#i like writing grief a normal amount <- lying

[butchdykekondraki]

do you think joseph got to tell "his" son he loved him. do you think he got to hug him before he left. do you think jesus told him he loved him too "dad". do you think when joseph watched "his" son play in the fields with the neighbors children, he knew he was fundamentally different from them. do you think the neighbors looked at him with remorse everytime he called jesus "his" son. do you think jesus ever considered him anything but his father. do you think when jesus talks about joseph, talks of his accomplishments, talks of how he taught him carpentry, talks of how he taught him to cook, talks of late night walks out to the fig trees, talks of him carrying him to bed as a child, talks of him patching his wounds when he tripped in the streets, talks of him braiding his hair, talks of the jokes they'd share, he calls him "his" father. do you think joseph allows himself to bare that curse, to be the father of a man born to be slaughtered. do you think when jesus returns, and he finds out joseph is no longer there to welcome him into his arms as he had as a child, that he breaks. do you think jesus sobbed over a man who was never truly "his" father. do you think he still considered him one, because they were both damned by christs' birth.

[bluestar22x]

Jane Doe

The Rockford Files - Jane Doe

Summary: A teenager's remains are found in the woods and it's up to you and Tim to solve the case.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (Both in their late 40s)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 17,400 (ish)

Warnings: Lots of reader backstory, descriptions of a kidnapping that could be triggering, mentions of human trafficking, violence, murder, spooky ghost children, brief smut, fowl language, fluff, angst, and a gunshot injury.

Author's Note: With autumn ending, so does this story. It's given me some serious writer's block at times, but I really like the finished product. I hope you like it too. This ended up so much longer than I expected. Also, I almost cried while writing the end so prepare? (Don't worry, it's a happy ending for Tim and reader).

xxx

November 23, 1997 (Sunday)

I love you. As far as you were concerned that sentence was overused and all too often empty, the words spoken out of compulsion, out of the belief it had to be vocalized, rather than truly heartfelt.

Your parents had uttered those three little words to each other every morning before going to work without fail. It hadn't saved them from divorcing when you were twelve.

They'd said those words to you every time after you'd woken from a nightmare. Every time you mentioned having seen someone who was dead standing in the living room. Every time they left you in a child psychiatric ward to be treated for a mental illness you did not have. No amount of medication kept the spirits at bay. Your parents' disappointment, the grief that shined in their eyes over not having a normal child was far more honest.

Your past lovers had been a mixed bag, but since most of them hadn't taken your gift seriously even after you'd become an official couple, or you'd hidden it from them the whole time, those words had often just made you scoff.

You only love me because you don't truly know me.

Your best friend in high school had been more honest, had used those words more sparingly, when the world felt more cruel than kind, and you only had each together to hold onto. But people like that were a rare breed in your experience.

Tim Rockford was one of those people. More apt to show his care than to speak it. Much more likely to mean it with every fiber of his being when he did say it.

That morning was only the third time he'd spoken those words to you. The first having been four months after you'd become a couple and one month after you'd let everyone in the office in on your secret, including human resources. Having just witnessed you beating the whole department in a game of darts at Liquid Alchemy and how your face lit up with the victory. The way you'd looked, so bright and full of life, so proud, the way you'd kissed him after he dropped you back off at your rental, had the words spilling from his lips.

The second time he had walked in on you in his kitchen back in August, dancing to a song playing on the radio as you cooked up omelettes. So enamored by your unusually carefree spirit in the moment that he was saying the words before you even realized he was there.

He was lying on top of you this time, spent, breathless, but still inside you, his nose nuzzling against your cheek after he'd murmured those words into your ear.

It would be easy to assume it was something said in the heat of the moment, because that's what you were supposed to say to the person you'd just had sex with, who you were supposed to be committed to, but you knew him better than that. Knew he only spoke it when the feeling truly overwhelmed him.

You wondered what had done it this time as you tilted your head so you could kiss the bare patch in his beard. Was it the morning sun on your face? The way you'd refused to close your eyes, to miss a single change in his expression as he moved above you, as he thrust into you over and over? Or was it how you'd softly kissed him after, whispered his name like he was everything to you?

"I love you too," you told him sweetly, meaning it as much as he had.

Thirteen months. That was how long it had taken you to be sure that you had finally found your soulmate. Not the kind that a god or fate had chosen for you. The kind that you chose because of the time you'd spent together, because of the trust you'd built, and because of the honesty between you. The kind that was real.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

You craned your neck to peer over Tim's shoulder at his closed bedroom door. Your closed bedroom door, since you'd officially moved in two months ago.

You could just make out the flash of a tiny, tawny brown paw as it darted in and out of the thin gap between the door and the floor, demanding attention.

You giggled and Tim groaned at both the friction caused by your shaking and being interrupted.

"Damned cat," he cursed, clenching his jaw.

You glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand. "She has the right to plea. It's nearly seven-thirty. I'm a half hour late feeding her."

"She could survive longer," he grumbled.

You grinned up at him, gently pushing him away from you as you did so. He released you hesitantly and rolled away from you to curl up on the left side of the bed. "I'll be back in no time," you promised.

You tugged the oversized t-shirt you'd worn to bed down over your torso and opened the door to beam down at your latest fluffy companion, a tawny short haired tabby cat who had appeared half starved on your back porch five months ago. You'd fed her and she hadn't left. By the time you had decided you were going to move into Tim's house you'd trapped her and locked her up in your garage while you tried to gain her trust, put weight on her, and apply flea medication to clear her of the nasty parasites. She was spayed on moving day after a clean bill of health by the nearest vet and you'd both found yourselves living in a new space by the end of the day. Thankfully she'd taken it in stride, much more than most cats would, especially one that had so recently been a stray.

"I should've named you Missy," you said to her. "Though Lucky fits your past well, Missy would've fit your attitude more."

Lucky stared up at you with her beautifully eerie pale green eyes and mewed again impatiently.

"Yes. Yes. I'm coming."

You patted barefoot down the hallway after the cat, heading straight for the cabinet where you kept her wet food, plucking one of her metal bowls off the kitchen floor on your way there.

You used a handheld can opener to slice the lid open and scraped the contents out into the bowl with a reusable plastic spoon. Lucky stuck by your feet the whole time, meowing anxiously as she weaved between your legs, rubbing her face against your ankles at every opportunity.

"Suck up," you huffed, though you were amused by her overwhelming affection. She was never that cuddly with you unless food was involved.

You returned her bowl to its spot in a corner of the room and after refilling her water bowl, made your way back to the bedroom.

"I'm all yours again," you announced as you strolled into the room. You halted mid stride when you noticed Tim was up on his feet and pulling on a fresh pair of black suit pants.

"Sorry, honey, Bronson called," he explained. "Someone hiking in the park five minutes from here stumbled onto a body. Rather, a skeleton. The hiker's dog dug it up. Bronson wants us on the case."

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. "I'll jump in the shower. Ten minutes and we're on the road."

You were tugging your shirt back off and making a beeline to the master bathroom before Tim could react, grumbling under your breath.

Sometimes you really wished you'd gone with a nine to five job.

x

It was a fairly bright, sunny day for late autumn, but it was colder than it typically was for November in Portland, fitting for what your eyes fell upon at the base of a leafless, scarred tree in the park, only a half mile from the busy hiking path.

Protruding from a pile of orange leaf litter that had been blown against the tree was the top of a skull and what appeared to be a humerus bone. The bones seemed lightly weathered and completely cleaned off, a sign they'd been out in the forest for at least a couple weeks, likely much more. The cold weather likely would've preserved the body longer than typical.

"We've got a Jane Doe on our hands," Joe declared as he stood next to you and Tim, watching as Katie snapped photos of the bones. "No ID on her and she's been out here a while, best I can tell while out in the field. So Weston's team is going to be in on this until we get her real name."

"Her." You hesitated. You'd been around bodies long enough, seen enough to know that the skull was smaller than most adults.

"Yeah, her," Joe confirmed. "Probably an older teenager. Her growth plates aren't completely fused yet. Best guess is she's also of African heritage, judging by her jaw structure."

"Poor girl," you murmured. You didn't know exactly what happened to her yet, but teenagers didn't usually just die out in the forest peacefully.

"Does it appear her death was caused by foul play?" Tim inquired, placing a hand on his hip as his jaw worked. His face was bare, the glasses he'd been wearing tucked away in one of his coat pockets.

"Hard to say for sure yet," Joe answered as he squatted down and pointed to her front teeth. "But you see that cracked incisor? It's possible a hit caused that."

You frowned. "You think someone punched her?"

"Maybe," Joe replied. "It doesn't look like there was any attempt to fix it and it would be painful to keep a tooth in that kind of shape. That crack runs along the entire tooth. It had to happen right before she died. It could've been an accident too, like banging her head into something during a fall, but that's unlikely considering where we are."

You understood what he meant. Parks were fairly common body dumping grounds for murderers.

Perfectly timed, a chill coursed through you after the thought, followed by a raven's sudden high pitched screech, making you jump and spin towards your right, where the sound had come from.

You wandered a bit away from Tim and Joe, spotting a pair of them squabbling over a scrap of trash a couple yards off, hopping around on the forest floor as they dodged each other's beaks and talons.

You had been so startled by the noise that you'd forgotten the sudden arctic blast you'd felt the instant before it, and flinched when you turned back to find a little girl standing in between you and your path back to the crime scene.

She was maybe four years old and had light golden skin, like she'd been in the sun the whole summer and the tan had never faded. Her blonde-brown hair was mostly pulled back into two pigtails with barbie pink hair ties, except for some stray baby hairs that curled wildly alongside her heart face. She was wearing a solid ocean blue dress over white leggings that were smeared with mud. She was staring at you intensely with deep brown eyes, but the expression on her face was more gentle, curious even.

"Yeah, I can see you," you confirmed what you assumed she was curious about. It wasn't every day a spirit was seen by a mere human, after all. "Who are you?"

The little girl's expression turned into suspicion, one that a child taught about stranger danger would have, and her narrowed eyes felt familiar.

You realized a lot of her physical features and micro expressions looked a lot like a certain someone you knew. She could've been his cousin, or daughter, or...

"Madison," you gasped. "You're Madison Rockford, aren't you?"

She blinked at you in surprise and backed off a few steps, nervous that a stranger knew her name.

"Don't run," you pleaded with her right before she did exactly that, bolting behind the nearest tree.

She didn't show up on the other side.

You covered your mouth with both hands, shocked by your startling revelation.

You'd just seen Tim's sister, you had no doubt in your mind. She had too much in common with him for it to be a coincidence and the spirit had been the same age as Maddie had been when she'd disappeared. When she'd been taken.

You'd never asked Tim about her, because he'd never brought her up and you hadn't wanted to trudge up any painful memories unless he was willing to. Even one year into your romantic relationship you'd kept yourself from asking him about her or even digging up old newspaper articles.

"Psy, you okay?" Tim called out from several yards away, just far enough to have been out of hearing rage when you'd spoken to Maddie, thankfully.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay. I just heard some ravens battling it out over what I think was a piece of jerky."

He chuckled. "Jerky is good enough to fight over. Sometimes. Maybe I should join in."

You did your best to flash him a genuine looking grin. "If you want one of your eyes pecked out, go right head. They were not messing around."

He shook his head and became serious again. "You ready to head to the department? Joe and Katie are about to bag up the body. Nothing more for us to do out here."

"Okay."

Tim dived in to sneak a quick kiss to your temple, a habit from the time period before you'd revealed your relationship to HR, then led the way back to his unmarked car.

The entire stroll out of the forest and on the hiking path you couldn't stop thinking about Maddie.

What was she doing here in these woods, in this city? Why was she just showing up now after decades? Why had she run away? Could a spirit ever stay sane after being in this dimension this long? Or had she come back from the beyond? Stirred from peace for some reason? She must have a connection to the victim somehow, right? Otherwise she wouldn't have just appeared. If she'd been latched onto Tim all this time, you would've surely seen her before, right?

But what kind of connection could she possibly have to a teenager murdered in Portland many miles away from her hometown?

More questions surged in your head as you stared at Tim's trench coat covered shoulders and back.

Should you tell him? Yes. But when? It wasn't going to be an easy conversation to slip into. The last psychic who'd claimed Maddie was around had been a fake and had caused Tim to be standoffish with you when you first met. You didn't want to go back to that. You needed to make one hundred percent sure she was Maddie and figure out what you could use to prove to him you were seeing her. He'd come to believe in your abilities, in ghosts after Elliot had attacked you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't back pedal if you brought up Maddie. She was clearly too sensitive of a topic for him, otherwise he'd have mentioned her within the last couple years you'd known him. Tim wasn't big on keeping secrets.

You had a lot of questions to answer before you sat him down and admitted the truth, but you did know one thing with certainly: you weren't going to do it that day.

x

If Tim was the best Detective in the state, Weston was the second best, as far as you were concerned. You'd never seen a missing persons unit work as fast as he and his team did, even for a person who they knew was dead.

Jane Doe did not stay identified for long, Weston and his team working hard to dig up files on black female teenagers who had gone missing in the last twenty years (a disgusting amount, though even one was too many), working backwards from the most recent cases to the oldest. You and Tim had assisted, but it was ultimately Weston himself who found a match, who found a file on a seventeen year old girl named Cassie Jackson whose dental records matched the victim's teeth, save for the crack in one.

Weston had taken it on himself to call her parents into the department and talk to them about what he'd found. They didn't have much proof yet, the Forensics team still had a lot to test, but the dental x-ray was enough to be certain they had the right body matched to the right missing person. She had some unique identifying features to her teeth and they all matched up perfectly.

You and Tim had been watching in the observation room when he interviewed her parents but you had to step away from the glass after Cassie's mother broke into a sobbing, devastated mess. Cassie had been missing for a little over two years, having disappeared at a public swimming pool, but her parents had remained hopeful that maybe, somehow, their little girl was still alive. You hated seeing their hopes and dreams about their daughter returning to them alive being dashed. You would never get desensitized to the senselessness of youth being taken away from their families so ruthlessly.

You knew Tim was in the same boat. As soon as you both left the interrogation observation room he was back to work in the office, studying all the photos Katie had taken and all notes he'd made while at the crime scene with one hand wringing out the other.

Occasionally his right thumb swept over the bullseye tattoo on his left hand, between his thumb and index finger as he pondered deeply over how Cassie might have ended up in the forest. Who might have done it. There wasn't a whole lot to go on yet.

Your eyes were drawn to his anxious motions and curiosity eventually got the better of you. "Last time I asked you about that tattoo you said it was a reminder to keep your focus. But I get the feeling that it means much more to you than just that."

He threw you a glance as you stepped up alongside him to also study the cork board, then stared down at the small black inked tattoo before he spoke. "You know how my sister was kidnapped when we were kids, right?"

You were shocked he'd brought her up so easily, but were able to recover quickly and nod solemnly. "I heard a while back."

"I got into this job because of her," he admitted. "Back when I was in my late teens I thought the police sucked at their jobs, after all they couldn't find one little girl after having almost a full decade to do so. So I trained to be a detective as soon as I was of age. Went through all the courses, was a beat cop for three years, before I finally got to do the job and finally got my hands on her missing case files."

"Did you figure out what happened to her?" you inquired. You figured if her case had been brought to justice Helen would have told you but maybe Tim had solved the mystery of her disappearance without having enough evidence to take it to court.

He shook his head sadly. "Never found anything more than the detectives did all those years ago. I won't stop keeping an eye out, I owe her that, but it turns out those detectives did their best. It just wasn't enough."

You wanted to kiss him, to hug him, but since you were in the office you settled on comforting him by placing a hand on his right shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Nothing anyone can do without evidence," you reminded him.

He nodded and motioned towards the board. "There's evidence here though. This I can help solve and will. This tattoo..." he trailed off, pointing to it with his right index finger, "I got it not just to remind myself to keep focus but to also never forget why I joined the department."

Once more your heart hurt for the young boy whose little sister disappeared on his watch and for the man who had made a whole career out of making up for it, because if he couldn't get justice for Maddie, he could for many other children like her.

You chewed your bottom lip as you thought about Maddie. If she appeared only when Cassie's body was found, did that mean they were connected somehow? But how? Their kidnappings were nearly forty years apart.

"What are you thinkin' about?" Tim questioned, frowning at the troubled expression on your face.

"Just wondering what we can do the rest of the day," you replied, trying to think as you spoke. What was next?

"We won't have much to do until Forensics gets more test results and Weston comes back to us with more info on the family and close friends," Tim said, "But we can start coming up with some theories."

"Like her killer likely living close to the park?" you asked.

"It's a start," he answered, sighing. "I'm going to get coffee in the lounge before we really dive in. You want any?"

"Sure," you said. "Thanks."

One corner of his mouth curved up. "Any time."

"I'll hold you to that," you shouted after him as he slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

You turned back to the board and heaved a sigh.

You were really at a lost of what to do the rest of shift with Weston's team sharing the case, though technically you and Tim were on lead this time since Cassie was dead and no longer a Jane Doe.

You couldn't wait for the day to be over.

x

That night, sometime after one, you woke up with a start, bolting into a sitting position and sweating like you were sprawled directly under the Georgia sun in the middle of July instead of on a bed in Portland during one of it's coldest autumn nights yet.

You'd had a nightmare, but the memory of it was fuzzy. All you could remember was a deep seated fear and panic as unfamiliar arms reached out for you and hauled you into darkness. For all of its vagueness, it had felt real. Your dreams very rarely ever felt that way, unless...

"Maddie?" you whispered under your breath, scanning your bedroom as best as you could with the lights off. You couldn't see anything out of the usual.

You warily glanced over at Tim, who was laying beside you with his back to you, still sound asleep under the thick throw blanket you'd added to the bed after November had begun, and you relaxed. The last thing you had wanted that night was for him to have been awake when you'd spoken his sister's nickname. You were no more ready to have that conversation than you'd been when she'd showed up in the woods earlier.

You slipped out from under the blankets silently and tip toed out the room, headed for the stairs and then the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen you poured yourself a small glass of water from the sink and made your way to Tim's personal office that was tucked away by the door to the basement.

The house office was small, just big enough for a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet, albeit decently large ones. When you'd moved in you'd managed to squeeze your desktop computer onto the surface of the desk and that was what had your attention as soon as you sat down in the rolling chair.

You pressed a button to wake up the computer and logged in, tapping your left foot on the hardwood flooring as you waited for it to load and for you to be able to dial up so you could use the internet.

From there you researched anything and everything you could about Maddie, wanting to have the full picture of what happened to her and needing to find the connection between her and Cassie, a reason for why she'd only show up after Cassie's body was found.

There wasn't much information to go on. The only connection you saw was that they were both girls, underage, and seemingly had just disappeared with their family members close by, with no obvious evidence of foul play. Everything else was different. Maddie was four, Cassie was a teen. Maddie was of Latin American heritage and Cassie was of African heritage. Maddie was kidnapped in Hood River an hour away, and Cassie was kidnapped at a public pool in the city. Cassie's body had been found, but Maddie's hadn't.

You'd been searching the internet for almost an hour when you gave up and powered down your computer, more than ready to get back to bed so you wouldn't be dead tired in the morning (pun not intended).

You stood and pivoted towards the door, ready to leave the room, but you froze when you spotted a small figure in the doorway, blocking your path.

You startled and your heart pounded from the unexpected sight of Maddie standing there, staring at you like you were an animal at a zoo. The fact that a picture in one of the articles you'd read had confirmed that she was who you'd suspected her to be didn't make her expression any less spooky.

"Maddie," you hissed between your teeth, a hand flying to your chest. "What are you doing here?"

She frowned as she seemingly contemplated an answer, but she didn't find it and her face twisted into a scowl fit for someone four decades older than she'd been when she died. She used one hand to impatiently gesture at you to follow her. Come on.

You nodded and obeyed, cautiously letting her draw you away from the office, into the mudroom, and out the front door, after you'd thrown on a fleece jacket and sneakers.

She was waiting by the bumper of your car, face unreadable. You approached cautiously. "What is it?" You tried to reassure yourself that this was a kid, Tim's sister. You didn't have to be wary.

Then again, who knew how long she'd been wandering around? Insane spirits were not like their living counterparts. You'd learned that lesson harshly with Elliot. If Maddie was insane, it didn't matter if she was a Rockford.

She glanced between you and the driver's door expectantly and you raised your eyebrows. "You want me to drive somewhere?"

She nodded fervently and motioned at the door again.

You shoved your right hand in your jacket pocket and pulled out the set of car keys you'd left in them the last time you'd driven your car. You reached for the door handle and as your fingertips grazed it the world spun. You swayed and balanced yourself against the door, a hand outstretched, as a vision overtook you.

x

You could only see darkness, but it felt like you were moving, rolling along at a high speed like you were in a vehicle. You were confused, wondering why it was so dark if you were out on a road. You should see something or else whoever was driving you couldn't see anything either.

You tried to shift in your spot to relieve your stiff neck and knees, and realized you were laying on your side, will carpeted walls surrounding you.

But only trunks of cars were completely covered with carpet...

You felt your heart jump in your chest, and panic start to set in. Something wasn't right. Wherever you were, you weren't supposed to be here. Last you remembered was running into the forest to try to find a hiding spot. You had to find the best one possible. Your brother was really good at finding you, annoyingly so.

You'd been ducking under a fallen log when...you felt your eyes widen as the memory of someone ripping you out of your hiding spot by your legs flashed before your eyes, followed by a grain bag being pulled over your head.

You began thrashing around in the trunk, terrified. You pushed against the walls with your feet, unable to do so with your arms since your wrists were bound together with what felt like rope.

Whoever was driving the car must've heard you because it had stopped moving, and you could hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

You were breathing heavy, and your mind was scrambled from the intensifying terror you were feeling with every crunch of shoe on gravel. You tried to recall what your father had once instructed you to do if a stranger approached you when you were alone.

Never take anything they offer. Never leave with them without telling us first. And if they try to take you, fight, run.

You had been scared when he had that conversation with you and you hadn't understood why anyone would want to hurt you, but he'd compared it to Snow White. Sometimes people acted like the Evil Queen and destroyed lives they had no right to. He had assured you that the Evil Queen wasn't real and that it was extremely unlikely anyone would try to put you under a spell or worst, but in case, you needed to know. He had assured you that you would be safe if you did as told in that scenario.

You had listened, but your fear had faded, your father's assurances and time working together to serve you peace.

Peace was far from you now and you shrieked when the trunk lid lifted and you saw your captor above you. You were blinded by the bright sunlight outside, but you could tell the person was a man, shorter than your father, but just as broad shouldered. He was wearing a plain brown t-shirt and jeans, but you didn't wait to let your eyes adjust to see his full face.

You sprung up, throwing all your weight at him instinctively, causing him to stumble back with a startled grunt, and gravity dropped you to the solid dirt road below. The impact drew tears to your eyes, the arm pinned underneath you suddenly throbbing with pain, but adrenaline had you on your feet in a second, bounding into the woods that surrounded the road, your tied hands out in front of you.

You didn't make it more than a few yards before he had one of his arms wrapped around you and had the tip a sharp kitchen knife pressed against your throat. You froze in horror. You didn't know much about knives, but you knew this kind would hurt you if it touched your skin and you moved. Your mother had warned you never to touch the ones in the block in the kitchen. "Don't hurt me," you begged.

"I won't if you get back in that trunk," the man promised you.

An adult had never lied to you before, but he was a stranger. "You swear?"

"I swear."

You didn't want to get back in, but you also didn't want him to hurt you. Every muscle in your body was screaming at you to run as your father had told you to, but you'd already tried that and failed.

Heart in your throat, you let him lower you back into the trunk and bind your legs with a new rope. He then put something over your eyes and shoved a cloth roughly into your mouth so you could not speak.

You were helpless to stop him. You could only hope that he meant what he said, but deep down a part of you sensed he was lying, just like the Evil Queen with the poisoned apple.

You sobbed as the car pulled back onto the road.

x

There were tears tracking down your face when you snapped out of the horrifying memory.

Maddie's memory.

Your eyes shot up to meet hers and hers flickered away, as if she was ashamed. Your heart clenched.

"You did what you could," you assured her, breathlessly. "It wasn't your fault he was faster. I'm so sorry he was faster, Maddie."

Moments flashed through your head, Maddie not done with you yet. The man peeling the blindfold off her face and telling her not to look back, to keep walking and Maddie obediently doing so, entering a forested area that was less dense with brush than the previous one had been. You were separated enough from the scene this time to conclude that the forest was familiar to you but not the girl. You recognized a few landmarks while she recognized none. You could still feel her fear as if it were your own though.

Thankfully Maddie spared you from seeing and feeling her death, maybe she didn't even remember it, as traumatic as it probably had been to her mentality. Maybe as far as she was concerned everything ended when her kidnapper shoved her to the forest floor and took out his knife again. "Sorry, kid," he murmured into her ear from behind her. "Apparently nobody's interested in taking on another kid your age. And I can't just let you go after seeing my face. Shame. But that's a risk of the business." He almost sounded like he meant the apology. Almost.

Fresh tears streaked down your face and you felt your blood boil like it had never before. It wasn't the first time a spirit had shown you their last moments, but they never failed to fill you with rage, especially when it was kids, and in this case, especially because it was Maddie. Tim's sister. If not for the man who'd taken her, you would've probably met her before this, like you'd met their parents last Christmas when Tim had brought you with him to visit them in Arizona, where they'd retired to. You'd never gotten the opportunity, and she'd never gotten to grow up, all because of one sick mind.

"Psy!"

The shout of your nickname made you jump and you were pretty sure one more surprise that night would send you to the hospital the way your heart was battering against your ribs.

You glanced over your shoulder and noted Tim stepping off the porch, headed out to join you by your car in the driveway. When you turned back to look for Maddie, she was gone.

But she'd given you all the information you'd needed from her and more. Too much more. You definitely would not have gone back to bed after that, even if you could've.

"Where are you going?" Tim inquired, eyes falling to the key ring in your hand.

"Back to the park," you stated. "Where we found Cassie."

"Why, at this time of night?" He blinked at you, confused. You gave him a few seconds to think. "You saw her in a dream?" he guessed.

"A waking nightmare, really," you said, not correcting him on who you were talking about.

"What did you see?"

You gritted your teeth, the vision still too fresh. "There might be more bodies out there. I have reason to believe we're dealing with a serial killer."

He gave you half a minute to give him a further explanation, but you didn't. He frowned at that, used to you telling him everything since you'd started dating, but he thankfully did not press. "I'll get a shovel."

In a few minutes you were on the road, Tim in the driver's seat, having switched spots with you when he noticed your hands shaking as you put on your seat belt.

The whole way you tried not to think about anything. Not Maddie's memories, not your lies to Tim, not the forested location off the path you were headed to. You'd have to face them when you got to your destination, but as long as your ass was on the passenger seat, you could pretend like none of it was real.

If only.

x

As soon as Tim pulled into a spot in the park's mostly empty lot you ripped open the glove compartment to snatch up the emergency flashlight you always kept in there and slid out the passenger side, heading for the trail without waiting for him. He would easily catch up, and he did, way before you reached the location where Cassie's body had been found.

You glanced over to Tim and without a word he got to work digging around what had been her resting place, turning over the surface soil, moss, and dead plant debris. Meanwhile you observed the ground carefully under the light, not wanting to miss any evidence he might turn up.

He was fifteen minutes into cautiously turning over the earth when a flash of white caught your eye. You raised your arm and made a stop gesture at him with the palm of your hand so he'd pause.

He gave you a nod and backed off as you squatted over where you'd seen the white thing. Putting on gloves from your jacket pocket you began to delicately claw at the ground with one hand, eventually revealing what appeared to be a human humerus bone.

"We should call this in," Tim said, immediately pulling his cell phone out of his trench coat.

"Definitely," you agreed, placing the fragile, worn bone back on the surface of the earth it was found in. "I have a feeling we've found a dumping ground."

x

You were right. As soon as the Forensics team joined you back on site and you all got to work digging up all the ground within a few yards of Cassie's burial site more and more bones started surfacing until two more mostly complete skeletons had been collected to study and identify.

"Are these kids too?" you asked Joe.

He shrugged. "Hard to tell in the field, especially at night. But their heights are similar and they are female remains."

"Can I touch one of the bones with my bare hands?" you inquired. "I want to see if I can get something off of them."

"You've already touched victim A's left humerus, go for that one," Joe suggested. "If you think it'll give us key information."

"It might." You weren't going to promise it would when nothing was a guarantee.

He nodded at you to continue and you hesitantly bent to lay a few bare fingers on victim A's arm bone, trying to prepare for the worst. You were still shaken up from what Maddie had shown you earlier.

