#rip david hope you burn in fucking hell

[teamrocketmemes]

[ ESC 2022 SENTENCE STARTER ] - PART 3

Lyrics chosen from all 40 of the official chosen songs for the Eurovision Song Contest 2022. Feel free to change any pronouns where necessary.

Die Together – Amanda Tenfjord

“Doesn’t seem like you’re all fine.”

“And when we cry we do it on our own.”

“It’s been a lovely year for us.”

“But if we die together now.”

“I will hold you ’til forever.”

“That’s the only way we can get out of this hell we made.”

“Take my heart, rip it out.”

“Bring it to the other side.”

Með hækkandi sól – Systur

“All but covered in deep wounds of sorrow.”

“A deep longing burns within.”

“In the twilight you can see beautiful freedom moving closer.”

“The darkest winter, waits for the sun.”

“With growing hope for brighter days.”

“The ice and shadows will give way…”

“The darkest winter, waits for spring.”

That’s Rich – Brooke

“Ain’t you gettin’ bored of your reflection.”

“I’m tired of dodging all your calls.”

“Hey stupid, that’s rich.”

“You think I dress up for you?”

“Think maybe you should please yourself.”

“I think it’s funny how you miss me.”

“You were a lazy lover.”

“You see me now, you want me.”

I.M – Michael Ben David

“Sometimes love can bring you down.”

“You can say that I’m stunning.”

“Tell me if we can take it to the floor.”

“I’m the fire, the power.”

“I’m gonna take the crown.”

“I’m shameless and I’m spotless and I’m flawless.”

“‘Cause no one brings me down.”

Brividi – Mahmood & BLANCO

“I dreamed of flying with you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know how to express myself.”

“And I’d like to love you but I’m always wrong.”

“And you, you are the opposite of an angel.”

“And you run away from here, leaving me like this.”

“And I would like to steal you a sky of pearls.”

“And I’m sorry if I fuck it all up.”

“This poison that we spit every day.”

Eat Your Salad – Citi Zēni

“Instead of meat I eat veggies and pussy.”

“I ride my bicycle to work instead of a car.”

“The karma comes for free and so does luck.”

“All the signs are there, let’s go organic.”

“Being green is sexy as fuck.”

“Forget the hot dogs ‘cause my sausage is bigger.”

“If you want your man’s dong longer than a gecko’s…”

Sentimental – Monika Liu

“At night, it’s knocking at my heart.”

“Why are you laughing like a clown??”

“Moments spinning around in my head.”

“A million roses like sentiments.”

“The restless sea is murmuring.”

“That it – he’s never coming back.”

“I remember standing in the middle of the dunes of Nida.”

I Am What I Am – Emma Muscat

“Remind me who I am.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’m gonna take command.”

“Bending backwards trying to fit in.”

“It’s time I shut you up.”

“I’ll make them understand.”

[the-faceless-bride]

Cat-astrophe

Final

Kittens?

This one has some spicy suggestions at the end

At that moment, The boys flipped out! They were human again?! Well... Not human but Y'know.

Dwayne patted his hands all over his body feeling his shoulders, legs, and abbs, and chest.

"Oh thank God."

David looked around him, looking at his boys making sure nothing was wrong and things were how they should be; no whiskers, ears, tails, or cat eyes so all seemed to be ok so far, but still, something felt odd.

Paul and Marko were too busy rolling around in each others arms feeling too happy and relieved that everything is back to normal, even sharing a few 'I love you man' s and happy sighs

Then Marko looked up to the window that you had opened, then jumped up.

"THE SUN!" And dramatically through himself on Paul pulling him over his own body as a shield, "HEY!" Paul said offended Marko would use him as a sun shield.

"Hey, it doesn't burn..." Paul said as he realized he wasn't growling and howling in pain, then the other boys took notice,

"Yeah... it doesn't... It's a little uncomfortable and itchy but... Definitely bearable..." Dwayne pointed out, looking to the Gems that had a slight glow to them.

then Paul let out a very loud gasp, making the other three boys jump and look at him,

"WE CAN GET WITH Y/N NOW!"

Marko laughed at Paul, Dwayne playfully scoffed, and David rolled his eyes. That's his first thought of you now that he is normal? No normal hugging, cuddles, or kisses? Just sex? Well, it's Paul so... That adds up...

Next thing they all knew, Paul shot up and started heading to your room.

And they all panicked, WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE DOING?! ALL YOU KNEW WAS YOU HAD FOUR KITTENS NOT FOUR VAMPIRES!

They all rushed to try and grab Paul, but they weren't quick enough... Well, barely...

Paul tossed the door open, you were sitting there sketching with your headphones when you felt the wind of the door bursting open.

You jumped ripping off your headphones, looking towards the door to your room but... Finding nothing, "kittens?"

Nothing.

Paul was being held by the three other boys, backs pressed to the ceiling hands clamped over Pauls's mouth so he doesn't call out to you, you leave your room looking around, the boys above you praying to any god that would listen that you didn't look up.

You looked around calling out, "kitties?" Your voice was slightly higher, now you were starting to Panic, where did they go? You didn't leave a door open, did you?

You started to tear up, where did they go? Why did they leave? Were they not happy in your home?

The boys above were watching and they felt terrible, they wanted to jump down and hug you they really did but they didn't know how you would react... You seemed sad to have lost them now, but if they approached you right now you wouldn't see the boys you've gotten to know, you would see four strange men in your home.

They didn't want to scare you...

But Paul was struggling, he wanted to comfort you, to help you, to hug you...

You sat down, looking around you letting out a small sob,

"Boys?" You mumbled hoping the four kittens would just come wandering into the room.

And at that small plead, they couldn't hide from you anymore...

They jumped down, making a light sound as they did, and in the blink of an eye Paul had his arms around you,

"AHH"

You jumped, falling from the couch looking up at the strange man that seemingly just appeared from thin air.

Looking around there were more than one, four guys, their eyes looking familiar...

But before you could do anything, the snow hair boy, was in front of you, pressing a finger to your lips,

"It's us, don't be scared." He said calmly

You were confused for a moment, 'it's us?' What the hell did that mean?

But it all became clear when your eyes fell on a Gem, the same one that was on the Collar of your kittens. It didn't look damaged or anything so he hadn't stolen it from your cat or anything.

" s' you." You mumbled against his finger and he smiled at you nodding his head to confirm your suspicions, Paul and Marko come from behind you, playing with your hair and lightly stroking your jaw.

"Yup, it's us~" Marko teases, smiling at you with his doe eyes, his angelic face making you plush.

Paul kissed just under your jaw, nuzzling you

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time"

You blushed, and even more so when you saw Dwayne as he sat down and lightly booped your nose as you had done to his thousands of tunes before.

You could get used to this... Your boys... Your kittens.

Tags: @shybunnyhere

@henhouse-horrors

@elegantplaidpsychicsludge-blog

@madhatter-crazyasahatter-blog

@charlizekkelly @iwantsleepplz

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. nine

Oh darling save yourself

Oh won't you save yourself from someone else

warnings: angst, blood, guns, drugs/overdose

pairing: detective loki x female reader

word count: 1,369

A/N: major apologies for the VERY long wait. I hope this fills the void, part 10 will be the end!

REWRITE MASTERLIST

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⌽

It was raining when you arrived at Holly Jones’ home. You should have known then that you should have waited for backup. You didn’t though, desperate to do some right in the world, telling Holly Alex had been found.

She opened the door looking disheveled, eyes wide with shock and concern. When you stepped into her kitchen and told her the news, the reaction you got shook you to your core. She wasn’t happy or relieved or any similar emotion that a person who just got told their nephew had been found alive. She was angry.

The last thing you remember was flashes of your daughter in your mind before it all went black, your body falling limp onto her kitchen floor, the drugged drink concoction spilling around you.

Your head pounded as you slowly woke up, Holly’s voice floating through your ears, “You know, after my husband left, getting kids got harder. Had to try something different.” You groaned as you attempted to roll over, your body feeling like it weighed a ton, sluggish and slow. Your arm brushed against a warm body, your head rolling to find Anna Dover lying in a lump on the floor, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly.

Holly continued above you, as she floated in and out of your field of vision, “Your little girl was the guinea pig, injected her with ketamine when you went inside but you came back out and fucked it up. Poor baby overdosed because of you. Couldn’t let you see me so I ran, left your little girl lying in the grass. Such a sweet little thing, pretty like a flower, shame I couldn’t keep her.”

Flashes of memory played in your head, running out of the house and seeing your baby unresponsive on the ground, screaming for the neighbors to call 911, David arriving at the hospital and you collapsing against him, screaming into his chest until your throat felt like it was bleeding, the burn of tears in your nose. Bile worked its way up your throat, your body physically sick at the mental pain you were experiencing.

Your head lolled to one side, too weak and disoriented to control your movements. The magnolia tattoo adorning your ribcage physically pained you, you wished nothing more than to claw it out of your skin; ripping the ink-stained skin off of you and your soul, wishing to breathe again. You would never breathe properly again, not after that day, your Magnolia, who was named after the only good person in Loki’s life, his late grandmother, was dead. As you saw Holly hover you with a needle in hand, the world went black once more.

You dreamt of fields of flowers, Loki, Chinese food, and rain, nothing making sense in the dream, only horrific mashups of everything tied to your life in Conyers. Warmth gathered at your side, and then weight added to that, Anna nuzzling closer to your unresponsive body.

You were woken up again to a distant sound of knocking. You prayed to a God you didn’t believe in that it was David. You had only hoped the lack of text message from you concerned him enough to find you. Your body felt heavy, brian groggy, everything blurred between fake and reality.

Footsteps shook the floor as Holly approached you and Anna, more syringes and vials of liquid in her hands. You rolled further over, your arms creating a protective hold against Anna as Holly approached further with a scowl on her face.

