily brushed to the side of his mind.

Those five minutes of physical affection, those throw away lines of praise, had felt more than enough to balance out losing a couple pints of blood for. A small price to pay all things considered. Even his own parents couldn’t fake a familial bond that well.

Wait, no, hold on. No, no, no, back the fuck up. Jonas was not seriously excusing Malik’s sickening behavior as real love, was he? A couple kisses that the younger man hadn’t wanted in the first place were meant to undo the kicks to the ribs he’d endured from steel toed boots? He was no better than his own mother then, dotting her expensive concealer under her bruised eye and telling Jonas his father was in a foul mood today so don’t bother him. Malik and Robert Belmont were nothing alike, though. Malik’s kindness was much more well versed, making it all the more addictive. There was a substantial amount of distance between Jonas and the funeral home basement, meaning he never had to worry about hands squeezing around his battered throat again. And if that was the case, well…why not reap the reward of Malik’s good graces? It seemed like a solid deal, and the Belmonts were excellent businessmen after all.

The number was redialed before Jonas had finished wiping away his tears with the back of his hand.

“That was fast,” A voice answered in lieu of the same formal greeting. “Darlin’, as much as I love playing phone tag with you, I do have a jo-”

“I want to talk to you,” Jonas interrupted.

The strength in his confession surprised him, a wobble quickly returning to his voice as fresh tears clumped his lashes together. “I…I want to hear your voice,” He whispered.

“…like a phone sex thing?”

Well, there went that attempt at being emotionally vulnerable with Malik. He should have known better. The remaining tears that clung to the corners of his eyes were only dislodged as a result of his body jolting in shock at such a lewd suggestion.

“Wh-what!? No! No, I, I-I don’t even know, Christ…” Jonas could feel his cheeks burning at an uncomfortable degree, barely resisting the urge to curl in on himself to hide his embarrassment from the older man on the other end of the phone. He heard Malik laugh, clearly amused at his flustering, and the smooth baritone only made his stomach tighten further.

There was a beat of silence. “You’re kiddin’, though, right? You don’t know what phone sex is?”

Jonas hoped he sounded as incredulous as he must look right now, ignoring the dried tear tracks and flushed cheeks. “Why would I know what that is? That doesn’t sound like it would work for anything.”

“Aw, pretty boy ain’t lost his virtual virginity? That’s the saddest thing I ever did hear.” Malik teased.

“I, God, fuck me–”

“Would love to.”

“No, shut up,” He wasn’t that desperate. Yet. “I don’t want to talk about this!

There was more shifting of things on a desk and the squeak of a chair. “Well then, what are you holdin’ up my landline for? I ain’t gonna sit here doin’ pillow talk with you all night, I have shit to do.”

Then hang up, Jonas wanted to taunt. The problem with that was Malik really would hang up and had no guarantee of when he would answer his call again. As much as he wanted to believe he had grown the bravado to stand up to the killer, he wasn’t sure his fragile self esteem could take the blow of being readily ignored.

“What…do you have to do?” Jonas asked. Redirect the conversation to be about Malik, narcissists loved that. The older man should be kept plenty engaged.

“Do you really want to know?”

Scratch that. Jonas wasn’t interested in being regaled by grisly details of whatever illegal activities he’d gotten up to since his departure. Ignorance is bliss. “N-no…”

“Then I reckon this talk is done for the night,” Malik said.

“Wait, w-wait!” Not yet, not yet, please, not yet. “You’re…Malik, you’re the only one I can talk to. About anything. N-no one else gets it…”

“A cryin’ shame. Go to a therapy support group like a normal person.”

“I can’t. My parents won’t let me, they don’t even talk to me about it! And, and no one else in the house would be able to understand and everyday I feel like I’m going to fucking explode and you’re the only person I have left who will at least acknowledge what happened!” His voice cracked on the last word in a truly pitiful display.

His outburst was only met with a sigh. “Don’t mean I really care.”

“You like when I cry though,” Jonas sniffled. “You said I’m pretty when I’m in pain.”

“You are,” Malik agreed.

“Well I’m in a whole lot of fucking pain right now because of you. I can’t, I…I can’t handle it on my own. I need someone else to see it,” If he had drank more of the offered water to him during meals, he might have had enough fluid in his system to produce a few more tears. Instead, his eyes and nose merely burned. “Please…”

His pathetic pleas for Malik to take advantage of and enjoy Jonas’s post-traumatic suffering must have enticed him enough to relent, because the phone had yet to click in disconnection. How sad it was that after everything he’d been through, the hurdles he’d overcome to survive, the horrors no young man should have to see, he was begging with his tail between his legs for Malik to torment him again. Anything to have his attention back on Jonas again. Anything to trick the Belmont heir into thinking another person cared about him.

“Ten minutes,” Malik finally huffed. “That’s ‘til closing time. I suggest you don’t waste it.”

Jonas blinked. He…really wasn’t sure if all that groveling was going to work when the other man wasn’t physically here to witness his damp cheeks and trembling frame. But it had. That brief discard of dignity had earned him ten minutes of talk time with a killer who stalked his nightmares. Laid out in those terms, that hardly seemed like a prize to win at all.

“Tick tock, Jonas.”

“Um, I…,” Shit, shit, what were they supposed to talk about? What would be a topic that might entice Malik enough to answer the next time he called if this conversation was anything to go by? Something humiliating, something cathartic…

“What’s…h-how does…phone sex work…?”

[slippinmickeys]

Madam Scully’s Spiritual Services, Inc. (3/?)

Something about the dead had always intrigued Dana Scully. They had stories to tell, assuredly, but communing with them from the great beyond was not exactly how Dana had imagined having a conversation with those that had passed. The idea of forensic pathology had taken a hold of her in the last six months. The idea that the dead could speak to her – that the evidence they carried around could help solve the mysteries of their endings – be they naturally occurring or not – planted a seed that she could not root out.

Missy knew of her plans to attend medical school, but Dana had not told her what she planned to do with the advanced degree once she had it. Her parents had been brutally murdered, and she was sure that Missy would see the choice to become a forensic pathologist or medical examiner as some kind of bid to solve the mystery of their deaths – a way to hold onto the trauma of their passing. And, she had to admit, maybe there was something to that. Melissa had wanted Dana to let go. And while Dana had moved on, she had not exactly put the past behind her.

She shoved a loose shank of hair away from her face, tucking it securely behind her ear and sighed. She’d been up all night thinking of the man who had come into the shop – Fox Mulder. Despite Melissa’s adamant insistence that the voice Dana had heard had been from beyond the pale of life, she wasn’t entirely convinced. There might be a more rational explanation. And by the time dawn broke, she had decided that she had to at least talk to Fox Mulder about it. He was, after all, the only other person in the room.

She had searched for him, and all her searching had so far been fruitless. She’d checked the white pages, the yellow pages, university directories (she wasn’t sure why, but she’d pegged him as some kind of academic). She’d even tried calling C&P Telephone Company and its new parent company, Bell Atlantic, asking how she might track down a number. All had proven useless, and the later two, snottily unhelpful.

She slid the MCAT study guide back in front of her. There would be other investigative avenues, she just needed to think of them first. In the meantime she would put her head down and study. But the words swirled around the page in front of her, and she couldn’t focus.