Everything came in flashes, like the second memory she had shared with you. You were wriggling out of a binding finally too loose for you because your wrists had practically become made of nothing but bone. You were starving, and desperate to escape. You sneaked silently up the basement steps, away from where you'd been held captive for weeks and carefully twisted the door knob to enter the house. Then the next thing you knew you were staring into a hallway decorative mirror, shocked by how hollow and pale your face appeared. You were barely recognizable. Another flash, and you were racing out of the house at full speed and down the driveway, your heart thumping loudly in your chest with the knowledge that if you glanced back you were most definitely dead. He was behind you. You only made it halfway to the mailbox, purposely eying the number on it as you approached, before something ripped through your abdomen and you crumpled to the dirt as searing hot pain filled you. The last thing you saw was red blooming on your ragged shirt before you were you again.

"She's maybe thirteen years old, of Asian, probably Korean descent," you informed Joe as you opened your eyes back up. "She escaped, made it halfway down the driveway before he shot her. The house is in a thickly wooded area. The black mailbox had the number fifteen on it. Must be the address. But I didn't catch a name on the box."

Joe gaped at you. So did Weston, who'd been a yard away from you helping Tim dig up more ground to make sure there weren't more bodies.

"You been holdin' out on us or what?" Joe questioned. "You never told us you could see their memories just by touching their bones."

He'd become much more open minded about your abilities after Tim had admitted to him that he believed you. Funny how that worked.

"I usually can't," you began, "Usually they have to be..."

Something caught your attention to your right, in front of a large, barren bigleaf maple tree.

Maddie was standing there next to the girl who'd been shot in their murderer's driveway, observing you like a creepy set of twins in a horror movie.

"...Nearby," you finished, breath catching. Why did spirits have to act this way? It was unnerving.

"She's here too?" Tim guessed, having seen you focusing in on nothing and recognizing your unsettled expression.

"Yeah."

You watched the girls as the teenager reached for Maddie's hand and Maddie grasped it, eyes peering up at her for a brief passing. Then they were simply gone.

You had no doubts you'd see them again though.

"Hey, I found something over here!" Katie called out from behind you.

You twisted around and ambled over to her, all three guys following.

She passed you fresh gloves and you tugged them on before she transferred an item in her gloved hands into your own.

It was a frayed black corded necklace with a silver flower pendant attached to it. The flower seemed to resemble a daisy.

"How would this get buried so far away from their bodies?" you asked her.

She shrugged.

"Let me see," Tim requested, and you turned to offer up the necklace to him. He didn't grab it from you, but he studied it hard for several moments, his expression shifting from curiosity to shock to anger.

"You've seen this before," you murmured, chest tightening. That could only mean one thing.

"I haven't seen a necklace like that in nearly forty years," he stated, confirming your suspicions.

Weston gaped at him. "Are you saying that could be your sister's?"

Tim narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "It can't be a coincidence. The odds of one of the other victims owning one like that or a lost one getting buried that deep in the soil on its own are too low."

"Shit," Joe said under his breath as he stared at the piece of jewelry. "I won't be able to confirm whether or not you're right. If she was here, there'd be nothing left of her by now. I'm sorry, Tim."

"We don't need to confirm it," Tim told him. "We just need to catch this bastard. And now have a partial address."

With that he charged off, headed for the car, and you passed the necklace back to Katie for her to bag as evidence before chasing after him. "Wait up!" you shouted several times, but he did not halt until he was in the parking lot.

"Did you not hear me?" you asked in frustration as he twisted in spot to face you. You were confused by his behavior. He hadn't ignored you like this...well ever.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Tim snapped, anger burning in his dark eyes.

You were stunned, having never had that level of aggravation pointed at you by him. He typically reserved that for the bad guys.

"What do you mean?" You winced. You didn't even sound remotely convincing.

"You know what I mean," he huffed, putting a hand on one of his hips and meeting your shame filled eyes. "You're a bad liar, Psy. You've always been easy to read. I know you've been hiding something from me since we found Cassie's body. It's my sister's spirit, isn't it? You've been seeing her, not Cassie."

You should have known better than to lie to Tim. Out of everyone in the world, even your old partner back in Georgia, he knew you best, in every way, and his greatest talent was observation. There was no use in denying it. That would only make him more upset.

"I have," you admitted. "When Cassie was found and last night by the car. It's her. I'm certain of it. I saw her picture in a newspaper article after I saw her the first time."

"Did she show you anything?" Tim inquired. He sounded so professional about it, but his eyes gave away the hurt he was feeling.

You nodded, biting your lower lip, wondering how much you should go into detail. This was his sister. You doubted he'd want to know the full details, but he also wouldn't want you to sugar coat it either. "She showed me a few things. She didn't see his face well, or more likely, is blocking it out. But she remembers his voice and I do now too. I'd recognize it."

"What else?" he prompted.

"He must've been driving her to his house," you continued. "She woke up in the trunk and was trying to kick her way out. She nearly escaped him when he opened it up, but he caught up to her. Forced her back in. Later he brought her here, saying something about not being able to find anyone interested in her. I think...I think he stabbed her. To get rid of her."

You noticed him clenching his fists after your retelling. You wanted to comfort him with at least another hand to his shoulder, but you stopped yourself after taking a step forward, not sure if he'd want to be touched in that moment, especially by you.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he repeated, less angry this time, more disappointed.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I was going to tell you, but I wanted more evidence first, so I had proof."

"You don't need proof with me," he told you, a different kind of pain seeping into his voice due to your mistrust. "I know we didn't start out on the best of terms, I know I haven't talked about Maddie enough, but I'd have thought after all this time, after everything that's happened between us, that you'd trust me to believe you. Especially on this. I know you wouldn't lie about something like this. How many times do I have to say I believe you, that I believe in your gift, for you to believe me?"

Tears blinded your eyes. His words were bigger than any I love you you'd ever heard. Trust had been a hard commodity to come by before him. Too few people in your life had given you theirs, and you'd failed to return it to the person who meant the most to you.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, eyes darting away from his to study the ground. "I thought I was protecting us both. I wasn't sure at first who she was. But I didn't have an excuse after I saw her picture online."

His face softened sympathetically and he reached out to cup your jaw gently. "I have no idea what it's been like for you dealing with all the suspicion towards you all your life. Dealing with your parents and therapists all telling you it's all in your head. I understand why you have a hard time with trust. I understand why you'd be hesitant to tell me about Maddie for my sake too. But lying will never protect me in the long run, Psy, and we won't last if either of us keep secrets like this from one another. It's the simple truth."

You nodded and covered his hand with yours. You knew this. You knew all relationships relied on trust. It was why you hadn't talked to either of your parents in over a decade, because you couldn't trust them.

"I promise I won't keep anything like that from you ever again."

"Good."

He let his hand slip out from under yours to fall back at his side and tilted his head in the direction of the car. "Ready?"

That ready could've meant a multitude of things. Ready to get back to work? Ready to get back to being a team? Ready for the rest of our lives?

In any case, the answer was the same for all of them.

"Yes."

x

It turned out there weren't a lot of addresses in the city that started with fifteen that were also located in a densely wooded area, so you and Tim were able to narrow down the most likely addresses before your shift ended on the same day.

Wasting no time, Tim had driven to the first address to scope it out and to see if you'd recognize it. He'd barely pulled the car into park when you stared at the house across the street and sucked in a deep breath.

It looked exactly like the home in your vision. The overgrown bushes, the dirt driveway, the log home, the barely-hanging on garage, and the black mailbox with fifteen written on the side. The last name Simmons that was written alongside the number was new to you though.

"First and done," Tim mused, having read your reaction correctly. "We're never this lucky."

"You've probably jinxed us now," you remarked, gesturing at the front porch. "How do you want to play this?"

"We'll knock on the front door," he answered methodically. "We'll pretend to be a couple interested in buying the home. Take off from there. Keep close to the truth, but do not tell them our real jobs."

You gave him a nod. "Pretty straight forward." You voice betrayed you, a tinge of nervousness to them.

He arched a brow. "You going to be alright doing this?"

"Yeah," you said, trying to sound confident. "Of course. It's not my first time talking to someone I know is a killer before they get the cuffs."

You could count the number of times on one hand though, and no matter how often you did, it never made you any more comfortable. So much could go wrong.

Tim checked to made sure his main weapon, a glock, was in his left holster for an easy grab if he needed it then buttoned up his trench coat, pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, and exited the vehicle. You were on his heels as he strolled up to the house, eying the surrounding trees suspiciously the whole way. Something told you that you had to be on guard about it. The girls' murderer seemed to love the forest, after all. It would be just like him to hide in it to spy on you both, wouldn't it?

Tim knocked on the door as you stepped out from behind him to lean into his side, and hand falling onto his lower back. It wasn't something you'd typically do if you were at work, but you were an actual couple acting as a couple, so you went for it. He responded immediately, moving to loop an arm around your waist almost instinctively and a smile flitted across you face. Tim was strict about acting professional while on the job, whether there were eyes on you or not, so you savored every moment he slipped even when it was just responsive.

You heard light footsteps approaching the other side of the front door and your breath caught for a moment as it was ripped open.

"Please tell me you're not trying to sell something," begged the woman who was standing in the doorway. She looked a lot like Cassie, if she had lived long enough to be thirty.

"We're not," you promised, faster than Tim could react. "My boyfriend and I were just wondering if this place was still for sale."

The woman frowned. "Nooo...as of nearly a year ago."

"Oh?" You were genuinely surprised. If the house had been sold within the last year, then the suspect you were after likely wasn't around anymore. It seemed that Tim had indeed spoken too soon.

"I probably got the address mixed up with another one we saw in the newspaper then," you continued, "Sorry."

"That's alright," the woman said politely, though there was a tinge of annoyance in her tone.

You chewed your lip and shifted awkwardly in place for show. "We should go -"

"Before we do," Tim interrupted quickly, meeting the woman's eyes. "Do you remember the name of your home's previous owner?"

"Wes Langer," she replied, appearing baffled. "Why do you want to know?"

"He used to live in the area," you explained, trying to hide your excitement over getting a full name from her. Your luck had changed once more. "He's been looking for an old friend of his who stayed behind when he moved out to Georgia after graduating high school. Wants to see how his old pal is doing, you know? And he doesn't know his phone number, but he knows he might still be living in the area."

"Try checking the phone book," she suggested, and you could tell you'd lost what little interest she'd had in you both.

"We've already done that," you told her. "But thanks for the suggestion. I'm sure we'll find him eventually." You tugged on the sleeve of Tim's coat. "Anyway, we'll get out of your hair."

She nodded and Tim nodded at her back before turning and heading off the porch with you. You heard the door slam shut behind you as soon as your back was to the woman.

"One step back, one step forward," you declared. "We have a name!"

"When we get back I'll inform Bach," Tim decided.

Bach was one of the lead missing persons detectives, Weston's replacement when he wasn't on duty at night.

"But...," you began to protest.

He shook his head. "It's almost seven, Psy. And you're lying to me if you say you couldn't use some shut eye."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snapped, shooting a glare at him, daring him to say something bad about how you looked.

"Nothin'," he answered with a sigh. "Just it's been a long day. Let Bach and his team find Langer's new address. We can go to the location tomorrow night during our normal work hours. You hate research like that anyway."

That was true, and he was right. It had been a long day and you both would be better off rested when you did actually face off with Wes.

"Okay," you agreed. "Let's stop by the office to do that then head home. Lucky's going to be upset if she gets supper late anyway."

"Wouldn't want that," Tim said, a corner of his mouth turning up.

"No, you definitely wouldn't," you said, imitating a cat clawing at the air. "She gets violent sometimes."

Tim chuckled, having been around your cat long enough to know she didn't have a mean bone in her body. "No she doesn't."

"No, she doesn't," you agreed. "But she will mew her complaints all night long even after she's fed if we're too late."

"Maybe we should stop by home first."

x

Next shift Weston was waiting for you and Tim in your shared office. He appeared anxious, maybe even a little excited, and you knew that Bach had been successful even before he opened his mouth.

"Got the address," he informed you both, waving a scrap piece of paper in the air. You could see an address on it written in pencil lead, a street that was familiar. It was the closest suburb to the park where the bodies had been dumped. "Figured you'd want to stake out the place yourself, Rockford."

Your partner nodded. "Thanks, Weston." He snatched the paper from his friend and studied the address, memorizing it.

"Apparently Mr. Langer moved to the suburbs several months back to take care of his ailing mother," Weston stated. "She died a month after, leaving his childhood home to his name and he stayed. It's closer to his legit workplace. He has a small tool shop seven minutes away."

"Oh, so he got the shovels, ropes, and tarps he uses for his illegal business from his legal one," you muttered. "No wonder no one batted an eye. Perfect way not to gain any attention driving that stuff around all the time."

"I wonder what came first, the child trafficking or the tool shop?" Weston mused darkly.

"That's what we're looking at, isn't it?" you asked sullenly.

He shrugged. "We haven't confirmed it, but from what you've told us, it makes the most sense, no? He mentioned needing to find someone interested in the girls to keep them alive in one of your visions, right?"

You gave him a nod. "Yeah, he implied he only killed them if there was no interest. Or if they escaped."

"Maybe you'll luck out and one of them will try to run while you're staking out the place," Weston said.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. "Like we'd be so lucky."

You'd have to be if you wanted a warrant or a good reason to storm the house without one to look for any girls he was currently keeping. You and Tim couldn't legally enter and arrest Wes otherwise. There wasn't enough evidence yet to connect him to the kidnappings or the murders and your visions would never hold up in court.

"You should head out now," Weston suggested. "He gets back from work at eight tonight. You have time to get there and watch his place all shift long and then - "

"Then we can go home before he gets up and notices that we're still there," Tim finished for him. "Six o' clock I'm guessing?"

"Five," Weston corrected him. "He's an early riser. He doesn't arrive home at eight every night. Just a couple weekdays."

"We'll be there," you said, already shrugging your jacket back on and turning to Tim. "I'll be in the car when you'd ready."

You didn't wait for a reply before you were out of the room.

x

Within ten minutes of Tim parking his unmarked car in front of one of Wes' neighbor's houses you both spotted a black Lexus LS 400 turning into his driveway at a crawling speed.

Wes stepped out a minute after shutting the car engine off. Silver hair, deathly pale skin, long skinny fingers and a nose to match you thought he looked like the representation of death, not just the bringer of it. He appeared to be solidly built though, his body shape similar to Tim's own, though he was probably a few inches shorter.

You noticed Tim's grip on the steering wheel tightening and twisting as he observed the man making his way towards his home and unlocking the side door so he could slip inside. It didn't loosen until well after Wes was gone and you had squeezed Tim's right arm gently to get his attention.

"We're going to get him," you'd assured him. "We just need to be patient."

You sure had ate your words that night, becoming restless after only an hour of watching Wes' home. The light was on in the living room, but the blinds were closed and you couldn't see or hear anything through Tim's cracked open window that would indicate that anything important was happening anywhere around you.

You were fidgeting, tapping your fingers on the arm rest built into the passenger door and bouncing a foot slightly. Tim as usual was putting on a way more patient and stoic front about sitting watch than you were, but eventually he reached a hand over to still your leg. "Psy, please."

"Sorry."

"Maybe tomorrow night you should bring something with you to keep your mind occupied?" he suggested. "Unless you don't want to be here."

"What?" You gaped at him, shocked he'd think you wouldn't want to help him take down his sister's killer. "Of course I want to be here," you rushed. "I'm just impatient. I hate sitting around doing nothing. You know that."

"It's not my favorite pastime either," he grumbled. "But this is all we've got."

You nodded. "I know. I'll bring a crossword or something like that to solve by flashlight tomorrow night when I get antsy."

Crosswords and word finds ended up being your saving grace the next night and the night after that, and the night after that. You took to solving one page every other hour, taking your time, glancing up at the house and Tim often until it was four in the morning and you both reported back to the station.

You and Tim both became more and more disappointed as the week continued to progress without either of you witnessing any suspicious activity on or near Wes' property. It was frustrating for you both, but it was much worst for Tim, who was having a harder time with every passing day to keep his anger contained. He was managing, but you sensed it was only because Chief Bronson trusted him to be professional about it and because he didn't want to chance Wes walking free due to something he'd foolishly done in the heat of the moment.

Friday rolled around, and your time was suddenly limited. Bronson had finally set a deadline. If you and Tim hadn't seen anything by Sunday night he was going to have to call you off your nightly stakeouts and hand you another case. It was just the way of the job. The department was too busy to have their best team sitting in a car all night in hopes that a criminal did something bad right in front of the street. Eventually you'd both need to move on and hope that more evidence would pop up later.

The case turning back into a cold one was the worst thing you could imagine. Of all the cases you and Tim had been involved in, this was the most important one to solve for your sakes. You weren't sure you'd ever sleep well again knowing Wes was still on the loose while you worked on solving other murders. Tim certainly wouldn't.

It seemed like Friday night might be your big break when Wes returned from work six hours later than he should've at eleven o'clock at night. He climbed out of his driver's seat and walked over to the other side to open the passenger one and you and Tim were on the edge of your seats, watching to see what or whom he'd pull out.

But the person seated on that side of the vehicle slid out of it on their own accord, without any bindings on. She was wearing a lacey red top far too skimpy for the weather, a black leather jacket, a skirt that barely covered her ass, and high heels you'd never dared to even try wearing when you were in college. It was hard to see her face at a distance, but she was slim and way more youthful looking than him. If you'd had to, you would have bet she was at least half his age.

You twisted your face in disgust when he leaned in towards her for a kiss. "She could do so much better than him, whether she's a prostitute or not," you declared firmly, feeling your stomach turning.

"She could be in the know," Tim said quietly as you both watched Wes and the mystery woman stroll over to the side porch and enter the house, one of Wes' arms around her waist. "He's selling girls after all. She could be the middle person who collects them."

You hadn't considered that. If that were the case, she definitely deserved Wes and even worst things. Bad enough some men thought they had a right to act like they owned women, literally selling them like livestock. They did not need a woman helping them do it.

But then, if that was the case, she could still be a victim. Another trafficked woman forced to do her buyer's bidding.

You gnawed on your lip. There was no use continuing down that rabbit hole of unknowns.

"Think she might leave with a girl tonight?" you inquired.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tim rumbled, "But she's not leaving with a girl."

You understood his meaning. He wasn't going to let her. If she tried, this was ending tonight. You loaded your personal handgun you'd brought from home and stored in the glove compartment (you'd finally gotten a concealed weapons license) and flicked on the safety. It stayed on your lap though, ready to go. If this was the night, Tim wouldn't be going in alone.

Though it made you anxious the whole next hour you waited, you were disappointed when the woman left the house alone, Wes not even leaving his home to tell her goodbye. She leaned against his car as she ran her fingers through her messy blonde hair and got picked up by a cab a minute later.

"Well, there goes that theory," you muttered.

"Maybe," Tim said, not completely convinced yet.

"They were in there for an hour and she called a cab looking more than a little disheveled," you said pointedly. "Pretty sure all they did was fuck."

Tim shook his head instead of replying and focused his attention on the house once more. You took that as your cue to shove your gun back into the glove box and start working on another word find. You were more than glad to not debate the topic any farther.

x

"Psy!" you heard from a hazy place, your vision so blurry you couldn't tell where you were. Someone was shaking you though, and the voice you had heard was Tim's.

You gasped and lifted your head to look outside your window when you realized you'd fallen asleep sometime during the night. You were able to note that the sky was just barely starting to lighten, a sign dawn was closer than not, before he shook you again. "Psy, he's pulling up."

"What do you mean?" you questioned, utterly confused, even as your mind cleared. You sat up straighter in your seat, away from the window you'd been resting your head against.

"Wes left at one am, not long after you dosed off," Tim explained quickly. "It's just after four. He's getting out of the car now. Shhhh."

He pulled out the gun that was in his left holster and you ducked down to snatch yours back up from the glove compartment. "Shit, you should've woken me up," you hissed.

"Might not be anything," he said.

Oh, it definitely was something. You could sense it in your bones as you watched Wes drive his car slowly past his driveway, onto the little patch of lawn out back. You could barely see anything from where you were parked, but you saw the trunk pop up and got a glimpse of Wes carrying the limp body of a girl no more than twelve years old out back, probably to the bulkhead that opened up into his basement from outside.

You felt your eyes widen with your disbelief. This was really happening. You'd caught him in the act. "What's the plan?!"

"I'm going to go in by the side door," Tim told you. "Should be easy to break into if it's even locked right now."

"I'm going with you," you declared.

He shook his head. "This is not part of your job, Psy. You don't have the training. Legally you have to stay here."

And I don't want you in danger. You could read him well enough to tell he was thinking something like that. You couldn't blame him. It was the same reason you wanted to go in. To give Tim back up since you knew there was no way he was going to wait for anyone else to arrive before charging into that house.

"Call Bronson," Tim ordered firmly. "Let him know what's going on. Get me back up." He was already out his door before you could get another curse word out.

As he crossed the street you scrambled for your phone and called Bronson's office. He picked up on the second ring and you did not let him get out his full greeting before you began to speak. "We're still at the house. We need back up. Wes has a kid and Tim's going inside."

"Shit!" Chief Bronson exclaimed. "We'll be there. Stay put outside. You hear me? You don't -"

You hung up on him and chucked the phone onto the top of the dash. There was no way you were listening even to him. You grabbed your gun again and followed Tim's path into the house as sneakily as you could, your breath caught in your throat the whole time.

He'd been able to get inside without having to break the glass window, but you couldn't tell if it had been unlocked or if he'd picked it. In either case, the door was still slightly ajar and you were able to squeeze through without making the space wider.

You clicked off your handgun's safety and kept it in front of you, pointed down to the ground, as you crept through Wes' nearly pitch black kitchen, into the hall, nearly bumping into Tim's back.

He flicked on the flashlight in his hand at the same time he pointed his gun at you. His jaw dropped. "What are you doing in here?" he hissed under his breath. "You need to get out of here before he comes up those steps."

"I'm your back up," you whispered back.

"Stubborn woman," he huffed, half rolling his eyes.

"You like that," you countered defensively.

He pressed an index finger to his lips and you obeyed. You were stubborn, but you weren't stupid. You knew when to listen.

He turned back to the door, far enough away from it that Wes couldn't make a grab for the gun once he stepped into the hallway. That would have been extremely unlikely since Wes had to open the door first to get into the hallway, but safety precautions never hurt.

You waited over Tim's shoulder with bated breath. And waited and waited. The minutes ticked by.

Eventually you dared a question. "Do you think he knows we're here?"

"It's possible," he murmured. He nodded back at the kitchen door. "Let's back off. Get up against the outside of the house."

You carefully made your way towards the door with Tim behind you, guarding your back.

You were so focused on the door and he was so focused on the hallway neither of you considered looking left or right. He wouldn't be there unless he'd stuck in after you had, after all.

Which was exactly what Wes had apparently done, you realized, when he charged out of the darkness of the living room and knocked Tim down to the ground, banging his right hand aggressively against the floor to force him to let go of his gun.

Tim was forced to use his left hand and legs to fight the man on his knees above him, who was trying to knock him out with both his fists.

In the vagueness of twilight, you could not see well enough to dare trying to shoot Wes, but even after you found the kitchen light and flipped it on both men were moving around too much for you to take the risk. You kept your gun trained on them and prayed for an opening as you repeatedly yelled at the man bawling with yours and using every dirty trick he could think of. "Stop! You're under arrest! You're not getting out of this Wes! You hear?"

He ignored you, maybe he couldn't even hear you, the fight intense enough that a person might block out all else.

You felt helpless. You pointed the gun to the back of his skull, trying to gather the courage to shoot him in the one place that would instantly stop him in his tracks, the one spot that you thought you could shoot him without also killing or maiming Tim in the process, but just as you were about to pull the trigger Tim got the upper hand and flipped Wes over so he was the one on his back.

"Fuck!" you screamed in dismay as your chance was lost.

The lights flickered then, and several bulbs busted, leaving the room dimmed as the cupboards and doors started slapping open and closed around all three of you. The signs drew your eyes away from the fight for a moment and you spotted Maddie at the beginning of the hallway, a fury in her eyes that shouldn't belong to any child.

Wes glanced in her direction and gasped. "No! No, not you again!" he shouted between punches that Tim threw at him, so frightened that he was taking them without return. Both his and Tim's faces were startlingly bloody from open cuts and broken noses.

He threw Tim off him with a surge of adrenaline and bolted for the kitchen door but it slammed shut inches from his face and refused to budge for him no matter how hard he tugged on the doorknob.

In blind fear he ran for the living room but Maddie manifested there instantaneously, sending him stumbling for the hallway like a sheep blocked off from escape by a Border Collie.

You watched in shock, having not expected Wes to be like you in any way. You'd run into a few psychics in your lifetime "out in the wild", but you'd never been able to confirm if they were the real deal, their gifts all seemingly paling compared to yours if they were.

You had no doubt Wes was the real deal.

Tim gave chase to Wes, unable to see that Maddie was already doing a pretty good job at that.

Everything after that happened so fast you could barely register it. Wes found himself trapped between Tim and Maddie in the hallway and he chose to face the living rather than the dead, turning back to face Tim, a gun raised in one hand. You hadn't had time to look to check the spot Tim's gun had slid to during the skirmish on the floor, but you knew if you did it wouldn't be there anymore. Somehow Wes had managed to snatch it up on his way into the living room.

Before anyone could react he was firing the gun and Tim was crumpling to the floor as you and Maddie both screamed, hers as silent as yours was piercing.

Outraged, Maddie reacted instinctively, using all her ghostly strength to throttle Wes through the cellar doorway she'd opened earlier upon her arrival, and he tumbled down the stairs in a blur of limbs.

You heard a sickening thud when his skull hit the concrete at the bottom, but you did not check to confirm if the fall had killed him or not. You let Maddie do that while you knelt next to Tim and helped him into a sit against the wall.

He was clutching at his chest, trying to put pressure over his right half, exactly where the top of his lung would be. There was a lot of blood. You couldn't tell how much of it came from the chest wound and how much from his still bleeding face.

You felt a surge of panic and dread. What if the bullet had punctured his lung? How much time did he have?

"Keep that pressure on," you ordered as your hands desperately prodded his open trench coat for his phone. You knew he had it on him but not where. You were still relieved when you found it in one of the huge front pockets. You immediately turned it on, dialed 911, and rattled off the address, informing the operator of Tim's condition after. You even had the thought to tell her to contact Chief Bronson at the Portland Police Department.

As soon as you hung up you added your right hand over the one Tim was using to try to slow his blood loss.

"Help's on the way," you assured him, hoping he had the six to eight minutes it would take for the paramedics to arrive. At least you could finally hear a police car approaching with sirens blaring.

Tim grimaced at the extra weight you were adding onto his gunshot wound but did not try to push your hand away like many people typically would. He knew it was what he needed if he wanted any chance of surviving the wait.

"Psy," he rasped.

"Yeah," you stuttered out, trying not to cry, but the pain in his voice, the weakness in it, had tears springing to your eyes.

He lifted his left hand to hold you by the chin. "You know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, right?"

You felt a tear spill from the corner of your left eye. "Don't say goodbye, Tim. You're going to be fine."

He had to be. It wouldn't be right for it to end this way, so soon. Thirteen months. Twenty-six if you counted to way back when you'd first met him, but you hadn't known his touch in those months. You hadn't known what it was like to wake up with him every morning, to hug his side and just enjoy the moment.

"I'm not," he promised. "I just want to make sure."

In case. You still didn't like it.

"I know," you said, "I know cause you are my best thing too. You weren't the only workaholic who was way more concerned with the latest case than if anyone was waiting at home for them."

A grin spread out on his busted up face. "That's the only reason I kept you around at first. You were dedicated. You closed cases. Or so I thought. Truth was a part of me always liked you. Your determination. Your strength."

He coughed and fell into a painful fit, his hand going from your chin to his mouth. He spat up blood. You prayed it was from the nosebleed and not from something more serious.

He started gasping and your heart nearly stopped. "Tim? Tim!"

He couldn't reply back to you, too focused on his struggle to breathe.

"Rockford!" called someone at the side door. It was Bronson.

"Over here!" you shouted anxiously.

He followed your voice, eyes widening when he took in the shape Tim was in. "Shit."

"He's having a hard time breathing," you informed him.

"He was shot?" Bronson questioned.

"Yes," you confirmed, your free hand cupping Tim's face. You turned back to him. "Keep breathing, the paramedics are close." You could hear their truck's alarm blaring in their blazing approach.

"Could've hit his lung," Bronson guessed as he glanced to Tim's face. "Hang on, Tim. I can hear the ambulance in the driveway."

You could too.

Twenty seconds later a pair of them, a man and a woman, rushed into the hall with as much gear as they could carry. The young, no longer in training detective Pete Woodward was just behind them helping them with their gurney.

"I'm going to let them work on you," you told Tim, needing to will yourself to give them the space to do so. You didn't want to pull away from him but you had to. "I love you," you said in hopes he heard.

You watched them work, but your eyes glazed over as everything that had happened in the last half hour truly settled into your mind for the first time. It was the first time you thought to check your surroundings for Maddie, but when you did she was unsurprisingly absent. She'd used a lot of strength to shove Wes down the stairs. You had no idea where spirits went to recover from energy loss, but wherever it was you were sure she was there.