“Don’t be dumb, girl, you know this has to happen.” She spits down at you as she drew up the sedatives, needle darting to Anna’s arm. You lay helpless on the floor as she injected Anna, then approaching you with a different needle.

“No, no.” Your voice scratched horribly, tumbling out of your mouth as Holly gripped your arm tightly. You could faintly hear shuffling along the floor outside the room, but you didn’t know if you were hallucinating or not. You tried jerking your arm away to no avail, too weak to do anything.

Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, eyes darting to the doorway as Loki came into view. You knew you weren’t dreaming by judging the look on his face, his gun drawn in a rigid form.

“Show me your hands right now.” Holly pauses, needle inches away from your arm as Loki called out.

“Don’t move and show me your fuckin’ hands right now!” Loki’s voice shook with rage and fear as he trained his gun on Holly’s hunched figure, obstructing his view of you and Anna.

Holly advanced with the needle, piercing your skin with a sharp pinch as Loki yelled, only it was too late, “Stop! Right now!”

You felt your body go limp, starting at your toes as exhaustion crept its way up your body, eyelids heavy.

“Show me your fuckin hands. Do not move and show me your hands.”

Holly dropped your arm with a thud, “Make sure they cremate me. I sure as hell don’t want to be buried in some box.”

Holly stood slowly as Loki yelled at her, “Both hands, right now! Right now!”

Holly drew a gun from her waistband and turned violently in the direction of David. Gunshots rang out loudly, your ears ringing as you slowly slipped in and out of consciousness. Holly dropped next to you dead, Loki scrambling over to you and Anna.

“Baby, hey baby.” Loki’s hands shook as he took your face in his hands, needing to see you alive.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling as if you were floating in a nightmare, "David, get Anna."

Loki's brow furrowed, blood dripping further down his face leaving a trail of red staining his skin. You felt his hands leave your face as he moved over to Anna, taking her limp body in his arms as your eyes fell closed. You were happy to die if it meant Anna lived.

Your shoulder shook as Loki balanced Anna with one arm, the other nudging you violently. You wanted to sleep, your body heavy, screaming at you to let go.

"Y/N, dammit baby. You gotta wake up for me, we gotta go. You can't leave me, Y/N. Come on baby!" Loki frantically yelled.

You felt a weight in your hand, small and warm. You mustered up enough energy to open your eyes, your daughter staring back at you, wearing the same clothes she wore the day she died, "Mommy, you have to get up."

The floor vibrated under the weight of Loki's boots as he left the room, time passing slowly before he reappeared without Anna. You felt the floor disappear underneath you, your stomach lurching at the movement. Your head pounded, your insides shook, you felt like you were dying. Your head fell limp against Loki's neck as he carried you out of the home.

Rain pelted Loki as he laid your body in the backseat of the car, Anna leaned against the seat next to you, unconscious.

You drifted in and out of reality, waking occasionally to Loki weaving through the rainy streets of Conyers, yelling at you and Anna to stay awake. His hand reached behind him, blindly finding your hand and grasping it, silently pleading for you to still be alive and to stay with him.

He couldn't live without you, not able to bury you too. The cemetery was already too full, your daughter's grave didn't need her mother's too. Loki shuttered at the thought of having to walk into that cemetery again, only this time it would be with your casket, not your daughters. And this time he wouldn't have your hand to hold. He wouldn't have anyone.

The car lurched forward, your body sliding against the passenger seat in front of you as Loki pulled in front of the hospital, red and blue lights flashing against your skin.

You could hear the car door click open, Loki reaching in for Anna, "I'll be right back baby, I'm gonna get you both help."

Loki's voice faded away, faint sounds of him yelling for help as he entered the hospital lulled you back to sleep.

TAG LIST: @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld​ @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual​ @speedybonkuniversityzine​ @booklove103​ @curly-q3 @msfarr88​ @glittrguts​ @space-helen @spidey-is-morgans-brother

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 3

Ok, so this section is a lot longer than the previous ones, which is specifically what I was trying to avoid by splitting it up, but I'm certain that there was no way to insert an act break in this without it ruining the flow of the action.

If this is the first part of the story you're finding, you'll want to get caught up:

Place Your Bets (prequel)

Part one Part two

Pairing: Jay White x OFC/ David Finlay x OFC

Word count: 3,007

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, mild violence that some may find upsetting or disturbing.

“Jesus, Jay, what the hell?” You push at his chest, not that it’s going to do you a bit of good.

“Where have you been?” He hisses.

“Oh, are you seriously going to do this? You know where I’ve been. I had a date, I spent the night with him. And then I spent the day with him.”

“Didn’t bother asking for my permission.” His tone is so icy and mocking, and so uncharacteristically controlled that you’re a little frightened.

You exhale and let yourself go limp. “No, I didn’t. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve killed myself trying to make you happy and right now I have no idea why. So if you want to try to make me feel guilty for spending every minute I can with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m beneath contempt, if you want to punish me for running away and feeling happy for a few hours, you go right ahead.”

Your breathing is so rapid that you know he won’t believe that you actually don’t care but what’s the worst he can do? Is it really going to be any worse than what you’ve put yourself through trying to make him love you back?

He snickers quietly and slides one of his hands around the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or push, just leaves it there like a silent threat. He’s more than strong enough to strangle you without even having to exert himself. That’s crazy, though, isn’t it? Yes, he’s abusive and heartless and manipulative but he’s also someone you’ve known for years. There’s no way Jay would actually hurt you. Is there?

He leans his face close so that you can hear his breath rasping in your ear. “That’s sweet. Did your little boyfriend treat you nice? Did he make you feel special?”

“Jay,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady, “you need to get off of me right now. I don’t know if you’ve been drinking or taking speed or what but it has to stop.”

His hand pushes just a little further up and feels just a little heavier.

“Answer me. Did he make you feel good?”

“This is none of your business.” You give an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I had a great time. He made me feel like the most beautiful, most desirable-“

For the first time, Jay tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air and your words.

“So he fucked you well? Made you come? Had you screaming his name?”

He releases you again and in the wake of the terror of the last few seconds, you’re suddenly furious.

“Yes, he did. So many times. Best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, you want to be mean? Think you’re going to hurt my feelings like you haven’t been panting after me like some pathetic stray dog for years? I pay you, I let you get your little shots in, I fuck you which no one else has until the last week.” His hand drops from your throat but just as quickly, his other hand grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it so tight that you feel a few strands ripped out at the root. He twists your head to the side, pinning it to the pillow.

“Jay, you’re hurting me!” For the first time, the fear is in your voice. You’ve never seen him like this. You don’t know who this man in your bed is.

“You want to know what hurts?” He snarls. “I trusted you.”

“What are you talking about? What do you think is going on? It’s a couple of dates, Jay. I took a day off and didn’t tell you. Can’t you be a little happy for me?”

“I trusted you,” he repeats. “And you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed? Don’t be so dramatic. This is not about you.”

He grabs your throat again and squeezes.

“I saw you,” he drawls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “I saw you yesterday in his arms, all happy and smiling. You couldn’t even be bothered to close the fucking door.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up. Did he mean this morning? No, he wouldn’t have had any reason to be skulking around on a different floor of the hotel. Did Sanada say something after all? Then it occurs to you. Sanada hadn’t closed the door when he left the room yesterday. He probably hadn’t even thought about it. The door was almost always open. You’d closed it because you wanted to work. David had closed it because he wanted to keep your secret. Sanada had opened the door, gotten a drink, and walked out like he always did, and you and David had been so blissed out that you hadn’t noticed.

“Look,” you gasp, clawing at his hand, “we can talk about this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

He gives a pained cry and bites down hard on your neck, making you cry out in turn.

“This is a huge fucking deal. I am not going to let that little mealworm wriggle in and take what’s mine.”

He releases your neck again and as you draw in oxygen, you frantically try to think of how to defuse the bomb on top of you. If he wants to, he can end David’s career in New Japan. He can easily stop the two of you from seeing each other. What’s clear, though, is that he’s not firing you, which would be a mercy, because if that’s what he wanted, he’d have done it already.

What’s also clear, and you hate yourself for it, is that you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Feeling the weight of him on you, the burning intensity of his expression and his words. It’s like he can barely control himself, that he’s fighting to stop himself from tearing into you. You’ve never seen him act like this about anything.

“No one’s taking anything from you, Jay,” you insist, turning to look at him when he loosens his grip a little. “I’m not going anywhere. I work myself to the bone for you and that’s not going to change.”

He gives a sardonic laugh. “And he’s so pathetically in love that he’s fine with the kind of work you do for me?”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. That was never exactly part of the job description. But everything else stays the same.”

“Except that you’re fucking David Finlay.”

“Except that I have a life outside my job. And you won’t have to put up with me panting after you as you so delicately put it.”

“No.” He says it so loudly it startles you.

“What do you mean no?” You whine. “This is how normal people do things. Some people work together. They have relationships with other people. They don’t crawl into a coworker’s bed in the middle of the night and scare them half to death thinking-“

“No,” he repeats sharply.

“Why?” You whimper.

“You’re mine and he can’t have you.” He shoves the bedcovers out of the way and roughly runs his hands over your nude body. “He can’t have any part of you. Not your pussy, not your mouth, not your loyalty, not your feelings.”

You’re about to argue but he crushes his mouth against yours and although you know the only sane thing to do is fight him off, you reciprocate without hesitation, relishing the little moans and purrs that escape him as the kiss grows more and more passionate.

“I’ve been so terrible,” he murmurs. “My girl needs a reminder of why she puts up with me.”