Huffing another irritated sigh, she stood from behind the front counter and made her way into the curtained room where they did their various readings. Missy was in the small side office in the back of the building going over their books, and so Dana thought she might take a moment to see if she could maybe hear the voice again. Maybe it was an echo from the restaurant next door, maybe it was…

Once the curtain closed behind her, the room took on a cloistered, insulated feel, the ambient sounds of everyday life muted and dulled. She sat down in the chair reserved for she and Melissa and lit the three candles that sat in the center of the room, closing her eyes.

It wasn’t like she’d never tried this. After her parents had died, in those miserable weeks where she and Missy had had to roll calls with the police, the church, the funeral parlor, relatives, the social security administration, the bank; after they’d had to handle all the various necessary bureaucracies that come with the end of a modern life, Dana had walked into this room in emotional disarray with the thought that she could speak with her parents. That she could maybe say all of the things that were left unsaid between them. That she could listen to them in kind. Her sister ran a business that claimed people could speak with their departed relatives. Her sister believed, actually believed that it was possible. That it was likely. That she herself could hear voices from beyond the grave. Why not try to talk to them in this place that was readily at her disposal? But the room had remained silent. No voices ever spoke to her. Not her parents, nor anyone else. She tried tarot. She tried Ouija. She’d actually tried a goddamn seance. But none of it had borne any fruit. One night, Melissa had come into the room while Dana sat in it, put her arms firmly around her sister and said: “They’re not here, honey.”

The room before her stayed as quiet as it had all those many months ago. If anyone was here to talk, they weren’t saying anything. Finally, after probably fifteen solid minutes of silence, the candles in front of her guttered again and she looked up. Melissa stood holding the curtain open that led to the back rooms and gave her a sympathetic look.

“Any luck?” she asked.

Dana gave an embarrassed chuckle. “No.”

“I think it’s good that you’re trying,” Missy said, moving into the room and running a hand along Dana’s shoulders before lowering herself into the chair across from her. The same chair that Mulder had sat in the night before.

“I think it’s ridiculous that I’m trying.”

“Believe what you will,” Melissa said. “I don’t think the spirits care one way or the other.” The crystal on the choker she wore flashed dully in the candlelight.

Dana sighed, rubbed her face.

“Maybe the spirit is tied to him,” Missy went on, tilting her head to look at Dana kindly. “Maybe he’ll come back.”

“Maybe he will,” Dana said, not really believing it. “And what if he does?”

Missy cocked her head to the side in question.

“Let’s say he comes back. Let’s say the spirit,” Dana gave the word a dismissive, condescending inflection, “comes with him. What then?”

Melissa shrugged. “I don’t know. Something brought him here last night. Maybe it’s on us to find out what it is.”

The irritating thing was, Dana was pretty sure Melissa was right. Otherwise she wouldn’t have spent the last three hours fruitlessly trying to track him down.

Missy leaned out over the table and grabbed Dana’s hand, squeezing it in sympathy. “The answers are there, Dana. You just have to know where to look.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Two weeks later

The night was warm, but not uncomfortably so, the heat wave of the last several weeks having finally dissipated, leaving the residents of Washington DC a little sun scorched, but relieved.

Dana had left the front door to the shop propped open with half a cinder block, the soft sussurus of the cars going by drifting into the doorway along with the smells of carnitas and hot tar, and the flowery scent of the detergent that the cleaners next door used to launder shirts. It was a hazy, dream-like evening, the best kind of summer night, and it took every bit of will power she possessed not to shove aside her studies and go outside to enjoy it.

Missy was in the back with a regular client and the night had been otherwise slow, and Dana watched the sky turn from the easy blue of dusk into the warm pinks and oranges of sunset, the neon signs in their windows humming in contentment.

The sweep of a car’s headlights briefly flashed across the desk and she reached for the green-ish glass bottle of Coke next to her and took a sip through a red and white striped straw. Was there anything better on a warm summer’s night? She thought not.

She was just getting back into gear and focusing on the words in the textbook in front of her, when she felt the heavy presence of someone else in the room with her. Looking up and half expecting to see the hazy outline of a ghost, she was instead met with an even more surprising sight: a full flesh and blood mortal, none other than Fox Mulder.

“Oh!” she said, surprised, raising a hand to press against her chest.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Your door was open.”

“Yes,” she said, getting her breath back and trying to regulate her heart rate. “It’s um, it’s a really nice night.”

“It is,” he said, rising up on his toes and then lowering himself back down. She half expected him to snap his fingers and swing his arms in front of himself for a clap.

“Can I help you?” she finally spoke when it appeared that he probably wouldn’t.

He shook himself. “Yes,” he said, reaching back into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “It occurred to me a few days ago that I left here without paying, and that’s not exactly a good look for someone in law enforcement.”

“You’re a cop?” Dana said, genuinely surprised.

“A federal agent,” he clarified. “I’m just finishing up my training at Quantico.”

So he was young, Dana thought, probably right out of college. Only a year or two older than her.

“Well copper,” she said, “you do owe me ten bucks.”

Mulder smiled and reached into his wallet, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and handing it over. Dana opened the till and started to make change when Mulder held out a hand. “Keep the change, please,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for running out on you.”

“Okay,” Dana said, sliding the ten she was about to hand him into her pocket. “Thank you.”

Mulder made no move to leave. “I’m… sorry about that, by the way,” he finally said. “I don’t mean to offend, but the whole thing at the end was kind of… weird.”

“No offense taken,” Dana said, sitting up straight. “It was weird, what happened at the end.”

“You mean most customers don’t bolt out the door without paying?”

“As a general rule, no,” she said. “But what I meant was, the thing about the scarf,” he moved on his feet, uncomfortable. “That’s not something that usually happens. I’m sorry if it scared you.”

“It didn’t exactly scare me,” he tried to explain, “but it did… I guess what I want to know is… What exactly did… happen?”

Dana rubbed a tired hand over her eyes and glanced back at the curtained room. With Mulder standing in front of her once again, she was beginning to get that creepy feeling up her neck, and the thought of the reading room kind of wigged her out. “Do you want to go outside and talk?” she asked him, swallowing thickly. “There’s a couple of picnic tables around the back we could sit at.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said, darting his own eyes toward the back room. “That would be nice.” He looked as relieved as she felt.

He stepped out and onto the sidewalk in front of the shop and then stood back to let her lead the way. On her way past the taqueria, she paused for a moment, inspired.

“One second,” she said, holding up a finger, and then darted into the taqueria, emerging less than a minute later holding two frozen paletas. “Okay,” she said, looking at him as she came out the door. “This way.”

He followed her obediently as she turned onto the small sparse grass space next to the parking lot, the ground below their feet mealy with crushed asphalt and broken glass. She hiked her way up to sit on the table part of the picnic table, letting her feet rest on the bench. From where she sat, she could still keep an eye on Madam Scully’s door should a customer show up.

Mulder lowered himself down beside her, mirroring her position. She handed him one of the paletas. “Mango,” she said, peeling open the wrapping to grab the popsicle’s wooden stick.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, but accepted the treat politely, opening the frozen confection and taking an experimental bite. “S’good,” he said. “How’d you know what I’d like?”

“One of the perks of the job,” she said, smiling and sinking her own teeth into the tart delicacy.