You were lost in thoughts about Maddie and what Tim had said before he couldn't talk anymore that it took Bronson shaking your shoulder to snap you out of it.

"They think he has a collapsed lung," he informed you. "They got air out of his chest with a needle. We're all heading outside. You want to ride with him?"

"What do you think?" you nearly snapped. There was no way you weren't going with Tim.

He nodded at the side door. "Better hurry. And don't worry about anything but him. Weston, Pete, and I will make sure the girls downstairs get home."

"Girls?" you quizzed. You shouldn't have been surprised there was more than one in the basement.

"There's three in a secret room," Bronson explained. "They'll be fine. Pete called in another ambulance but he told me over the two-way that they're all talking and don't appear to be harmed in any way. Now, get out of here. Tim needs you."

You nodded and mouthed a thank you to him before darting off, just in time to bound into the ambulance before they closed the doors.

x

He'd have looked so peaceful if it wasn't for all the lines and machines hooked up to him. If not for the cuts on his face and the angry bruises that were still forming over his facial features, especially around his eyes.

That's what you thought after settling into the chair by Tim's hospital bed.

He'd made it through a surgery to repair and reinflate part of his right lung, and he was looking much more healthier after the nurses had cleaned him up and he'd received a bag of blood, but he'd fallen unconscious during the trip to the hospital and nine hours later he still hadn't woken up yet. Two hours after the surgery the doctor had told you he was most likely in an coma, but he should wake within a day or so.

Of course that wasn't a sure thing, and neither was what shape he'd be in when he woke up. He had lost a lot of blood and gone into shock. There was a possibility of brain damage from a lack of oxygen, but the doctor who'd completed his surgery was hopeful about it not being anything he couldn't have a full recovery from. Again, the doctor had said there were no guarantees. The only way to confirm was for a neurologist to exam him after he woke up and you hated it. Not knowing was the worst part, like landing a spot in Limbo after your death. At least if you landed in Hell you knew what you were dealing with.

You'd been sitting alone with him for nearly three hours when Weston quietly knocked on the door frame to the intensive care room Tim had been set up in. You straightened up in your seat when the sound caught your attention. "James."

You almost never called him by his first name, but for some reason that had been the name that first sprung to mind when your eyes fell on him.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said softly.

"You didn't," you assured him, turning back to study Tim's face briefly. If only he had been. You've have taken any reaction from him happily.

I can't stay long," Weston informed you regretfully as he entered the room. "I'm still on shift. But I wanted to check in. See how he was doing."

"No change," you said, heaving a sigh. You'd texted him and Bronson earlier with an update when the doctor had declared him comatose.

"And you?"

You flashed Weston a pathetic attempt at a smile, grateful that his concern extended to you, but too tired to get it right. "I'm worried but otherwise okay. I'll be better when he wakes."

He nodded and glanced out of the window at the afternoon sunlight awkwardly. You'd never been alone together before, typically having spent any down time together at Liquid Alchemy with Tim sitting between you. Neither of you had any idea of what to say to each other in this situation.

"Did the girls reunite with their families?" you inquired eventually as you reached for Tim's bandaged left hand and began rubbing the target tattoo absentmindedly with your thumb.

"They did," Weston replied. "All three were headed home when I left the department fifteen minutes ago."

"Good."

You could hear Weston shuffle his feet and from the corner of your eye you saw him scratch the back of his head. "Did you know Tim and I go way back to training?"

You nodded, though you were confused as to why he was bringing it up at that exact time.

"Did he tell you that I'm the reason he messed up his upper back?" he questioned.

"I don't know the details," you answered honestly, "He just told me he probably tore a muscle between his shoulder blades during academy training and it didn't heal right."

"Oh, he definitely tore it," Weston proclaimed. "Our instructor had the brilliant idea of having our class play tug of war as a team building exercise one day and I naturally made a bet with Tim. If his team won I owed him a meal. If mine won, he owed me. He refused to let the latter happen. He knew I'd order lobster."

You both chuckled at that. You weren't sure what had made him decide to tell you that story but you were glad he had. Tim had never kept anything from you, but he wasn't big on storytelling. You however, did enjoy stories of the past, at least the ones people looked back fondly on anyway. Each time a friend shared a memory they had with Tim was a gift as far as you were concerned because each one pieced together the history of how he came to be the man you loved.

"Is there anything I can get you before I leave?" Weston offered. "Water? A sandwich from the cafeteria?"

You shook your head. "I'm fine, but..." You checked your watch as you remembered that you hadn't seen your cat since yesterday night. "Shit. It's so late. Poor Lucky didn't get her breakfast. Do you think you could stop by the house and feed her?" You knew that Tim had given him a spare key to the house ages ago for emergency use, way before you'd entered his life.

Weston's lips curved up slightly. "Of course. I'll gladly feed her for however long you and Tim are here. Where's her food?"

"Bottom cabinet next to the food pantry," you informed him. "Give her a couple cans."

He tipped his head at you. "I'll get on that right away."

"Thanks," you said, though the word was not enough to express how much gratitude you had for him. As much as you loved Lucky, you couldn't bare the thought of having to tear yourself away from Tim that day to take care of her. You didn't want him to wake up alone.

You and Weston shared goodbyes and you were once again without conscious company for another two hours before Helen strolled into the room and raised a Chinese food takeout bag in front of her face.

"You need to keep up your strength," she declared as she threw a paper plate a you.

You couldn't help but laugh as she began dumping piles of food onto the dish. "Okay! okay! Slow down. I'm never going to eat all of this, El."

"Chow down," she demanded, narrowing her eyes at you before beginning to fill a plate for herself.

You did as told even though you weren't that hungry, and she passed you a bottle of water to drink when you decided you were getting too close to being overstuffed.

"Thanks for that," you said after you twisted the cap back onto the bottle.

Helen waved at you dismissively. "It's no big deal. I always have way too many leftovers when I eat Chinese so I rarely buy it unless I'm able to share with someone. You did me a favor."

You sighed heavily. "If you say so." You weren't in the mood to argue.

"I heard he had a collapsed lung," she finally said, nodding towards Tim.

"Partial," you corrected. "But the surgery went well and it shouldn't affect his ability to work."

She nodded again. "That's good."

"Did you just get out of work?" you asked, placing your bottle on the moving table behind you.

"I did," she confirmed. "It's one of my shorter days."

"How is it at the department?" you inquired. "Weston was here earlier but I forgot to ask."

"Hectic," Helen replied as she made a face at you. You snorted. You weren't surprised. With big cases like this one, there was always a lot to do, especially paperwork. Especially since Wes had died during a confrontation with one of their detectives.

"I don't envy you," you told her.

"And I don't envy you," she countered, eyes flicking over to Tim's face. "I can't imagine how hard it's been for you to sit here all day without anyone here to support you. We would've if we could but - "

"You all had to work," you said, shrugging. "I understand. And I don't need someone to hold my hand."

"It doesn't hurt though."

Helen was right of course, the little time Weston and now she had spent with you had helped, but you wouldn't admit that. You'd spent too much of your life depending only on yourself to be willing to say that out loud.

Her eyes darted to the clock mounted on the wall. "I hate to leave you alone again, but I've got to do groceries before the local shop closes tonight. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Of course."

You stood with her and she reached out to bring you in for a bear hug that nearly squeezed out all the air in your lungs. "You call if you need anything."

"I will," you promised, knowing that she'd be hurt if you didn't mean it.

And with that another friend was gone.

You were by yourself once more until seven, when the rest of the team got out of work and they all took turns visiting you and Tim. First Katie, then Joe, and finally Bronson. They all entered the room with concern etched into their faces, asking how you and Tim both were, and giving you details on what had happened at Wes' house after you'd hopped into the ambulance. All straight forward stuff you could've guessed or had already been informed about. Wes had cracked his skull on the basement floor and Joe said he died instantly. The girls had been released from a hidden room, checked over by doctors, and reunited with their families all within a few hours. And charges weren't going to be pursued, but you would have to confirm on paper that Wes had fallen down the stairs himself. The last bit of info had come from Bronson, who reminded you that just because a spirit had actually pushed Wes down the stairs, doesn't mean it didn't count as an accidental fall. Any other wording would make a judge question whether your testimony could be trusted or worst, if you were actually guilty. Not that any judge would try you in court. No matter which way anyone looked at it, his death had been a result of something along the lines of self defense.

Bronson surprised you by sticking around even after he ran out of things to say about the case. He was a good boss but you weren't used to him staying for chit chat, yet that's exactly what he did until the nurses herded him out of the room as visiting hours came to an end.

You were allowed to stay however, the nurses wise enough to know that they would have a fight on their hands if they didn't let you. Besides, you weren't a bother. You kept quiet and whenever they entered the room to check on Tim's vitals, give him medication, or change his IV fluid bag, you stayed clear of their work area.

You were never more thankful for people who were willing to bend the rules for the greater good than when it allowed you to be there when Tim began to stir.

It was just past midnight, and you'd been sleeping on a cot a kind nurse had brought over to you before ending her shift for a couple hours, your hand still over his left one when you felt his fingers twitching.

At first in your sleep haze you thought you'd imagined it, and then you thought maybe it was just a reflex, but when he groaned in pain you knew that wasn't it either. He was waking up.

You sprung to your feet and raced out into the hallway, beckoning the nearest nurse over frantically, trying not to yell when other patients on the floor were still asleep, and told her what was happening. She nodded and waved down another nurse and then they were in the room, flicking lights on and checking on Tim again while you pulled the cot out of their way and slipped your hand into his after finding a place to stand on his right side.

"Hey," you said as you noticed his eyes lifting slightly, like they were heavier than bricks. "Hang on. The nurses are going to get you comfy."

That meant more pain medication injected into his IV line and sitting him up further in the bed. He was still out of it as they worked on him and a doctor was flagged down to check on him as well. It wasn't until twenty minutes had passed and Tim was able to answer a few yes or no questions that they left you and him alone for a little bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed with his left arm resting on your lap, your hands laced, and brought his hand up briefly to kiss his tattoo, feeling incredibly fortunate that he was awake and seemed to have all of his mind. "You feeling better?"

He gave you a nod and grunted. "You've been here all day, haven't you?"

Though he sounded tired, he still mustered up enough energy to inject disapproval into his words. He lifted a brow when you didn't immediately answer and you rolled your eyes. "Like you wouldn't have done the same for me. You needn't worry about what I've been doing. Our friends made sure I had company and was well fed. Weston even offered to take care of Lucky for however long I needed to be here."

"That doesn't sound like him," Tim rasped, one of the corners of his mouth tugging up. "He hates cats."

"Well, he promised to keep her alive, not become her new best friend," you clarified, smiling at his joke.

He coughed then, and you winced at how painful it sounded. "You okay?"

"I'll survive," he responded, as vague and honest as ever. You didn't push him though. Stoic is as stoic does. You did fetch him a cup of water resting on the table nearby and he accepted it.

"Is the girl with her family?" he inquired after he took a sip, looking up at you expectantly.

You nodded. "So are two other girls who Langer was already keeping in the basement. I don't know the details on them, I didn't think to ask, but the important part is they are home."

He agreed with that and pressed on. "Is he dead?"

"As much as anyone can be," you answered. "And because Maddie caused it, because through his eyes it probably felt like an accident, I am certain he won't be coming back for any revenge."

You hadn't considered it much until right then, but you weren't lying about being sure that Wes wouldn't come back as a ghost. Everything had happened too fast and another spirit had been too involved for his dark soul to linger. You were convinced if that wasn't the case Maddie would've kicked him through the mythical door to the great beyond anyway.

His eyes grew wide. "Maddie caused it?"

You had assumed he'd know she'd been there, but because he couldn't see her and everything had happened so fast you realized that he'd had no clue.

"Yeah," you confirmed, hesitating before you added, "She pushed him down the stairs supernatural style."

Tim frowned at that. "I can't imagine her doing something so violent," he admitted. "She was four. She spent her days outside chasing butterflies and playing with her model horses."

"Death changes things," you reminded him gently. "Especially when a spirit lingers. But if it makes you feel better, I don't think she intended to be malicious. I think she just wanted to protect those other girls. I think she'd been trying to scare him off the way he was talking yesterday morning. And when he shot you, well, she reacted the only way she could. She pushed him away from you. She defended you."

"She shouldn't have had to," he growled, frustrated. "I'm the older sibling."

You gave him a rueful smile. "You know as well as I do that's not how life, or the afterlife works. It may not be fair, but even big brothers need their little siblings' help sometimes. And sometimes big brothers can't help their little siblings no matter how hard they try."

Tim's eyes darted away from yours to stare out of the window but you didn't miss the moisture in them and how hard he swallowed after.

"You did though," you told him, squeezing his hand. "You helped her save those other girls. You helped solve her murder because you remembered her necklace. You helped her find peace."

"Is she gone?" he asked as he met your eyes again. They were still watery, but he'd managed to get his emotions back under control.

"I don't know," you said honestly, drawing random, invisible shapes onto his palm with the tip of your index finger as you spoke, eyes still trained on his face. "I didn't see her go, but I also haven't seen her since."

"If you do," he paused, thinking, "Tell her...tell her goodbye."

You reached out to cup his jaw. "I will. But you know you can say that yourself anytime." In your experience it was the living who needed goodbyes much more than the dead.

He nodded in understanding and you ducked your head down to cover his mouth with yours, pouring all your love into the kiss, and he quickly reciprocated, deepening it, his right hand reaching up to cradle your left cheek.

"You scared me," you confessed when you parted, foreheads still touching.

"I didn't mean to," he promised. "I would never."

You curled your arms around him then and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and taking comfort in his strong arms as they embraced you back reassuringly.

You'd taken pride in being an independent woman for the longest time, needing nobody else to survive the harsh edges of the world, but you didn't want to live like that anymore. Not when you could have him by your side instead.

"I love you," he said quietly, with such warmth and meaning that your heart fluttered joyfully.

"I love you too."

You clung to each other the rest of the night.

x

January 12, 1998

It was an unusually chilly morning in Portland when you returned to the park where Maddie's body had been buried and returned to the earth. Where others had been removed, fated for marked graves.

It turned out it did indeed snow in Portland every once in a while, and it had been lightly doing so on and off for the last three days. The snow that lingered on the ground was deep enough to require ankle high boots, which you and Tim were both sporting as you trudged the familiar path to Maddie's final resting place.

You found it even though it looked just like every other part of the forest, surrounded by barren trees and covered in white, the only obvious marker the scarred tree that hung its bare branches over the site.

You rubbed your gloved hands together and blew into them to warm your nose as Tim placed a fair sized rock under the tree. Painted on it in yellow - Maddie's favorite color - was her full name and her birth date: January 12, 1953.

"She would've been forty-five today," Tim stated mournfully. "It's hard to believe it's been so long. I still feel like I remember so much about her." He tipped his head down and switched from talking to you to talking to her. "I wish I could find exactly where you are buried, Maddie. I wish we could place you in the empty coffin our parents bought you all those years ago, after everyone accepted you were most likely dead. This stone will have to do as a memorial instead. But that's not my gift for you today. That's for me."

He shoved his hand into the front pocket of the wool coat he was wearing and pulled out Maddie's old daisy necklace. He hid it under the rock. "That's for you. In the spring I'll bury it here. Promise."

He glanced at you and you looped your arm through his as you nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.

"I love you, Maddie," he murmured. "And I'll always miss you. But I hope you're at rest now."

As he spoke that last word you felt the wind pick up seemingly out of nowhere and you looked up. Just off to the right of the tree and a few yards away Maddie was there, watching, her eyes calm, her face neutral. You nodded to her and she met your eyes for a moment, like she was trying to convey something to you telepathically. When her eyes drifted back to Tim, you understood.

"I'll take care of him," you swore, lifting a pinkie finger at her.

A little smile escaped from her and you grinned at the glimpse of the sweet little girl who had followed her big brother around like a puppy. Who'd managed to time and time again convince him to play hide and seek. Who once had surely been as bright as the sun.

"She's here, isn't she?" Tim discerned, voice low.

"She's saying goodbye too," you replied simply, sure of it.

He directed his eyes towards the general area you were looking and nodded. "Bye Maddie."

She allowed another smile to form on her plump little lips and turned away, walking behind a cluster of evergreen trees. As you'd expected, she did not reappear on the other side.

The wind calmed back down and a song sparrow roosting in a nearby tree began to sing cheerfully loud, as if a storm had just broken.

You knew with every fiber of your being then that she'd finally moved on.

"She's gone," you informed Tim, molding yourself to his side, something you tended to do often when you were sure no one else was around.

He sighed and kissed your temple firmly as he latched a hand onto your hip from behind. "Thanks for bringing up your marker idea. I didn't realize how much I needed to do something like that for her and say all of that."

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" you asked, trying to stifle an inappropriately timed yawn as you spoke. You and Tim had just come off of a busy Sunday night shift.

He chuckled, having noticed your failed attempt to cover it up. "No, I'm good. Let's go home and get some sleep."

He guided you back to the car by your shoulders while you continued to hang onto his arm and you couldn't help but grin as snow began to drift softly down from the sky again.

You'd never get tired of those words. Let's go home.

You hoped you would get to hear him say them every day for the rest of your life. It was the only amount of time you'd be satisfied with if forever wasn't possible.

But if it was, you'd take that too.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist (check out my 3 one shots for these two)

Main Masterlist

xxx

[thelonelywiz]

THE POET VIRGIL.

“Death and grief, I find, is inherent to vampirism. I’ve seen many die young and old, naturally and unnaturally. It may not look it, but the beast follows me yet still.”

SYNOPSIS.

In a world where monsters and humans coexist, anything can happen. Especially in the brownstones of Brooklyn, New York City. 

The famous vampire poet, Virgil, lives with his roommate, Bea, a werewolf and former rock star drummer of BLUDHOUNDS turned grade school teacher. With his very last chapbook in the works and an award ceremony to attend, Virgil has a speech to write. But when his literary agent and best friend (and Bea’s on and off girlfriend), Calypso is found dead, he and Bea are spun into the world of murder mysteries and conspiracy. The threat of succumbing to their monstrosity increases as tensions and risks run higher, and Virgil and Bea must learn to face their grief together despite their differences. With the help of Bea’s brother, Seven; a fairy from the Bronx, Juno; an unlikely ally, and an eager human barista, a team of monsters (and Aaron) is just what the five boroughs need to defeat The Hunters once and for all. 

In this romantic comedy turned murder mystery, The Poet Virgil tells a story of death, love, and what it means to be seen as a monster.

NOTES.

Started: Feb 2022

Format: screenplay

Word/page count: 256 pages

Genre: urban fantasy

Themes: grief, justice, friendship, family, generational trauma, love, hope

Content warnings: transphobia, heavily implied child neglect, on-screen child death, domestic violence, on-screen violence, blood & gore

(the following character art was made using wervty’s picrew, the first two are commissioned art by @fesenmoon)

CHARACTERS.

Virgil (he/him): An introverted vampire poet born in 1888. He likes baked goods, all things gothic, and has a special interest in the arts; art history, piano music, and of course, poetry. Protagonist and foil to Bea.

Bea (they/them): The former drummer of the all-werewolf punk rock band BLUDHOUNDS, now they’re a grade school teacher. They are the oldest of 8 and have lots of issues because of it. Deuteragonist and Virgil’s roommate (and foil).

Calypso (she/her): A human who would do anything to protect her friends. Her death haunts the narrative. Virgil’s literary agent and friend, Bea’s on and off girlfriend.

Aaron (he/him): A human barista who’s flirty but so incredibly awkward. A mama’s boy through and through. Virgil’s love interest.

Seven (he/him): The former lead singer of the all-werewolf punk rock band BLUDHOUNDS, now a college dropout. Second oldest out of 8 but is pretty chill about it. Not dissimilar to Beastboy.

Juno (she/her): A nature fairy going to community college. Has a special interest in insects, specifically beetles. Hates being called cute, don’t call her cute.

Belladonna (she/they): A water nymph who does get paid enough for this, but it’s not worth it. Morally gray, knows her way around a silver bullet. Works for the enemy…or do they?

Orpheus (he/him): A human musician that’s too obnoxious for his own good. Has a weird obsession with monsters. How he hasn’t gotten himself killed is anyone’s guess.

Minerva (she/her): A half beast that’s been severely brainwashed. Very bloodthirsty and weirdly into her boss. Has killed and will kill again.

Pandora (she/her): A human woman who really hates monsters, like really hates them. Main antagonist, manipulative and uses eugenics to get her way. Used to be a cop…enough said.

FURTHERMORE…

Feel free to send me asks or prompts about this project! I did a lot of worldbuilding on this and I think about it a normal amount (lying)

Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1irfe7yT2sWBlh506wOJVF?si=iZ5NXL-xQ06fmmIvaven-w  

Pinterest board: https://pin.it/1FzCle5 

Main tags: #tpv

Taglist: @calenhads, comment or write in the tags if you want to be added to the taglist :D

[writing-for-marvel]

On The Run (4)

Ex!Steve Rogers x Fem!Ex-SHIELD Agent!Reader

< < PART 3 | Series Masterlist

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Steve Rogers needs somewhere to stay after breaking his friends out of the Raft prison in the Atlantic. After a shocking revelation, you and Steve have to navigate your turbulent relationship while escaping from those that want to see him behind bars. (continued)

Warnings: mention of death, depiction of grief, angst (what’s new?), threat of main character murder, mention of sex (nothing explicit), weapons/guns, swearing and rude language

Word count: 5.4k

A/N: normally I would do a sneak peak before posting, but considering this is the last part and I left you on a bit of a cliffhanger last time, I figured I wouldn’t continue to torture you. I hope you enjoy the final part, thank you to everyone who has read all the way through!

Dividers by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

You heard Tommy’s words perfectly clearly, ‘Captain Rogers is dead’ but your brain was refusing to register them. Your body felt numb, as if your senses all decided to stop functioning at the exact same moment so you felt nothing, except emptiness. 

“Our men tracked him down and he took one to the head. Guess a Super Soldier can be killed after all.” The sadness which had consumed his voice moments ago was now replaced with an antagonistic quality. 

“No - no he’s not.” You stated, but the pitch as your voice cracked revealed to you both that you didn’t believe your own words. It was as if an invisible set of hands seized your throat and was choking the life out of you. You could feel the airways in your chest restricting, tightening, reducing the amount of oxygen reaching your brain, suffocating you from the inside out. Your heart beat faster, trying futilely to compensate for the decreased oxygen in your blood, your mind becoming hazy, your head dizzy.

“No… I don’t believe you.” You continued, trying to convince yourself that this was not your reality. Tears burned behind your eyes, but you were determined not to let them fall. He couldn’t be dead. Not because it was a physical impossibility, but because your story wasn’t complete, there was so much more to write, stopping abruptly half way through the novel rather than with a happy ending in the last chapter. But you knew real life wasn’t a fairytale, most of the time you don’t get to choose how and when your story finishes. 

“First stage of grief is denial, Y/N.” Tommy said in a condescending tone, almost as if he was relishing in your pain. You craved for your hands to be free of the cuffs so you could punch him in the jaw or strangle him until he blacked out from the lack of oxygen. Maybe you could kick him in the balls. 

You felt like you were falling into an abyss, waiting for the crash at the bottom to end your pain or that sudden lurching feeling as you woke up from a dream, but neither came. No, this can’t be happening.

You sat back in the cool metal chair and took a second to breathe, to let the stuffy air of the poorly ventilated room fill your lungs, feeding your brain what it had been lacking the last minute. 

“No, you’re lying. If he was really dead, you wouldn’t be here still talking to me. You’d have charged and booked me by now.” You said adroitly after a moment of thinking - it didn’t make logical sense for him to still be interrogating you if they knew where Steve and the team were. 

“You can’t keep denying the truth Y/N, doesn’t make it any less real.” Tommy smirked, and without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he stood up and stalked out of the room, locking the door behind himself.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t know what to think. You knew they were trying to get inside your head, get any advantage they could, say anything to break you. But this was your greatest fear, your Stevie dying in the line of duty. He wasn’t even in the line of duty, he was coming to rescue your incompetent ass from jail and now he was laying somewhere with a bullet in his brain. This was all your fault.

How long had you been sitting in this room blissfully unaware that the person your heart beat for was no longer alive?

It tore your stomach to shreds to know that in a matter of seconds, without any warning, someone’s life could be over. He went from being a whole person, a beating heart, functioning nervous system with complex thoughts, feelings, a future, to being a corpse. You’d never get to see him again. Never see him smile. Never hear his chortling laugh. Never find solace in his ocean blue eyes. Never hear him say ‘I love you’. God, when was the last time he said he loved you? When was the last time you told him?

Your mind rewound back to the memory of him in the barn, moonlight ethereally casting shadows over his beautiful features as he looked at you with pure love in his eyes. ‘My love for you never left’. Those were your words. They didn’t seem like enough now - they didn’t exhaustively capture all the reasons you loved him, every part of him that you wanted to call yours forever. The words didn’t seem adequate because if you knew it was going to be your last opportunity to tell him how you felt, you would have spent the entire night detailing how much you adored him, how he made you a better person, how his laugh was the most beautiful sound you ever heard and that you wanted to be the exclusive source of his dazzling smile. 

The words weren’t sufficient because you would never get to say them to him again, and now, you knew you would never completely mean them to anyone for the rest of your life. You were absolutely unwavering in your belief that you could never feel a love so deep for anyone ever again. 

You prayed to a God you weren’t sure you believed in, that Steve knew you meant every one of your words, that even though they were inadequate, they were sincere and originated from a place so deep within your heart that only he had ever reached. That he perhaps found comfort in those words as he passed onto whatever came after this life. 

But simmering below that misery was anger. You were irate at him for leaving two years ago, robbing you of precious time you would have spent together, of every sunrise you would have woken up to his smiling face and horrible morning breath; every kiss, whether it was a chaste peck before you left for work, or a slow, passionate kiss which led to so much more. Furious that he had given you an engagement ring two years too late, because you wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes before he left, that your dream future was spent as his wife, and now you would never have the privilege of that title. But most of all, you were angry at him for making you love him unconditionally, that he made it so easy to fall back into old habits over that week on the run and remind you just how easy it was to love him and to be loved by him.  

‘I love you too Y/N, I always have’. For one split second, relief cut through the grief which flooded your chest. You could at least remember the last time he said those three small, yet significant words. That was something no one could take away from you. You would cling to that memory, the taste of his lips, the sound of his smooth voice, until death itself ripped it from your mind, when you would reunite with him again. 

* * *

“I said drop the weapon, Captain.” The agent repeated, forcing the gun harder into Nat’s rib cage. Heart pounding in his chest, Steve quickly assessed his options, deciding the best course of action was to put the gun down. 

“Alright, don’t shoot… here.” Steve said, and with slow, deliberate movements, placed the gun on the ground, kicking it over to the agent with his foot. Smiling, clearly happy with his power in the situation, the agent bent down to pick up the weapon. 

Then, with a move so quick Steve would have missed it if he blinked, Nat seized the gun pointed in her side, and had the man on the ground, arm pinned painfully between his shoulder blades. 

“Amateur.” She mumbled before knocking him out cold with the butt of the pistol. Tossing Steve his gun, Nat flashed him a smirk, a response to what must have been a highly impressed look plastered on his own face. 

“Sam, can you see if she’s here?” Steve asked through comms, mind refocussing on their only objective - rescuing you. 

“Yes, I’ve found her, she’s in one of the interrogation rooms in the centre of the facility. Use the corridor heading east, then take the third right and you should be there.” He instructed from the security room. Steve’s heart skipped a beat. You were here. You were so close that in a minute he could be holding you in his arms. 

Steve and Nat followed the directions, his heartbeat quickening with the anticipation of seeing your face again. But as they rounded the corner, after taking the third corridor to the right, a familiar face stood in their way, the face of a man Steve had never been too fond of. 

“Captain.” The man said with a hostile tone, hand already pointing a gun towards Steve’s forehead.

“Thomas. I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that would be a lie.” Steve quipped, wanting to get under the man's skin. He always thought Tommy had been jealous of your skills and that you climbed the ranks of SHIELD much faster than he did. Steve’s recommendation to Fury could have played a part in seeing Tommy end up at the US Marshal’s, rather than a higher renowned organisation such as the CIA. If Tommy knew about that, he’d most certainly hold a grudge. 

“That’s funny, Steven, your precious ex-girlfriend was happy to see me - that is, until I broke her.” Tommy sniggered, and a rage which would have turned his face red bubbled in Steve’s chest. 

“I swear, if you’ve so much as laid a finger on her, I’ll kill you.” He yelled, hands shaking at the endless possibilities of pain Tommy could have inflicted on you. Steve’s instincts had been right, this man was a dirty agent and now, Steve was absolutely certain Tommy wanted revenge. 

“Oh, testy are we? Still have feelings for the woman you left? You know, you gave me a lot of time with her, it took you a while to get your band of criminals here, a lot of damage can be done in a few days.” Tommy provoked, and Nat had to stretch out a hand to Steve’s bicep to stop him from charging Tommy. 