He squeezes your breast, twisting his fingers around the nipple just firmly enough to make you gasp. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you should smack him in the head or scream into his ear and do whatever it takes to make him go away because you’re very aware what’s at risk. But as he kisses his way down your body, giving little hums and sighs of satisfaction when you twitch or gasp in response, it’s like the lovely memories you were clinging to when you crawled into this bed a few hours ago are becoming foggy and disjointed, like something you might have imagined to make yourself feel better about the situation you’re really in.

For the longest time, he lets his mouth hover around your pussy, just soft licks and kisses over the hollows of your hips, the inside of your thighs, and over the inner and outer lips, gently sucking on the flesh as his hot breath vibrates over your clit.

“This is the best smell in the world,” he murmurs into your skin, “and I never take the time to enjoy it.”

Your whole body is shaking by the time he starts thrusting his tongue against you. You want to push back against him but you force yourself not to, hoping to withstand his attention, to refuse to let him bring you to orgasm. The problem is that when he makes the effort, Jay is an incredible lover.

“Don’t hold back,” he cajoles, having detected what you’re trying to do. “Give into it. Let go.” He looks up at you and flashes an evil little grin. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

You try to curse at him but of course, he intensifies his actions and all you can do is grab hold of the sheet with all your might and try to stop yourself from screaming. He alternates fucking you with his tongue and lavishing attention on your clit, pausing only to keep encouraging you to relax and let it happen, to let him pleasure you and with each passing second, it seems more ridiculous to even try to stop it. You’re too far gone in every sense.

“Oh god, fuck, Jay!” Your silence gives way at the same time as your body and you blurt out his name like it’s the only thing you’re capable of saying.

He lifts his head just enough so that you can see the thick gloss of your juices on his lips and through his beard before he starts kissing you and touching you again. He stays away from your too-sensitive bud but his lips and fingers move everywhere around it, finding a whole ring of nerves outside and inside just begging for attention. You can’t even tell if it’s just powerful aftershocks you’re feeling or if you’re rolling through orgasm after orgasm. Does it matter? It does not.

Gradually he glides up your body, still rocking against you, caressing you all over as he moves, like he wants to make love to every part of you individually. You run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp like you know he loves. You're rewarded with deep purrs of satisfaction, like he’s a big cat you’ve managed to tame. Usually, you don’t get the opportunity to touch him like this, but you figured it out early on and you’ve never forgotten.

You wonder if he knows he was the first man to make you come. You’ve certainly never told him. It’s not like you were that experienced but you’d been with enough men by the time you first got together with Jay that you’d pretty much given up hope that you’d meet a man who’d be able to figure you out. And then he’d come along and made you fall apart like it was nothing. He still can.

His kisses become more playful and ticklish, which gets you both laughing a little.

“You deserve it.” He says the phrase in the same singsong cadence that fans chant it during shows. “You deserve it.”

This gets you laughing even harder so that you’re almost caught off guard when he starts licking and nipping at your neck in earnest.

His rigid cock is sliding against your soaked pussy but he’s making no effort to enter you. You buck your hips a little to let him know he’s welcome.

“I don’t have to,” he tells you, running a finger ever so delicately down your throat and over your collarbone. “This is for you.”

“You don’t want to?”

He laughs. “More than anything. But for once I’m telling you it’s not about what I want. I mean it. You can send me back to my room if you like.”

“You know I want you.”

“Like this?” He thrusts his hips hard against yours.

“Exactly like that.”

He needs no further encouragement to guide himself into you, gasping like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt as he begins pumping into you.

“That son of a bitch fucked you all night and you’re still as tight as when I met you.”

A pained sound escapes you and the word “no” just after it. You cover your face with your hand and try not to picture where you were twenty-four hours ago.

Roughly, he pushes your hand back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You just feel so good, always so fucking good.”

He kisses you insistently but sweetly, pulling on your legs so that they curve over his broad shoulders, allowing him to push deeper inside you as he picks up his pace. As he moves, he rolls you a little further forward, to the point you think that if his arms weren’t firmly planted on either side of your head, the two of you would end up turning a summersault. The higher the angle, the deeper he’s able to get and the more contact he’s able to get with your g-spot, so that you’re practically screaming again as you feel the tension rising like lava in a volcano.

“That’s so good,” you whine, grabbing onto his bicep. You have to focus on pulling oxygen into your lungs or you’ll pass out. “I’m gonna come again, Jay.”

“I’m right with you,”

Your eyes close for a second before you feel his hand insistently rubbing at your cheek and temple.

“Open your eyes,” he rasps, obviously on the brink of losing control of himself. “I want to see those beautiful eyes when you come.”

You oblige and it’s just in time as you go to pieces, your muscles spasming and squeezing tight around him. And it’s only seconds before you feel him come hot and wet inside you, gradually slowing his movements until the two of you are still, hands running over each other as you catch your breath.

He finally rises, pushing himself down the bed and lifting one of your legs over his. You’ve never seen that look on his face before, like he can’t process what has just happened or how he’s feeling about it. He just sits there, stroking your leg as his expression goes through a series of subtle changes until his eyes come to rest on your pussy.

He’s not making any effort to conceal the hunger in his stare. His hand drifts up your thigh and he strokes at the apex of it with a calloused thumb.

“It’s perfect,” he mumbles. “Fucking perfect. The color, the shape, those gorgeous thick lips. It’s like I never want to look at anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I wish I had. I wish I’d said it every time you let me have it.” He squeezes at the flesh just a little and teases pushing a couple of fingers inside. “I want to take a picture.”

“No way.”

“I know, I know. I’d just love to take a picture and send it to him so he could see what he’s missing. So he could see how beautiful it looks with my cum leaking out of it.”

You spring up and try to push yourself away but he instantly has a tight grip on your leg and gives a sharp bite to the inside of your knee.

“I’ll bet he was a good little boy,” he sighs, resting his head against your thigh. “I’ll bet he wore a condom for you so that you felt nice and safe.”

You can’t even speak, you're so angry.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“It’s none of your goddamned business, Jay.” You glare at him, wanting to wipe that infuriating smile off his face forever. “Yes, we used condoms. A lot of them.”

“Oh of course. I forgot what an amazing lover he is. All sweet and attentive.”

“Not as sweet as you think, asshole. But you’re right about amazing. Like I said, the best-“

“No, he isn’t.” He pushes the heel of his hand against your pussy, stimulating the nerves without making it physically painful. “Did you tell him you let me fuck you without a condom? That you stay on birth control for me?”

“Funny,” you sneer, “it didn’t come up.”

He stares at you, flicking his tongue over his lips.

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” You groan.

“Would you still be here if I wasn’t?”

That hits you like a glass of ice water and while you’re trying to think of a retort, he pulls you up onto his lap and starts peppering you with kisses like he hasn’t just behaved like a monster.

“You think I’m joking but I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go away. I’m not going to settle for being the second most important man in your life. “

“I don’t think it would bother you if you weren’t thinking you were about to come second to David Finlay. Again.”

He locks his arm around you and stands up in one smooth movement. You know how hard he works on his body and how strong he is but your jaw still drops a little at how effortless it is. He doesn’t even have to hold you particularly tight to support your whole weight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You croak.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And with that, he whisks you off to his adjoining room.

[stxrrywildflower]

kid

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - you get kindnapped

warnings - cursing, injuries, angst

word count - ?

a throbbing pain in your head and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth was the first thing you could process when you regained consciousness. the warm feeling of blood was trickling down the back of neck. that meant one thing, you had to have been hit in the head.

your wrists were restrained behind the cold metal chair you were tied to. the rope burned your wrists and ankles. you knew they were going to scar, you had seen it on various bau team members.

everything felt incredibly foggy. you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what had happened. as if your kidnapper has read your mind, a man stepped into the room, his face just barely illuminated under the light.

“welcome y/n! i’m so glad you could make it,” the man grinned.

you rolled your eyes. “what the hell did you do to me,” you growled. the unsub chuckled, “you, little girl, are going to make me a lot of money.” with that, the man just smirked before spinning on his heel and leaving the room, your own thoughts now being the only thing to keep you company.

rossi hummed quietly to himself as he put his suv in park before stepping out of the car and onto the driveway. the warm summer heat of washington d.c. met the senior profiler. between the trees swaying in the slight breeze and the birds chirping, it was a pretty good day.

walking up to the front door, rossi pulled out his keys. however, after twisting it and finding it to be unlocked, he was more than confused.

“figlia, i’m home!” rossi called once he stepped in. there was no response, the house was actually deadly quiet. usually there was always some music playing or the sound of the tv or your computer. “y/n?” rossi called again.

when rossi took note of the faint mud footprints on the floor leading up the stairs, he drew his gun. the only sound was the slight creeping of stairs as rossi walked up them. just in case, he spoke out as normally. “i’m home for lunch. what are you in the mood for?” once again, there was no response.

the second rossi saw just a drop of blood on the floor, he pulled out his phone. with shaky hands, he pressed hotch’s number. “aaron we have a problem,” was all rossi said.

within just a few short minutes, the entire bau team as well as a few cop cars were pulling up to rossi’s house. “rossi what happened?” morgan spoke once he walked in.

“y/n’s in trouble,” rossi started, “i think kidnapping but all i can go off of is some footprints and the blood in her room.”

the team all went their separate ways, spencer and j.j. to check the locks and footprints while everyone else headed upstairs into your room. just like rossi had said, there was a spot of blood on the floor. sure the spot wasn’t huge but it was still large enough to not be from a cut or other injury.

searching your room went on for just a few moments. finally, when hotch was digging around through your desk, his face hardened as he stood up. the air in the room tensed as hotch held up a piece of paper. in small dark letters was ‘8pm’. “what does 8pm mean?” emily piped up.