He smiled at that and took another bite and they eased into a comfortable silence. The paleta started to melt under her ministrations and a drop of mango juice started running down her wrist. She licked it off, and when she looked up she found Mulder watching her, something sharp behind his eyes.

“So Quantico, huh?” she asked to distract them both.

Mulder looked back down at his own popsicle and took another bite. “Yep,” he said with his mouth full. “I’m going to be a real life FBI agent, ma.”

Scully considered this. “Maybe that’s why it was so hard to track you down.”

Mulder sat up upon hearing this. “You tried to track me down?”

Embarrassed, Scully tucked back into her dessert. “You owed me money, see,” she said nonchalantly.

“Ah,” he said, tipping his head back. “I was wondering if it was…” he trailed off, and Scully found herself desperate to find out what he’d been about to say.

Mulder took the last bite and placed the wooden stick into the wrapping, and threw it in a perfect arc so that it landed squarely in a trash receptacle a few yards away.

“Nothing but net,” Scully said, impressed.

Mulder smiled at her and looked away.

“So I think you might be holding out on me,” he finally said.

She tilted her head in question.

“I think you might be Madam Scully, after all. There’s no other explanation for the thing you said the other day.”

Dana tilted her head down, looked away. “I may be Scully, but I’m certainly no madam,” she said quietly.

“So how did you know about the scarf, Scully ?” he said, emphasizing her name in a playful way. She thought of him as Mulder. It kind of worked.

“I don’t know anything about the scarf,” she said. “What happened in there…” How could she describe it to him? “That’s never happened to me before.”

“So what did happen?” he asked, quite seriously.

“After our reading,” she started, “I heard something.”

“Something?”

“A voice,” she admitted. “Telling me to ask you about the red scarf.”

He stared at her in wonder. “What kind of voice?”

Dana hadn’t really thought about it until he asked. “A girl’s voice. A little girl.”

“So you’re the real thing, huh?” He finally said, more in wonder than anything else. “I never would have… I pulled in for tacos .”

She huffed a rueful laugh. “Then can you explain it to me?”

“You need me to explain it to you?” he asked incredulously. “You’re the fortune teller,” he went on. “And you heard the voice of my dead sister. I was hoping you could explain it to me .”

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #37: A Small Funeral

Masterlist

content: angst / emotional whump, vampire whumpee, character assumed dead, violence

takes place around the same time as Sunrise, though obviously at night.

-

Bellamy ended up being the one to set up the funeral.

The de Sang family seemed all too happy to be rid of their most shameful son, none caring to hold a ceremony honoring his memory. It made Bellamy wonder what his family would do with him when he died. Hopefully nothing, he thought bitterly. He wanted his funeral handled by his friends. They’d been more family to him than his biological one ever had.

They’d offered to come. Caroline, Sylvia, Leon, the usual bunch. But aside from a brief and rude introduction with Caroline eight years ago, none of them had even met him. Kane certainly wouldn’t have liked any of them, the condescending prick he was, and he was doubly sure that none of them would have liked Kane. Or at least, not the person Kane was when he died.

It still didn’t feel real.

But it was. He stood alone under the waning moon in front of a gravestone marked Kane de Sang, without even a body to bury.

Other than that single night of the reunion, he hadn’t even spoken to Kane in upwards of ninety years, since they were children. Kane never answered any of the letters he sent. Bellamy wondered if he’d ever read them at all. It was too late to ask, now.

He felt stupid for getting so emotional about a man he hadn’t been friends with in more than ninety years. He’d always been told he was too sentimental. Kane used to tell him that, even when they were boys.

But he was. Kane used to be his best friend. The one who taught him how to be confident. The one he spent his childhood with. His first love, though he’d never dared admit it.

And now it was too late. Not that Kane would have ever reciprocated, but there was so much left unsaid.

The boy he’d been best friends with had died a long time ago, Bellamy conceded. Somewhere along the way, all the joy and brightness had been sucked out of him by that all-consuming need to gain the approval of his miserable family. It had happened before they’d even parted ways.

He likely wouldn’t have recognized Kane, even if they’d managed to reconcile their friendship. The human boy’s terrified face flashed through his mind. Jim, he’d said his name was. The way he’d begged Bellamy for help he couldn’t provide. He’d been so relieved when he’d heard that he’d managed to escape, after years of guilt imagining the boy’s suffering, though he knew Kane must have been in quite the fit of despair over it.

And now, five years later, he’d gotten himself killed by hunters. Of course he had. The man couldn’t use persuasion to defend himself. He’d promised Kane he would always protect him when they were children, and he’d utterly failed. Sylvia said it wasn’t his fault. Caroline, too. But it still felt like it was.

Though, part of Bellamy felt that maybe this was for the best. Had Kane lived, he would have only continued victimizing humans for centuries to come. Caroline had told him all about what the boy had said after they left.

He said that Kane just... beats the shit out of him until he does what he wants.

Bellamy’s heart shattered at the thought. How had his dear Kane turned out this way?

And now he was dead. Nothing could be done to fix any of it.

Maybe he would finally be able to move on, after all these years.

“I’m sorry it turned out this way, my dear.” Bellamy said softly to the ornate headstone.

He stood there for a while. It felt wrong to leave. He was the only attendee of Kane’s funeral, and once he left, it would be done.

Unfortunately, that didn’t remain true for long.

“Hey, Verta.” called a voice Bellamy hadn’t missed.

“Fuck off.” he snapped, not even bothering to turn around and look.

“Well, that’s not very nice. Can’t a guy attend his own little brother’s funeral in peace?”

“What are you even doing here?” Bellamy asked, voice choked with tears.

“Like I said, I’m attending.” Anton casually rested an elbow on Bellamy’s shoulder, which he promptly pushed away, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t act like you ever cared about him.” he scoffed.

“Well, I bet he’s talked to me more in the past ninety years than he’s talked to you. Guess that makes me his best friend, huh?” Anton said through a grin.

Anton had always been good at getting under people’s skin, something Bellamy had learned to try to rebuff since as far back as he could remember, having always been around the de Sang family since he was a child. But he was out of practice, and this was a knife straight to the heart.

Bellamy stood there in stony silence, still staring at the gravestone marked Kane de Sang. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes and quickly spilled over. He’d always hated crying in front of Anton. 

“Still a crybaby, Verta? Thought you would’ve grown out of that by now.” Anton sneered. “You and Kane really were a matching set like that.” He nudged the gravestone with his foot.

Bellamy shoved him away. “Don’t.”

“Ah, what’s it matter? He got himself killed doing stupid shit he knew he shouldn’t have been doing. Everyone knew he couldn’t hack having his own human. You’d think having the first one run out on him would be lesson enough. He was an idiot for even trying.” Anton shook his head with a tsk-tsk.

Before Bellamy knew it, he found himself tackling Anton to the ground. He was smaller than Anton, but the older vampire wasn’t expecting it, caught off guard by his sudden attack.

He punched Anton square in the face as hard as he could, something he’d wanted to do ever since he was a child. His parents couldn’t admonish him for it, now.

“Take it back!” he demanded, landing another hit in quick succession as Anton tried to push him off. “Take it back, you bastard!” Tears streamed down Bellamy’s face, his voice broken as he continued to smash his fist into Anton’s face.

“Get off me, you little freak!” With a hard shove, Anton managed to push him away, blood gushing from his broken nose.