“You son of a bitch. I’m gonna kill you.”

“You can try, Rogers, but if you so much as move, I will not hesitate to put a bullet in your brain. And you should know better than anyone how good my marksmanship scores were at SHIELD. Now drop the fucking gun.” Tommy warned, but Steve didn’t move, the gun in his hands still pointed at his enemy. Shaking his head, Tommy continued. 

“You may not care about your own life, but you might care about Y/N’s. We have an agent in there with her right now - drop the gun, or I’ll make you wish you were the one who died.” Tommy smirked, and Steve’s heart sunk through the floor. Fuck. He couldn’t be the reason you died, he’d never be able to live with himself. 

“Here.” Steve threw his gun by Tommy’s feet feeling completely dejected. “Just don’t hurt her.” Nat followed suit. In Steve’s eyes, your safety was paramount, whether that was when you were captured by HYDRA, after the fall of SHIELD or now. He’d take a lifetime in prison over being the cause of your death. 

“You won’t be alive to know any better. I know you always disliked me Captain, not allowing me on certain missions, obstructing me from being promoted when I was the most experienced and skilled person for the job, putting up barriers only I had to break through to be on the team! Now, you’re going to die for that.” Tommy asserted forcefully. Steve could see the hatred his eyes held, rage mixed with jealousy swirling in his brown irises. If looks could kill.

“I never did such a thing. Y/N got promoted because Fury saw how hard she worked, how dedicated she was to becoming a good agent. You assumed you were owed those positions, she worked for them.” Steve explained, although he wasn’t sure why. Tommy would never believe him. His stomach twisted as Tommy stepped closer, the barrel of his gun coming into contact with Steve’s chest. 

“You think Y/N worked for it. No… she was just another average agent until Moscow - weak and stupid enough to be taken by HYDRA. A Super Soldier had to save her. Then, the two of you started dating and she got all of these opportunities not available to the rest of us! She fucks a Super Soldier and all of a sudden she’s the best agent SHIELD’s ever seen - make that make sense Rogers!” Tommy spat angrily in Steve’s face. 

“You’re delusional. Y/N had already been named head of your unit before Moscow, and if my memory serves me correctly, she laid down her weapon that day to save your life! She was taken by HYDRA to save your inept ass!” Steve countered, not showing any fear as Tommy continued to hold his weapon to his chest, finger hovering over the trigger. He would not let this pathetic excuse of an agent intimidate him, even in the face of death. 

“You’d never admit to it - too corrupt and blinded by your love for her.” Tommy claimed, dismissing the words just spoken. This wasn’t surprising to Steve, he was positive nothing he could say right now would pull Tommy out of the indignant fantasy he was living in. “On your knees, Captain. You too Romanoff.” He motioned the gun to the floor, his evil smirk only growing wider.

This was it. This was how his life was going to end. After all his years, after all the enemies he’d faced, a corrupt agent was going to execute him in cold blood - and Steve’s biggest regret, not spending the last two years with you. He was a fool to waste time he could have been with you, he had always known that, but it hit him the hardest now, knowing he wouldn’t get to see you again. He tried to recollect what he said to you while on the run, recall if he ever actually apologised to you for leaving. He explained why he left, but not apologised for it. His heart sank knowing that his chance to make amends had come and gone, and he would go to his grave without saying those words to you. He needed you to know he loved you and he was sorry. So very sorry. 

Steve wasn’t fearful of death, more than anything he worried how his death would affect you - you were always a nervous wreck while he was on assignments, and this time, there would be nothing he could do to console you. He would let you down one last time and leave you to pick up the pieces yourself. 

But perhaps the most painful part was he had come so agonisingly close to finding you that you may even hear the shot which was about to kill him, that you sat in a room merely a stone's throw away, unaware that he was seconds from death. 

“Any last words?” Tommy taunted, pressing the gun into the back of Steve’s head with enough vigour it forced his face forward, eyes now staring at the floor. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I love you.” Steve whispered, wanting the words to be private, knowing you couldn’t hear them, but praying you knew that he was sorry and he did love you.

‘My love for you never left.’ 

‘I love you too Y/N, I always have’. 

You loved him. Even after all he put you through, you loved him. The conversation in the barn a few days prior, the memory of the intimate kiss you shared, your soft skin under his fingertips was the comfort he was holding close to his heart in what would be his final moments. 

“Pathetic.” Tommy spat. 

Steve waited for the shot with closed eyes, the image of your smiling face on the inside of his eyelids. 

You were the last thing he wanted to see. 

But instead of a shot, he heard a grunt and the slumping of a body onto the ground behind him. Cautiously turning around, he saw Sam standing above an unconscious Tommy. 

“You can thank me later. Go get your girl.” Sam said, taking a key card from Tommy’s person, handing it to Steve and pointing to a room a little ways down the corridor. 

“Is there anyone in there with her?” Steve asked, trying to shake the shiver running down his spine at how close he had come to death. 

“Not when I left the security room.” Son of a bitch bluffed. 

Steve didn’t need to be told twice, he raced towards the room, nervously fiddling with the small key card as he rushed to open the door. 

The sight inside shattered his heart like no view had done before.  

You were seated in the far corner of the room, legs pulled tightly into your chest, slowly rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherent thoughts to yourself. What had they done to you? You hadn’t looked up when he entered the room, maintaining a steady rhythm of swaying to and fro, lost in your own mind.

“Y/N/N?” Steve asked softly, not wanting to startle you, but to gently release you from the shackles that locked you in your own head. You slowly stopped rocking as he took a couple steps toward you, your eyes meeting his, the woman behind them fractured, completely broken.

“Steve?” Your shaky voice was barely audible, eyes red and puffy, an indicator you had been crying for quite some time before he found you. “You- how? You’re real? You’re alive?”

“Yes, it’s me sweetheart. I’m alive.” He said reassuringly, putting the puzzle pieces together himself as to why you had reacted as such. His already shattered heart sunk below his stomach as he watched the realisation play out in your eyes, which were glistening with thick tears. Your legs wobbled as you attempted to stand, hands shaking as you desperately reached out to him. “I’m here baby.” He cooed, rushing over to you, pulling you the rest of the way to your feet, his eyes quickly scanning you for any sign of physical injury as he supported your weight, fearing your legs would give out from under you.

One day he would kill Tommy for what he had done to you, but right this second, he needed to hold his precious girl. 

* * * 

You thought you were hallucinating as a figure burst through the door to the interrogation room. He looked like Steve, was the same height as Steve, same build as Steve, even had Steve’s smooth, deep voice - but it couldn’t be, could it? 

Time froze as you studied him, the way he stood, slightly pigeon-toed, his left eyebrow quirked slightly higher than his right, hands fiddling at the material by his thighs - all involuntary mannerisms the real Steve Rogers possessed. However, it wasn't until you looked up into his wide blue eyes, which were so uniquely his, like a fingerprint, that you knew it truly was him. 

His arms were the safest place you had ever known, protectively cradling you snug against his chest, as if your bodies were created for each other from a perfect mould. Your eyes maintained a steady flow of tears as he kept repeating ‘I’m so sorry for leaving’ into your hair. 

He continued to hold you for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only a minute. But a minute seems like a lifetime when you reclaim time with someone you thought to be lost forever.

“Are you okay?” He asked, having pulled you into his chest so forcefully that it knocked the wind out of you. But you didn’t care, you hadn’t been able to breathe properly since you thought he died, at least this breathlessness was brought on by him holding you too tightly. In this position, you could feel his heart beating rhythmically, a constant reminder that he was indeed alive. 

“I’m fine.” Now that you’re here, you omitted. You knew how much he hated the word fine, because most of the time, you didn’t truly mean it when you said the phrase. It was a bad habit. This time, you were more than fine, elated, euphoric, but fine would have to do for now. 

“Please don’t leave.” You whispered diffidently, and for a moment you thought he hadn’t heard you, but then he pulled back, hands coming to rest gently on the sides of your face, thumbs wiping away stray tears, his eyes staring intently into your own like you were the only other soul in the universe.

“Never again.” 

Those two words were enough to reignite the heavy flow of tears from your eyes, the honesty and tenderness in his voice providing you all the security you needed in such a vulnerable moment, letting you know that he was yours forever. 

“C’mon, we need to get out of here.” You didn’t want to leave his arms, you felt at home even though you remained in the damp, dull interrogation room which had brought you so much mental pain. You grasped his hand tightly, needing to have some connection to him, a reminder your brain still required to reassure you he was alive. 

You stepped over and around the bodies of unconscious agents on your way out, one of which was Tommy who you gave a deliberate kick to ribs of as you passed. Steve shot you a wide, knowing smile. 

The journey to the jet was a long blur of fending off the last of the agents who remained conscious in the prison and navigating the narrow lanes and alleyways of DC as the sound of police sirens wailed through the streets. Your hand never leaving Steve’s - that connection you were sure was the only tie stopping you from floating away into the atmosphere from pure happiness. 

After making it to the jet, when you were safely soaring in the skies, Steve pulled you into a bone crushing hug, one which you never wished to be released from. His hand found the back of your head, pulling you tightly to his chest, whispering ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I’m sorry’s’ into your ear. 

You wanted to spend the rest of your life in his strong arms, the remainder of your days hearing him say he loved you and feeling like you were right now, on top of the world. You wanted to wake up each morning in his protective hold, lustful kisses placed to your lips and words of his devotion to you whispered against your skin. 

You needed to spend the rest of your life letting him know that you loved him too; that you forgave him for leaving because he had done it out of love, fiercely protecting what he held dear, and that this last week proved to you he wasn’t going to make that mistake again, showing you he was willing to do anything to keep you safe. 

Your mind flickered to the night you were reunited at your home, the box which he presented to you and the question which wasn’t asked, but implied with its existence. 

“Ask me.” You whispered, loud enough for only him to hear. A confused look crossed his face as he pulled back from you, unsure of what you were referring to. Noticing his backpack strewn on one of the seats, you unzipped it and pulled out your satchel. As your hand dug in, you were honestly surprised to still find the velvet box at the bottom - you hadn’t lost it after the ordeal of the last week and a half. “Please, ask me.” You reiterated, placing the lush box in his large, rough hands. Steve’s eyes wide in shock and realisation that you had kept the ring after that fateful night in your house, that it had been with you during your entire week on the run.

His eyes met yours in a way which silently asked ‘are you sure?’ He had died, well not exactly, but in your mind he had died, and in the time where that was your reality, all you could imagine was the life with him you would never get to lead, all the mornings you would wake up where the warmth of his body would be absent from your bed, all the days you would go without laughing because he was the source of joy that had been ripped from you.

Because when he wasn’t with you, it felt as though the most crucial parts of yourself were missing. That without him, you could never be whole. And in that moment when you noticed his blue eyes in the interrogation room, when those parts of yourself were reunited and you felt complete again, you knew there was nothing more you needed in this world than to spend eternity treasuring all of him, as he would you. You inclined your head slightly, nodding, wanting him to proceed. 

You couldn’t begin to describe the feeling which erupted in your stomach when you saw Steve on one knee in front of you, his big sapphire eyes looking up at you as if you hung the moon and stars in the night sky. 

“Y/N, I love you - you are the person who brings me the most happiness in this world, who makes me feel loved for the person I am and not for the persona of Captain America. You are the most beautiful, intelligent, determined and caring person I’ve ever had the privilege to know. I knew from our first conversation that you were someone I wanted in my life, and as I got to know you, that want became a need. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my days showing and telling you just how much I love you. This past week has only solidified in my mind that I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His beautiful words were sealed complete with the opening of the velvet box, revealing a gold band with a beautifully cut diamond in the centre. His eyes blinking quickly, frantically trying to hold back the tears welling in them. 

“Yes, of course!” You responded through a large smile, tears pricking at the corners of your own eyes. You pulled him up to meet your lips, needing the feel of his kiss more than the air you breathed. As if you had been dying a slow, painful death and his lips were the cure.

He would be yours forever. And you were most certainly his. 

“Here, let me.” Steve said once he pulled back, pulling the ring out of the box and sliding it on your finger. It was a snug fit, but once it was at the base of your finger it looked perfect, like your hand had been missing a critical part of its anatomy for your entire life, and with this ring had now evolved into its true form. 

You stood on the tips of your toes, arms snaking around his neck, pulling him down to you, kissing him again, trying to make up for wasted time. You became lost in him, in his scent, the taste of his soft lips, the way his hands gently caressed your body, like he was handling the most delicate flower. 

“That’s all very sweet, and I’m very happy for you both, but you know the rules - not in the jet! You can do whatever you want to each other when we reach our destination, but no sex in the jet.” Sam warned seriously from the pilot’s seat, pulling you out of the blissful trance Steve had you in. 

“And how exactly are you planning on enforcing said rule from all the way up there, Sam?” You joked, Steve chuckling slightly as his arm slung casually over your shoulder, placing a soft kiss to your temple. You had missed how physically affectionate he was, finding any excuse to touch and kiss you, to be connected with you in whatever way he was capable of given the social circumstances. 

“This thing does have autopilot, don’t make me come back there!” Sam threw a disgruntled look over his shoulder as Nat chuckled, saying something discreetly to him which you couldn’t quite make out. 

“I’m just messing with you. Although, it has been a rather long two years.” You jested, eyes flicking up to Steve, whose cheeks were blushing a fire engine red. 

“I promise, I’m going to make it up to you once we land, Mrs. Rogers.” He said as he pulled you into his chest, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. The way the words rolled off his tongue, in a volume only meant for you to hear, you could tell it was a promise he would go lengths to keep. 

“Keep calling me that, and I won’t be able to wait until then.” You responded, kissing the stubble of his jaw intimately, your heart fluttering at the use of his last name in addressing you. 

“I swear, you two have been back together for less than five minutes, and you’re already giving me diabetes.” Nat mentioned satirically, almost to herself, but pulling a laugh from the rest of you.

Later in the day you sat in serene silence, watching the warm, orange sun set on the day out of the jet. Steve’s calloused, yet gentle hand rested on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing small circles with his thumb over your skin. The dim light of the receding sun reflecting off your ring, shining rainbows onto the wall of the jet. You weren’t yet used to the weight and feel of it on your hand, but you couldn’t ever imagine taking it off. 

“This isn’t the life I wanted for us, you know? On the run like this, that was never the plan. When I bought that ring, I thought we’d live happily ever after in your home. I’d retire from active duty and we’d start a family, if that’s what you wanted. We’d have our own veggie garden, a couple of dogs, I’d build you more bookshelves because we both know you buy books at a rate where you’ll never have the time to read them all, and maybe a studio for me, where I could draw. We’d have a life that didn’t consist of looking over our shoulder every day to make sure we aren’t being followed. I’m sorry that isn’t something I can provide you.” His voice was somber, mourning the loss of a future he had intensely wished for, but now knew he could never have. You cradled the side of his face, turning him so that he was looking directly into your eyes. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the fondness in his gaze. 

“That does sound wonderful Stevie, but when are you going to learn that all I’ve ever wanted was a life with you? No matter where we are, or what we’re doing. You are my home, and as long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.” You affirmed, placing an affectionate kiss to his lips, something you would never tire of doing. “I love you.”

“And I love you, you’re my everything.”

Maybe you wouldn’t have the perfect future you always imagined with him. Maybe you couldn’t legally marry because you were both wanted criminals. But you didn’t care. 

Your heart beat for Steve Rogers, and as long as you were beside him, you were right where you belonged. 

Thank you for reading this series, I hope you enjoyed it! This is the very first series I’ve written so any feedback is much appreciated!

Permanent taglist: @imagining-harrypotter @tripletstephaniescp @hoeforthefictional @moonshooter @steverogerswifesblog @yliumy​  @p0tterhead934​

Steve Rogers taglist: @mansaaay @thechoosenonecreator @imlolxd @claudiaatje @belllarogers @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @badassbaker @melancholybaby @dusti @starry-night-20 @samwinter09 @erynnnnnnnn @patzammit @rqmanoff @gitasor

On The Run taglist: @just-dreaming-marvel-2​ @gengen64​ @stumbleonmywords​ @sergntbarnes​ @mjaudrey​ @joondeluxe​ @the-soot-sprite​ @cowboybarbie​ @bqnners​ @fangirl-swagg​ @jessyballet​ @rebecca0may​ @badassbaker​ @melancholybaby​ @vicmc624​ @dontbescaredtosingalong​ @samthemarvelfan​ @dearmasaddict​ @lharrietg​ @gitasor​

[bowieandqueen11]

Good Luck Charm / Jareth Headcanons

Request: Hiya lovely! I was wondering if you’d be able to write a few headcanons about Jareth being given a ‘good luck charm’ by the reader and his reaction to it being accidentally broken somehow? No pressure or rush! <3

I’m sorry this took so long my dear friend @squibzib!! <3

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Okay, so, this whole ordeal started on what appeared to be just a normal July day to outside goblins. It was a warm, rushed morning, with goblins running screaming around with piles of clothes and suitcases, as Jareth had just confessed to you that he had been called away on urgent business for the week in the human world.

Although, naturally, you were upset that your husband had to leave from your home again, he was more upset than you were. Usually, for at least a month after he comes back, he’s more than usually clingy. He keeps lying over your lap like a lounge cat while you’re trying to get things done, or playing with your fingers while he’s in the throne room, or dragging you out with both arms wrapped around your waist to go for afternoon strolls by the Bog with him. 

Although he’s too stubborn to fully admit it, you can always tell by the way his eyes look grief-stricken and lonely in their gaze, despite the fond smile he tries to give to you. 

He just missed the love of his life an awful lot whenever the stars dared to drag the two of you apart for even the most miniscule shred of a second. This time, you wouldn’t let him go without a piece of you to take away too. 

If it couldn’t be your heart, then it could be your luck.

So, the evening before his morn trip you kick all the poor goblins out of the throne room and sit on your husband’s lap. He sighs in content, nuzzling the dip of your neck as you trap his legs underneath your thighs. 

He gently rests one larger hand upon one of your legs, thumb stroking over your skin before he he hums in amusement at the way your fumble with his fingers and quickly shove something over his knuckles.

It’s a little good luck charm wounded beautifully around some black twine - a quaint glass heart with an wooden carving of an owl in it.

‘Hmm, what are you doing my star shine?’

‘Giving you all the luck and love I have to give before you go.’

He nuzzles his nose against your own, crinkling the edges of his eyelids as he laughs. He’s so close, you nearly sneeze at the amount of white eye powder that falls from his eyelashes onto your cheeks.

‘You already give me far more than I deserve’, he whispers against your lips, his hand sliding up to grip you tighter on your hip. ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world.’

Despite his words, he pretends to be very cool and collected when he gently presses his lips against yours in thanks, but inside he’s really s c r e a m i n g!!!

You catch him gently caressing it and looking all almost embarrassingly lovey-dovey at it all day - you catch him stroking his fingertip over the edge of the heart, stopped on the middle of the staircase. You spot him playing, fiddling, fidgeting with it during a really boring midnight meeting with the goblins. You also catch him tugging at the string and already fraying the edges when he takes off his makeup before bed.

In the end, as he jumps on the bed and prowls up the red silk sheet that’s covering your legs, the two of you end up giggling as he pounces on you and starts pressing loads of kisses along your face.

So, the next morning, when he manages to slam into a tree during his journey to avoid a flock of pigeons (lmao) and the glass smashes, he becomes so worried that he spends the whole rest of the day freaking! out!

First, he has to collect every single piece. Every single shard, and scrap that he digs out from the dirt with his gloves, which takes him a while. And then he has to try and use his magic - and although he becomes a blustering, tired mess, it still doesn’t work. Plus, as he thumped down cross legged onto the ground with a huff, it wouldn’t be the same because every time he looked at it, he would know it wasn’t the real one. It hadn’t come from his heart. From his soul. From the love of his life.

He mopes about when he comes home, because he’s too afraid and too upset to just come out and tell you. So he tries to avoid you a bit, which absolutely breaks your heart - he ducks round the other side of the stairs when he spots you during the early morning heading down to the kitchen chambers for breakfast, or locks himself away in his dungeons because he thinks he deserves to be alone.

Finally, you manage to corner him in the kitchen - you back him up until his upper thighs hit the edge of the colossal, flour stained oak table in the middle of the cobblestoned walls. But you don’t stop there! Grabbing the rolling pin off a goblin trying to bake a tart for lunch, he runs, terrified, out as you point it at Jareth’s face.

He bumps the table with his bottom, an eyebrow raised as you start telling him how upset he’s made you - not realising you’ve backed him up so fully that he’s jumped up onto the table and now you’re standing with your legs flash against the tights on his hip, his riding boots straddling your legs and trapping you against his chest.

He finally caves in, and to your shock, starts crying, although he tries to summon a cloud of glitter to hide the few tears he tries to rub away behind his fake laughter.

Plus, his mascara is slightly streaked when he finally looks into your eyes, which is a total giveaway. 

‘I'm so sorry sweetheart. I broke the only thing I own that I care about.’

You shush him, pulling him into a hug and telling him not to be silly, and that you’ll make him an even better one.

He just sniffles into your neck, trying to make you laugh by pretending to blow his nose on the ruffles of his dress shirt - although you can feel his fingers twitch as he pulls you just that bit tighter against him.

‘Can you make a matching pair this time?’

[anyotherwriter]

Split Decision [1]

Masterlist

**Imma set this bad boy in that 5-year time after Rick was gone. I'm finally all caught up and the "love interest" they gave Daryl in S10 felt like permission for me to pretend it didn't exist, considering it was horribly shitwhipped and Leah's character development was trash (at least my wine drunk self thought so at the time of watching). The only thing I did sort of agree on was how long it took the relationship to happen.**

I'm also not one to write warnings for things? Sorry. But considering it's TWD, it's probably going to have themes and mentions of undesirable topics. Continue at your own risk. Reader is she/her. GIF does not belong to me, shout out to whomever it does.

\\\\\\\/////////

The late summer sun and the humidity were relentless, even under the cover of tree tops. It was getting harder to find food and shelter and water. The only things she could find readily available were death and skeletons, of people and buildings alike. Two cans of wax beans were still floating around in her packs, the packs that were lying haphazardly on the ground beneath her, currently being trampled by the small group of walkers surrounding the base of the tree. But the heat was stealing away her appetite anyway; which was silly, considering she was starving. Or maybe this was the bargaining stage of grief. Bargaining hunger for a heat stroke. Both seemed like terrible ways to die, but they were both infinitely better than the glaringly obvious group of walkers below wanting to satiate their hunger with her. They’re not bargaining their hunger for anything, that’s for sure.

Besides… who actually likes wax beans?

“No one.” she’d mutter quietly to herself, fidgeting with the small plastic case in her hands.

The climb up this tree was real easy - at least for the amount of adrenaline she had when she did it. She was outnumbered by the walkers and threw herself into the first tree she could, ripping a huge hole in the right knee of her jeans and also opened up a decent sized gash in her skin at the same time. Her legs and arms worked tirelessly to pull her high enough that their fingers just barely missed grazing her shoes as she dangled her legs off the branch. But that adrenaline faded faster than normal and the exhaustion began to settle deep in her bones. She wasn't sure how long she’d been there now, but her eyes were becoming drowsy and she was pretty sure that if she slept, she’d fall. And that fall was not far enough to kill her before the walkers could. She was screwed.

It felt odd staring at the walkers below. She passed the time wondering who they used to be, how they died, what kind of pets they had… things she hadn’t thought about in years. When everything had started, and she was still so close to home, killing them was personal. She vividly remembers to this day putting a knife in the skull of her middle school science teacher. The bullets she’d put in your cousin’s and mom’s, respectively. And on, and on, and on. Leaving town was the only plan they’d could come up with at the time, hoping that if they had traveled far enough, maybe they’d be able to outrun the dead. But it didn’t matter how many people she was with, how many miles she’d traveled, none of it mattered… death was everywhere. But the farther she got, the easier it got. And by the time she was alone, it got even easier. Being alone never got easier... no. But killing the walkers did. She couldn’t find a recognizable feature in their faces; she knew nobody anymore. Being alone offered some solace after all this time.

But below her, where ten walkers were still snapping at her, their arms raised up trying to rip her from the tree, she started to get familiar. The one directly below, that had gotten there first, his name is now-Tony. Now-Tony was a tall man, and he died wearing the ugliest brown jacket she’d ever seen. Chances are it was just sun-bleached and rancid from rotting flesh, but ugly nonetheless. She guessed he used to be an accountant, had a calico cat named Roy, and was married to his high school sweetheart. He was probably a boaster with his wide shoulders, but she chuckled when she realized he had nothing to boast about anymore. Not as his scalp was peeling away from his skull and his jaw was barely attached. Poor sonofabitch. Beside him was now-Angie with her patchy long black hair, snapping her jaw unusually hard, with her nose missing from her face. She imagined it being a very thin, pointy nose. She imagined that now-Angie would be the type that would bitch at a drive-thru employee at her local McDonalds for forgetting a nugget in her twenty-piece.

“You were probably an open-mouth chewer too, weren’t you, Angie?” She’d ask the unfortunate dead woman from above. The sound of her voice only agitated the group below. “Y’all like music?” She’d ask them suddenly, starting to reposition herself on the branch she was sitting on. It was a rather large leader, and good for sitting, but her lower back was starting to remind her that it was still solid wood and it hurt. There was no such thing as getting comfortable.

“I don’t have a player for this bad boy,” She said, showing the group below the tape that rested in her hands. “But I can sing you something from it. Please hold all applause till the end.”

And she started singing. They were familiar songs that she’d had on repeat for literal years until the portable player she had died. You could find a CD player all day, but a tape player? The thought made her roll her eyes every time. And since hers died, she’d tried to sing the songs constantly. But as time went on, she began to forget words, then verses, and then she forgot some of the songs all together. Of the eight-song track list, she could only remember three fully. She’d hoped to hear the tape one last time before she died, but she couldn’t quite see a way out of this pickle in particular. So she sang. And she sang loud.

“Encore, encore!” She yelled to herself, not caring that the group below was growing. This was it. The moment she’d been trying so desperately to avoid all these years, the thing she had narrowly escaped several times. Death. And here was Death, knocking at her door, waiting patiently for her to open. Her vision was becoming fuzzy and her head spun a bit. Water hadn’t been something she had a lot of lately and she was becoming severely dehydrated. She continued to sing, revisiting the song she had just finished again, but her words became fumbled as her head began to pound.

And then now-Tony stopped moving. His decaying body made a loud, sloshy thud as it fell gracelessly to the ground, knocking back a few of the other walkers. When she looked down, she noticed an arrow lodged in the side of his head with the smallest flash of green on the fletching. Then another dropped unceremoniously, then another. She was sure she was hallucinating now. She started to see blurs of people killing the walker group beneath her feet, but to what end? To save her?

Probably to steal her bags. That made more sense to her.

“Hey!” Her head spun over to a man beneath her, this one well and alive. An odd, uncomfortable sight for her to see. “Hey! Are you alright?” He asked cautiously as he took a few steps towards the tree she was stuck in, careful to not step on the corpses.

“I don’t have anything for you.” She called out, hoping they would just continue on and leave her be.

“We want to help you.”

“Helping others doesn’t exist anymore. Try again.” She called to him with a disbelieving eye roll. His face seemed delicate and unstressed, almost kind. He had a wicked beard and a missing hand with a prosthetic in its place and a smooth voice and honestly… he was cute. Which is why she definitely didn’t trust him. He started pulling his pack from his back and placed it on the ground slowly. As he started to reach for something inside, she also reached for the pistol she had in the waistband of her jeans.

“Don’t.” A raspy voice demanded from further away. She looked up and tried to spot the other person while trying to keep an eye on the first guy. There was only one bullet left in her gun and basic math told her this wouldn’t work out the way she hoped it might. And when she finally spotted him, he was tucked between two trees, dressed in all black with a crossbow shielding his face from sight. She sighed, trying to weigh her options. Her fingers grazed the worn grip on the pistol. She remembered when the grip was super abrasive and textured and it was always so good at getting rid of those middle-of-the-palm itches; now it was smooth from the constant wear over time. It wasn’t just smooth. The metal was actually just a greasy, silk-like texture that told her it was extremely grimy and dirty. It hadn’t been cleaned in a long while either… it would probably misfire with her luck. So she pulled her hand away from it back into view of the strangers. She wasn't going to fight for the chance to continue dying of dehydration and for wax beans? Pathetic way to go.

Her shoulders slumped.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s pretend you are trying to help me… why?”

“We have a community,” the guy closest to her started. He pulled out a small white package, almost resembling a large marshmallow. A gauze wrap. “Walls, food, shelter, water, medical supplies…” He listed off the amenities as he began taking cautious steps closer to her, holding the package out to her. She quickly snatched it from his hand and he retreated. “I’m Aaron.”

“I knew an Aaron once. He sat behind me in English class… a snotty little shit. Big know-it-all, ya know? I’d bet big money that he died the first day the world went to shit.” She watched a small smile come across Aaron’s face before ripping open the package, quickly unrolling the wrap. She rested most of her weight into her shoulder against the tree trunk as she raised her bloody knee, wrapping around and around and around and around again, tying it off tightly. The fabric quickly started to turn red.