“i’m guessing that’s when we will be getting a phone call,” hotch answered simply.

they found your phone a moment later, the screen now cracked most likely from the attack. when it was unlocked, it opened right up to the messages app. more specifically, to rossi’s contact. that was the final confirmation of your kidnapping.

as the rest of the police and other crime scene investigators did their thing, the rest of the bau team regrouped in the kitchen. “we’ll work from the bau. garcia is already combing through security footage but as we know, child abduction cases need to be handled with care. i expect all of you to have your full focus on finding y/n and bringing her home safely.”

to be honest, rossi wasn’t exactly listening to hotch’s orders. his thoughts were going a mile a minute. he hasn’t even realized hotch was done speaking until morgan nudged him with his arm. “rossi, we’re heading back.” the italian man nodded before following the rest of his team out of his house and back to the cars.

driving to quantico took painfully long. everyone was on edge, especially rossi. well, that was obvious. garcia greeted them all when they stepped out of the elevator, holding her laptop in one arm while the other was motioning for j.j. and spencer to follow her back to the lab. the rest of the team headed into the bullpen.

“dave, a word?” hotch spoke.

rossi nodded, quickly putting his bag in his office before heading back down the catwalk. “you’re off the case,” hotch simply said once rossi stepped in.

“my kid is missing and you want me off of the case?” rossi exclaimed.

“you’re too emotionally invested in this case. you know the rules, hell you made the rules,” hotch rephrased. damn, hotch got him there.

there was a few moments of tense silence before rossi finally spoke up again.

“gideon and i formed the bau so we could keep people safe. it’s been a lot of years but i like to think that we’ve done just that,” rossi started, “and when y/n was born, i vowed to keep her safe as both a father and a profiler. and i failed.”

hotch remained quiet as the senior profiler in front of him sat down in one of the chairs and rubbed his eyes. “i wasn’t there to protect her and now, now she’s in the hands of a criminal. we have absolutely no idea where she is or if she’s even alive,” rossi ranted.

“don’t say that,” hotch cut in. “dave you’ve been an incredible dad to y/n. one incident which you had no control over will not change that. the team is doing everything we can. besides, we still have the phone call tonight.”

“thanks aaron,” rossi smiled slightly. he had to admit, the pep talk did help.

“you screwed up big time man,” you groaned. you couldn’t have woken up more than a few hours ago but the torture in that time was intense. the rope burns on your wrists and ankles were much worse as well as other cuts the unsub has inflicted on you. your entire face was bruised and bloody, mostly from punches to your eyes and nose.

the mans harsh and callused hand gripped your cheek, pulling your head up to look at him. “and why is that?” he asked. you almost wanted to laugh at that question.

“you kidnapped the daughter of one of the founders of the bau!” you exclaimed as if it wasn’t obvious already, “i’m guessing stephen gideon wasn’t available?” that remark earned a hard slap across the face.

“i’m going to get rich off of you. you really think daddy dearest isn’t going to pay off your ransom?” the unsub questioned. “i know that my dad isn’t dumb enough to give into your demands,” you rolled your eyes. “oh we’ll see about that.”

the man returned to the room at what he informed you was almost eight o’clock. “what’s with the phone?” you questioned. “like i told you before. i’m going to be rich. and all it takes is one phone call.”

emily kept her hand in front of rossi when the phone started ringing on j.j.’s desk. this was standard procedure. they never picked up right away when negotiating with an unsub. hotch motioned for them to stay silent as he leaned forward and pressed the answer button.

“hello?” hotch spoke.

“i’m looking to speak to david rossi.”

all eyes went over to rossi who’s stone-faced expression would give hotch a run for his money. “this is he,” rossi replied.

“perfect. now i’m willing to propose a trade. 20 million for her return,” then unsub offered. the teams eyes widened at that. even you, who had a cloth around your motion, was extremely suprised. there was no way your dad would pay that. right?

“prove that she’s alive,” rossi fired back, not even mentioning the deal.

the unsub trudged over your where your were still tied to the chair. with rough hands, he ripped the cloth off so your mouth was open. “say hi to dad!” the unsub exclaimed ina sickeningly sweet voice.

“bafangu chooch,” you growled out in italian, “bastardo, figlio di puttana.”

rossi’s mouth fell slight as did spencer’s and emily’s who both knew limited italian. you had pretty much just used some extremely choice curse words to prove that you were actually alive.

the unsub rolled his eyes and walked to the other side of the room. “see? she’s alive. now the 20 million by 10 or else the girl gets it. and i think we both know what that means.”

just before the unsub hung up, you yelled one final time. “shut the fuck up bitch boy. your hair is worse than morgan’s!” your voice was slightly staticky as you were yelling to a cell phone multiple feet away. nonetheless, the team heard exactly what you said before all lines of communication were cut off.

“go to hell!” you spat, unable to contain the tears that started to.

“well i’ll see you there,” the unsub fired back. you furrowed you’re eyebrows, that didn’t even make sense. “whatever, i need to get some things set up. let’s just hope that money gets here fast.”

back at the bau, the team was in slight disbelief at the phone call. “what did she say?” morgan first asked. “basically she told him to go screw himself and then something along the lines of being an ugly son of a bitch. i’m paraphrasing but i’m sure you don’t want the exact details,” rossi answered, his tone slightly proud.

garcia was typing away at her computer, trying to trace the call. “it pinged off of multiple cell towers. i can’t pinpoint the location but i may be able to get the general area,” the tech genius informed everyone. while garcia did that, everyone else listened back to the call, desperate to process the information.

no one was quite sure how she did it but just around 9:30, garcia had managed to find the five mile radius where the call had originated. from there, she found the only bulding that would be suitable to hold someone. rossi had thanked her profusely before suiting up alongside the team to head out.

“you’re staying outside. we’ll let you know when the unsub is apprehended,” hotch ordered.

rossi huffed and leaned against the car as the team entered the warehouse. his hands were shaking at the sole thought of you being just through the door. just three minutes later, hotch’s voice echoed in his ear.

“we got y/n!”

when rossi heard those words through his communication system, he immediately rushed into the warehouse. the unsub was being dragged out by a very unhappy morgan and hotch. after shooting the man an extremely nasty glare, rossi stepped further in, stopping slightly when he saw you.

j.j. and emily were focused on untying the restraints on your wrists and ankles while spencer was surveying your injuries. you were unconscious, probably from the fact that there was more blood on the back of your head as well as a fairly deep cut down your thigh. your right arm was bent at an awkward angle, definitely broken.

“figlia,” rossi gasped, kneeling down in front of you. part of him was incredibly thankful that you were found and would be taken to the hospital to be treated. on the other hand, the injuries you suffered were pretty intense. there was definitely going to be some trauma from the whole thing.

the paramedics arrived soon after that. they had made rossi step back so you could be put on a stretcher, an ambulance taking you to the hospital soon after that. all rossi could do is wait there and hope you would be okay.

you woke up a day later, your vision blurred as your eyes adjusted to the extremely bright hospital room. there was a tube in your nose helping you breath as well as an iv in your arm administering some pain medication.

“dad,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around your father with the limited mobility you could.

rossi held you tight, incredibly thankful that you were now awake. he just sat there, holding you as you continued to cry.

there was going to be a lot of both physical and emotional healing for you along with nightmares and pain. but you knew you had your dad and his team by your side ever step of the way.

and that made it a little better.

[in3ptbean]

'𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚍 𝙿𝚛𝚘 𝚀𝚞𝚘'

Pairing: Danny ‘Jed Olsen” Johnson x Reader 

Summary: An exchange of favors between a sadistic killer and his favorite survivor 

Warnings: Gore, foul language, toxic Nea's

I do not own any of the Dead by Daylight characters, both survivors and killers(original) belong to Behavior Interactive. 

Masterlist  

(Not my GIF) 

You loathed going against Ghostface; and not for the reasons you think. 

Save for being a major asshole, Danny was a pretty chill dude with sadistic tendencies. He, for one, enjoyed the entities realm, and took full advantage of it. Never getting reprimanded for murder? Count him in! Need him to take care of an annoying survivor? Sure, he’ll take care of David the survivor for you! 

He was someone you could, surprisingly, count on. 

Yet, that’s how you ended up on Nea’s ‘sand bag’ list. 

You had grown tired of watching the Swedish girl thwart your attempts at survival during trials and it was really starting to piss you off. The others noticed the toxic behavior, looking at you with sympathy when they have to pull you off the hook for the second time in a trial. 

“I swear, I’m gonna murder her,” Steve cocked an eyebrow before a smile made it’s way to his lips. “Hell, I might even get Danny to do it,” You spat, hands roughly connecting the wires on the exposed insides of the bulky machinery. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Steve muttered, playfully taking a jab at your vengeful nature. “She’s got it coming,” You grinned at him, stepping away after the generator roared to life.  

“Alright, bet,”

That’s how you ended up running after Ghostface, grabbing his wrist to stop him from jumping over a window. He whipped around, instinctively swinging the knife you had fully been expecting. Stepping back, it hit nothing but air, causing him to look up down at you. 

“Well, if it isn’t-” 

“Cut the crap Danny, I need a favor,” He was taken back by your abrupt interruption, considering you were usually one of the only survivors to play along with his little charade. 

“Well, Sweet Cheeks,” You clenched your jaw at the nickname, ignoring the thudding of your racing heart. “I don’t do favors, even for my favorites,” He poked her stomach with his gloved hand, causing her to crack a smile. 

“Please! Just this once,” He grinned underneath his mask, dark chocolate hues taking you in. Dried blood, dark and viscous, stained your shirt on your left shoulder, the moisture from the mud and snow causing you to shiver only slightly. You hair was now damp from the Entity’s imitation snow and a thin film of sweat covered your skin. “I really need your help,”  

Tracking down and exposing the Swedish survivor was not what he had in mind when you asked him for a favor; but then again, when did you two ever seeing eye to eye.