“Leave, now.” Bellamy commanded.

“Always the killjoy.” Anton grumbled, but he did leave.

Bellamy was glad he’d declined his friends’ offers to join him. He disliked losing his composure in front of others. It happened so rarely- he was proud to be known as a gentle soul, after the monster his father had tried to turn him into- but even he had his limits.

He went back to staring at the grave. Kane hadn’t been so lucky. He’d tried his best to be the monster his parents wanted him to be, and look where it’d gotten him.

Kane would probably still be alive today, if Bellamy had stayed. He could have given in to Kane’s demands and stayed. They would have moved in together. Even if Kane never felt the same way as Bellamy felt about him, they would have still remained best friends. They would have been happy together.

But that was never a possibility. He never could have stolen an innocent human life away for his own selfish reasons. Countless lives, piling up over the centuries.

It was always going to end this way.

-

sorry for making bellamy cry :(

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[rip-us-xoxo]

Requiem- Fred Weasley x Reader (REPOST)

Posted DECEMBER 12, 2020

Reposted APRIL 16, 2023

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings- Fred’s dead 😭 and it pulls at your heartstrings A LOT. Also swearing, but that’s to be expected at this point

Based off of “Requiem” from Dear Evan Hansen

________________

Italics= flashback

________________

Why should I play this game of pretend?

Remembering through a secondhand sorrow?

Such a great son and wonderful friend

Oh, don’t the tears just pour

There you sat, listening to all of the speeches at Fred Weasley’s funeral.

First from his mother, then his father, all of his siblings, a few friends, including you, and then finally, his twin, George.

Everyone was sobbing their eyes out, but you? You sat there, eyes fixated at the ground except when you gave your speech, but you still were looking down at your black shoes for most of it.

You didn’t want to cry, not after what Fred did to you. But the sadness was still there.

I could curl up and hide in my room

There in my bed, still sobbing tomorrow

I could give in to all of the gloom

But tell me, tell me what for

After the reception ended, you couldn’t handle it anymore. All of the confusing emotions were too much for you.

So, you left while everyone was going to go and eat without saying goodbye.

Once you got home, you slammed the front door shut and stood against the door crying. “Why am I crying?” you thought, “He broke up with me all those years ago.”.

You wiped the tears that kept spilling from your eyes and stood up, going to the bathroom to compose yourself.

After a few moments of crying there was a knock, “Um, Miss Y/l/n?” you heard from outside the door. “Shit,” you whispered and opened the door.

“Hi Sophie, here, let me give you your money. Thank you for watching him again,” you said with a small smile and handed her some money before she smiled and mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before leaving.

When you looked back at the mirror, hot tears were still pouring from your face. “Stop crying, goddammit!” you screamed at yourself and hit the bathroom counter.

Why should I have a heavy heart?

Why should I start to break in pieces?

Why should I go and fall apart for you?

You then heard crying come from your room. “Dammit, I woke him up,” you groaned and wiped your eyes once more before heading down the hall.

When you entered the room, you immediately went to tend to your son, Theodore.

“Shh, Theo, it’s alright. Mommy’s here,” you cooed and picked him up from his tiny bed. It broke your heart to hear him cry, he was the most important thing to you.

He was 3 years old and the best thing that had ever happened to you, but no one else knew about him except your family members and Sophie, the babysitter. After he calmed down, you kissed his fiery red hair and placed him back onto his bed.

“Your father could have had so much. But no. He had to leave and go start his joke shop,” you sighed sadly with a hint of anger. “Why should I care that he’s dead? He left us, not the other way around.”.

“Mommy,” he babbled and made grabby hands toward you. “Oh alright, come on little guy,” you giggled and jumped onto your bed with him. He snuggled into your chest and began sucking on his thumb.

Why should I play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you

And that my world has gone dark without your light?

I will sing no requiem tonight

“Fred Weasley was a great friend and I miss him everyday”. That was one of the lines from your speech that you gave at his funeral.

You didn’t miss him at all, but to appease everyone and to not cause drama, you said you did.

Your world didn’t need Fred Weasley as your light, you had everything you needed snuggled in your arms.

I gave you the world, you threw it away

Leaving these broken pieces behind you

Everything wasted, nothing to say

So I can sing no requiem

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but we can’t be together anymore,” Fred told you, not meeting your eyes. 

“W-Wait what?” you asked, tearing up. “This isn’t funny Fred,” you tried laughing, “it’s just a sick joke.”. 

When he didn’t meet your eyes, you knew he was serious. “W-Why?” you asked, starting to cry. 

“I just think it’s what’s best.”.

That was all he told you in the corridors one starry night in your 7th year. The next day he left school, not speaking a word to you.

You were broken by the words he did speak though, he gave no explanation, he just left.

4 years. 4 years you two had been together and he just left.

But the one thing you wish you could’ve told him was that you were pregnant with his child.

“Maybe things could’ve been different,” you whispered, a single tear running down your face.

I hear your voice, I feel you near

Within these words, I finally find you

And now that I know that you are still here

I will sing no requiem tonight

You tried to sleep but your brain was filled with too many thoughts. You looked down at your son after another failed attempt at sleep and realized just how much he looked like Fred. Red hair, brown eyes, Theo had it all.

Fred’s memory will live through the shop and his family members, but for you, it was little Theo who reminded you of him, it gave you an odd sort of peace that Fred was still with you in a way.

You started to cry thinking of all the happy memories while looking down at your son, oh how you wished Fred could be there with you and your son.

Why should I have a heavy heart?

Why should I say I’ll keep you with me?

Why should I go and fall apart for you?

You then thought back to when Theo would cry for hours as a baby and nothing would calm him down, or how you worked 2 jobs to be able to provide for you and your son. Fred wasn’t there for any of it, he wasn’t there to help at all.

“Get it together,” you whispered to yourself and tried to fall asleep once more.

Why should I play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you and that my world has gone dark without your light?

I will sing no requiem

Tonight

You groaned when sleep, once again, wouldn’t consume you.

You sat up, being careful not to crush your son, and reached into your nightstand. You pulled out a newspaper with a picture of Fred and George in front of their joke shop smiling, it was opening day and they looked so proud.

You smiled slightly, but anger soon consumed you.

“Why am I crying over him, for Godric’s sake!” you said angrily and threw the newspaper beside you.

‘Cause when the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep

No one lights a candle to remember

No, no one mourns at all

When they lay them down to sleep

“I hate you!” you screamed as you ripped up all of the pictures you had of Fred. “You were a horrible person!” “You left me! You left Theo without a dad!” “You didn’t even say anything, you just went and risked your life and died!”. These were all things you screamed as you ripped up all of the pictures you had of Fred.

“I hate you!” you sobbed and ripped up the picture of you two at the Yule Ball before throwing the pieces at the wall.

So, don’t tell me that I didn’t have it right

Don’t tell me that it wasn’t black and white

“You had no excuse to leave me! Everyone told me that I should forgive you because you were a good person, but you were not a good person, you left me!” you screamed.

After all you put me through

Don’t say it wasn’t true

That you were not the monster

That I knew

“You left me! I was pregnant and it was the most painful experience of my life and you didn’t help me though any of it!” you sobbed while looking at a picture of you and Fred after a quidditch match.

“There was never any good in you, you were just pure evil!”.