“We caught your tracks a couple days ago… you’re quick! I thought for sure we wouldn’t be able to find you.” He awarded her. The man further back still had his crossbow raised and aimed in her direction.

“You can put that down.” she called to him with annoyance lacing her voice. He didn’t budge. She sighed. “Your guard dog is scary.” She said back to Aaron as she pointed at the other guy. This made Aaron chuckle and fish out a water bottle. He tossed it up to her, almost causing her to lose her balance. He muttered a quick apology. She made to quickly spin off the cap, the crinkle of the plastic sounded violently loud to her ears as it caved in while she drank. “You want this back?”

She tossed it down, now empty. He didn’t bother to catch it. Guess not.

“I understand why you’re apprehensive.” Aaron started, his hand motioning over to his partner and back to himself. “But we are here to help.”

“Even before the world ended, having two men rock up to me offering help raised all the red flags. Let alone being followed. After it ended? Boy did it get so much worse. Some scary fuckers out there. What makes you better?”

“You just have to trust us. We can clean up that cut for you, feed you, give you a place to sleep...” Aaron bargained with her safety and her life for just a little bit of trust. And then she began to bargain with herself. The odds of them killing her were pretty high. Definitely wouldn’t be the first or second or even third time someone has tried. The odds of her dying out here alone from starvation were also pretty high. It really just came down to which death would be worse in the end. Her quick decision worried her.

“If you are gonna kill me, just make it quick, okay?” She said, starting to reposition herself to climb down the branches. Her head was still throbbing and her knee wasn’t doing any better but she still slowly made her way down. She had to trapeze through the walker bodies to locate her bags; although useless, they were still hers.

“Sorry, Angie.” She muttered as she kicked the walker’s head to the side to grab the strap underneath. Hauling it up rustled the bodies and the smell made her stomach churn. She threw the strap over her shoulder and before she could grab her backpack, Aaron had it in his hand, offering it to her. He could tell that it was nearly empty, if it wasn’t already. She took it from him and crammed it into the larger bag over her shoulder. As she bent down to zip up the bag, the tape she stashed in her pocket fell out. She panicked and made a quick move to snatch it off the ground and at the same time, her hand was almost impaled by an arrow.

“What the fuck!” She bellowed, standing up quickly and starting to walk at the archer. He reloaded.

“Stop!” Aaron called between the two of them. “Stop. It’s just a tape.” He examined the scratched and cracked tape case with a small smile. She jumped over quickly and ripped it out of his hand. She tucked it quickly into her back pocket and pulled her bag off the ground.

"Do that again and I'll kill you." She threatened the archer, pointing her finger at him, knowing full well she probably couldn't take him out on her own unless it was complete luck. He simply grunted and rolled his eyes. So she pulled the arrow out of the ground and snapped it in half and tossed it at his feet.

“We have a player for that, too.” Aaron said gently as he started to lead the way to...wherever and hoping to alleviate some tension. She hesitated, hearing a familiar voice in the back of her head to continue with caution. Nothing in this version of the world was ever what it seemed, everyone has an angle. She’d unknowingly walked into traps before. At least, at the end of her rope, she could take every second now to prepare for said trap they were leading her to.

“Got any food?” She asked loudly as she began to follow the men with a small limp in her walk. Aaron swung his pack around to his front as he walked, digging out a bag of carrots.

“Food for a name?” He tried.

“Y/N.” He tossed them to her gently. Carrots definitely weren’t her go to, but who the hell was she to be picky? “Got any tomatoes in there, too? I’ll trade you a can of wax beans.” She tried anyway.

“Ew.” Aaron made a face. “I don’t want those. Daryl?”

The brooding, dramatic, trigger-happy man simply walked beside Aaron and shrugged. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t bother to look at her, and walked far too fast for her current injury.

“Didn’t offer them to you.” She tossed his way as she continued to inhale the carrots. For a last meal, it could be worse.

**Feedback is always welcomed and greatly appreciated!**

I only post my writing on Tumblr. If you find this somewhere else, please let me know! Copy & Paste-rs made me stop posting before.

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

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

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//love? hope? or a bit of both?

Request: Can I maybe request something where after billy's death Steve takes care of the reader and they fall in love

hey! i hope you like it!! i kind of got a little bit carried away (i always do), but i think i pulled it back though! 

- You and Billy were unlikely friends 

- You saw how he bullied people and used girls and you definitely didn’t approve 

- But between working together at the community pool

- And being neighbours 

- The two of you somehow became friends 

- And just friends 

- No matter how hard he tried to make it something more 

- But you knocked him back...always 

- You had more of a thing for Steve 

- Not that you told anybody that though 

- Especially not Billy 

- You saw how much they hated each other 

- And if Billy got even the slightest hint that you liked Harrington, you’d never hear the end of it.

- So that secret stayed with you 

- Its not like you were going to do anything about it anyway

- You’re not entirely sure Steve knew who you were to be honest 

- Anyway...

- So you and Billy saw each other practically everyday

- Apart from when you worked different shifts (which was very rare) 

- Or if he was on a date (that one was not rare) 

- But he did always make time for you 

- And then he starts avoiding you 

- And acting weird 

- And just being off 

- So, one night you decide to follow him 

- Because he’s being reallllllllly weird

- Like, he’s possessed. 

- One minute you’re following him out ‘Bradley’s Big Buy’

- And the next thing you know

- You’re throwing fireworks at a creature in the middle of the mall 

- There’s an odd mix of people with you 

- Steve, for a start 

- And Steve’s co-worker Robin 

- Someone you’ve had a few conversations with while she hands you your ice cream and gives Billy a dirty look

- But you can tell she’s cool 

- Nancy and Jonathan are there too

- With their little brothers and their friends

- Nobody really notices you at first 

- But then again, you all have slightly bigger things to deal with

- However they quickly notice you when they hear you scream

- You can feel yourself running towards Billy

- But arms are around your waist before you’ve barely made it three steps

- And the next thing you know you’re slumped on the floor sobbing into Steve Harrington’s chest 

- In any other situation, this would be your dream 

- Maybe not the crying part 

- But the fact that he’s cuddling you 

- But right now, you just want to see Billy

- To poke him in the arm or chest or something and for him to wake up and tell you 

- ‘i’m just kidding babe’ 

- And you’d roll your eyes at the use of the word ‘babe’ 

- But life would carry on as normal and everyone would be okay 

- You don’t really remember much of the next few days 

- You’re too busy being lost in your grief 

- Like a really large void has opened in your chest and you can’t do anything to stop it from consuming every part of you 

- The only things you really remember are: 

- Billy’s screams 

- Something you can hear/see every time you close your eyes 

- Signing a contract that forces you to keep your mouth shut about everything

- Not that you know anything about it 

- But it makes you feel sick every time you think of it 

- And the lack of people at the Hargrove/Mayfield household 

- The only person that you’ve seen go into the house is Billy’s aunt

- Somebody he saw twice a year if that 

- On the morning of day three of your grief 

- There’s a knock on your bedroom door 

- Thinking its your mom bringing you more food you’re barely going to touch

- You mumble a quiet ‘come in’ and peak your head out from under the blanket

- You’re surprised however when you see Max and Steve 

- Steve looks a little awkward

- And like he hasn’t slept for days 

- But he offers you a smile anyway 

- Max looks more nervous that awkward 

- And like she’s on the verge of tears 

- She tries to force a smile, but she can’t quite make it

- Instead she sighs and looks at the floor 

- You probably look worse than both of the combined 

- But right now you don’t really care 

- Steve takes the lead and shuffles his way into your room 

- Placing a bouquet of flowers on your desk chair

- The Steve stood in your bedroom looks completely different to the one you knew at school 

- He’s more of a shell of himself 

- Before he was confident and cool 

- Now he’s a lot more on edge 

- And something about the way he carries himself makes you think this isn’t the first time he’s had to deal with something like this 

- You sit up and they take that as an invitation to come in

- Steve remains where’s he’s stood, leaning against the wall 

- But Max sits beside you and cuddles into your arm

- She liked you as soon as Billy introduced you as his girlfriend 

- And you’d snorted in reply and told him ‘in your dreams’ 

- You were the first one of Billy’s friends that never seemed annoyed with her 

- You would actually volunteer to hang out with her and her friends 

- And she always liked that about you 

- It made Billy babysitting a lot more fun if you were there 

- Steve is the first to break the silence 

- ‘max asked me if i could come over with her. but i wanted to see how you were doing. and also to say thank you for helping the other night’ 

-His words stumble over each other but you get the jist of what he says and are grateful that he came over

- Even if it is a bit awkward 

- ‘we’re also really sorry for your loss’ 

- Him and Billy may hated each other

- But he didn’t deserve to die 

- He should have been able to grow as a person 

- To apologize and seek forgiveness 

- Plus Steve knows you were close 

- He doesn’t really understand why 

- But he hates seeing you like this 

- He may not have noticed you while at school

- But he noticed you when he would go to the pool on a rare day off 

- And he noticed you when you’d come into Scoops 

- Sometimes you’d be alone and he’d have to stop himself from jumping over the counter and sitting with you 

- Sometimes you’d be with Billy and he’d have to stop himself from jumping over the counter and punching him in the face 

- And sometimes you’d be with other friends 

- But you would always be laughing 

- He really wants to hear you laugh again 

- ‘thanks’ You mumble and look at your duvet

- Max is the next to speak 

- Something about cleaning out Billy’s room before his dad found something he wouldn't like

- She then hands you a jacket that you didn’t even realize she was holding 

- Its denim, so its definitely his 

- And then you remember you’d claimed it when he told you it was too small for him

- It still smells like him and you have never been happier for forgetting something at his house

- You make a mental note to put it somewhere safe after they’ve left 

- ‘thanks’ You mumble again and tuck it beside you. 

- ‘how are you holding up?’ You ask Max but she just shrugs in reply. 

- ‘what about you?’ You turn your attention to Steve and he looks at you surprised 

- ‘i’m good.’ All three of you know he’s lying

- How can anybody be good after that? 

- But you can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you don’t push it any further

- ‘and everybody else?’ 

- ‘the same’ He nods. ‘there’s talk of the byers moving with el’ 

- Silence takes over the three of you 

- You’re all looking around your room 

- But you’re thinking of three different things 

- You’re remembering Billy lying on your bed while you were getting dressed for work 

- He was only waiting for five minutes 

- But he made it feel like an eternity because of how much he complained 

- He didn’t stop until your shoes were on and you were walking out the door 

- At the time it annoyed you 

- But right now, you missed his complaining 

- Max is remembering watching him sneak through your window at 2am 

- She remembers teasing him about it the next morning 

- But it was a subtle way to say she saw and she wasn’t going to tell

- Especially because of the bruise on his cheek 

- Steve is thinking about when he was back at school 

- Billy had just turned up

- And Steve knew it was just a matter of time before he was no longer King Steve 

- He had heard countless of rumours about Billy and he’d only been there for less than a week

- But he remembers one that he’s only just realized was about you 

- Someone had seen the two of you talking outside your house 

- ‘he’s going to break her heart’ They’d said 

- Whoever had said it was right. 

- Eventually the silence got too much and they both left 

- You promised Max that she was welcome to come round any time 

- Both of them were

- And you meant it

- The next time you saw them was Billy’s funeral 

- For the amount of women that Billy slept with, there was a definite lack of people in the church 

- You were sat at the front beside Max 

- But you noticed the rest of the party, as well as Steve, Nancy, Jonathan and Robin sat near the back. 

- After the wake

- You shrugged Billy’s jacket on, despite only going next door 

- To your surprise

- Steve was sat on your porch holding another bouquet of flowers 

- Once he noticed you, he stood up and fiddled with his jacket a little 

- However once you sat down beside him

- He slowly sat again and handed you the flowers 

- ‘thanks for coming today’ 

- ‘oh’ He says surprised ‘no problem’ 

- ‘will you thank the others for me?’ 

- ‘yeah of course.’ He replies. ‘how are you?’ 

- You just shrug in reply but he understands 

- ‘about that nigh-’ 

- ‘steve? i have literally so many questions. but please...not tonight’

- ‘sorry’ 

- Instead of answering 

- You just lean your head on his shoulder.

- To the outside world 

- You probably look like a couple of teens coming back from a first date 

- And right now, you wished life was that simple 

- You shove your hands in your pockets but something catches them 

- You frown in confusion and pull it from your pocket

- Its a mixtape with your name scrawled on it 

- As soon as you recognize the handwriting you smile and lift your head up

- ‘whats that?’ Steve asks while watching you trace the writing carefully 

- ‘mixtape. it must be from billy’ You sigh and shove your hands back in your pocket to see if there’s anything else 

- There’s a few gum wrappers (and a condom...gross. He definitely put that in there to annoy you) 

- But there’s a small note and your heart rate increases 

- ‘hey babe. i made this for you to play when you eventually bone harrington (god knows why you want to). you know you really have to be more subtle if you want to keep something like that from me. if you want any practice before you do the deed, i’m more than willing to help’ 

- ‘whats that?’ Steve looks over your shoulder and you quickly shove the note back in your pocket 

- ‘oh, its just a stupid note’ 

- ‘was there something going on with you two?’ 

- ‘ha! he wishes’ You laugh, but its only now do you realize you’re crying 

- ‘you two just seemed close’ 

- ‘nah. just friends. we both liked very different people’ 

- ‘oh’ If this was any other night and not the funeral of your best friend, you would have thought he sounded hopeful. ‘are you going to listen to it?’ 

- ‘probably later.’ You blush slightly 

- ‘we could listen to it in my car’ 

- ‘excuse me?’ 

- ‘not like that.’ He laughs and you feel your heart sink a little. ‘just, driving around town has been a welcome distraction this past week. sometimes we all meet up in one of the empty parking lots on the other side of town just to hang out and feel normal. i just thought it might help’ 

- ‘yeah...that sounds nice’ 

- He helps you up stand and tries to grab the mixtape from you but you quickly shove it back in your pocket 

- ‘knowing billy he would have put some very inappropriate songs on it’ 

- ‘yeah. i don’t want to know what sort of stuff he liked’ He laughs

- You know he was only joking 

- But the way he says it makes you frown 

- He notices how sad you look once you’re both sat in his car and he sighs 

- He’s still trying to be better at a lot of things

- Reading signals is one of them apparently 

- ‘why don’t you tell me your favourite memory of him’ 

- So you do 

- You tell him about the time Billy thought he’d locked you in the cleaning supply closet at work 

- When in reality it was somebody who looked nothing like you and when you tapped him on the shoulder he screamed like a baby. 

- And you laugh like you used to when you’d walk into Scoops and brighten up his day 

- He hopes he’s going to hear it a lot more 

- And so do you 

[raventhekittycat]

Song prompt: Twisted by MISSIO

Last day of DCMKEmogust2021.  This one I would definitely rate mature, and I feel like it deserves some warnings but I’m not sure what warnings should apply so I’ll just say viewer discretion is advised. It is told in second person POV where you are the criminal though. I guess the best emotion to describe it would be possibly be horror, but if we’re going with standard genres then it’s a thriller. Tagging the person running this years show @dcmkemogust20xx Link to the song here.

"You don't know what my family was like," you screamed at the boy. You'd been caught and cornered, by an elementary school brat of all things. You continued your rant, "My father always yelling at me, telling me I'd never amount to anything, telling me I was destined to get in trouble. My mother always telling me not to do things, never telling me I should do anything. My brothers never interested in anything I would do, wanting nothing to do with me, excluding me from everything. And my sister. My fucking sister. Always preaching at me to do good, do the right thing, while she, she would do the opposite and blame it on me, the damn angel of the family. All of them older than me looking down on me, the unexpected and unwanted baby."

Even as you were yelling at the boy, you knew you had done it though. You'd finally murdered them all. All those that laughed at you, all those that insulted you, all those that had wronged you. That one coworker who always called you slow, that woman from college that had always mocked your clothes, then finally your family. And you'd been getting away with it, throwing enough random victims in along the way who treated you slightly wrong. You'd been patient too. 

You knew you couldn't kill your family all at once. So you chose deaths appropriate for each of them. You had made your brothers' deaths seem like normal accidents, everyday tragedies, things that the newspaper wouldn't even care about. They hadn't cared about you so the world wouldn't care about their deaths. An embolism here—he'd always been at risk—a car crash there—he'd been drunk and always a heavy drinker—and the world looked away.

You're mother, always no no no, well you flipped the tables on her. That authoritarian no had turned into a no please, please no, no no, a wail of despair. A mugging at night, and her cries did nothing to stop the man you'd hired, before he bashed her head in with rock lying in the park. You didn’t mind anything he took no matter how immoral.

You're father, yelling at you that you'd never hold a job down, well you'd had him killed in a freak workplace accident. Most people would be surprised at how many common office items were suitable for a murder. Sure they'd cried foul play, no way that would happen, but they never even thought to blame it on you, out of the country at the time. You'd laughed at how gruesome it had been, even more than you could imagine. 

But your sister, oh your sister. You had saved her for last, her death the most gruesome of them all. Crucifying her with a knife like the saint she pretended to be, carving jagged wings into her back like the fake angel she was, and then, then, stitching her mouth closed so she could never tell you to be good and then turn around and spout lies again, your signature move. You knew it was risky, that stitching her mouth shut like the others would give you away, but you needed to. 

And it had worked! You'd actually gotten away with it for a while! You played the "overemotional" kid your family had always called you when he heard of her death, regaling people with how good she had been. Why would someone do something so cruel to her, you cried. You made your grief proportional to your loss; she was your last family member left, now you were all alone. 

And what glee that aloneness brought you. No one had known it was you; you continued your menial jobs, not a soul even suspecting your talents! You were alone in your knowledge and such joy that it brought. You had fooled the world, smarter than them all, finally amounting to something that the nation wouldn't stop talking about. 

So you'd continued. The murders were described as chaotic, never quite the same thing. Some were simply stabbed, some shot so many times the gun must have been reloaded, even some dismembered or viscera removed. But one thing remained the same, their lips were sewn shut so they could no longer disparage you.

At first they'd called you crazy but now they called you smart. You kept getting away with it, evidence always neatly disposed or erased. The police couldn't pin a trail down on you. The narrative had changed: if you were in this much control, rather than an uncontrolled murder, than you had to be too smart to be crazy. 

But this boy, somehow this boy had figured out that you had caused the latest murder. And it had broke something inside of you. If they caught you here then they would be able to trace all the other murders back to you. And so you were yelling, someone who had never raised their voice back at anyone before. But he just stood there, remorse gone from his eyes. 

"Go on, say I'm twisted, say I'm crazy, but you're wrong. I've always bested the system, I'm smarter than anyone else, I've become something. Go on, I dare you to say I'm twisted, I can still easily kill you before anyone else can arrive."

The boy just shook his head. "No, you're just sad." You were about to retort when he continued, "You're mourning what you didn't have and taking it out on others who make you remember but you did have, that nothingness and disdain from your family. You just chose the wrong path."

You wailed, enraged and harmed to your very core. He was wrong, wrong, wrong. Your path was the right path, the correct path, the only path. It gave you the acknowledgement from the world you couldn't get otherwise. So you rushed at him, a knife in one hand. Next thing you knew that grey world, which you had made shine a brilliant ruby red, had gone black. You were knocked out.

Conan shook his head. At last the most prolific serial killer in Japan's modern history, would be brought to justice. But it wouldn't bring anyone any joy. 

Notes:

Changed the ending just today and now am happier with it, but as such didn’t get a chance to edit it. This is my first time writing in second person POV and it was actually kinda fun! Have fun spotting the song references if you like~

[mammon-chan]

Deja Vu (Mammon x F!MC)

TW: blood, death, violent thoughts

A scream echoed through the House of Lamentation. It was a common sound – sometimes Asmodeus would screech about someone stealing his hair products, or Leviathan would yell about missing out on a limited-edition figurine. However, this time, the scream was unfamiliar – higher pitched than the rest of the brothers’ and was silenced quickly.

Mammon, who had walked along the corridor to try and spy on your conversation of Lucifer, raced towards the source. You were lying there, on the ground, battered and bloodied. His own brother, who was supposed to be on exchange in the human world, laughed hysterically as he was pulled back by Lucifer and Beelzebub.

Mammon didn’t understand anything people were saying – there was a roaring in his ears he couldn’t silence. He knelt beside you. Carefully, Mammon pulled your semi-conscious body into his arms. “Elena! Hang in there! Elena!”

“Mammon, you look like such a fool!” Belphegor sneered. “A human’s about to kick the bucket, and yet here you are, panicking as if it’s the end of the world!” He could barely finish his sentence due to his laughter, a crazed look in his eyes that Mammon didn’t recognise.

Your eyes fluttered, shifting to meet his. Your face was tense as you tried to fake a smile, your voice quiet within the din as you spoke, “at least I kept that promise, huh?” His mind went blank as he tried to decipher what you mean.

 He was sitting on your bed. His hands shook as he wrapped bandages around your arm, the shock of you nearly dying at Leviathan’s hand, whilst he’d tripped, unable to stop anything from happening was still evident. Lucifer had stepped in at the last minute, saving you from harm’s way. Leave it to Lucifer to clean up Mammon’s messes, he had thought bitterly.

“…Listen. The next time your life’s in danger, I’m gonna be the one to save you, all right? Don’t you forget that.” He paused, swallowing as his hands slid away from yours. Seeming to hesitate before he continued, “…And if I can’t manage to save ya, then make sure you die, got it?!”

A short silence, and you nodded, giving him a small smile. “All right.” You answered. “I promise.” With your uninjured hand, you locked pinkies with him

Mammon shook his head. “No. No, you’re not gonna die, ya hear me? Don’t you dare die!” He yelled. Tears blurred his vision as they fell down his cheeks. His glasses were getting smeared and he could barely see. He didn’t care.  

Raising a hand up to cup his face, your thumb grazed against his cheek. Your lips moved to form words he would never hear. He felt your hand drop and your eyes fluttered shut.

He doesn’t know how long he held you for. Curses spewed from his mouth as he screamed and cried. At some point he was pulled away from your body by Lucifer who had an odd look of concern on his face. He had tried to calm Mammon down. It doesn’t work. Mammon broke free from Lucifer’s grasp and bolted out of the house as fast as he could. Never stopping, never looking back.

When he finally arrived at the Demon Lord’s Castle, Barbatos was there, waiting for him. With the same polite smile as ever, he greeted Mammon. “So, you still haven’t managed it?” It feels like he’s being mocked. He ignored the comment and passed Barbatos.

“One more time. I’ll save her this time.” He swore on it.

--------

He awoke with a start. It all felt like a bad dream that would never end.

After getting changed into his uniform, he barged into your room as always, to find you, sat at your vanity mirror, seeming to have spaced out. It was normal to find you staring into space – he almost laughed with how regular the sight he saw was. You snapped out of your dream-world and your eyes met with his reflection. Due to the amount of times the brothers had barged into your room, you didn’t seem to be rattled by the fact he’d entered unannounced. “Good morning, mi amor!”

His eyes widened, and in just a few steps, he encases you within a rib-breaking hug that would rival Beelzebub’s.

You let out a small squeak of surprise and patted his arm in hopes he’d let you go so you could breathe. He loosened his grip but kept a firm hold on you. As he spoke, he rested his head on your shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. Just– Lemme stay like this for a little longer.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your fingers threaded through his hair, and he let out a sigh.

“I feel like I’ve failed you,” He whispered.

You stiffened under his grasp, and he cursed himself for letting his thoughts slip out. “What?”

“Agh, nothin’, nothin’!” He let go of you and waved his hands precariously in front of him and grinned, making an obvious show of ‘nothing’ being wrong. “Was just talkin’ to myself, don’t ya worry, Elena.” You stared at him for a long moment, before you nodded.

“If you say so, love.”

Mammon could tell you hadn’t believed a word he had said. However, you weren’t the type to pry too much, so you didn’t question him. And for now, just being here with you was enough.

You were alright. Everything would be okay.

--------

But he knows that it isn’t. He spent the last year repeating the same day over and over. Trying, trying to save you. Always failing.

Each time you died seemed more devastating than the last – how could you keep disappearing during your conversation with Lucifer, then suddenly show up with Belphegor? He didn’t understand.

He’d tried, time and time again to follow you, but each time, he’d get stuck at the stairs that led to the attic. And surely you weren’t up there, because nobody was allowed there, except Lucifer.

Sometimes his anger would bubble up too much, and he’d even contemplate on whether he should murder his own brother, Belphegor, after he’d killed you so many times. Or at least severely injuring him before his brothers got in the way. Perhaps he could force him to talk about how he killed you when he was supposed to be in the human world. The violent urges would pass within minutes, and he’d mentally beat himself up over the fact he’d even think about killing his own brother.

--------

You had died once again. He had found you, half conscious, being dragged out to the hallway by his brother, who’s chest puffed out with pride at killing a ‘measly’ human that he despised. At some point, during one of the many times he’d repeated the timeline, he’d stopped crying when you died. He’d grown numb to the sensation of grief stabbing away at his heart. Instead, he turned, his head lowered, fists swung tightly by his sides. He left the House of Lamentation as his brothers mourned after you, and headed, as always, to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

The first thing Mammon had saw was Barbatos, stood by the entrance. His lips were curled into a smirk, and Mammon walked forward. He swung his fist forwards towards the other demon’s face, and Barbatos caught the punch before it landed, twisting Mammon’s hand away from him before he released.

“There’s no point in getting upset at me for your own failures.” The butler turned and walked back inside, and Mammon followed him inside, just like clockwork.

“You’re right.” He mumbled and stretched out his hand, fingers running over the fingernail marks that had bit into his palm.

He had followed Barbatos into his room, watched as he opened the door once again for him. If he stepped through, everything would be reset once again. You wouldn’t be dead anymore. You would be alive, in the Devildom.

With the next step he took, his demon form took place. After all the repeats of the same timeline, in the same dimension, he had grown more powerful. He could feel this extra energy surging through his veins, urging him to finally make a move. Barbatos turned towards Mammon as he stepped forward again, and with one swift blow to the head, he was down. He kicked the door shut, moving towards another door before Barbatos could recover. He was just thankful that Barbatos had explained which door contained which power, or he would’ve been lost in the time-loop forever. He yanked the door open.

“There’s only one way for us to be happy.” He muttered to himself as he stepped into the void beyond the doorway.

If he couldn’t save you, then he would create a universe where you would never get hurt again.

And with that last thought, his vision turned black.

  --------

some of y’all might’ve been wondering: damn, jo hasn’t written/posted anything in a bit. jokes legit nobody has thought that and that’s because i’ve been working on this commission for the lovely @eckya! it’s actually the longest fic i’ve wrote in Years at around 1.4k words (which isn’t that long but shh) 

they requested a fic with their custom MC inspired by madoka magica rebellion and it was pretty fun to play around/write with wibbly wobbly timey wimey... stuff. god i make myself cringe, this isnt 2012 tumblr

i hope y’all enjoy this fic bc it took a While due to quarantine fkjbggkj

if y’all did enjoy, feel free to tip my work here! or even commission me!

[idlecreature]

*sidles up to you* hey man, want a Magnus Archives rarepair? I’ve got one right here you can have for free. It’s Mordechai Lukas/Hezekiah Wakely. Here’s my sales pitch: 

Mordechai Lukas is only forty years old, but he’s in very poor health. Granted, he’s been on death’s door for several decades, having never fully recovered from the excision of a thyroid tumour - a surgery that scarred his throat significantly, making it hurt to speak. But this isn’t his usual moaning about feeling cold and depressed all the time. This is the doctor listening to the slow gurgle of his heart and telling him “you shouldn’t be alive. your days are numbered”.   

(cut for length)

And Mordechai’s honestly fine with dying. A little.... too enthusiastic, even. On his trip to Italy he forwent normal accommodation to break into and sleep in mausoleums, and he might have returned from the continent a little... haunted. He’s designed and redesigned the family mausoleum a dozen times, and he’s had his own funeral planned for years much to the chagrin of his friends. “What flowers should adorn my funerary wreath?” he writes to Jonah Magnus. “Can we please change the subject?” Jonah replies. “And I swear to the one above if you send me a memento mori I am throwing it in the fireplace.”

Mordechai’s fulfilled his life’s requirements -- he’s married into the wealthy mercantile class, fathered children, and spends most of his time either in a graveyard or wandering like a ghost through Moorland house. His wife, Charlotte, really only wanted a man’s name on her letterheads and spends most of her time on a ship somewhere between London and India. She’s only interested in her possessions, her wealth, in ensuring the books are balancing. Her family made their money in opium prospecting and she’s pressuring Mordechai to open the lands surrounding Moorland for coal mining after a few test bores unearthed rich black seams. Mordechai’s essentially like, “over my dead body,” and Charlotte’s like, “so any day now! :))))” and Mordechai’s sole reason for stubbornly clinging to life is to protect his family’s ancestral lands. 