He crouched behind the counter, watching the the Swede with narrowed eyes. She was bantering back and forth with the redhead, laughing at something embarrassing the latter did only minutes ago. Danny didn’t understand why you wanted him to stalk Nea, but who was he to judge? Steve and yourself ran into the lobby of the main lodge, joining the two at the generator. 

You ignored the burn of Nea’s glare, opting to talk quietly to Meg and Steve.  The other three had high hopes. That generator was currently the last one needed o power up the exit gates; but in the midst of the Generator roaring to life, they all forgot about the Crutch perk powered by the lone totem on the other side of the Resort. He lunged forward, taking a slash at the redhead. Meg fell to the ground with a yell, the group scattering for the gates. 

You ran with Steve, knowing damn well you were both fair game if Danny caught  up, not noticing the fact than Nea was following you both closely. Speaking of which, the Later had taken up to hanging the redhead in the basement, looking around before catching sight of their red line auras. 

He watched closely, noticing how closely the third Aura got to the second. He could only assume that was the Swede. He made quick work on impaling the hook through Megs shoulder, before hauling ass out of the basement and towards the furthest gate. he caught up to them, standing in the open as Nea had taken up the task of annoying the absolute fuck out of you. There was only so much you could take before whipping around and knocking her a new one, and much to her own surprise, she surpassed it a while ago. The two women were practically gauging each others eyes out with Steve trying to separate the two with futile attempts. 

Danny stood at the gates, unwillingly stalking the three of you until you noticed his presence. The three survivors screamed out in pain was a skull was burned into their faces, marking them as exposed. You shoved yourself away from Nea, only to have her fall and grab you ankle. Steve was frozen, watching as Danny swung his knife in her general direction.  You screamed, falling to the cold, blood stained ground in an instant. Nea rushed to the door, only to stop. 

Blood Warden. 

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. She screamed out as Danny tackled her to the floor, his knife ripping through her clothing and flesh with a gut-wrenching slick. Again and again, the knife impaled her back, bloodlust driving Danny to go more than overboard with his usual mori. Sure the Entity would be pissed, but he could care less. You watched in horror as Danny ripped his knife away from Nea’s corpse, letting her blood squirt everywhere; like a bloody fountain. You stood, with Steve’s help of course, watching Ghostface with caution. Danny strode towards them, watching them with a sickening grin before he  pulled out his camera. 

“Smile!” He shoved Steve out the gate, thankfully pushing him into the field the moment the Nightmares was crumpled down. Danny embraced your figure,  pulling you towards the corpse and pulling off his mask. He grinned, facing the camera while you tiredly smiled. The quick flash blinded you monetarily, but you quickly regained your composure as the Endgame collapse ticked down its final seconds. 

“Thanks’ Danny,” You muttered, embracing the killer tightly. Hesitantly, he returned the embrace, pressing you to his chest. He would do anything for you, no matter the repercussions. The Entities punishments were only a small price to pay for your happiness. With a quick peck to his cheek, you pulled away, giving him a final smile before standing. Danny was about to push you out of the gate when you raised your bloody palm. 

“Quid pro quo,” You muttered softly. 

The Entity impaled it’s spindle through your chest; a sickening snap echoing through the now silent resort. Ghostface watched, ignoring your pain stricken scream before you fell silent. The Entities branch like legs rattled, your body glowing softly before it consumed the sacrifice. 

“Quid pro quo,(Y/N) ” Danny responded, looking down at the newest collection in his camera. “Quid pro quo,” 

[alesreadings]

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo.

5 stars.

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

Now, we can insert again Gimme Gimme by ABBA. I have to warn that the review is full of spoilers, and you never know when or at what point you will find one. So, if you haven't read the book yet and want to avoid spoilers (like me), read no further. Once again, Leigh Bardugo did it. I must admit that at this point, I've just finished the book and am trying to organize my thoughts through the pain and snot, I'm still crying and my head hurts from it. The conclusion of Six of Crows came and in splendid fashion. It's everything I expected and a hell of a lot more. There are things I didn't even see coming and I loved them. Once again, I emphasize that Leigh has improved tremendously as a writer and her plots, her writing and her storytelling, grab you from the very first moment. In any case, I have to say that I am 90% satisfied with the outcome of this duology that stole my heart, my soul, my spirit and my being completely. Kaz plans a final blow, creates a master plan, but not like we saw in Fjerda. Oh, no. Now he has a motive to sink Jan Van Eck even deeper: for kidnapping Inej. And, although Inej is turned over to the others in the first 150 pages, the rest gets more and more interesting. They're not going to stop there just because Van Eck played a bad trick on them that left them in vulnerable positions. Kaz wants Van Eck to sink into a hole he'll never climb out of again. Okay, that's enough of that. Let's get down to business. I won't summarize the book because that's not what I plan to do. I plan to express my thoughts on this masterpiece. I loved it. From the beginning to the end. I laughed, I screamed, I cried, I got angry, and most of all, I enjoyed it. This is the kind of book that I devour in days, that makes me excited enough to stay up late at night reading it. It's the kind of book that makes my heart flip and then flip back to where it belongs, or where my anxiety is on the edge of the cliff and is about to throw me somewhere. The plot grabbed me, I thought the character development was just right, excellent and well unraveled. I liked how Leigh explained a lot about the background of the characters through memories and intertwined them with their present actions. Leigh's writing is divine, it grabbed me and I loved it, I even love her short stories. Everything about this book delighted, fascinated and thrilled me. When Sturmhond appeared, I cried like a little girl, because I missed him too much, as well as my goddess Zoya and my queen Genya. I would have liked to see David, but I have enough with them. I forgot to add some things, lmao. Kaz: You fucking little genius. You got me screaming and so fucking anxious during the entire book, made my heart racing. Inej:Thank you for beating the shit out of Dunyasha, we needed it. A truly queen who deserves the entire world and being back with her family. Nina: My sweetie pie, I want to protect you from this cruel cruel cruel world and give you all my love. Also, waking up the dead? A MF QUEEN. YOU CAN HAVE MY BODY AND MY SOUL TOO. Jesper: A baby. I wanted to kick him SO bad, but also hug him and tell him that everything was gonna be alright. His father is so sweet and naive that I must protect him at all cost. Wylan: Hun, you deserve to be happy, be again with your mom (tbh I cried when he found out that his mom was alive), and have all the fucking money that your fucking and ugly father denied you. My sweet angel. Matthias: I will always love you, my big bear :( I already miss you and know that I cried for you like for two hours, and I'm still crying. You deserved so mucH MORE AND YOUR DEATH WAS SO INSIGNIFICANT AND RIDICULOUS, I WAS EXPECTING MORE FROM YOUR DEATH, DEAR LEIGH, WHY???? I'M PISSED OFF, BUT I'M STILL LOVE MY BIG TULIP BOY. Leigh: thank you for giving me so much in so little and spare my life for taking so long. Also, Leigh: I will never forgive you for what you did to my sweet Matthias. He was my favorite in this bilogy and you ripped him from me like he was my own heart. Chapter 40 took away any hope of life I had. I have

nothing else to say, and if I do, I will probably edit this review to add more positive things of this masterpiece, but for now, my 5 stars and my broken and bleeding heart for Matthias Benedik Helvar say it all.

[kevindayisafrog]

Not the Kevaaron thing because I got a random urge to write about Kevin running away from Evermore and going to Wymack. There might be angst idk

TW - hints at abuse and anxiety

Kevin waits until he knows that Riko is asleep before creeping out of bed and throwing crumpled clothes into a faded black duffel bag. He grabs an old white shirt and wraps his left hand tightly in it, biting his lower lip to stop himself from screaming out in pain. He zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder, holding his left hand close to his chest as if it were about to be taken away. He takes one last look at his room and holds back a fearful sob. If this were to backfire then Riko would kill him for sure. The blood pounds in his ears with screaming thoughts as he quietly leaves the room and pads down the hall. It was unbearably dark, but he grew up without the light so he could navigate these winding corridors without a single thought about it. He reaches the steep black stairs and freezes as his heart begins to pound out of his chest. He couldn’t do this. They were going to find him and kill him. He was fucking property, Riko’s toy, he couldn’t go far without being dragged back. The air around him grows thick as his body begins to burn with a growing itch. He was going to die anyway, he might as well try to live first. He quietly runs up the stairs and pushes the four digit code into the security pad. The door makes a quiet click sound and he bites back a nervous laugh as he slowly pulls open the door. The early evening air hits his lungs with the welcoming glow of the sunset burning his eyes. He shifts out of the door and slams it shut behind him and watches as a flock of birds fly above him in a freeing clump. The icy December air numbs his left hand and he winces at the reminder to keep moving. He looks behind him before walking quickly towards the large gates that protect the stadium from any vandalism. “Shit”, he whispers as the gates don’t push open and he looks over to another security pad. He doesn’t know this number, Tetsuji didn’t want them knowing in case they’d run away. He shouldn’t have told them the code to the stadium one, but that’s on him. Kevin presses Riko’s birth date into the pad but it makes a low beep sound of disapproval. He tries Tetsuji’s next but is met again with a low beep. “Fuck”, he can’t turn back now, they’ll rip him apart just for trying to run. He tries to even out his fraying breaths and tries one last birth date; his mother’s. He closes his eyes and waits for another beep but lets out a relieved sob as the gate clinks. He pulls open the gate and runs. He can’t look back, can’t even breathe but runs. His legs wobble with each violent step as Kevin rips himself away from Evermore; the tall sharp stadium becoming a mere shadow behind him as the sunset glows beside him.