'Cause I cannot play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you And that my world has gone dark

The last words made you sob to the point where you couldn’t breathe.

“I. Hate-!” you stopped screaming when you came across a photo. It was you and Fred hugging on a Gryffindor common room couch.

That was the day you found out you were pregnant and you were scared out of your mind.

“Love, are you alright?” Fred asked and sat down on the couch in the Gryffindor common room next to you. “

Hm? Oh yeah, just tired I guess,” you mumbled, not daring to look into his eyes. 

“Oh come on, Y/n, we’ve been dating for 4 years. Just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” he cooed and engulfed you in a hug while stroking your hair and giving you a long kiss on the forehead. 

The flashing of a camera made both of your eyes go wide. “

Aw look at the love birds!” George teased and sat the camera on the table, waiting for it to process. 

“Oh sod off George,” Fred groaned and gave you another kiss on the forehead.

You sobbed and came back to reality, Theo was crying. You quickly got off of the floor and sat next to him, bringing him into your lap.

“I’m so sorry Theo, mommy didn’t mean to scare you,” you cried and hugged him tightly.

I will sing no requiem

I will sing no requiem

I will sing no requiem tonight

“Come on, let’s go to sleep,” you told Theo while glaring at the ripped up pictures on the floor, “I have better things to do than cry over a stupid man who broke my heart years ago. I’m done crying over him. I’m over him.”.

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Theo ended up not being able to fall asleep and neither could you. Fred Weasley was all you were thinking about. No matter how hard you tried, he was still taking over your brain.

“Come on, Theo,” you huffed and got him dressed in a little jacket to accommodate for the coldness of the night before walking out of your house and walking to the graveyard where Fred had been buried.

You needed to see him one last time before you never thought about him again.

You looked down at the gravestone “Fred Weasley, beloved brother, son, and friend,” you read quietly to yourself, starting to cry once more. You sat down and leaned up against the gravestone before making Theo cuddle into your front.

“I miss you everyday Fred,” you cried and hugged Theo tightly while rubbing the ground Fred was buried under, “I still love you, no matter how many times I try to say I hate you.”.

Little did you know, Fred was sitting next to you, his arms were wrapped around you and their son. “Y/n, I wish I could go back and fix everything, I wish I could’ve been there for you and our son, I’m sorry,” he whispered sadly, resting his head on your shoulder.

After a few minutes of you crying, you stood up, much to Fred’s dismay and looked down and Fred’s gravestone where Fred was also coincidently sitting, “This is it, Fred, I need to move on, I’ll always love you, I hope you know that. But this is goodbye,” you said sadly, “for now,” you said in barely a whisper before turning around and walking back to your house.

Although you knew that you were never going to see him again and for years to come you would say that you were over Fred, you knew that you would never be over him and that you would sing a silent requiem every night for Fred because he was, and will always, be the love of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

xoxo

[suzuran777]

Slow Damage: Clean Dishes Epilogue 1 Summary

This epilogue shows how Baku and Shiro met and how they eventually started living together as a couple. I do recommend reading my other blog posts which summarize the game’s plot and endings, but it’s not necessary to understand this epilogue!

Also check Slow Damage’s content warnings if you’re sensitive to certain topics, because this game is also really dark.

This epilogue starts with a flashback in which Baku is strangling Shiro. He wonders why Shiro is smiling, in a situation like this, most other people would cry, struggle or beg for their lives, but Shiro seems to enjoy it. Confused, Baku lets go of him and waits for his reaction. Shiro smiles ‘’Won’t you kill me?’’. A hand covered in blood and bruises touches his face. Shiro tells him that they are quite similar to each other, people who don’t have a place they can call ‘’home’’, who don’t really belong anywhere in this world. He suggests they should stay together, so Baku can kill him one day. Baku is not sure why he accepts his offer. Perhaps he recognized the immense amount of despair which made him wish for his death, Baku knew that feeling too well. Just like Shiro, he also had no place he could call ‘’home’’ anymore. It was the first time he encountered someone like Shiro.

After this the game skips to a different flashback. Baku was raised in mainland Japan, not in Shinkoumi. His parents worked as embalmers who took care of the bodies of those who passed away, to prevent them from decaying. They had a strong policy of being open about their work and showed it to their children as well. Therefore, death was always close to him, even when he was just a child. He was proud of his parents’ skills, but at the same time he felt lonely, after all his parents rarely had time for him. It was normal for him to come to his parents’ workplace after school, so the sight of a corpse did not faze him.

‘‘I wanted to be a good listener so I wouldn’t cause trouble for my parents, I was proud of them and their work.’‘

When he was a bit older, he started spending less time at his parents’ workplace. Two years later, during his first year in junior high school, Baku’s parents passed away in a car accident. Since he stopped going to their workplace, he only saw them in the morning and at night. He thought their deaths wouldn’t change him much because he rarely saw them, but it left a big hole in his heart. He didn’t cry, it felt like all his emotions had been sucked out of him. The bodies of his parents had been severely damaged in the accident, but Baku decided to embalm them himself. Even though he was never taught how to do it, he had seen it so often he knew what he had to do. With the help of other relatives, the funeral went by without any problems. 

After this Baku’s life started changing. He used to be a quiet and obedient child, but soon after the death of his parents he started getting into fights at school. An acquaintance had asked him if he wanted to take over the family business, but he refused and moved to Shinkoumi instead. 

‘‘Immediately after graduating high school, with the inheritance of my parents and the earnings of my part-time jobs, I started working for Clean Dishes/Sara-ya.’‘

He learned about Sara-ya from online advertisements and he was hired immediately. His job is to clean the rooms in which people have died, be it suicide or murder, but it seems like most employees immediately quit because they couldn’t handle what they would find in these rooms. Baku didn’t feel anything when he saw a corpse, he was used to it after all, which is one of the reasons why they immediately hired him. 

It was one year after he joined the company. Cleaning is usually done in teams of two people, but Baku went alone because a lot of people quit the company. When he starts cleaning the room he notices something is off. There should only be two corpses in this room, so why did he just hear the sound of someone breathing? He decides to inspect the corpses and notices one of them is in fact not a corpse, but a man who’s still alive.

Baku: ‘’I heard someone died here so I came to clean it up, why are you sleepig here?’’

Shiro says he also came here because he heard someone died in this room, but he somehow fell asleep. Baku asks him if he knew the person who passed away, but Shiro shakes his head, ‘’I just like corpses, so I came to see it.’’ After hearing this very abnormal story Baku wonders if he’s lying, who sneaks into a room and then falls asleep next to a corpse? Even for him that’s abnormal. Shiro asks him if he also likes corpses, but Baku shakes his head, he’s just used to them but that doesn’t mean they share the same interests. After this first encounter with Shiro, he meets him again a few times after that. For some reason he often visits the rooms the Sara-ya employees clean.

Sometime after this Baku gets into a fight with a group of people outside. Some other people also join the fight and that’s how he ended up strangling Shiro (which is shown in the first part of this epilogue). Baku doesn’t want to get too involved with this group, so he wakes up the ‘’corpse loving man’’, who then introduces himself as ‘’Shiro’’. Baku doesn’t know if that’s his real name, but he just accepts it, his real name isn’t Baku[1] either, that’s just what some of the cleaners at Sara-ya called him. He didn’t care what people called him anyway. Shiro doesn’t question it and calls it a cute name. After that they learn a bit more about each other, like Shiro’s job as a prostitute (which is also mentioned in the third epilogue!).