Mordechai has to occasionally rub shoulders with Charlotte’s friends in the East India Shipping Company. Among them are the Beale brothers, Daniel and Thomas. They have a younger brother, rich but temperamentally unsuited for their family’s line of work. His name is Nathaniel Beale, and, oh boy, he is a treat. He’s awfully similar to Barnabas Bennett, shy and closeted and yearning. Nathaniel tells Mordechai all about his good friend Hezekiah, who he’s so, so worried about, who makes poor Nathaniel ache with hunger and longing and shame all the same. Finally, some delicious fucking food thinks Mordechai Lukas. 

But if this man really is like Barnabas, Mordechai wants to enjoy his demise. So he obtains Hezekiah’s address with a mind to murdering Hezekiah and relishing Nathaniel’s grief and loneliness. It might be Mordechai’s last communion with his god. 

And that’s how Mordechai ends up in a quiet countryside graveyard, staring at the man in a dead sleep at the bottom of an open grave. 

And hot damn Hezekiah Wakely is a sleeping beauty. Muscular, square, with hands big enough to circle both of Mordechai’s wrists if he were to pin Mordechai down. (And Mordechai would very much like someone to pin him down.) He almost feels sympathy for poor, repressed Nathaniel but nonetheless summons the fog of The Lonely and it swallows Hezekiah whole. 

But the crawling fog parts around the sleeping man. There is a certain solidness about him, the weight of someone touched by another power. Mordechai sighs in annoyance but keeps watching Hezekiah. Slipping away once the man blinks awake, stretches his long, tanned limbs. 

Mordechai keeps close company with the Beales after that. Nathaniel passes away in January of 1839. Mordechai finds his grave in yet another lonely graveyard and is absolutely delighted that many of Nathaniel’s sparse acquaintances have forgotten him already. 

Hezekiah is curled up on the freshly turned earth. “I should hang for it,” Hezekiah says. 

“How about a new job?” Mordechai says.

“I’m a murderer,” Hezekiah says. 

“Hold my beer,” Mordechai says.

Mordechai convinces Hezekiah to work as Moorland house’s groundskeeper. By the time the pair of them make it back to Kent, Hezekiah knows about The Buried, The Lonely, the whole wretched Lot. 

“You have a lovely mausoleum, sir,” Hezekiah says. 

“Shame no-one’s christened it yet,” Mordechai replies. (He plans to be the first.)

Time passes.

And Thomas Beale passes away in 1841. 

The Magnus Institute opens its London branch in 1841. 

Daniel Beale passes away in 1842. 

By 1843, the world has forgotten Nathaniel even existed. Except, of course, for Mordechai, who keeps Nathaniel and Hezekiah’s correspondence.  

Mordechai’s now spending 90% of his time watching Hezekiah. When one of Mordechai’s many faceless relatives dies, he sits on the steps of the family chapel as Hezekiah digs. He lets Hezekiah sleep in the grave before the burial. He likes how peaceful the man looks, even when the grave dirt falls in his eyes. He even thinks about burying Hezekiah himself, how that would be another kind of embrace. 

Hezekiah more often than not sleeps outside, on the moor, and when the weather drives him inside he sleeps fitfully in his room in the cellar. 

(Hezekiah sings when it rains, bitten-off, wordless, self-soothing melodies that sound like oncoming earthquakes through the thick walls of Moorland House.) 

(Mordechai listens to him sing and tries to harmonize, and, although the knot of scar tissue in his throat makes his voice sound like grinding metal, isn’t that something?) 

The next time Mordechai catches Hezekiah dourly shuffling to the basement for a restless night he snags the larger man’s wrist. 

“You might sleep better in my bed,” Mordechai says. 

“???” Hezekiah says. 

“Come to bed with me,” Mordechai repeats. 

“!!!!!” Hezekiah says. 

And, well, Hezekiah likes the pressure of Mordechai lying on top of him. Hezekiah is warm, and soft, like peat, and if Hezekiah’s hands snake up to circle Mordechai while he sleeps, then what about it? In Mordechai’s world, they can’t be together in any way that matters. It’s just another thing that isolates him from polite society. 

"The groundskeeper? The man who smells like a bog?” Charlotte says, but she’s relieved it’s not a mistress who might want to live more ambitiously, that they might have to keep a London townhouse for because Charlotte’s the one who’d be saddled with the fiscal responsibility. She’s already writing monthly cheques to buy the discretion of a certain J. Magnus.

And Charlotte has an idea. “Dear husband :)” she says. “If you don’t let me open a colliery I might expose your little affair and you’ll get thrown in jail and I don’t think you’d last very long, dear, with your poor heart :) and when you die I’ll do it anyway :) so how about it?”  

Charlotte never makes empty threats. But at the same time, Mordechai is connected to the lands around Moorland house in a very real way.  

He doesn’t really have a choice. 

Charlotte opens a mine on Lukas land. 

They have their first grandchild, a boy, and Mordechai names him Nathaniel. Hezekiah just smiles at the baby, warmly. (His smiles are so warm.) (Mordechai is spending more and more time at his bedroom window, watching his groundskeeper. Surrounded by bottles of medicine that never make him feel any better.) 

“Are you going to die?” Hezekiah says. 

“It’s likely,” Mordechai says. For no reason he can name, the prospect of his funeral no longer delights him. 

Hezekiah is silent. “I hope the Lord forgives me,” he says, eventually, and a tremor runs through the entire house, and Mordechai hears, far-off in the distance, the desperate peal of a ringing bell. 

An accident in the colliery, they call it. A mineshaft cave-in, trapping 26 men and boys 150 feet under the earth, running out of breathable air, scraping at the cold, unforgiving rock until their fingers and lungs bleed. Crushed and choking and feared enough to paint the walls with it. There’s a thin plume of black smoke. (Mordechai can hear them crying and begging.) 

The mine closes. There’s a lengthy investigation. It will cost a considerable amount of money to sink another pit. Echoing, cloying silence wraps around the abandoned worksite. Mordechai can leave his bedroom for the first time in months. 

He sits on the chapel steps and watches the muscles of Hezekiah’s back work under his sweat-slick blouse. “Do you think...” Mordechai starts. 

There’s something in Mordechai’s voice that makes Hezekiah straighten up. 

“Do you think, when I die, you might cut a hole in the side of my coffin?” Mordechai says. “So, when you die, if there’s a hole in your coffin, our coffins could. Lie together. And. We might be able to hold hands under the earth.” 

It’s the most he’s said at once in decades, and his throat is raw for it. 

“I could do that,” Hezekiah says. “When are you going to die?” 

Mordechai sighs. “You’ve bought me a little time. Soon.” 

“I’ll make you a Coffin,” Hezekiah says, his voice oddly constricted, as if he’s speaking through silt. He drops his shovel and walks off, towards Moorland house. 

Later, from his windowsill, Mordechai watches Hezekiah cut down a whitebeam, feels the heft of it in his large hands. He’s too far away to gauge his expression accurately, but he seems to appraise the wood and finds it passable. He hauls it inside. 

The mere act of watching has left Mordechai feeling bone-tired, and he sleeps. 

And sleeps. 

(In between the sleeping, Mordechai finds himself cradled in long arms, sunburned by the late summer sun. The press of a spoon to his lips as he’s fed a soup that tastes like dirt and tannins.)

And sleeps. 

(When he chokes a little on fluid-filled lungs, he feels warm hands rubbing his back and the choking eases.) 

Moorland house is awfully quiet. 

A hand scraping softly on his collarbone shifts Mordechai blearily into consciousness. “It’s done,” Hezekiah says. “Would you like to see it?” 

Mordechai nods. His limbs are oddly discombobulated, his heart feels heavy and dragging, and he looks up at Hezekiah. The man scoops him up like he weighs nothing and carries him, bridal-style, down the cold, empty hallway.  

The gate to the mausoleum opens on well-oiled hinges. It’s no longer empty; a single coffin now sits in the marbled room. It’s simple - rough, even - the whitebeam a pale, unvarnished yellow. But there’s undeniably a presence to it, an undercurrent that draws you towards it. Hezekiah approaches close enough that Mordechai can run his hand down its flank. 

“I’m not an artist,” Hezekiah says. “It’s even a bit simple-looking, in this grand place.” 

“It’s perfect,” Mordechai says. “Would it be too morbid for me to give it a christening? Try it on for size?” 

“Pot and kettle,” Hezekiah says. 

“True,” Mordechai says. 

“Mordechai...” Hezekiah shuffles on his feet. “I would like to embrace you. Under the earth. It has to be deep enough that nothing can live there, where it is quiet and cold and the dirt clings like damp to your skin and dark enough that our touch can hide in secret, that’s the place we can be together. I think if I stayed here when you were buried the pressure of the world would be so much more than the pressure of the dirt and I don’t think I could bear it. I would like to hold you, under there, and you would have space from the choke and I would not be alone. I think I would like to do that forever, or, at least, until our bodies are less human than they are water and earth.” 

“I would like that too,” Mordechai says. “It’s like a marriage.” 

“It’s more than a marriage,” Hezekiah replies. 

“Yes,” Mordechai says, and lets his head sink down against Hezekiah’s chest, measures Hezekiah’s strong heartbeat against his own, thready and uneven. It’s so much more than he deserves. 

Hezekiah opens the coffin. It makes a comically sharp scraping noise like it’s the door to a vampire’s crypt in an opera, like thousands of paper bats will fly out of it and fill the room. 

It is silent, and cold, instead. 

Mordechai never gets his funeral. 

Most of Mordechai’s papers get passed along to the Magnus Institute. 

And two hundred years later, Jonathan Sims reads some letters. 

[hello-nichya-here]

Rough Draft of Fire Warrior (Fake Kemurikage) Headcanons

Note: Hi Nichya! I am currently writing a long fic dealing with how post-Imbalance Avatar would go for the Fire Nation Royal Family and their close friends and I was wondering if you could please look at my headcanons and critic them? Cause I don’t want to engage in the usage of stereotypes, or bad writing in general, especially since I am writing about characters with mental illness. Also, I have been trying to send you an ask about lighting bending for the past couple days, and it keeps on not getting through to you. Considering my asks only had trouble getting to you around the same time you very recently IP banned that one dumbass who tried roasting you for liking Azula, could it be you accidently banned me as well (I am using a coffee shop to upload this)? If so can you please unban me for your answers to my asks have enriched my understanding of Avatar greatly. Thanks!

Here is the ask: How would you write Azula and/or The Fire Warriors teaching Zuko lighting and smoke bending (as part of their reconciliation/rehabilitation) while Zuko teaches them the true meaning of fire, the dragon dance, and the philosophy behind lighting redirection? Cause I thought part of Azula’s and Zuko’s reconciliation would have been teaching each other the bending/skills the other one was lacking, uplifting each other instead of trying to compete with each other or hurt each other. But canon is what it is.

Anyway, my headcanons are down below

Starting from left to right I am going to list the names, backstory, and mental illness(es) of the non-Azula Fire Warriors:

Beam (DID plus avoidant personality disorder)

Born in 84 A.G., as the second child of three, and the only daughter of an upstart noble and a stay at home mother, Beam was expected to marry into nobility considering how well her father had done selling steel to the Fire Nation Navy and the fact that she had inherited her mothers’ good looks.

But Beam, for a lack of better words, was often detached from reality and quickly became a source of shame for her family. For Beam would often drift out of reality into her own little world whenever confronted with large amounts of stress. 

And what causes stress in Beam? Being around strangers, especially large numbers of them like parents’ hosted one of their frequent parties in an attempt to move up in Fire Nation High Society.

In fact, Beam started wearing her distinctive hairstyle plus dye in an attempt to avoid having people come to her much to her brothers and parents displeasure. And when that didn’t work, she started to wear masks such as those based on the dark water spirit or the dragon emperor.

On a side note, the only thing that really helped Beam was firebending, where she had a natural gift. However, due to her performance issues, whenever her brothers and/or parents came to watch, she always messed up her routines, leading them to cancel Beam’s lessons when she was 16 in order to focus on making Beam marriageable. 

This caused Beam to despair and undergo a nasty episode in which she wholeheartedly believed she was the dark water spirit and almost killed her older brother, who was “obviously” the Dragon Emperor. Said brother also happened to be the one who suggested her parents cancel the firebending lessons and make Beam a proper woman since he was going to get married soon and didn’t want his fiance’s family to revoke the marriage contract once they better got to know his “weirdo” of a sister.

The above incident was the last straw for her parents, who had her involuntarily committed after coming to the “conclusion” that nothing would fix their “madwomen” of a daughter.

Aiko (Clinical Depression)

Born in 87 A.G. as the unexpected last daughter of a merchant and a very low level noblewomen, life has always been a struggle for Aiko. Her mother had her in her early 40s after unexpectedly getting pregnant and giving birth to Aiko prematurely. Aiko and her mother barely survived but her mother ended up suffering from postpartum depression, hurting their mother-daughter bond.

Aiko grew up seemingly loved, but in reality she was always sad. And no amount of gifts, such as some of the best firebending tutors in the land, could ever make Aiko happy for it appeared from Aiko’s pov that her mother never wanted to do anything with her while she happily gave her love and time to her oldest two kids, who were both boys and going to join the war effort. 

That and she was relentlessly bullied in school for her demure size; one day she tried standing up for herself by getting into an impromptu fight with her main bully, but she accidently badly burned her due to being actually quite skilled in firebending. While Aiko managed to avoid jail or getting into trouble, the trauma of almost killing some made Aiko withdraw further into herself much to her parent’s grief.

Her brothers were the main positive thing in her life, for they were understanding of her and didn’t really push her that hard…except in firebending where they were the only people she felt safe enough after her incident.

However, things took a turn for the worse when her brothers finally joined the army and died in the very same maneuver that Zuko talked out against as a 13 year old. And in her grief, Aiko tried hanging herself though the noose broke just before it went taunt and she ended up knocking herself out.

And when she woke up, she found herself in the asylum….

Chyou (Bi-polar disorder)

Born in 84 A.G. as the adopted child of two low tier Hu Xin Provinces (colonial) nobles who were unable to have kids of their own. Her parents tried their best with Chyou, but she was a very difficult child to raise, for, in their perspective, one moment Chyou was a hyper energetic girl who was all too willing to do anything to achieve her long-term goals and whims. Goals that included being the best firebender in her school and being a proper noblewoman. And whims including a desire to shave half her head though that particular fulfilled whim didn’t really harm Chyou for she liked the hairstyle and kept it much to her parent’s dismay. 

But in other moments, Chyrou was a heavily depressed girl, who couldn’t even be bothered to get out of her bed no matter how hard her parents tried to encourage/bribe/threaten her. 

However, these “cycles” were just subtle enough that with her parents covering for her, Chyou could pass as a normal kid…that is until one night, she overheard a conversation between her parents talking about how much Chyou looked like her mother’s sister. Confused since she thought she had no blood relations with either of her parents (they told her she was adopted from a young age since Chyou doesn’t share that much in common with either with her parents), she confronted them and the told Chyou her true origin.

Chyou was in fact the love baby of an Earth Kingdom soldier and a Fire Nation noblewomen who was Chyou’s “mother’s” sister. While the Fire Nation is progressive in terms of gender roles, it is against the law for Fire Nation noblewomen to copulate with the males of the other nations. 

For Sozin’s reasoning was that the strong men of the Fire Nation could civilize the demure women of the other nations while the barbarians’ uncivilized blood could easily overwhelm the wombs of their wombs. Wombs that were needed to make sure their great nation would never lack loyal citizens. In reality, due to the patriarchal nature of inheritance and property ownership, Sozin feared the colonized enemy would marry into Fire Nation nobility and basically overthrow him once their numbers reached critical mass.

But getting back on track, it wasn’t discovered that Chyou’s real mother was having the baby of an Earth Kingdom soldier, let alone she was going to elope with him. So the Fire Nation tried to capture the soldier and kill him, but he ran off. However, after allowing Chyou’s true mother to give birth, the Fire Nation had her killed off. But, Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle took pity on Chyou and successfully begged the authorities to let them raise Chyou as their own kid.

Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle begged for Chyou’s forgiveness and she gave it to them…though she later had a manic episode that caused her to sneak out of her Aunt’s and Uncle’s house to search for her father, hoping she would get to meet him.

It took several weeks and all of the tracking and survival skills she learned in school, but she found the last place her father inhabited. But when she knocked on the door, her bio grandma opened the door and, once Chyou explained who she was, told the “lying ashmaker to get away from me and never come back unless you want to die” in addition to telling Chyou that her father died during General Iroh’s march to Ba Sing Se. 

For Chyou’s bio grandma never knew about her son’s relationship with Chyou’s mother, let alone that he was going to have a child with her and thus thought the young firebender was punking her…not that it would have made a difference for after she couldn’t even bury her son due to him being completely burned to ashes, she developed an intractable hatred towards the Fire Nation and especially firebenders. And that hatred wouldn’t dissipate even if her own granddaughter was one of those “ashmakers.”

Heartbroken at the rejection, Chyou then fell into a serious depressive state and was going to kill herself until she was apprehended by June and returned to her family, who had been paid by Chyou’s parents to find her before the colonial authorities did. For if the “mixed breed” had been found going “back” to her Earth Kingdom family, Chyou would have been killed for her “genetic disloyalty” caused by her parentage.

And when Chyou kept uncontrollably talking about her failed trip, Chyrou’s parents made a hard decision and had her temporarily involuntarily committed since they would rather have her suffer at the asylum (as well as get help for her myriad of issues) than have her rambling expose her “genetic disloyalty” and have her brutally executed, making all their pleadings to allow them to raise her pointless.

However, bigoted political hardliner healers in the asylum saw her history and decided unilaterally that she was a threat to society and so manipulated her record to make so she had died, leaving Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle (who were pretty old) heartbroken to the point they died within a couple of months of each other and turning Chyou’s temporary stay into a permanent stay.

Chyou, depending on whether she is having a manic episode or depressive episode, oscillates between believing her Aunt and Uncle haven’t given up on her and believing that they have finally given up on account of being a disgrace due to her mental issues and bloodline.

Zirin (Oppositional Defiant Disorder with mild Conduct Disorder)

Born in 85 A.G. as the only daughter of some minor nobles who live in Caldera City. She has ODD, which manifests in her explosive temper, which her parents tried solving by doing everything, including getting her training in firebending, which Zirin has a natural aptitude in considering she became a master by 16.

But despite her parent’s best efforts, her anger still didn’t really subside, leading up to an incident where she burned a highly sought out suitor for rubbing her the wrong way, leading her reputation to sink and make her unmarriageable, making Zirin worthless in her traditionalist parents’ eyes.

Zirin offered to join the Fire Nation military so she could be useful, but her traditionalist parents said no since the military is not the proper place for a young noblewoman. So they had her involuntarily admitted to the asylum…

Ting (Schizophrenia)

Born in 82 A.G. as the daughter of a minor Fire Nation noble and an Earth Kingdom commoner (that her father took a liking to) who lived in Yu Dao, Ting on the surface supposedly lived a charmed life. But her life was anything but charmed, for she didn’t not inherit her mother’s slim face and body, but had the stout body and face of a typical Earth Kingdomer. Meaning that it would be next to impossible to marry her off to another noble family for even in the colonies, there was a preference for Fire Nation traits among the nobility.

Not helping was just after Ting was 6, she would suffer periodically from hallucinations of her father whenever she messed up in school or in court, often having her speech deteriorate into “incoherent” babbling (ex. Ting asking “him: to stop hitting her) and often fighting back against a person who wasn’t there.

Obviously, this was just another thing that made Ting a massive disappointment in her father’s eyes.

So upset as his “mistake” Ting’s father often beat up his wife and daughter and seeing how Avatar takes place in fantasy land 19th century Asia, there was no one who they could turn to. In fact the only reason why Ting was “tolerated” was because she was an elite firebender, who naturally excelled at Sozin Style firebending due to her rage and self-loathing caused by her “madness.”

Thus, even if Ting was unmarriageable, she was likely going to have a good career in the Fire Nation Army. That is until one night when Ting was 16 witnessed a really bad argument between her drunk parents that ended up with her father breaking her mother’s arm.

Enraged and having enough, she fought her father and ended up badly burning him in public as he tried to escape her. 

The authorities then restrained her and tried to put her on trial, but horrified at what she had done, she had a severe episode that made the authorities doubt her sanity.

So sensing an opportunity to save face and not have his dirty laundry aired, Ting’s father authorized the colonial authorities to ship Ting to a homeland mental asylum for “treatment” damn well knowing they would most likely never let Ting out. And he had authorized Ting’s involuntary committal at the dead of night so Ting’s mother could not disapprove.

Gamon (Higher Functioning autism)

Born in 83 A.G. to two high functioning autistic former soldiers living in Hama’s village, Gamon would have been raised in a loving family. That is until her parents one night disappeared during a full moon and never came back (they were captured by Hama and tortured to death but the little shred of humanity left in Hama caused Hama to leave the baby alone despite wanting to spite Gamon’s pleading parents). So Gamon was given to her next of kin, who were mid tier nobles. 

It turned out that Gamon’s mother was once a noble, but renounced it so she could join the Fire Nation Army due to her special interest being the military alongside firebending. This had caused Gamon’s maternal grandparents and Gamon’s Uncle great shame and had also caused them to disown Gamon’s mother. And the sad thing was that despite Gamon’s mother wanting to reconcile, her parents died just after she got pregnant.

So when Gamon’s Uncle and Aunt got a hold of her, they promised that they would raise her into the proper noblewomen Gamon’s mother should have been.

And they were very harsh in doing so, making sure Gamon took to heart what her tutors told her what was necessary to do to be the perfect noblewomen. However, lightning struck twice, and Gamon developed a special interest in both firebending and military history, which she hid from her Uncle and Aunt by practicing firebending in the morning before either of them woke up and reading military history at night after they had gone to bed.

Gamon managed to hide it until she was 15 years old, where, after being suspicious of Gamon knowing an obscure military battle that took place during the start of Azulon’s reign while also giving pointers to a boy she was courting, they had one of the maids spy on her and report to them.

This, combined with Gamon’s symptoms such as her stimming (she likes to rub her knuckles because she likes how they feel) plus her social awkwardness (no matter how hard they drilled her, Gamon always floundered in noble get togethers), made her guardians give up her.

And not wanting a repeat of what happened to Gamon’s mother and the resulting loss of face, they had her involuntarily committed to the asylum and washed their hands of her.

***

1 - I absolutely loooooooooooove the idea of Zuko and Azula teaching each other, and it could start with Zuko playcating Azula by letting her bend again (which he knows she desperately wants) by making it clear she’s going to have to do it his way - seeing fire as a source of life, not just death. They’re likely to end up fighting a few times because of course, but it would mostly work out as intended, and Azula would then teach him what she knows.

2 - Zuko sharing what he learned from the dragons (while still keeping the secret) with the people who needed to learn it the most is what he should have done from the begining, especially with his sister, and it fits with his new goal of guiding his nation towards peace and showing them that this idea that war and destruction is “the Fire Nation way/culture” is absolute bullshit.

3 - It’s hard to say how “accurate” your portrail of mental illness is since I’m seeing just “your notes” so to speak, but it looks like you’re in the right path. Just be sure to remember that, while mental illness and disabilities do play a huge part in someone’s personalities that is not ALL of their personalities and you’ll be good to go.

4 - I recommend you either retcon some of the most ableist bullshit the comics pulled (like Zuko straight up abandoning Azula and not thinking about her until he needed something from her, not noticing the clear signs of abuse she was showing, all the times he and his friends physically assaulted her when she wasn’t doing anything, and him taking her on a mission knowing nothing about her condition) or make the characters realize just fucked up that was and then genuinely trying to be better.

[rvb-is-gay]

ok so now that the final episode of rvb0 is out for everyone, lets get into some discussion about it! please note that post isnt a topic of debate but rather just my personal thoughts about everything, so dont go arguing in the replies

(fair warning ahead of time for any fans, this is mostly criticism and negative feelings about it, so keep scrolling if you dont wanna read it)

When RVB0 was first announced, I remember everyone was first upset that the Reds and Blues weren't in it, including me. But now that I've watched the whole thing, I can say with confidence that my only issue with RVB0 isn't the lack of the Reds and Blues, but rather everything. the dialogue, some of the animation, the characters, the delivery, the pacing, the ridiculous amount of clichés, etc. I don't dislike RVB0 just because there's no Reds and Blues. I dislike it because I just found the entirety of it bad.

When I first started watching it, I went in with an open mind that maybe this season could actually be really good. I’d also be lying if I said that there wasn't a single scene that I liked. There were actually a few, but they still didn't make up for just the overall badness of the season. But please note that I don't blame the voice actors for any of this or even just Torrian Crawford for the season coming out a giant mess. Many people worked for this season and always had the opportunity to improve or change things but didn't. But anyways, let’s get into some of the criticisms I have for this season.

1. Smaller and more opinion oriented criticisms

This isn’t really criticism or anything important, but rather just a few things I found a bit weird to me personally.

First, the term “ragtag team of misfits” was used to describe Shatter Squad (and was even actually said out loud by One in the last episode, which sounded just so cliché and dumb in my opinion). I don't think this describes them at all?? Everyone has, at the very least, decent relationships with each other (save for One and East who were competitive with each other (which I also fucking hate in RVB that all the girl characters are always competitive with each other)), but that still doesn't really fit the term ragtag) and they all fight very well. I think ragtag fits the Reds and Blues more than it does Shatter Squad; they're bad at fighting, they argue and fight all the time, they're idiots, and that's why we love them. If they had just stuck with “a team of misfits”, that would've made more sense, but again, this is more of a personal opinion than genuine criticism.

Second, I don’t really like the aesthetics this season had. Everything felt a bit too neon and bright and then some stuff just felt like it came straight out of World of Warcraft or something. It didn’t really feel like RVB.

Third, my feelings about Carolina constantly calling Wash David can be summed up by what Michael said in the first episode of Halo 4 LASO: “Now we’re just gonna throw his name around all willy nilly. It used to be a secret.” When someone is called by their real name in RVB or just any story in general where everyone goes by code names, it’s usually a big deal and indicates something serious. Carolina wore out Wash’s name the first time she said it and it just got more and more irritating from then on out and lost its value.

Fourth, who was the blue and purple soldier in the first teaser we got? Was that One? Did they decide to change her armour colour? I don’t know, I just randomly remembered that and thought it was weird but I guess it must’ve just been a colour change.

Now, onto the more serious criticism.

2. Animation and dialogue

The second thing I wanna talk about is the animation. Don't get me wrong, the fighting animation is probably the best compared to everything else and it was pretty good to watch, but the talking and idle animations and gestures were..... kinda yikes. I know that it could be chalked up to “well we’re not used to seeing animated gestures since all of RVB usually has everyone just holding their gun and using the regular Halo models” but there were still some pretty bad parts.

Take the scene from Encounter at 3:26 as an example (I uploaded the scene to YT to put here, but obviously it was blocked for copyright):

This scene is probably one of the worst when it comes to not only the animations, but the dialogue, pacing, and delivery. When I first saw this, I honestly laughed. Here's a list of my problems with this scene and what made it so laughable:

The overexaggerated hand gestures. I get that because everyone's in armour and a helmet, it can be hard to show expression, but this feels like a bit much. Especially when One says “what? You’re pulling us off the mission? You cant do that!” I think that one scene in season 15 when Grif stays behind on Iris while everyone leaves and it slowly zooms in on Simmons’ visor somehow does a lot better at expressing feelings than this.

East immediately making the connection between Axel and Zero feels weird. I don't know if its just me who feels this way, but I think it should've been a little bit longer before she immediately is just like “you know Zero don't you”

Axel saying “I... I do... I did”  also sounds weird and like he was trying a bit too hard to sound dramatic. I don't really know how to describe it its just such a weird delivery of the line.

The way they all immediately start yelling at each other.

One saying “Axe, I trusted you” right after saying “tell us the truth”. Girl, you gave him no opportunity to explain and just immediately jumped to not trusting him anymore. Speaking of which, I don't think this was ever really mentioned again and had no meaning or importance to it.

The echoing of “I trusted you” also feels cliché to me, but this is more of a minor thing.

I think this one comment on one of the episodes on the RT site that says the dialogue “seemed acted rather than natural. It didn't really sound like how people normally talk, more how actors talk in plays” is how I feel about all of the dialogue in RVB0.

3. The villains

Zero and Diesel both felt like they didn't really have any motivation at all for being villains. Phase is probably the best when it comes to this. She was essentially abused by her father as a child and forced to undergo being experimented on. This is an actual good and understandable motivation.

Diesel we know basically nothing about, and then on the other hand, all Zero wants is power. But for what? Why? I can understand that power is a pretty common thing for people to want, but it still kind of felt like there wasn't really anything there.

Some previous good villains in RVB include:

Temple: Temple witnessed his best friend be brutally murdered right in front of him by 2 soldiers who didn't give a shit and just left him to die, especially right after he told him he was having a baby. Of course it’s understandable that he has a hatred of Freelancers after this. Any normal person would.