The taste of blood pools Kevin’s throat and his legs have become numb from the escape, but he’s free. He slows down to a stop as he approaches a sign directing him to the USC stadium and prays that the Foxes were still at the banquet. The Ravens couldn’t go this year because Riko didn’t feel like mingling with amateurs - as he called the other teams - so Tetsuji let him beat the shit out of Kevin instead. The wind blows colder as Kevin hunches over and makes his way towards the brightly lit stadium in awe. If he could change teams, if he ever had a choice, he would choose the Trojans. The stadium was beautiful, the team was strong and the team captain was..well, he wasn’t allowed to notice those feelings; but he could if he was brought up here. He stands to the edge of the parking lot and desperately searches for the ugly Fox bus that always stands out in a dull crowd. He steps further into the car park and whimpers helplessly as it is filled with plain cars and dull team buses. They’ve left. It’s too late. He stands still and tries to calm himself as he thinks of all the places that they would go to; all of the hotels. He crosses out 5 star stays and starts off in the direction of the town and rubs his left hand obsessively. Why did it have to be the Foxes? If he adored the Trojans so much, why didn’t he just stay here? ‘Because this isn’t home’ he thinks to himself and speeds up into a jog as his eyes start to tear up. He can’t be weak and he can’t give up now.

He reaches a tall neutral painted hotel just a few minutes away from the stadium and stops as a bright orange trim catches his eye. He walks past the hotel and down a dark sidewalk as the bus comes into view with its ugly orange paw guiding him closer. He’s never been happier to see the shit team’s colors before and spins on his heels to run into the hotel; his head pumping from the throbbing pain in his hand. “Excuse me”, he approaches the cream colored desk as the receptionist looks up at him. She flashes him a bright smile that contrasts her tired red eyes and he shifts on his feet. “I was wondering if there was anyone staying here under the name of Wymack? Um, David Wymack?” his throat catches at the name and he tries to quietly clear his throat as the receptionist turns to type something into her computer. “Yes, is he expecting you?” she looks at Kevin’s ragged state and lingers on the bloodstained shirt around his hand. “Yeah, I’m a..a friend”, he looks at the wall behind her as he says this because he can’t believe what he’s fucking doing. Why did he think this was a good idea? What if he gets turned down? What if Wymack just sends him back to Evermore? He couldn’t. Kevin just had to trust him with all his gut because he was his dad wasn’t he? The receptionist clears her throat and waits as Kevin snaps his attention back to her. “He’s in room 217, the elevator is unfortunately out of service at this moment. But I’m sure that you can manage four flights of stairs”, she smiles at him tiredly this time as he thanks her and turns towards the stairs. He didn’t know how sick he felt until he stopped and was sure that he might not make it up the stairs; but he’d come this far, he couldn’t give up now. He pulls his aching body up the stairs with a drag as the steps keep coming in a never ending ascend. The urge to just curl up and stay on the steps pulls at Kevin as he drags his numb legs further up. There were only three more flights to go.

As he reaches the fourth floor he slumps onto the wall and bites the bloody fabric with his teeth. His lungs are burning and his head is pounding with the exhaustion. There are twelve doors on either side of the corridor and Kevin hopes that the one he needs was not right at the end. He walks past eight mahogany doors before finally reaching room 217 with the gold lettering slightly chipping on the ‘7’. He brings his shaky right hand up to the door and knocks softly. His body freezes as he hears swearing inside the room and he has to fight the urge to turn and run. The door swings open to a tired looking Coach Wymack in his underwear and a faded orange tee. “What the fuck?” he shoots his head past Kevin and looks up and down the hall as if he were expecting a flash mob to appear out of the empty walls. Kevin opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out are wet sobs as all of the fear finally crushes him. Wymack watches him in stunned silence for a second before pulling him into the room and shutting the door quietly behind them. “Who’s that?” a female voice comes up beside Kevin as he hides his face in his good hand. “Kevin. Kevin Day”, Wymack whispers behind him as the woman pulls Kevin’s hand away to take a look at his face. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Wymack crosses one leg over the other as he leans onto the doorframe with one brow raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go”, Kevin stutters the words out between sharp sobs. “Come and sit down”, the woman leads him to the bed and pushes him down. “What’s wrong?” her kind eyes stare at Kevin as he runs his hand through his hair. “I can’t say”, the woman nods and places a gentle hand onto his knee. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m Abby, by the way”, she watches his pain filled eyes before looking down at his crumpled clothes. “Are you hurt?” she hovers a hand over his left hand as he pulls it closer to his chest. “I’m scared”, he whispers as Abby nods and gently pulls his hand onto her lap. “Can I have a look?” he nods at her and watches as she peels away the shirt to reveal the mangled mess of his left hand. “Shit, you need to go to the hospital”, she stands and turns to Wymack as he steps over to take a closer look. “No, please don’t. I cant go there”, Kevin looks between the adults and shrinks further away from them. “Kevin, your hand is fucking broken. We’re taking you to the hospital. Abby, get the keys”, Wymack nods towards his jacket and steps closer to Kevin. “No!” he dives to his feet and backs away against the wall. “Please don’t. I’m begging you, I can’t go”, he holds his right hand to his throat as the world starts to blur and spin around him. “Kevin”, Abby rushes over as Kevin drops down to his knees. “I can’t go, please don’t make me go”, he repeats as Abby pulls him into a fierce hug. “David, grab the first aid kit, it’s in my bag. Fuck, and grab some towels”, she keeps holding Kevin close as Wymack leaves to gather everything. “I can’t go, he’s going to kill me”, Kevin whispers in her ear as Wymack returns with the towels and supplies. “No one’s going to hurt you, okay?” she lets go of him and opens up the first aid kit. “How did this happen?” Wymack crouches beside Kevin and squeezes his shoulder. Kevin doesn’t look up as he whispers “Riko” with a wince. “Shit”, Wymack stands up and begins to pace the room. “You’re going to have to tell me everything, Day”, he shoots Kevin a look and Kevin feels like this was all a mistake. He knew that he wouldn’t be wanted here either. “Okay”, he whispers and tells them everything. Everything that he can without having to mention the hell that he went through everyday just to survive. And they listen. Wymack swears and paces whilst Abby carries on working with the mangled hand as best as she can. “Please don’t tell them where I am”, Kevin looks up at Wymack pleadingly. “No” he shakes his head in disgust, “I’m never letting you go back there”.

[babi-correia]

Officer Down

From Anon #1:

Would you be able to write a really angsty story with adam ruzek x reader and they are both members of intelligence and they have a fight in the locker rooms and it affects their work, and then reader gets injured or something and at med it’s just fluff? thanks, i love your writing!

And Anon #2:

Could you do number 13 and 20 with adam ruzek x reader? preferably reader is the one who gets hurt, i live for angst lol! thank you 13- “Don’t die on me, please.”  20- “You’re the only thing that makes me smile.”

I thought these really fit in together!

Words: 2109 (...ops?) Warnings: Canon-typical violence, gunshots, injured reader, cursing, blood... angst, I guess, be prepared for anything Pairing: Adam Ruzek x Reader A/N: I’m still working on my angst-writting skills, but I hope you guys like it!

“Adam, this is ridiculous.” You snap once you walk into the locker, not caring if someone else hears you. He, on the other hand, quickly shushes you as he scopes the room for prodding ears and closes the door. “See what I mean!”

“You know how Voight is about dating within the unit.” He says, going back to his locker. You throw your hands in the air.

“For God’s sake, Adam!” You can hear the desperation in your tone, and it makes you cringe. “We’ve met each other’s family; everyone knows we’re dating except the unit.”

“And it will stay that way.” He says sternly, making his way out of the locker room and leaving you there alone.

Your blood feels like it’s burning with anger inside your veins and you slam the locker door shut, barely controlling yourself before you step outside and into the bullpen.

The white board stares at you mockingly, the case displayed having been there for over two days. Child abduction, where four kids had gone missing and two had come up dead by the river. The whole police force was on overdrive trying to catch the perpetrator, but no one was making any progress whatsoever.

“Third kid came up by the river.” Voight says curtly, updating the board. “And I don’t see any progress on the case!”

He places a pin on the map, in the place where the kid was found, and you approach it, tapping your finger on it as you recognize the area.

“I have a CI that lives and hangs out in that area.” You mutter. “He’s from my time in Narcotics. I’ll pay him a visit and see if he saw anything.”

“Alone?” Adam asks, prompting a glare from you. Typically, you would take someone with you, but today it would just be adding fuel to the fire.

“Yep.” You say, patting your pocket, checking for your keys before you trot down the stairs and into your car.

You make the drive there while thinking back to your relationship troubles, nearly running a red light shortly before you reach your destination.

You park under a tree, turning off your car and calling your CI. He picks up at the second ring and you instruct him to meet you at your car, which he promptly does. He closes the door after he enters, eyeing you warily.

“It’s been a while.” He remarks, fiddling with his hands.

“This area of town has been quiet. Until that kid came up, that is.” You say calmly before turning to him. “You don’t happen to know anything, do you?”

“I, erm… I heard something about a black car not from around here.”

“What do you mean ‘not from around’?” You ask, picking up your notebook and your pen.

“Out of state. It was orange and black, I think.” He says, scratching his head.

“New York?” You ask, pulling up a picture of a New York plate on your phone and showing him. He nods. “You remember the plate?”

“I think it had a GO something in the letters, and two fives in a row.” He says, tapping his fingers on his legs. “It was a lady driver, I’m sure of that. And I’m almost certain there was a rental sticker on the back window.”

“So, you’re saying that it was a woman, and that she rented a car in New York, and then came all the way to Chicago?” You say, scribbling down on your note pad.

“That’s what I saw.” He says. You nod and slip him a couple of bills, prompting him to leave the car.