‘‘To put it bluntly, it was a terrible room.’‘

Shiro’s living situation was anything but normal and cleaning didn’t seem to be his biggest priority. He quits his job as a prostitute after meeting Baku and decides to also work for Sara-ya. Because of his strange obsession with corpses, the company also hires him immediately. They also eventually decide to live together because Shiro struggles with suicidal thoughts and needs someone to take care of him. Baku doesn’t mind being in a relationship with a man because he has seen so many corpses, gender is the last thing he cares about (thank you Baku, so romantic...).

‘‘No matter what kind of person you are, you are a ‘thing’ that will eventually rot, including myself.’‘

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[1] ‘’Baku’’ is a term used for Japanese supernational beings who are said to devour people’s nightmares. However, when they get greedy they also devour people’s dreams, hopes and desires. The Sara-ya employees joke that Baku doesn’t have any dreams or hopes, which is probably the reason they gave him this nickname. His real name is never mentioned, Shiro’s isn’t either.

I already summarized Shiro’s backstory in another blog post, but this one was also very interesting to read. Even the happy content in Clean Dishes still feels a bit bittersweet compared to Slow Damage’s happy endings. 

[klqrambles]

13 for henry wotton maybe???

Ooohohohohohohoho

Not exactly the drunk confession you’d expect i think >:3c

(Cw: death mention)

Basil sighed as he dragged a drunk and giggling Henry Wotton toward their shared university dormitory. It was a constant struggle to keep his wandering hands in publicly appropriate places and keep the (affectionately nicknamed) lordling from kissing him. At the constant denial Henry whined with dissatisfaction, leaning closer than was likely advisable, especially in his drunken state.

Eventually they were able to make it, at which point Basil deposited Henry upon his respective bed. Henry grasped at his coat and dragged Basil down with a delighted giggle from him and an offended yelp from his victim.

“Harry,” Basil wriggled half heartedly in his grip, “I know you often espouse about decadence and living to your limits, but really! You should know your own limits on alcohol by now.”

Henry chuckled, tightening his grip and nuzzling into Basil, “oh I know, dearest Basil. But it seems that alcohol is the only thing that allows me to be this close to you! So I indulge.”

Basil scoffed, “you insist on hugging and kissing me every morning, I don’t see how this is any closer than that.”

He shook his head and patted Basil’s chest, “I mean here, my dear.”

Basil stilled, confused. Slowly, he turned himself around in Henry’s arms until they were face to face. His expression was that of alcohol-fueled happiness, but something about his gaze made Basil concerned.

“What do you mean, Henry?”

Henry giggled, interrupted by a soft hiccup, “ooh, so stern! And scary!”

He kissed him and Basil let him before breaking it off.

“I’m serious, Harry. What do you mean?”

Henry glanced at him again, expression unreadable. Then he sighed, fiddling with a bit of Basil’s hair.

“You feel, Basil. You feel so much, you indulge in such emotion and allow it to engulf you. Flow through you and onto the canvas of your art. Such beauty you create out of such mundanity. And emotions are so mundane are they not?

And yet, it seems that… something about mine are… it is rather difficult to describe. I have felt joy, I have felt distress, I have felt love, even. And yet it feels as though… I am lacking in a few.”

“Lacking?”

“When Oliver died, I remember you were so distraught. You couldn’t seem to stop crying and when you did it would not be long before you started once again.”

“I did. I remember.”

“Do you know what I was thinking?”

“No.”

“I found myself thinking about what an inconvenience it would be to have to greet all the mourners that came by.” Henry clutched Basil close to him again, “can you believe it? My younger brother had died. We were at his funeral. And all I could think about is how inconvenient it all was. How callous!”

Basil frowned before wrapping an arm around Henry, “it is not callous to handle grief differently, Henry.”

Henry smiled at him, “how kind, my dearest Basil. But I can assure you that it was not grief that I felt. Rather, it was nothing that I felt. I know I loved and cared for my brother and yet when he passed nothing in particular changed for me. One day, a few weeks after, I drank far too much than was likely prudent, even more than I had today! My recollection of that night is pretty hazy at best.”

Basil sighed, remembering that night. He never figured out where Henry had gotten the alcohol, but he’d nearly smashed his window trying to get his attention. Henry giggled and shushed Basil with a finger.

“Did you know what I did? I cried! I didn’t exactly know why I was crying, nor do I really understand now, but I cried. With some alcohol in me it really seemed as though I could feel! Or perhaps I was letting go of what little I could feel. I don’t know. Emotions are mundane, but occasionally mundanity is difficult it seems. But for a short while it felt like I was like you. And for a short while now I feel like I’m like you! No more cold unfeeling lordling Wotton. Just the most wonderful Basil Hallward.”

Basil found himself unsure of what to say in response. Henry rarely if ever talked about himself in such a genuine manner and Basil didn’t want what he said to ruin it.

“But,” Henry interrupted his thoughts and placed a hand on Basil’s head, patting it in a drunk yet condescending manner, “don’t worry your little head about something such as this.”

“I won’t worry.”

“You always worry.”

At that, Henry curled up into Basil and shut his eyes slowly drifting off into a drunken sleep. Basil watched his breathing even out before speaking.

“Don’t try to be me, Harry. Just try to be yourself.”

[solarishashernoseinabook]

trick or treat! trick idea: caitlyn's reaction to discovering ferris's attempts to murder halt (after halt has left)

Thanks ace!

This was interesting to write, considering I had to write something very similar for TRR, but I like what I did with this one :D

~

Caitlyn had barely been able to make it through the funeral without losing her mind completely. Her parents, too, looked ashen-faced – her father, already in poor health, had barely been able to stand during the ceremony. Only Ferris seemed relatively unaffected by the solemn affair, keeping his head down and face blank as the empty coffin that represented their brother was lowered into the ground.

Caitlyn had turned that over in her mind for the rest of the day. Of her two brothers, Ferris had always been the one more prone to bursts of emotion. When their uncle had died, Ferris had wept openly, and he seemed to be greatly affected by their father’s recent illness.

She tried to tell herself this was different. Halt and Ferris were identical twins; the emotional rift that had developed between them in their teens had been hard on Halt because, in his words, it was like losing a part of himself. Maybe Ferris wasn’t able to process the pain of losing Halt, and that’s why he seemed so disconnected during the funeral.

But it didn’t sit right with her. Halt had felt unsafe around Ferris for a long time. He had confided in Caitlyn about seeing Ferris after the roofing tiles had nearly fallen on him. And combined with Halt’s sickness from the clams earlier…

Caitlyn had been staring at the canopy of her bed for hours. Finally, she flung back her quilt, put on her robe, and slipped out of her room.