Felix: Felix was probably the best villain of all of RVB, to be honest (right beside the Director). He was just somehow so likeable and had so much personality, despite being an asshole. His ultimate motivation was money and being rich, which is another thing I can understand; the more money you have, the more you can essentially do whatever you want and live in luxury. I mean, even so many people in real life do horrible things just for money. I don't even have to give examples for this. Felix in general is also just a psychopath.

The Director: The whole reason the Director did what he did was because he lost the person he loved most in the world: his wife. He was willing to do literally anything to bring her back, leading to all of his actions in the Project Freelancer saga. You can find many examples of movie/TV/book/etc characters/villains seeking vengeance as a result of loss of a loved one and grief. Despite being a horrible person, the Director actually managed to be a villain you could even sympathize with, making him even better.

Sharkface: Although a bit of a more minor villain, similar to Temple, Sharkface is a villain because he wants revenge on the people that killed his team, the people he considered to be the only family he’s ever had.

4. Tucker & the swords

The fourth thing I wanna talk about is the whole thing with Tucker and the swords. I always found it kinda weird how both Tuckers sword and now Locus’ sword in the chorus trilogy were the same, but then in RVB0, Zero’s sword looks and acts completely different, but that might just be a little nitpick of mine.

As for Tucker, it was so good to see him. Although I don’t know if it was just me, but he seemed a little OOC. What I didn't like about seeing Tucker again was that he did literally nothing the entire episode. He was useless. He said “I can fight” at one point but then all he does during the battle is get held at knife point, run away, and then get stabbed and have his sword taken. Tucker isn't an amazing fighter, but he’s definitely a lot more capable than just this. We’ve seen him in action many times and I just feel like he could've done a bit more. It almost feels like he was purposefully nerfed and tossed aside just to advance the plot.

Another thing that I and probably a lot of people are upset about is the fact that Tucker might not even own his sword anymore?? When East stabbed him, he apparently died and the sword was rebound to Phase, but it wasn't very clear that this was the case. Although the beginning of the next episode starts with hospital beeps and a flatline, I don't think it was still really clear enough that Tucker actually died long enough for Phase to reclaim the sword because I saw a handful of people confused in the comments and, like me, even thought it was just bad writing at first and that the writers completely forgot about the rules of the sword established over several prior seasons.

When in the hospital, Wash tells Tucker that he almost died. Although I actually liked this scene because it was nice to see wash and tucker bantering again, I think it could've been made better and made the plot clearer if instead of saying he almost died, Wash said something along the lines of “Tucker, you died. Your heart stopped, but they were able to bring you back thanks to their advanced medical tech” and then in response Tucker freaks out because that means his sword will now work for Phase and now they know how urgent the situation is.

I really really hate that Phase just has Tucker’s sword now and nothing is even said about it. If Tucker was to give his sword away to someone, I think many people would prefer that it was at least someone close to him, like Junior for example, but instead it goes to a random girl he hardly knows.

5. Pacing

The fifth thing I wanna talk about is the pacing. This season was definitely a lot shorter than normal and I think that’s one of the things that really prevented it from being good. The entire story just feels rushed and while I understand that it can be really difficult to build a good story and characters in such a short time, I think there’s still ways you can do it without it feeling like there’s so much missing. I think the long intros and outros are also responsible for less time and maybe they should’ve considered cutting them to give more actual episode time. Here’s a few things that were poorly done as a result of bad pacing:

The final battle against Zero: The whole battle just somehow felt like a typical video game boss battle that ends super quickly to me. Shatter Squad didn’t even defeat Zero, he just up and got disintegrated or whatever from Black Lotus.

Shatter Squad giving up on their mission: After receiving the silly deep voice filtered message from Zero, everyone on Shatter Squad just immediately gives up on finding him.

One’s speech: One’s speech wasn’t awful or anything and I didn’t really have any problems with the speech itself, but rather just how quickly the team went from “we can’t do it.. it’s over..” to “you’re right! I’m in! Let’s go get them!” Compare this to Doc and Sarge’s speech to the Reds and Blues after Church and Carolina leave in season 10 episode 20. It just felt a lot more genuine (this is probably because the Reds and Blues had a lot more time to be developed, though) and was only given after some time passed rather than 2 seconds later. The scene and context also transitioned well into it and at first, nobody was on board with what Doc was saying, which is more realistic in my opinion. People’s minds won’t just instantly change, they’re still gonna think about it and maybe have a few doubts at first.

Phase and West: During their fight, West talked a lot about how he regrets giving Phase away to Starlight, that he won’t hurt her, and is even willing to die for her. Their scene together ends with Phase punching him in the head and then leaving to join the others and nothing else about them is mentioned. We don’t know if Phase forgave him or not, we don’t know how West feels, etc.

Tucker’s sword: Phase still has Tucker’s sword and like the scenario with West, nothing about it is mentioned. We don’t know what she’s going to do with it, if she’s going to keep it, if Tucker’s gonna do anything about it, etc.

6. Clichés

Clichés aren’t inherently bad and can be really impactful and good if done right. But when it comes to RVB0, it’s jampacked with clichés that aren’t good. Here are a few examples:

Everyone gives up until a speech is given: All of the points for this are the same as above, but I wanted to include this scene as a cliché as well.

Every female character is competitive with each other: RVB falls into this a lot, like I mentioned earlier. It happens again with East and One, although luckily they seem to resolve it, but not until literally the end of the season.

West’s fit about East: All of the lines and delivery in this scene were just atrocious and cheesy. I think West’s dialogue just could’ve been a bit more original, but instead we’re given this boring predictable “I won’t lay a hand on her. I promised her. I promised her mother. I promised she’d be safe” spiel that has no emotion to it in his voice.

The whole “I got this, you go ahead” thing: This isn’t like a super cliché thing, but I found it pretty interesting how it happens twice in the same episode.

I think this is pretty much all I can think of at the moment. If I think of anything else, I’ll add onto this. Overall, I think RVB0 would’ve done a lot better as just an RVB spinoff so that it could have more episodes and seasons dedicated to developing characters and a good plot. I’m really disappointed with this season and I hope whatever comes next is better than what RVB0 was. I hope the team that worked on it can learn a few things that come from the good and valid constructive criticism given to them. And if I had to pick, I think I’d say Raymond was my favourite out of all the new characters. He just felt the most relatable and realistic to me.

[helgabatwrittings]

You and Me Against the World, M’lady

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014643/chapters/60632809

Hi, I’m back!! And with a prompt for day 2: Stargazing, for @ladynoirjuly2020 .

As always, I want to tag @sassykittynoir , @miraculouslyinloveagain and @smileytrinity, you guys inspire me so much to write, I hope you like this! In fact, I hope everyone likes this xD! Let me know what you think!

                                                            ***

Patrol was by far the highest moment in Adrien’s week. Both he and Ladybug were getting overwhelmed by the crazy amount of schoolwork, on top of Akuma attacks and their extracurricular activities, and so, and for Adrien’s misery, their nightly meetings had to be cut short to once a week. Nevertheless, Adrien would take the most out of it, every minute that he spent with his lady was precious, he couldn’t give himself the luxury of wasting them.

Today, however, he was exhausted! His tiredness could be explained by an accumulation of the last week’s increasing hours of modelling, photoshoots upon photoshoots constantly sneaking their way into his schedule, followed by an intense fencing training every morning before classes started in preparation for an upcoming tournament, the piano lessons that lasted for at least two hours, by his father insistence, the Akuma attacks that also didn’t give any of the heroes a break, and the lonesome meals were all taking a toll on him. Besides, today he couldn’t go to Marinette’s, she said she wouldn’t be home that night, she had a family event or something like that. He couldn’t exactly tell what plans she had for the night since she stumbled upon her words too much for a congruent phrase to be comprehended. It shouldn’t matter what she had planned anyway, she didn’t owe him an explanation, and yet, he was still bummed that he wouldn’t be seeing her.

Beep beep! He looked at the lit screen of his baton, noticing the text Ladybug had just sent him, “Good Evening, Chaton! I have a surprise for you! Come meet me at our spot! Bug out!” He smiled goofily. What had his lady prepared for him? She never failed to impress him.

Adrien vaulted through the rooftops, as fast as his exhausted body could go. He got to the Notre Dame tower where they usually started patrol, and there she was. In all her majestic glory, sitting on a towel, next to a large basket, which he suspected contained some delicious treats inside. She was gazing at the shining Parisian view, transfixed by its beauty, so she didn’t seem to notice his arrival. Adrien smirked.

Silently tiptoeing until he was right behind her, he crouched to her height stealthily, “Evening, M’lady!”, Adrien greeted her in a louder than normal tone, exactly the volume he knew would startle her.

As expected, Ladybug jumped, almost knocking her head on his chin, “CHAAAT! You scared me!!” Despite her annoyed voice tone, Adrien could see a slight smirk gracing her lips.

“Awww, buguinette, you looked so peaceful staring at the view, I didn’t want to disturb you!” He teased her, flicking one of her ponytails.

Ladybug lightly slapped his hand away from her hair, “Well, since you’ve decided to be such a brat tonight, I guess I have no other option but to take this picnic basket home!” She booped his nose and chuckled, “Guess I’ll have to feed these croissants to the stray cat that visits me every night!”

Adrien gasped dramatically at this new revelation, not only was she taking the croissants he loved away, but another cat was keeping her company?? “Noooo, Buguinette! I promise I’ll behave!” To prove his point, he sat on the chequered towel, his hands resting on his legs to keep them from bouncing in excitement.

“Well, since you promised!” She sat right next to him, stretching right over his lap to reach the basket that was just next to Adrien. His cheeks went immediately scarlet, and his heart must have doubled its rate. God, this girl had such an effect on him! She had him right on the palm of her hand, Ladybug would be the death of him. Let it be known, Adrien Agreste would die because Ladybug, Paris darling, would kill him with her beauty and angelical grace!

And the worst, the absolute worst, is that she knew exactly what she was doing! She could have asked him to grab the basket, but nooo… She really wanted to end him, uh? Hawkmoth was an amateur next to his lady. She was the real criminal mastermind in Paris for what she was doing to him.

“-at…”

God, could his face get any warmer? He swore his blood had been entirely deployed to it so that LB could see exactly what she had done to him.

“-hat…”

If his heart continued to pump at this rate, Adrien would have a heart attack, he was certain of it.

“CHAT!!” His attention immediately drifted to her. Ladybug was holding a pain au chocolat, her eyes had this sparkle Adrien was used to seeing when she was amused with something, although her face was trying to pull a blank expression. “Do you want this pain au chocolat or not?”

“What?” He asked in a daze.

“Hello! Earth to Chat Noir!!” Ladybug mocked him, lightly knocking on his head.

“I’m here!” He jumped, finally realising what Ladybug was offering to him. He could never say no to those heavenly sweets she brought from time to time. They were on par with the pastries Marinette offered him every time he visited, and those had no competition in Paris. He grabbed the pastry, while Ladybug took a croissant from the basket for herself.

She wasn’t exactly talkative, but neither was he. They ate the pastries in pleasant silence, although Adrien was still a bit confused about why they were skipping patrol to have a picnic.

“Uh… LB?” Her eyes were closed, a pleased smile was gracing her lips while she slowly chewed on her croissant.

“Yes, kitty?” His heart jumped a beat at hearing the affective nickname Ladybug sometimes used for him.

“Why are we doing this? I, I mean, not that I’m not loving to spend some quality time alone with you in this romantic setting.” He wiggled his eyebrows, flirting with Ladybug to mask his nervousness.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but my life is kind of chaotic right now, and Hawkmoth has not been going easy on us. I just thought we deserved a night off, that’s all.” Her bluebell eyes established contact with his own, and his brain immediately turned into a jumbled mess. Seriously… How could he have any rational thought when his lady looked at him with that gentle expression of hers. Was she even aware of the power she had on him? How, with only a simple look, could she freeze his entire being and capture his heart to be forever hers? Some of Hawkmoth’s Akumas must have taken refuge in his belly, he could feel them inside as Adrien kept watching Ladybug in all her grace munching on her croissant. He knew that if he stood in front of a mirror at that moment, his face would be the same colour as his lady’s suit.

He needed to distract himself with something else, otherwise, his brain would start to make up these crazy scenarios and he wouldn’t be able to deal with them, especially not in front of Ladybug. Damn those teenage hormones!

Adrien looked up to the clear night sky, gazing at the stars above them. Physics was always a passion of his, especially Astronomy. He remembered spending countless nights alone in his room, back when he only had Chloé in his life, gazing through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He owned several stars charts, and his mum had also gifted him a next-gen telescope so he could further feed his passion. He had learned all the constellations, and it was those that had kept him company and helped him stay grounded when he was going through the painful grief his mum’s disappearance had brought upon his life.

“What are you looking at?” Ladybug looked down at him. When had he lied down on that rooftop? Adrien was so distracted gazing up at the sky, that he hadn’t noticed the change of position he had adopted. The fact was that he was currently lying on his back. And his Lady had asked him a question. “I’m only looking at the stars… They look so pretty, tonight. Almost as pretty as you, m’lady!” He chuckled.

“Silly kitty! And here I thought you were finally thinking of something smart for a change.” She teased him, and Adrien put a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically while a pleasant warmth spread through his chest.

“Seriously Chat! You are awfully distracted today. Something wrong?”

Adrien shrugged, “Nothing’s wrong, Buguinette. Don’t worry. I guess I’m just more tired than usual tonight.” His eyes drifted to her face, and his heart missed another beat. Maybe Adrien should ask his father if he could see a doctor, these many palpitations were definitely not normal.

Ladybug lied on her back, her body turned in the opposite direction to his, with her head right next to his shoulder, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her, and that was enough for his brain to lose any kind of logical thoughts once again.

He avoided turning his head towards her, Adrien knew he wouldn’t be able to resist kissing her lips if he did so.

He heard her huff, “I swear, no matter how many times I read about constellations, I can never identify them. Like, for example, I know that “W” is one, but I don’t know which one!” She pointed, and Adrien followed her gloved finger.

“That’s Cassiopeia, M’lady.” He chuckled.

“Cassiopeia? What even is that?” Ladybug asked dramatically indignant. Adrien loved how full of life she always was.

“Cassiopeia was Andromeda’s mother, and incredibly arrogant and vain. This led to her downfall when she made Poseidon become irate, and the only solution for it was to sacrifice her own daughter, which was later saved by Perseus. Poseidon still thought that Cassiopeia deserved to be punished so he turned her into a constellation.” He explained.

“Wow, Chat! How do you even know that?” Ladybug looked at him and Adrien could feel her breath on his chin.

“I love astronomy. Feels like it was ages ago since the last time I looked at the stars though.” He stated simply as an image of a green-eyed blonde woman appeared in his head.

“It’s so sad that her daughter almost paid for her arrogance…” He heard her voice quivering with emotion. Adrien turned his head toward his lady. Their lips were so incredibly close to each other, it would be so easy to capture them with his own. But he would never do that. He would never take that step, not without her permission.

Ladybug looked stunning lying on that rooftop. The moonlight gave her this ethereal shine and accentuated the blue highlights of her hair. Her cerulean eyes were piercing his soul, they were so close to each other that he could discern all the different blue tones in them. He could count all the freckles adorning her face, and he swore he saw a subtle red hue spreading on her cheeks. He had stopped breathing. Adrien could no longer feel the chill of the night, only the heat radiating from her skin and breath which ironically made his hair stand on end.

Adrien needed to break their eye contact, or else he didn’t think he would survive, he needed to start breathing again anytime soon, right? Her eyes, however, had trapped him in a hypnotic spell which Adrien was certain he couldn’t escape from, and also, he didn’t want to end this moment so soon.

His heart constricted as he was the first one to look away. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Ladybug liked another boy, and he should respect that.  But the way she was looking at him, could it be? Could she possibly care for him as more than a friend? She was a puzzle in his life, one he couldn’t solve no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head trying to get rid of these thoughts. His Lady wasn’t really his, she liked another boy. Besides, he was already dating Kagami. And Marinette? Marinette was a whole other mystery for him. Wait, why did he suddenly start to think of Marinette? Plagg was right, love was way too complicated.

[classictogetherlike]

Definitions [C.T.H]

AN: I hope y’all enjoy this fic, I loved writing it! If you guys want a part two let me know:)

Calum x OC, fluff, angst, lots of angst (sorry)

WC: 3334

“If your life was defined by one single moment, what moment would you choose?”

Shaye sat and thought for a moment, nearly sixteen years on planet Earth defined by one moment. A momentous decision. So much happens in a single day, never mind sixteen years. But still, he never took no for an answer, so an answer had to be found.

His eyes watched her figure as she pondered his question. He couldn’t help but notice the slight twitch of her right foot where it rested on the blanket and the wandering of wide eyes as she took in the starry sky. Shaye was it for him, he’d known it for years and he couldn’t wait to tell her, but he would, because he knew that once she answered, the question would be turned back to him.

When her eyes finally met his, he couldn’t stop the small smile that graced his face. “Well, what’ll it be, bub?”

A bashful smile took over her face and she reached a hand out to grab his. Twisting one of the rings that sat on his fingers, she glanced away for a moment before meeting his eyes once more. “I think,” her breath caught, eyes lighting up before continuing, “I think I would choose this moment. Right now.”

He couldn’t believe she had unknowingly stolen his thunder, but he also couldn’t stop the giant smile that grew wider on his face as he tugged her closer. He hummed in response to the answer, waiting for the inevitable question flip, and he wasn’t disappointed. 

“What would yours be, Cal?”

He opened his mouth to reply when his phone rang from where it was tossed on the other end of the blanket. Cursing the timing of whoever was calling him, he briefly pulled away to reach for the phone, frowning when a photo of him and his dad lit up the screen. He quickly accepted the call, mouthing a quick sorry before moving off of the picnic blanket to go stand closer to the water.

Shaye fiddled with her fingers as she observed Calum, growing anxious the longer he stayed on the phone. His posture began to change, the normal, confident stance he possessed shrunk in and his left hand reached up to tug at his hair. When Calum finally hung up the phone, he raced back to the blanket, reaching into the picnic basket to grab his keys and heading towards his car.

“Cal?” Her startled voice interrupted his movements, making him freeze in his tracks. His eyes, wet with unshed tears met confused ones and Shaye stood from where she sat. “What’s wrong?”

He turned and reached his car, unlocking the door before glancing back once more. “I have to go, can you call someone to get you?”

Confusion set in her body and a bewildered look graced her face. “What? Calum this doesn’t make any sense. What’s wrong, are you okay?” The questions fell on deaf ears as he climbed into his car and started it. With one last look in her direction, his car pulled away and left her standing in the mess of what had been a perfect night.

{Saying goodbye is never easy. It’s even worse if you don’t get to say it.}

__________________________

*Two Years Later*

When Shaye pulled her dripping body out of the pool after finishing her cool down the last thing she expected to look up and see was the figure lingering in the entryway to the natatorium. Their eyes met briefly and he lifted his hand to wave, putting it back down when she walked away and into the locker room.

Her mind filled with random thoughts as she stepped into a shower to rinse off and gather her wits. So they were back then. Who knew for how long or what reason, but Luke Hemmings was stood in the entryway to the pool, seemingly waiting for Shaye to finish with practice. She almost couldn’t believe how much it hurt to see Luke standing there, though she wasn’t sure what she would have done if it had been Calum instead.

Probably punched him in the face if she was being completely honest.

The amount of contempt and bitterness that lingered around when she thought about Calum  was the main reason she avoided any sort of information or conversations regarding him or the band. One of their biggest supporters in the beginning had been reduced to a person who couldn’t stand to listen to any of their music, the sound of any of the boys brought her to tears.

Finishing up her shower and throwing on a pair of joggers and a tshirt took longer than it normally would. Shaye would be lying if she said it wasn’t on purpose. Who knew how long Luke had prepared what he wanted to say to her, it hardly seemed fair that Shaye received only minutes. Still, with those thoughts swarming in her head she gathered her bag and walked out of the locker room to see Luke still lingering in the entryway.

His lips pulled up into a soft smile as he pushed himself off of the wall to meet her halfway. “Hey, bub, I missed you.” His smile faded as he took in her wince at the once endearing nickname.

“Sorry, I just, no one’s called me that in two years, I wasn’t expecting it.” Shaye’s voice was quiet, though didn’t waver once like she imagined it would. She sighed quietly, opening her arms to gather Luke in a hug. “Hey, Lu.”

His arms felt the same as she remembered, strong around her but never too tight. She remembered movie nights with the boys being passed around for cuddles and always ending up sitting with Luke the longest. Aside from Calum, Luke filled Shaye’s life the most. They texted late about stupid movies and teased the other boys when their voices cracked. She missed him, she realized then. 

The two years had been filled with so much hate and longing, though in the beginning it had been filled mostly with tears. 

“Mom, I need you to come pick me up.” Shaye could tell herself that her voice was shaky, and she didn’t blame her mother one bit at the confused tone she responded with.

“Shaye? I thought you were with Calum, has something happened?” Shaye hadn’t known how to respond. How do you tell your mother that your best friend for nearly five years had up and left you stranded at the beach under the stars during the best first date of your life. So she hadn’t explained, just asked once more for her mother to pick her up and after receiving a confirmation hung up the phone and began to pack up the picnic basket.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Shaye had received insight about what happened the evening before. 

“Hello?” “Bub! Where are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” Luke’s voice filled the room through the speaker on her phone, causing her to frown in confusion.

“Why aren’t I where? What’s going on?” There was silence for a minute, although she could still hear Luke breathing into the receiver. 

“You don’t know?” Shaye let out a harsh breath before retorting shortly. “Luke, know what?” “Shaye, we’re leaving. We’re at the airport, about to leave for London.” Her entire world froze, eyes filling with tears as she sat curled up on her bed. Luke hadn’t needed to explain who ‘we’ was, she knew who that entailed. Her best friends were leaving, her almost-not-quite boyfriend was leaving. And she hadn’t known.

“Shaye? Can you hear me? Calum told me he had told you, what’s going on?” Luke could hear her sobbing, Shaye knew that, but she couldn’t stop crying. It suddenly made sense, Calum’s abrupt departure from the night before, his hesitancy to look her in the eyes and the quick, stiff movements of his body as he moved towards his car. “H-he didn’t tell me. He left las-last night. He left me at the beach.” Luke didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to respond, not with Shaye crying like someone had died. And he realized that although no one was actually dying, a relationship was. And how could he help when he stood in an airport nearly an hour away, listening to one of his best friends sobbing over the actions of one of his brothers. 

“Luke, I’m gonna, I’m gonna go, okay? Have fun Lu, have so much fun and watch after the boys and don’t do anything that will get you killed, okay?” He hated the way this sounded, didn’t like the permanence suggested in her tone, the way her words seemed final and resigned. “No, Shaye, it’ll be fine, okay? We’ll figure it out, I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. We’ll fly you out for Christmas or during one of your school breaks, we’ll figure it out, okay?” Shaye was silent a moment as she let herself believe his words for a moment. But she knew. Nothing would be the same, there was no coming back from this.

“Goodbye, Lu.”

It had taken a while, a long while, for Shaye to come to terms with what had happened. She had avoided texts and calls, eventually answering one from Luke just to ask him to stop reaching out. He had protested, insisting that he still needed her, that the band still needed her, but she had stood firm, telling him that either he stopped reaching out or she’d change her number. So he stopped reaching out, because that was better than losing his ability to communicate with her completely. 

Eventually people at school stopped asking about the boys, stopped bothering Shaye with questions when they realized she didn’t know, and that she wasn’t talking to them. She fell into her own little world for a year, burying herself in swim and school, determined to move on from who she had lost. 

“Shaye?” Luke’s voice startled her out of her thoughts, realizing that she was still wrapped in his arms before pulling away. 

“Yeah? Sorry, just got caught up thinking.” She cleared her voice quickly, before continuing on. “So what’s up Luke? Why are you here?” She couldn’t have ignored the pained look on Luke's face if she tried. The grief that passed over his face as her indifferent tone washed over the two of them would have been visible to a blind man. 

“I missed you, Shaye, we all did.” Shaye was quick to shake her head, denying his statement before he was even fully done with it. “No, Lu, you all most definitely did not miss me. Three of you missed me, sure, but you cannot convince me that all of you missed me.” His eyes were pained as he took in her argument, finally recognizing the sheer amount of damage his best friend had done. He offered her a small smile, though it came off as more of a grimace, and pushed forward.

“I’m heading out to get lunch with the boys and I want you to come with us.” Narrowed blue eyes met his, and he could hear the refusal and rejection of the invite before Shaye’s mouth even opened.

“And before you say no, you don’t have to talk to him. You don’t even have to look at him, okay? But Mikey and Ashton and I, we miss you a lot and we really, really want you to come eat with us. Please?” He knew he wasn’t in the homestretch yet, she was still fidgeting with her fingers, a habit she had whenever she was torn between choosing. “C’mon, bub, I know for a fact that you just worked out for at least an hour and a half, you can’t tell me that you’re not starving.” A smile slowly began to grow on Shaye’s face, the fidgeting of her fingers slowing down quite a bit. Her eyes met Luke’s once more, raising her eyebrows in a challenge as she opened her mouth. “Only if you buy me a milkshake.” Luke’s laughter filled the entryway as he threw his arm over her shoulder before guiding her outside to his car.

__________________________

Reaching the restaurant posed a new challenge that Luke hadn’t considered when inviting Shaye. He probably should’ve realized that getting both Calum and Shaye to the same restaurant would be the easiest part of the day, but getting them to actually sit and acknowledge each other was a whole different story. 

The moment he and Shaye entered the restaurant, Calum stood from the table and began gathering his things. Luke couldn’t ignore the hurt in Shaye’s eyes if he tried, though she stayed silent as she watched Michael latch onto Calum’s arm and pull him back into his seat. The seating arrangement at the table seemed random initially, but when Shaye was lead to sit at the opposite end of the table across from Ashton while Luke sat in front of Calum, it suddenly became obviously strategic. 

Shaye barely had a moment to set down her bag and pull out her chair before her arms were filled with both Michael and Ashton. 

“Shaye! I’m so glad you came, Luke said he wasn’t going to leave you alone until you agreed to come but I was still worried. We haven’t talked in ages, how’s school? And swim! You’re still swimming, aren’t you?” Michael’s words were rushed, an influx of words and questions that filled the previously tense silence. 

“Mikey, give her a second to sit down, she’ll answer all of your questions but she needs to breathe.” She shot Ashton a grateful look as the two withdrew from her arms before sitting down and fidgeting with her fingers. 

“I’m good, Mikey, thanks for asking.” Her eyes locked with Michaels, and then shot over to Luke’s for reassurance before barrelling on. “School’s okay, I’m almost done which is nice, and swim is going really, really well.”

Luke scoffs at her timid responses, cutting in to end the bashfulness radiating off of his friend. “Shaye, we might not have talked in awhile but your parents kept us up to date on you. We’ve all seen the videos and texts about grade updates and swim meets.”

Her face burns as she realizes that her life isn’t as private and withdrawn from theirs as she initially thought. Two years of thinking that their lives were completely severed had been a source of comfort in her life, not having to worry that her big rockstar friends were still checking in on the one person of the group they had left behind. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

The awkward silence that had been eradicated just minutes before reemerges in full force at Shayes quiet admission, only to be broken by a snort from Calum. His eyes are locked on Shayes the moment she looks up, and her face burns at the look of disbelief on his face.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Luke reaches across the table to tap warningly against Calum's arm, but is brushed off as he sits up and leans forward in his seat, eyes still locked onto Shaye. “You expect me to believe that for two years you didn’t think we would check up on you? That has got to be the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever heard.” Shayes ears ring as she takes in his words, brow furrowing at the accusation thrown her way. Everything is building up in her mind, the years of pain and rejection, the loss of her friends and the anger of being left behind, all of it is building up after being repressed for so long. It’s bubbling, steaming and filling its way throughout her body and she can’t handle it. 

Her eyes blaze as she meets Calum’s again, her fists clenching rhythmically under the table. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, Calum. I had no clue that the asshole best friend of mine who left me behind on my first fucking date still had a caring bone in his body. I didn’t think that he’d care that I didn’t stop crying for weeks, or that once everyone at school realized I knew nothing about my best friends career, dropped me like dead weight and avoided me like the plague. I’m sorry I didn’t think that the one person who was everything to me but left the country without a single word still cared about me.”

The longer her rant goes on, the smaller and smaller Calum becomes. He’s shrinking in on himself, looking less like the confident boy she had grown up with and more like a shell of the boy she had fallen in love with. 

“Sorry if I couldn’t believe that the boy I was in love with truly cared about me after dropping me like nothing.” Shaye’s voice is nearly a whisper now, her anger fading and morphing into dejection. The table stays silent, the other three boys not wanting to interfere, and the one boy she wants to speak up stays mute. She can’t help but scoff at the irony, at the fact that it’s now the second time that she won’t have access to his thoughts, that she’s going to be brushed aside once again.