You begin to make your way back to the precinct when you notice a shiny black car with a huge container trailer parked on an abandoned lot and slow your car until you stop at the end of the street. You grab the portable radio and hook it up to your jacket, checking your gun and holstering it before you grab the car’s radio.

“Main, this is 50-21 Ocean requesting immediate back-up at the abandoned lot by the river in South Lock Street, sighting of a suspect’s vehicle, a black sedan with New York plates, RTO-9554. Plain-clothed officer on scene making initial approach and assessment of the perimeter.” You say into the radio, unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car.

You turn your radio’s volume to the minimum, but Adam’s voice is still perfectly audible through it.

“(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?! Wait for back-up!” He hisses through the radio, making you roll your eyes.

“Focus on getting here, Ruzek.” You say coldly, your hand resting on your holster as you inch towards the abandoned lot. The area is open, no trees or buildings for you to hide behind, so you just hope for the best as you get closer. You hear the sirens in the distance and curse out before picking your radio up again. “50-21 Ida, George, David, Adam, and all assisting officers, kill the sirens and the lights. The area is exposed and all we have for us is the element of surprise.”

But it’s too late. The cars are already on the side street when they kill the sirens, and it was enough to get the woman’s attention, as she exits the container with something in hand. You quickly draw your gun, but it’s not quick enough. You hear the bang and feel something hitting hard against your chest as you fall backwards.

Everything grows numb for a moment, the sounds drown out and you feel yourself falling to the floor, but can’t really find it in you to care about it. The numbness subsides partially and you regain your hearing, being able to hear a lot of shouting not too far from you. You feel your shirt sticking to your chest and start feeling a white-hot pain that knocks the wind out of you. Next thing you know, you’re struggling to breathe.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), can you hear me?” You barely hear Adam’s voice over the noise of your own blood rushing through your ears. Adam’s at your side, on his knees and looking at you with a frazzled expression. “Don’t die on me, please!”

You look down at his hands and see that they’re covered in blood; in your blood. Panic sets in and you look at him with wide and scared eyes.

“I don’t want to die.” You rasp out desperately, holding Adam’s forearm as he tries to stop the bleeding. You can see the tears in his eyes and feel your own streaming down your face as you cough. One of his bloody hands shoots to his radio before he speaks.

“Main, this is 50-21 Ida again, officer down! Where’s my fucking ambulance!?” He shouts, his hand trembling when he lets go of the radio. He gets a vague reply from Main and focuses on trying to stop your bleeding as you feel yourself growing colder and weaker.

“Adam…” You say, meekly putting your hand on his arm. He looks at you, fear, sadness and despair evident in his face. “I love you, never forget that.”

He stifles a sob as one of his hands leaves your chest to cup your face, wiping out a tear.

“I love you too, but don’t die on me, c’mon (Y/N). I know you can do this.” He mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turns his attention back to stopping your bleeding. You hear footsteps rushing towards you and see the rest of the unit looking between you and the three different streets next to where you are.

You can hear the sirens in the distance, but you’re fighting a loosing battle against your eyelids. You rest your hands atop Adam’s, making him look towards you.

“You know… I always wanted to die for something.” You rasp, watching him shake his head and shushing you. “You being here makes it better. I always feared dying alone.”

“(Y/N), you’re not dying.” This time the sob comes out loud and clear, and it breaks your heart. “You’re not, you’re not leaving me, not yet, c’mon.”

“Adam…”

“Don’t you dare. I know you love me, and I love you, but you’re not dying, you’re not leaving me here stranded and alone. You’re going to be fine. We’re going home and watching a crappy movie cramped up in that small couch of yours, but we’re not going to actually watch the movie because you’re going to be making silly remarks and comebacks about the movie, and then you’ll tickle me because the movie is so bad that you can’t even watch it anymore. And then we’ll shut the TV off, and kiss and cuddle in the couch before we venture into the kitchen to cook dinner, and I’ll probably burn something no one thought it was possible to burn, and we’ll have to order something in and we’ll laugh about how much of a disaster I am before we go to bed and cuddle some more.”

Adam’s openly bawling when he finishes speaking, his tears mixing with your blood on top of his hands. You sob slightly before looking around at the members of Intelligence.

“There goes your plan of keeping everything secret.” You whisper, chuckling slightly before groaning in pain.

“That’s not important right now.” He says, his head snapping in the direction of the sirens. “The ambulance is almost here baby, hold on.”

“I love you, Adam.” You whisper, no longer able to keep your eyes open. Darkness consumes you as you vaguely hear Adam calling your name.

-

Adam finds himself in the apartment you’ve shared for the last two months. No one knew about it other than the two of you, and now Intelligence. Jay goes with Adam, urging him to take a shower and change into fresh clothes.

Adam just feels numb. He feels like his heart was ripped out and trampled in that street, left behind along with your blood. His emotions come back and hit him at once, making him collapse in the middle of the living room. His mind keeps taking him back and replaying the scared and sad look on your face as he saw life slowly draining from you. Jay kneels beside Adam and hugs him as Adam sobs.

“I can’t do this without her.” He manages to say, clinging to Jay as is his life depended on it. “I need her here with me.”

-

Adam nearly collapses when he sees you in the hospital room, your skin sickly ashy, more tubes than he wants to count connected to you, your eyes closed and your body unmoving.

What he would give for you to wake up right then and joke with him about how he was forced to out your relationship, or just hug him and say that you’re fine and that the two of you are going to be ok.

He gingerly sits in the chair by your bed, trying to rub away the stinging of his eyes from crying and grabbing your hand, gently tracing patterns.

Over the days, he talks to you a lot and refuses to leave your side. He’s pretty much memorized the timing of the beeping of the machines, so his ears perk up when one of them beeps out of time. He jolts forward and grabs your hand with his two.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, can you hear me?” He asks hopefully, sitting in the edge of his chair. He slumps when he gets no response. “Baby, you have no idea what I’d do just to have you come back to me. You’re my love, you’re my joy, my life, you’re the only thing that makes me smile. Please, please come back to me.”

“A girl has to almost die to get declarations like this?” He shoots up when he hears your voice, his eyes wide as they fixate on you. “You’re a huge teddy bear, you know?”

He launches forward and hugs you gingerly, hiding his face in your neck as he starts to openly cry.

“I love you so much, I’m sorry I’m an ass to you sometimes.” He whispers into your neck, sobbing. “I was so scared.”

You slowly wrap your arms around him and rub his back.

“I’m right here, babe. I’m not leaving you this early.” You say, making him pull away slightly before you speak again. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, cupping his face. “I’m the only thing that makes you smile, right? So please do.”

He chuckles, tears brimming on his eyes before he brings his lips to yours and kisses you softly.

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part seven Word count: 3100± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father,   Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The  brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington  State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her  demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final  hunt. Part seven summary: Zoë and Dean try to form a plan of action, now that they are stuck in a cabin with hellhounds surrounding them. One wrong move can mean their end. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!   Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture  and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     “Can I ask you somethin’?”

     Zoë looks up, but can’t see the hunter who prolonged her life from where she’s sitting. She hasn’t moved much, still facing the fire that is raging now, filling the cabin with a comfortable heat. The tremors have stopped, her respiration much calmer now. Her body seems to have recovered from the initial shock of the traumatic attack. With the adrenaline gone, her leg hurts badly, though, the pain having her grit her teeth. She tries her best to block out the loud noises of pots and plates being moved in the cupboards of the small kitchen, increasing both her headache and frustration.      “Shoot,” she replies, her voice much weaker than she would like it to come out of her mouth.      “If you were so dead set on dying,” Dean says while pulling out a drawer, “then why did you stock up enough food and water to survive a fucking apocalypse?”      The huntress scoffs. “Hoping for a miracle, I guess.”      “Does this mean I’m your miracle?”       Dean moves into her peripheral vision with a can of tomato soup, a pot, some cutlery, and a can-opener in hand, setting the items down on the ground next to her for later. He has a boyish smirk on his face, apparently amused with his own remark.      Zoë rolls her eyes. She’s been stuck in this little house on a hillside for a little over an hour now, and this manchild is already getting on her nerves.

     “Let’s see if I can work miracles and get some help, because I have a feeling we’re gonna need it,” Dean slides his hand into the pocket of his leather coat, taking out his phone.      Zoë watches him, noticing a hint of hesitation. “Who you gonna call?” she wonders.      “The nerd.”      “He’s downhill?” she presumes.

     Dean drags his teeth over his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at his Motorola as he looks up Sam’s number. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he doesn’t press it. Judging from the pause, Zoë is able to connect the dots; she knows something happened between the brothers.

     “You two got into a fight, didn’t you?” she assumes, not beating around the bush.      He glances over his phone to meet her gaze, then confirms with a nod. She can distinguish the concern and guilt in his stance; it’s bothering him.      “That bad, huh?” Zoë huffs. “Where is he then?”      “He was heading to Nashville,” Dean tells her.      “Tennessee?” she checks, stunned. “That’s a long way from Waco. Why the hell is he there?”      “It was the weirdest thing,” the older Winchester recalls, still unable to wrap his head around the strange lead that ultimately led them to have the biggest fight since Sam went to Stanford. “Someone called him, didn’t identify herself, and claimed that she knew where Dad was.”

     Zoë frowns, her interest peaked. For one, she is very curious about how this Mystery Lady would have gotten her hands on that kind of information, since John has basically been as invisible as a ghost. She knows, because she has been trying to track him down as well, but of course, that is a detail the huntress is going to keep to herself.

     “How did she get Sam’s number?” she questions, instead.      Dean shrugs. “Beats me, but when it comes to finding Dad, Sam can be quite--”      “- obsessive? Yeah, I've noticed,” Zoë chuckles, remembering the long conversations she had with Sam and the arguments the boys had in her presence.