Ferris’s rooms weren’t far from her own and Caitlyn half-ran there. She heard the fire crackling and saw the light of a candle through the keyhole. She knocked. ‘Enter,’ Ferris said curtly. Caitlyn went in and closed the door quietly behind her. Ferris was at his desk, still fully dressed and writing something. He waved vaguely without looking up. ‘Put the tea on the table there and go.’ ‘It’s me, Ferris,’ Caitlyn said. Ferris looked up with a scowl. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I just need to know what happened,’ she said. ‘On the lake, with Halt.’ Ferris set his mouth in a firm line. ‘I doubt you could handle it. It was…very difficult.’ ‘I’m not a child!’ Caitlyn snapped, willing herself to stop quivering. ‘Please, Ferris – I can’t move on until I know.’ Ferris sighed, putting down his quill and turning to her. ‘We were salmon fishing. Halt leaned over to untangle his line and fell in the water. I couldn’t get him out in time.’ Caitlyn shook her head slowly. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ ‘Death often seems random, but—’ ‘No,’ Caitlyn said. ‘Halt was a strong swimmer, and the lake is calm this time of year. There’s no reason he shouldn’t have been able to get back in the boat, or at least swim to shore.’ Ferris only shrugged and turned back to his desk. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to write my speech. Father is officially declaring me his heir tomorrow.’ The callousness of this statement rocked Caitlyn to her core. For a moment she felt only shock; then disgust welled up inside her until she was shaking once more. ‘That’s all you care about, isn’t it?’ ‘Oh, what is it now?’ Ferris snapped, turning back to her. ‘Being king,’ Caitlyn said, her voice quivering. ‘You hated being younger, hated the fact that Halt would have gotten the crown instead.’ ‘My dear, your grief is getting to you,’ Ferris said firmly, his voice nonetheless rising. ‘He saw you!’ she snapped. ‘After the tiles fell! He saw you up there, he saw how angry you were! What kind of person wouldn’t be relieved upon finding out that his twin brother had survived something nearly killing him?!’ ‘Now you’re being ridiculous! You didn't even see what happened that day!’ Caitlyn snatched the penknife from the desk in a fit of rage. Instantly Ferris was on his feet, catching and holding her wrist in a vice-like grip. For a long moment they stared at each other in silence. ‘Halt was a soft-hearted fool,’ Ferris said softly. ‘He let his affection for people get the better of him. All I had to do was tell him I was worried about not being able to handle the boat on my own, saying that I so wanted to get a nice salmon for our poor, ailing father, and he insisted on helping me.’ Tears blurred Caitlyn’s vision and she swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. ‘I’ll tell. I’ll tell Mum and Dad.’ Ferris smiled at her then, but it wasn’t his usual smile, it was Halt’s smile – and all of a sudden she was looking into her dead brother’s face. Ferris spoke again, and now he sounded just like Halt too – he spoke with Halt’s soft cadence, his steady self-assurance. ‘Father’s in such poor health. One more major shock…it could kill him, Cait. Best to just let things lie. Throwing around accusations won’t bring people back from the dead.’ The knife slipped from Caitlyn’s grasp and clattered to the floor. Ferris pulled her into a hug and she tried to resist, but he held her tightly and stroked her hair, and Caitlyn was crying too hard to put up a fight. After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Ferris let her go. ‘Go to bed, Caitlyn. It’s been a long day for us all.’ Caitlyn turned on her heel and fled back to her room.

[fatalitysficbakery]

Nelson’s Sparrow (Gideon’s Song) Spencer Reid x Black Fem!Y/N

Genre: Angst/Fluff.

Warnings: singer!reader, morgan’s sister!reader, tear jerker, grief, learning to deal with grief

Synopsis: Reid takes Gideon’s death hard and it puts an obvious strain on your relationship - one you didn’t know how to fix. Until you did.

↳ ❦ Heavensficbakery navigation menu ❦.

↳ ❦ Heavensficbakery criminal minds menu ❦.

↳ ❝Grief clouds the vision until you push away those that in your heart you know you need need now more than ever.❞⁣ -Unknown

He never could win a chess match against Jason Gideon. With those dark fatherly eyes and a heart all too big for his chest, the organ scarred and marred till it’d grown black and gnarly with the wounds of the things he’d seen.

It didn’t feel to Reid as if his death was real, all the way from the wake to the funeral Spencer drifted through it all as if watching a film. You had never seen your boyfriend so out of it.

He could never win a chess match with Jason Gideon, and even in his absence he still played the game against the ghost of the last father figure he’d ever known. You’d awaken to find him asleep at his desk in the home library; An unfinished chess match on the table.

Your heart clenched each time, a helpless exhausted smile on your face as you wake him up again only for a cold greeting and an even colder goodbye.

“Spencer, you fell asleep again. It’s 8:39. You have work soon”.

With sunken eyes and pale skin, he would wave you off and go to get ready for work during which you still made him breakfast and brewed him coffee. No matter what, you knew you needed to stick by him. You wanted to.

“Spence? You off”?

“Yeah, bye”.

No hugs or kisses had been shared between the two of you in 4 months and yet you never once blamed him. He’d been dragged through hell and back and he still stood tall. You admired your boyfriend more than anyone; His biggest supporter, through and through.

It was too bad Spencer couldn’t see it yet. He didn’t think he deserved the support. In that big ole brain of his, the doctors only idiocies lied in that of emotions.

He could be book smart all he liked. His brain still lacked the sense to know he deserved love. He deserved love and so, so much more.

[❦]

You sit down with Garcia and JJ at a nearby cafe whilst Spencer got much needed rest at home on a rare day off.

You looked worn and tired beyond your years. You nearly wanted to break down when Garcia pointed out how sad you looked.

You voice cracks when you speak.

“I love him. More than the world itself but I, I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t deserve this”.

The cold crisp air hits your sickly pale caramel skin, exposing your cracked lips and dark under eye circles to both JJ and Garcia. They looked on in pity.

You’d always been the bubbly social type, everytime they’d ever seen you at an event? You were the life of the party. The most lively there.

Now you seemed…dull. As if you only saw in hues of grey and off white.

“Have you been taking care of yourself? That’s the first thing you need to do, darlin’. You can’t help Spencer if you haven’t helped yourself”.

JJ squeezes your hand from across the table; Your eyes glaze over tearfully.

“I-I hadn’t thought about it, Jaje. I’ve been so worried about him, I just… haven’t”.

You look down at the now stale bagel on your plate that had been left relatively untouched. You hadn’t much of an appetite lately let alone much worry in your own self care or appearance.

“Tell ya what, Hun. Come to mine for the day! We’ll do a spa day. Ooh! and I’ll make vegan lasagna”!

You laugh through your tears at Penelope’s natural gift of whimsy, her ability to make everything feel okay for a moment.

You smile.

“I’m in”.

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]••

Your day with JJ and Penelope ended with invitations being texted to the entire team. Keep it lowkey, don’t tell Spencer.

You gripped your purse handle tightly; A home that used to comfort turned into one that brought dread, you felt…lighter when spending the day with Penelope and Jennifer, now you’d have to walk back into a home where love had been paused. A sanctuary that turned into an asylum for the mentally insane. You and Spencer barely speak, both depressed and not nearly in a state to converse with each other let alone the world.

The only comfort you got was that Spencer would most likely be tucked away in his office, playing chess with a ghost or working himself to the bone with little regard for his physical and mental health. Except, that’s not how you found Spencer.

You were sure it was your boyfriend, with the dirty blonde locks and tired eyes, thin from a lack of caring for himself and remembering to eat but…His eyes are sorrowful and they cry. His shoulders bounced with the weight of the wet sobs he let out. You hadn’t seen him cry since the day he’d come back after catching Gideon’s killer, collapsing in your arms and crying himself to sleep. You were his safe space, a home within a home but Spencer knew loss all too well- He hid. Disgusted with himself for pulling you into a dangerous lifestyle, but now… He needed you. You weren’t to abandon a love so beautiful.