The silence is broken when Shaye pushes away from the table, standing and grabbing her bag and turning her attention to the other boys. “It was really nice to see you guys again, but I’m going to go now.”

Luke goes to grab her arm, to try and plead with her to stay, but she steps back from the table and shakes her head. “No, Luke, I’m sorry. This was a mistake. There’s too much pain here and I can’t handle this. I love you guys, and I probably always will, but I need you to leave me alone.”

The looks of hurt that grace three-fourths of the band is gut-wrenching and it’s too much. Shaye can’t handle the idea of causing these boys so much pain, but the one boy who won’t speak up has ruined it all for her. He’s ruined not just their friendship, but her friendship with the other boys as well, because it’s too painful.

It’s too painful to think about Luke’s phone call from the airport. It’s too painful to think of all of the meme text messages Michale sent before she asked him to stop. It’s too painful to remember the desperate texts Ashton had sent, valiantly trying to fix what Calum had done. 

And so she locks eyes with each of the three boys, and utters the most painful sentence that’s ever emerged from her mouth. “I don’t want you guys to waste your time on me, please stop reaching out.”

Luke whimpers to her right, and Michael looks like he’s going to start crying at any moment. Ashton just stares at her, hurt shining in his eyes as he nods at her. Her cheeks raise slightly as she grimaces in apology for the pain that she’s caused that Ashton will inevitably have to fix, but she expected him to be the one to agree, and she wasn’t disappointed. 

When she turns to walk away, Shaye is reminded of her last conversation with Calum two years ago, and she turns back and looks at him once more. “I wish my life wasn’t defined by that night two years ago.” His eyes widen as she talks and his mouth falls open a little bit. “I wish it wasn’t but it is, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for it.”

She can’t help but be a little surprised at the sight of tears running down Calum’s face, but she’s also relieved. She’s finally gotten to say everything she wanted to tell him, to share even a fraction of the pain that he caused her, and now she has. So she turns, and walks away, ignoring the broken plea of her name that falls from Calum’s lips.  

[whumptasticwednesday]

(Semi) Grown-Ass Man - (Peter Maximoff - X-Men: Dark Phoenix)

!!X-MEN DARK PHOENIX SPOILERS!!

Author’s Note: Hey, LividFigureSkatingLover (Ash) here! I hope you enjoyed the fic posted last week that Jimmy uploaded for me. That was actually something I’d written months ago but we felt like it would be an appropriate beginning fic. This, however, is a fresh fic that I started writing the day after Jimmy and I went to see Dark Phoenix on opening night. Needless to say, we were both disappointed with the critical lack of Peter in this movie. Like, you can’t just yeet your fan-favorite character into the sidewalk and have him carried off the jet in a stretcher without acknowledging anything! Anyways, next week will be Jimmy’s week to upload a fic, so you won’t see me for a while, but I can assure you my next fic is in the works. HINT: It’s addressing the critical lack of Dadneto in this film (although after that I think I’ll be done with the Peter fics for now.) Anyways, enjoy the fic! (This fic is also unedited so if you catch any errors, feel free to let me know!)

Word Count: 5749

It had all felt like an instant. One moment, the X-Men were emerging from their jet to bring Jean Grey home, the next, irreversible and horrific destruction. It all ended with Jean soaring into the sky and disappearing into the clouds with a distraught Scott and an angry and grief-ridden Hank on the asphalt. Charles slumped back into his chair and sighed. Nobody could have expected this. The crushed police cars and house smashed like a Popsicle stick craft project were just white noise to the heavy betrayal, anger, grief, and pain filling the atmosphere. The uncanny silence was only broken when Scott angrily shouted,"what the actual fuck are we supposed to do? Jean can't just, she didn't just, she wouldn't ha-"

"Damnit, Scott, can you shut your mouth for two seconds?!" Hank angrily seethed to the laser-eyed man. "You're not the only one standing here in the wake of Jean's unprovoked carnage. I don't think you can even begin to imagine how I feel right now... at least Jean's body isn't sticking out from a protruding wood spire"

Scott, being an impulsive young man, used every ounce of discipline in his reserve and resisted the strong urge to fire up an argument with Hank, and seconds after seeing Raven's impaled corpse, the fiery retort died on his lips, and it was instead replaced by a sudden realization as to the damage Jean had caused, emotionally and physically. The white noise of destruction was now a heavy screaming siren pounding in everyone's ears. Hank needed something to take his mind off of what had happened, losing his unrequited love due to a selfish impulse from one of his lifelong friends was too much for his mind to process at the moment. Since he couldn't do anything else, Hank did what he did best, took a calculated approach to fixing the catastrophe around him.

"We need to find Kurt and Peter. Scott, come help me... please," Hank trailed off as he turned away from Raven's lifeless body. "Charles, do something with her."

The cold and almost robotic tone from Hank was a sharp, almost eerie, contrast from the distraught tears that, only minutes ago, were streaming down his cheeks. Scott's mind, clouded by his own lovesick thoughts, followed Hank's orders on autopilot. Charles remained silent and observant as Scott and Hank trudged to the wooden remnants of Jean's childhood home in search of Kurt and Peter.

After what seemed like hours of precariously moving rubble and assorted wood pieces, Scott saw a mop of black and blue hair under a cracked 4x4.

"Hank, I think I found Kurt," Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

"Be careful, let's get all this off of him," Hank replied.

The two worked carefully and precisely until all of Kurt's body was exposed. His yellow uniform and his face were dusty and covered in grime and a small amount of blood. Hank gently tapped on the mutant teen's face as Scott hovered over his shoulder. Kurt didn't stay unresponsive for long though, and after a few of Hank's prods, he shot up off the floor with Jean's name fresh on his tongue, unaware of what had transpired after he'd been rendered unconscious.

"W-what? Jean, where's Jean? Is everyone okay?" the words fell out faster than Kurt himself could even process, and his mind hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he'd been crushed under the weight of an entire house.

"Kid, slow down. We'll explain later, okay? How do you feel? Do you know where Peter is?" Scott asked, questions firing faster than intended.

"No, I'm sorry. I can help you look for him though. Let me do something, I swear I'm fine." Kurt shot up off the ground, only to stumble into Scott's unprepared arms.

"Take it easy. Jean collapsed a house on top of you, I don't know how great you'll be functioning at the moment," Hank explained as Kurt nodded slowly with an exhausted and pained wince. "Alright, let's go find Peter."

Scott slung the lanky blue mutant's arm over his shoulder to support his weight as the trio began to search for the silver speedster. Since he moved so quickly it was hard to actually determine what Jean even did to Peter, as their confrontation lasted less than seconds to the average person's eye. The only thing Hank and Scott had seen was Peter being catapulted across the street and out of sight, so neither were all too excited to find out as to how he might be faring.

It took some time, but the three eventually stumbled upon Peter's battle-broken body lying slumped against a tree in a thick wooded area dozens of yards away from the street where Jean had wreaked havoc. Trailing his body was a coarse trail of uprooted grass and dirt, emphasizing the power and distance he'd been hurled across. Peter seemed almost as lifeless as Raven, his body heavily slumped against the tree he'd collided  with, blood streaking his X-Men uniform, face, and silver hair, along with dark dirt blotching his sweaty face, which was pulled up into a pained grimace. His signature goggles were loosely strung in his messily kept hair and one of the lenses was very visibly shattered, an ugly spider-like crack pronounced in the center of the lens.

"Oh my god, Peter!" Kurt let out a strangled cry as he laid eyes on his friend. He tried to stop the sobs as each one wracked his battered and sore body, but he couldn't. This was too much for him to bear.

As Kurt's sobs filled the forest, Hank ran his calculative eyes up and down Peter's body as his mind contemplated what would be the best course of action. He didn't want to risk worsening any external or internal injuries by jostling him in a carry to the jet, but he wasn't all too sure what help he could do with Peter out cold in the woods with no real medical assistance or tools around to help. As Scott tried to calm the ever panicked Kurt, Hank gingerly shifted Peter from his half-upright slumped position to lying flat on the ground. He ripped open the top of Peter's X-Men uniform and scanned the damage; bruises as black and blue as Kurt's hair dotted Peter's pale chest and his upper right shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun to deal with. Hank shot his eyes back to Peter's blood-stained face, hoping that tearing off his clothes would at least elicit some sort of response from the boy. Alas, nothing. As the seconds ticked by, Hank devised the one plan that would end in the least harm to all of them.

"Kurt, I know we're far away, I know you're tired, I know you're injured, but I need you to teleport us back to the jet. We can't move Peter like this, it's too risky, he's too badly hurt and I don't want to make this more painful for him than it has to be. You've gotta do this for us, okay?" Hank explained. He knew the kid's power took energy out of everyone he was teleporting, and with the damage eveyone'd sustained from the battle, it would be too dangerous to have Kurt warp multiple times, Peter wouldn't make it, and judging from his hazy eyes, Kurt didn't have enough energy for more than one teleport anyways.

Anxious scenarios began flooding Kurt's mind as his eyes filled with fear, the words he spoke dripping with self-doubt, "W-what if I can't? What if I mess it all u-up and I warp us halfway into a car and kill us all! H-hank, I can't do it."

Instead of coddling the boy like he normally would have, Hank let the dire situation speak for itself when he bluntly stated, "Kurt, I know you're scared, but Peter might die if we can't get him back to the jet. You've gotta take some faith in yourself and your powers and get us home, okay? Don't do it for me, do it for Peter. He needs you to do this for him."

It may have been the stern yet sincere tone of Hank's words, or hearing outright that Peter might die, but Kurt mustered up enough confidence to say, "alright... for Peter."

Hank shifted Peter into his lap as he joined hands with Scott and Kurt. Kurt silently prayed to God that he wouldn't kill all of his friends by pushing his ability's limits in an already weakened state, and with a last tension filled breath, the group disappeared into a dark cloud, appearing, seconds later, in the jet.

Scott felt extremely disoriented after the warp and his eyes raced around the jet before they landed on Hank's face, "shit. That felt weird."

"Indeed," Hank replied.

"I-I did it," Kurt sighed in relief as his eyelids fluttered closed and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Kurt!" Scott exclaimed.

"He's fine, just overexerted himself. He just needs to sleep for a bit and eat. This happened after his fight in Cairo too. Now hurry up and help me with Peter, he's not doing too hot," Hank explained as he set to work.

------

WOW A TIME SKIP...  At Xavier's School in the weird bunker area where they do X-Men stuff...

"He's still not up. You're gonna have to do something, Hank. He's gonna start healing and I don't think that his shoulder is gonna do it properly with the way it looks right now," Scott stated as he stared blankly at Peter's bloody and bruised body on the gurney.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair as he tossed his glasses onto the lab table. He didn't wanna set the joint without Peter being conscious, for fear he'd spring awake and cause himself even more harm if he took an instantaneous flight response. But, if he waited too long, Peter's enhanced healing would work against his favor and heal the crucial joint in the wrong way. He had to make a decision, and although it posed risks, it was better than Peter sustaining lasting joint damage.

Hank was just about to grab the limb to jerk it back into place when Peter shot up from the gurney with a blood-curdling scream of pure agony. Peter's eyes were hazy, confused, and full of pain as they raced around in search of what was going on and why everything hurt so bad. His eyes eventually met Hank's as he collapsed back onto the gurney, heaving heavy pained breaths into his cut and bruised chest.

"Hank, w-whass happenin, wha happened to me? E-everrythin's blurry and hurts," Peter slurred as tears unwillingly escaped the corners of his eyes. Throbbing, pulsing pain coursed through Peter's seemingly small frame as he started to unwillingly cry out of confusion and agonizing pain.

"Peter, you're at the X-Men base under the school. Jean threw you across the street with her powers and you hit a tree. You are safe and you're gonna be okay. I'm gonna help you, okay?" Hank said slowly to the shaken boy. Peter only gave a tiny pained nod as he bit his lip to try and stifle his crying.

"Can't we give him anything to numb the pain, like anesthesia or even ibuprofen? Setting the shoulder is gonna be excruciating for him," Scott asked, just wanting to lessen the agony for Peter.

"That's the thing, though. His fast healing and super speed are paired with an extremely quick metabolism. Anything we could give him in a normal person's dosage, he would burn right through."

"Can't we just give him a higher dosage?"

"If you wanna risk him overdosing, then sure."

Scott cast sympathetic eyes down onto Peter's terrified face, and although hidden by the signature ruby-lensed glasses, were full of sorrow as he fully realized what Jean had done. He felt nothing but pity for the pure fear and pain the boy was feeling. Peter's mind was racing back to when they had to set his broken leg and he didn't want to go through that again. He felt pathetic, a (semi)grown-ass man crying because he had to get a limb set. His sarcastic and dry-humored subconscious internally retorted: grow a pair!

"I'm sorry, Peter. We're gonna have to do this now. Bite this," Hank said as he dangled a rag above Peter's now bleeding lips. Peter grit his teeth and graciously took the cloth as the only thing to provide a semblance of comfort to the undoubted pain he was about to experience. "Alright, Scott, I need you to hold him down in case this goes South..."

Scott nodded in affirmation as he grabbed onto Peter's other arm and hovered above his already pretty immobile body while Hank took one more tentative glance over the silver-haired boy before locking eyes with Scott and clutching Peter's bicep in one hand and his shoulder blade with his other.

"Do you want me to count down?" Hank asked, knowing full well he would count to 3 but snap on 2. Peter nodded as he scrunched up his face with terrified anticipation, a visible layer of shining sweat collecting on his features. "Okay, one, tw-"

The last sound of 'two' was cut off by the cracking of a limb and Peter's howl and wailing cries of pure agony as he thrashed about violently on the gurney as Scott tried his best to gently restrain him without causing any more pain. Fat and ugly tears were freely streaming down Peter's face as the crippling pain in his shoulder coursed through his body and started to dull into an acute ache resonating from the base of his neck all the way down his bicep. His vision was blurred not only by his salty tears but by the waves of pain and adrenaline attempting to cancel each other out like an ocean current crashing into a reef bay. It was all a bit too much for Peter to handle. He went to curl in on himself, a primal instinct to go to the fetal position was shooting to his mind, yet when he tried, every dulled injury in his torso screamed back an affirmative and defiant: no!

Hank had sent Scott to get water bottles when he heard Peter's defeated and miserable whimper, which sent his own head whipping around to face the boy using his left arm to desperately clutch at his raw and tender torso, which was covered in dirt filled cuts and bruises that were attempting to heal over. Like any mutant power, there was a limit, and it was clear that Peter's advanced healing was taking on way more than it was able to handle, so his body's scattered attempts to heal his numerous external and internal injuries weren't doing him any favors besides exhausting him of what little energy he had.

"I'm sorry, Peter, I know you're in a lot of pain right now but I can't do anything for you but stitch up your major cuts and scan you for internal injuries. You know you can't have the regular pain medication," Hank stated, apprehension seeping into his every word as he ran his fingers through Peter's messy and unkempt hair that was now rifled with blood and sweat in an attempt to soothe the boy.

"I-I can't it... my c-chest," Peter stumbled through his attempted sentence, taking hasty and pinched wheezes instead of true breaths between his words. He was past humiliation at this point, any semblance of his normally sarcastic and fun-loving self was covered up by his embarrassment and indescribable pulsating torment wracking his body. Here he was, crying like a toddler while Hank of all people was petting his scalp, what an uncanny situation.

Scott returned moments later with extra towels and an armful of water bottles nestled hastily in his grasp. Much to Peter's dismay, Hank was terrified that Peter might choke if he stayed laying down, so his stitches and internal scan were going to be done upright. The simple shift in the gurney's position further aggravated the mysterious angry irritation in Peter's chest and sent him into a series of dry and forceful coughs, each one racking his exhausted body harder than the last. Peter never thought in a million years that the crack of the plastic seal on a water bottle would be so gratifying, yet here he was, face melting at the opportunity to soothe his parched esophagus and hopefully replenish at least some of his lost energy. Scott took to cleaning out Peter's minor injuries, starting the stitches, and helping him drink, while Hank was running a full body diagnostic on the silver-haired mutant. Peter's mind had slipped into a half-conscious yet fully-feeling feverish state where he wasn't really functioning, yet he knew what was happening. It took every ounce of his strength not to just pass out and sleep. He felt the tense prick of the needle every time Scott went back to further close up a gaping wound and he felt the ever present stare of Hank as he started running all his scans. The only time Peter came out of this hazy half-awake state was to drink that delightful and soothing water. Compared to every other sensory input, the water felt like heaven in the fiery depths of hell. The soothing liquid ran down his arid windpipe and seemed to address his every need, until it hit his stomach and he was met with a discomforted static strain in his abdomen. It was uncomfortable, sure, but didn't seem like it needed to be addressed, so Peter plastered on his bravest face (still kind of failing though) as he lightly furrowed his brow and drew his knees up closer to his chest, despite the protest of his aching (and presumably broken) ribs. Scott noticed, as did Hank, but neither thought too much of it as they continued with their busy work. Again, none of them were prepared as to what would happen next.

Fifteen minutes later, just as the diagnostic's results were finishing up, Peter's slight discomfort had warped into a stabbing and indescribable pain as he was wracked with waves of thick and heavy nausea. Scott was almost done with tying off the last gash on Peter's injured arm when he jerked violently to the side and began projectile vomiting, the only thing arising from Peter's forceful heaving being sticky yellow bile and an alarming mix of blood. Each unproductive heave was followed up by another wave of sickening nausea, which was followed up by another (usually successful) upchuck of fluids. Peter was running out of breath, strength, and stomach contents to empty as he grasped desperately to Scott's arm and his own horribly aggravated abdomen.

"Oh, Peter! Oh my god! Hank, what do I do?!" Scott yelled  frantically as he reached to hold back Peter's long and uncontrolled hair as the latter's body faltered over into another bout of wheezy heaving. Scott, however, was not expecting to have his hand be met with an alarming heat that seemingly radiated off of Peter's forehead. He touched his hands around the rest of Peter's face and his neck during a calm period of the heaving and Hank took the opportunity to hastily place a trashcan between Peter's legs to lessen the contortion his body had to do in order to avoid vomiting his own bodily fluids onto himself. "He's got a bad fever. Is this from th-"

"It's because his body's working too hard to handle everything happening to it," Hank cut him off  "It doesn't know where or when to start or stop and it's confused. He needs fluids to replenish his energy, especially after throwing up every ounce of water you just gave him. We're probably going to have to administer an IV."

The large technologically advanced screen in front of him blinked and beeped, signifying that the diagnostic was finished. At a speed that only Peter could best (at full health), Hank pulled up the imaging and was met with two giant glaring orange marks on an overall blue scan; those being 3 fractured ribs and some sort of internal injury on Peter's stomach lining. Oh my god, Hank thought to himself before nearly shouting to Scott, "He's internally bleeding in his stomach, that's why he vomited. That's why there's so much blood... " Hank took a second to calculate what to do. "We need him hooked up to an IV, NOW. Go get me the supplies."

Scott didn't even nod as he scrambled to his feet and dashed off to find what Hank needed. Peter himself was almost completely unconscious at this point, the high fever , empty reserves of strength, and overwhelming pain from every inch of his body were the perfect trio of unbearable feelings were one stroke away from completely pulling him under a fitful blanket of unconsciousness. He was just about to pass the brink and into the darkness when he felt the abrupt patting of Hank dabbing a soaked rag across his face and the dripping of cool water down his neck. The next thing he felt was the forceful jab in his arm and the strange dull feeling of the unknown slowly overtaking him. His spotted vision gave way to darkness as everything faded away.

"Peter? Damnit, he passed out. It's fine, we just need to keep him stable. I don't know how sustainable this is going to be for him. His body is gonna churn through this fluid faster than a toddler sips a juice box, but it's better than nothing," Hank sighed. And for the first time since Peter had awoken, the room filled with an unsettling complacent silence, the only other thing occupying the space being the exhausted pants from Hank and Scott, accompanied by Peter's tight and wheezy breathing.

------

WOW, ANOTHER TIME SKIP... At relatively the same location we were earlier, but like, a day later...

"Ughh..." Peter groaned. Unlike the previous day's events, though, was brought out less by discomfort, and more from boredom. He fidgeted anxiously with a loose thread on his pants while Hank swapped out his IV for what seemed like the thousandth time between the last 24 hours. "When can I get up and you know" Peter gestured abruptly with his hands "go."

"Give it a few more days, Peter. I know your mind is saying that it wants to get up and run 5 laps around the earth, but your body isn't ready for it. You're still running a temperature, your arm isn't going to be in full shape for a while, you might need physical therapy, the ligaments were pretty screwed up, and I don't want you aggravating your ribs or your stomach just yet," Hank insisted as Peter rolled his eyes. The speedster, despite knowing he wasn't nearly ready to be up and flying across rooms at the speed of sound, wanted to be productive. Part of his motivations for being up and at it was also the fact that he wished to hide his immense shame from the relented sob-fest that was yesterday evening by (like how Peter dealt with most of his problems) running until he couldn't feel his legs or until he couldn't give a damn and cared about nothing except the blurred scenery around him. However, it was hard to do either of those things when you were confined to a gurney in a bunker with an IV drip tethered to one arm and a sling on another.

As Hank left the room,  Peter was met by yet another sickening silence, this time, the only thing filling the room was his growing sense of wanting to be productive and just run, but alas, he couldn't. Having just slept for a sizable amount of the day, Peter was just itching for some entertainment, but being stuck in an empty room with no such objects to scratch that itch, he was growing irritable.

Little did the silver-haired mutant know that another certain lanky teleporting teen was standing right outside the door to his room in the medical bay, working up the courage to rebel against Hank's firm: "no, he needs to sleep" statement that Kurt was met with when he asked if he could go and visit his friend. Not being one to break many rules, Kurt was apprehensive about entering, hence his (kind of silly) minor internal dilemma. Mustering up enough courage, Kurt warped inside the room, where he was met with a "Jesus Christ!" from Peter. Kurt, startled by the shout, stumbled backwards and fell. From his position on the ground, he let out a shy,"hi, Peter. How are you feeling?"

"God, dude, you scared the shit out of me. Give a man a warning before you teleport into his private room where he's being held captive against his will next time!" Peter answered, sarcasm dripping in every syllable.

Kurt, being known to take nearly everything extremely literally, responded,"Has Hank been corrupted!? What has he done to you Peter? Do I need to tell the professor that Hank's gone mad, or is it all one big conspiracy?!"

"Whoa there, chill. As much as I'd like the added spice in life that a Hank-and-Charles-gone-mental plot would provide, I think it's safe to say that they're pretty sane... for now."

"Alrighty then. Well, I've come against Hank's wishes to keep you company, what do you want to do?"

"Hank wants me to suffer and die alone? What a traitor!" Peter grabbed at his chest, feigning heartbreak, wincing as his attempt at humor irritated his cracked ribs.

"I doubt that is true. I believe that the correct term to describe your behavior would be a drama queen."

"You'd be correct, buckaroo. Would you mind zipping to my room and grabbing my Walkman and my GameBoy?"

"Um, no problem," Kurt replied as he disappeared in a dark cloud.

Mere moments later, he reappeared with the music player and the gaming device. Peter eagerly reached out for both devices, acting like a hyperactive toddler who'd just been offered a lollipop. Although, the hyperactive toddler description wasn't too far off from Peter's personality normally. The plastic shells of both items were like comfort food and finally brought some form of distraction besides twiddling his thumbs for hours on ends or watching that 'maybe-speck-of-dust-maybe-spider' dance along the bright walls. He switched on his music and popped in an earbud, offering the other to a tentative looking Kurt.

"Dude, you've gotta try this. Please don't tell me Scott's scared you off from American music with his pansy-ass music," Peter insisted as he spun the earbud with his unslinged hand.

"It's not that... it's just, your music, in particular, has, on several occasions, shaken the entire school," Kurt replied as he took the listening device.

"It's called a 'jam session', Kurt," Peter explained as he used very visible air quotes to emphasize his point.

"Alright, if you insist," Kurt sighed as the guitar rifs and crashing of drums filled his pointed ears. He wasn't the hugest fan of all of Peter's loud rock or the deep heavy beats of Scott's rap, but he sat there regardless to try and enjoy a quiet moment with his friend. Moments like these were becoming harder and harder to come by as their world seemed to get even more hectic. The mutants had assumed that the battle in Cairo would have been the worst of it, it sure felt like it at the time, but now they were facing a new evil, one of their friends. Kurt really wanted to talk to Peter about it, maybe even break the news that Raven died, but he felt too timid, and compared to Peter's bold and audacious personality, he felt like nothing. Peter stopped his headbanging for a moment, and that sliver of time was long enough to notice the semi-uncharacteristic silence from the shy yet friendly Kurt, who was awkwardly staring at Peter's feet, caught in an apparent distracted trance, all headed by the semi-somber and contemplative look plastered on his face. Peter clicked the pause and the cassette stopped rolling. This seemed to snap Kurt out of his trance, and the new silence was quickly filled by Peter.

"You got a toe fetish or something? I mean, I know I'm incredibly sexy, but I didn't know you were into that, Kurt. Jeez!" he teased. Kurt just drew his knees up to his chest and shrunk up his neck to try and hide; whether he was hiding from embarrassment of having a strange sexual trigger or something else on his mind was completely beyond Peter's thoughts.

"You never answered my question..."

"What question?"

"How are you feeling. When we went to try and stop Jean, she crushed me with her house, and I couldn't help at all. I felt useless. It... sucked. And then, Scott and Hank dug me out of the rubble and we went to find you. You looked..." Kurt started choking on his own words, scared he'd start crying. Peter felt a strong urge to make another joke about his 'very undoubtedly sexy' body to finish the sentence, but he wanted to hear him finish. He knew Kurt was going somewhere serious when the German boy used the word: sucked, it didn't seem like something in his vocabulary, much less like a word he'd willingly use unless he really felt like he needed to. "I saw you there, laying on the ground, covered in dirt, bleeding everywhere, with this horrible, agonized expression on your face, just... stuck there. I'm so used to you smirking, laughing, or doing that weird thing where you raise your eyebrows up and down after you are sarcastic or make a joke, and to see you like that, still and sad, I just cried. I was terrified that you were already dead. I've never seen you sit still on your own for more than 5 minutes. Even after the fight in Cairo when you had your entire leg broken and in a cast on crutches, you were still smiling, animated as ever. I don't know how you do it, Peter... you're always so happy. I mean, I try, but I can't help but be..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah." For a few moments, the room was silent, seemingly becoming a common theme, and yet again, it did not last long.

"Hahaha..."

"Peter, are you... laughing?"

"You've got me all wrong, Kurt. I may be an impatient wiseass, but don't get me wrong, I've got plenty of moments in my backlog where I felt like I was gonna piss myself. You were talking about after the Cairo fight?" Kurt nodded "Well, during that fight, I went in, guns a blazin', ready to beat the shit out of this weird edgy blue raisin lookin' guy, yet a few seconds later, I'm getting my arm twisted way further than it's supposed to and my leg getting completely fucked up. In that moment, I was sure I was going to die. Had it not been for Raven and Erik, I probably would have."

Kurt gnawed his bottom lip and curled further in on himself at the mention of Raven. Peter didn't know. He doubted Hank would have brought up his resented heartbreak to the seemingly immature speedster. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell him; Would the timing be appropriate? Would he be able to handle the weight of the loss? Peter'd even said that Raven had been a massive inspiration to him when he was younger on the jet where they had their first real conversation. It'd be hard to swallow the pill that one of your friends had been possessed and just murdered your childhood hero while recovering from blunt trauma. It all made Kurt's head spin and ultimately, he decided against it.

"Sorry to get all deep and edgy on ya. I didn't want you waltzing around screeching about my fearlessness or something, I don't know." Peter shrugged as best as he could before whipping out his GameBoy and waving it in Kurt's face.

"Umm, I don't understand what this is. It looks like a plastic box. Does this one also play music?"

"Naw, this is one of those cool new things from Japan. It's a handheld gaming device."

"Oh. So it's like the large arcade machines... but smaller?"

"Yeah, it's pretty bangin'. I've got Super Mario Land in the slot now, wanna try?"

"Yes!" Kurt took the device from Peter and was about to dive in when he tentatively asked "Umm, Peter? What is the objective?"

"You get the tiny man with the hat from the left to the right and eventually you'll find a lady and win. I guess even minuscule pixelated dudes need a babe," Peter joked. However, Kurt was already encapsulated in the tiny, unlit screen, a little beep going off every time he made the character jump. Peter watched with amusement as he resumed his mixtape with one earbud in, the other listening to the whirring air conditioner and the GameBoy's clacking buttons.

Content with his friend's newfound excitement and ease of mind, Peter felt his eyelids growing heavy and his breaths growing slower and deeper without any conscious feeling of pain with the intake of oxygen. And finally, without any thoughts of his dislocated shoulder, unsolved father-related problems, or his red-haired, newly space-fart-possessed, destruction causing friend, he drifted off to sleep with a content, comfortable, and very quicksilver-y smirk plastered on his face