“Spencer”? You called out, sighing and dropping your purse down to the couch, kicking your shoes off and walking over to him with the caution of an animal rescuer to a wounded dog. When your hand touched his shoulder, as expected, he flinched away from your touch, you sucked air through your teeth and shook your head, you knew pride wasn’t something either of you needed to fight against right now; sitting in your boys' lap, you wrap your around him and rest his head on your chest, allowing him to let everything out.

“Just let me comfort you, Spence. We’re both tired, don’t fight me”.

He’d been hiding his emotions for so long that his tears drenched the fabric of your sweater, turning the grey colour black.

“Just let me comfort you…”

That’s how the two of you fell asleep, within one another’s arms for the first time in a long time and you wouldn’t lie and say you didn’t miss it. That the feel of his arms around you made your heartbeat in your chest when he’d finally stopped crying; his arms wrapping and tightening around you, exhausted from crying for so long. Not a word was spoken between the two of you but you could tell the air felt lighter, if only for just a moment.

The next day when you woke up you were in bed under the duvet and Spencer was gone. The residue of the feeling of his arms saddened you, you missed him.

↳

“Why are you up so late”? Spencer asked when he came home later that night, his voice, gruff in your ear startled you from your present task, you put down your pen and smile awkwardly, hiding the words under your arm, “No reason, just couldn’t sleep”.

“What’s that”? He asked, pointing to the journal underneath your arm, a grimace settles on your face as you think of an excuse, hoping he doesn’t ask anymore questions.

“Grocery l-list”?

Shit. You were a bad liar, it was your downfall in childhood and adulthood it seemed. You could never lie with a straight face and as Spencer examined you with curiosity you could feel yourself stop breathing, waiting for him to go all profiler on you. A trait you heavily disliked in your boyfriend. Spencer, however, takes note of how desperate you were to avoid this and nods his head, eyes sweeping over your figure once more, the grip on his coffee mug strong, he clears his throat and turns around toward the door, taking one last long look at you, “Get some sleep, Petal”.

The word he left in his wake left you stunned.

Your lean back into your chair, your head was thrown back with, silence and a grin. Petal. He once compared you to the vibrance of a petal just come into bloom, he then pronounced you Petal and it’d been your nickname ever since then. A reminder that in his eyes? You bloom. You were his Petal. You were still his Petal.

[❦]

“Hey, Spence. Um, there’s this thing with the team tonight, just a little dinner…If you wanted to go”.

He looked up and now the good doctor was stunned. You adorn a backless black dress with a jewel chain just over the dip of your back, resting just above your crack, with a black pair of red bottoms on your feet. He notes your full face of glam, your hair which was in its natural dark midnight afro - His favorite hairstyle on you. He wanted to say no, but he recognized something; he recognized your willingness to try, your persistence to save your relationship lest grief draw the two of you apart.

And the one person Spencer Reid loved most was you.

You exhale in relief when he speaks.

“Let me get dressed. I’m a little underdressed, aren’t I? You look…beautiful”.

Your heart swells, smiling softly, “I’ll go start the car, yeah”?

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]••

At the party, comfortably situated in one of David Rossi’s summer homes was the start of a break-through for you and the doctor, who noted a stage when he came in. The party was for him. He looked over to you with the raise of his brow, you smile guiltily.

“You have people who love you, Doctor. Unconditionally so, and now we’re going to show you that you’re not alone. Hold this for me”?

With a second of handing him your purse, you disappear to the stage and sit in front of a piano; your chosen instrument since you were 16.

“Spencer Reid, Gideon’s Song. Sparrow in a treetop, eyes dark as night, he sings and it don’t stop, he’s got to send a letter…”

When the song starts, Spencer is enthralled, he immediately realizes why you acted so weird that night when he saw your alleged “grocery list”, his eyes are trapped on you with eyes closed and lips just barely touching the microphone; The song sings a story of a Sparrow atop a tree who sings to send a message, a letter to a boy it once mentored in its human life, a boy it thought of as a son; a boy it respected dearly. At the end of the song, it finally reaches the Sparrows boy. The Sparrow's chosen son.

“What’s that”? He asked, pointing to the journal underneath your arm, a grimace settles on your face as you think of an excuse, hoping he doesn’t ask anymore questions.

“Grocery list?

Shit. You were a bad liar, it was your downfall in childhood and adulthood it seemed. You could never lie with a straight face and as Spencer examined you with curiosity you could feel yourself stop breathing, waiting for him to go all profiler on you. A trait you heavily disliked in your boyfriend. Spencer, however, takes note of how desperate you were to avoid this and nods his head, eyes sweeping over your figure once more, the grip on his coffee mug strong, he clears his throat and turns around toward the door, taking one last long look at you, “Get some sleep, Petal”.

“It reaches his ears, it quiets his fears…The Sparrow’s song…For the Sparrow’s son”. The note is drawn out and high, angelic to the doctors ears as a tear falls from his eyes. He’s surrounded by the people that love him and at the end of the song - His mom is brought in, in a wheelchair, she sits listening to Y/n’s song with her eyes closed, content and adoring the music being brought to her ears. She brought him his mama. God, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he did in that moment.

Later that night when it was just he and Morgan talking outside, Morgan smiles at his little brother, patting the younger male on the back.

“You chose a good one, kid. My sister loves you and I know you love her, and you know what”?

“What”? Spencer quirked his eyebrows in curiosity, his hands both in the pockets of his slacks.

“Gideon’s proud of you. We all are, especially Y/n”.

Squeezing his shoulder, Morgan leaves Spencer with something to think about; you come in after him grinning brightly at your boyfriend, “You ready to go”?

Spencer is tall, lanky, within like two steps of a stride he’s in front of you, his lips passionately mingling with yours to your shock but delight. You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and nearly melting into a puddle in his arms.

[❦]

With your legs to your chest, your body drowned in Spencer’s t-shirt, you look at your boyfriend with love and gratitude in your eyes, “Did you like it”?

“Like it would be a bit of an understatement”.

You nod contently, choosing your next words very carefully. You’d lost your sister to lukemia in 2014, she was the one who raised you her entire life, you took care of her up until her eventual death so you knew something of the grief Reid was feeling. You knew it was hard to move forward when losing someone so special to you.

“Do you wanna talk about it”?

“Yeah, yeah I would like that” His adams apple bobs with the knot that appears in his throat thinking of all the emotions he felt. You touch his hand and smile reassuringly, allowing him to speak at his own pace.

“He was the only father figure I knew, he and Hotch trained me, t-taught me”.

“I know, Darlin” You whisper, squeezing his hand.

“It feels suffocating. I’m used to facts and science. Emotions are something I know nothing about and I’ve read book after book on them, articles… This is n-not what I d-”

You move so you’re hugging him, cutting him off as he speaks. He gasps but invites you into his arms without hesitation, the air feels lighter, breathable.

He knows what it means without you speaking. He sighs. One of relief, a weight lifted from his shoulder.

“Thank you. I love you too”.

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]••

A/N: why couldn’t they just let my mans live off screen in his lil cabin bro? 😀