     The guy who usually is so quick to respond to such a comment, seems distracted now, staring down at his Motorola. “Fuck.”      “No signal?” she presumes.      “Nada,” Dean sighs, thinking of another solution. “We need to reach him, especially if David sends out an S.O.S. signal. Sam needs to realize what he’s dealing with before he charges up here.”

     Realizing the Winchester in her company is right, she ponders. If the younger brother goes into this case without knowing that the hellhounds are off their leash and will attack anyone they come across, he is going to get torn to pieces. Dean and David are lucky, if there even is such a thing. The hunter is as stuck as she is, and the hellhounds might have caught up with the only Cleveland survivor; the kid could be dead for all she knows. 

     She adjusts her leg a little, carefully testing its mobility. The swelling is starting to pull at her skin, so she props her foot up again on the plastic first aid briefcase, watching Dean in the meantime. He has crouched down by the backpack he was carrying and mutters a few curse words under his breath while rummaging through it.

     “What are you looking for?” Zoë wonders.      “The kid packed a satellite phone,” he says, giving up his search, recalling that the zipper of the backpack wasn’t entirely closed when he took it off earlier. “Shit, I must have dropped it outside.”

     Annoyed with the rookie mistake, Dean gets up and walks over to one of the windows. There he listens carefully, but he can’t detect any sign of the hounds. No growl, no nothing; it’s almost too quiet. Ready to pick up any sign of movement, the hunter scans the area outside, but there’s nothing living nor dead to be seen. Then he spots the black device in the snow, just a yard away from the cabin.      “I see it.”

     “So what? It’s not like you can go out there.” Zoë pushes herself up on the edge of the table, careful not to put any pressure on her injured leg. Leaning against the pillar, she follows Dean’s fixed gaze. Without hesitation, the either fearless or oblivious  hunter intends to go out, his hand already reaching for the iron latch.      “Dean! Are you fucking nuts?!” Zoë calls out, dazed. “And you call me suicidal?”      “We need that phone, Zo,” he reminds her, his hand still on the handle.      “Do you have altitude sickness or something?!” The wounded huntress steps forward, her leg almost buckling, but Dean’s fast reflexes prevent her from hitting the floor.      “What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be standing up,” he scolds, steadying her.      “What am I doing?! If you go out there, those motherfuckers will rip you to shreds!” she argues, smacking his hand away.      “Yeah, and if we don’t contact Sam, he will!” he reminds her as he hands the shotgun to his current hunting partner, his green eyes intense. “I haven’t seen them yet. If they are still focused on you, they might not attack me.”      She meets him with the same fire in her eyes, keeping a tight grip on his biceps before he does something stupid. “And what if they do?”      “You’ll back me up,” he says, trusting her. “Okay?”

     Zoë stares at him for a couple of seconds, but then sighs, realizing that he makes a good point. If they are not able to reach his brother before he gets here, he will sign his death warrant the second he sets foot on the mountain. Reluctantly, she lets go of his arm and takes the gun, holding the action release button before she pumps the slide to force the shells into the chambers. “Okay.”

     He nods and turns away from her, glancing at the black and white world outside. Nervously, he takes a breath, collecting himself before he steps into the wolves den; here goes nothing. 

     The latch unlocks and the door opens. Careful not to break the line of goofer dust, Dean steps onto the porch and looks back for a second, sharing one last look with the huntress, then descends down the stairs. 

     It’s eerie how quiet the forest is. At midnight, the trees stopped whispering in the wind and even now he could still hear a penny drop. Even through his boots, the snow feels cold as he walks on it, highly aware of the crunching sound with every footprint the hunter leaves. Dean isn’t anxious often. But right now, being as exposed as he is, it ambushes him. Alert, he bridges the few yards between himself and the phone, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He ducks to pick it up, when he hears it; a deep, low growl.

     “Oh, fuck,” Zoë whimpers, staring past the hunter wide-eyes. 

     Slowly, Dean looks up into a pair of red eyes which light up in the darkness of the woods. It approaches him like a predator sneaking up on his prey, its head hanging low between its shoulders, every motion calculated. While Dean stares straight into the hypnotizing fiery orbs that seem to be portals to the afterworld downstairs, the wind picks up and begins to circle around the cabin. Zoë is shocked when she notices that the goofer dust at her feet is blown off the threshold; there goes their last line of defense. A shiver of both fear and the cold has her trembling as she holds up the shotgun, peering over the double barrel. The beast in the shadow inches closer to Dean, until the moonlight falls on the creature, revealing its true form.

     “Hey - uh, Zo?” Dean asks without moving a muscle. “These hellhounds, do they look like bear-sized monster mutts with hellfire burning in their eyes?”      Zoë inhales sharply, lifting her cheek from the stock of her weapon. Shit. He can see it. He can see the fucking hellhound. Realizing that Dean is a split second away from being torn apart, she swallows apprehensively, steadying her rifle in order to fire. 

     The hunter’s hand hovers over the essential device in the snow as he tries to form a plan of action, but he’s captivated by the bone-chilling creature before him. He has never seen anything animal-like so evil as what is standing before the hunter. It’s an absolute monster, about the size of an Irish wolfhound. It looks like one too, but its dark fur is anything but soft and cuddly. The hair on the back of the creature stands straight up, like splinters of obsidian. The beast growls, fixed on its target, showing its razor-sharp teeth, blood dripping from its mouth. 

     Dean stares back, contemplating his next move. Frozen to the ground, he holds his breath, aware that any sudden movement will trigger Hell’s watchdog to charge him. The hunter sets his jaw, never breaking away from the definition of Death before him, until movement in the black shades surrounding him draws his attention. A second pair of eyes appears, then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds he can count a total of six hounds.

He exhales with a shudder. I am so fucked.

     Who is going to make the first move? Dean knows it has to be him, because if he gives the evil creatures only a fraction of a head’s start, he’s going to end up with a lot of stitches, and that’s only if he’s lucky. Bracing himself and gathering his courage, Dean  takes a breath and counts down. 3… 2… 1… 

     Lightning fast, he snatches the phone from the snow and dashes back for the cabin. As fast as his legs can take him, he sprints to safety, but he can hear the beast that was closest to him lunge itself at its victim.

     “Get down!!!”      It’s Zoë’s high-pitched voice that cuts through the night air. He takes her cue and dives for the ground, rolling on his side. A mistake, because the vision of the hellhound coming towards him with tremendous speed is one that will surely leave him with a nightmare or two if he survives this. 

     Right before the supernatural being is about to release its fury, the creature is shot out of the air and squeals like a pup. Knowing he can’t afford to lose a second, Dean gets on his feet and rushes towards the porch. He registers the comforting sound of a shotgun reloading before another loud bang echoes through the valley. Almost there, Dean.

     But instead of just one hellhound, a whole bunch of them arise from the shadows now. Zoë’s eyes widen; there’s no way she can handle them all. She lowers her rifle and backs out. She doesn’t have a choice, there is no other way. What she’s about to do isn’t like anything she tried before, but it’s their only shot of staying alive. 

     As Dean stumbles in, the shotgun clatters against the floor. He turns around to close the only barrier between them, horrified when he witnesses the first two creatures already within inches of the threshold; they’re not going to keep them out of the cabin. But before the hunter can blink, the door slams closed with unmeasurable speed and power without anyone touching it, cutting off the creatures outside. Barking like mad, they march against the wood like a battering ram, clawing to get inside. 

     Unable to process the unexpected scene that plays out in front of him, Dean snaps his head towards his hunting partner, watching in shock how the woman has her right hand heaved up in front of her, fingers spread out and shaking. Her eyes are firmly closed, respiration fast and frantic. Holy fucking shit, this is her doing, Dean realizes. Whatever energy she’s sending towards the door, works because the dogs can’t get through. 

     “Dean, the goofer dust!” she exclaims over the sound of barking and growling, needing every ounce of her power to keep the barrier closed.      Zoë’s order brings him back, time speeding up again. He grabs the bag and quickly lays out a line on the doorstep. As soon as he has connected one side of the doorframe with the other, the pressure on the door drops as if someone flipped a switch. Out of breath, Zoë lowers her hand and opens her eyes as an almost unbearable headache comes to the huntress. Trying to cast it out, she pinches the bridge of her nose while fresh blood drips down from her nostrils. For a moment, she feels like she is going to pass out, but then the pain begins to fade to a level she can cope with. Whoa, that was intense. 

     She didn’t think she could do it, but she did. Making a whiskey bottle fall off a shelf in Beetle’s Bar is one thing, talking to Sam only using her mind is another, but this was a whole new experience. Of course, she has practiced her telekinesis, but never before has she used it on a supernatural creature. She’s getting better, or worse - depending on how she looks at it. 

     Dean, who can’t believe what he just saw, stares at her, his jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. When Zoë glances aside, he knows she can see the indignation in his glare, detest even. He always assumed there was more to the huntress they crossed paths with only recently, but never once did he expect this. Who - or what - is standing before him, is anything but human.

     “Christo!” he shouts.      “I’m not a demon,” she assures.      “Then what the hell are you?” he asks, his upper lip twitching with a hint of hatred.       What. He asked her what she is. Not who, but what. Zoë swallows with difficulty as she collects the courage to speak again, hurt by his choice of words.      “I’m human,” she tries to assure him, her voice breaking. “Dean, it’s me.”

     She steps closer, but Dean quickly draws his Colt M1911 from behind his waistband. Alarmed and cautious, she moves both her hands up as a gesture of surrender. “Easy, tiger.”      “Leave her the fuck alone,” Dean sneers, convinced a demon is possessing his hunting partner.      “Would you drop it already?! You just yelled ‘Christo’ at me. Here, I can say it myself! Now if I was a demon, that would be a fucking awesome trick, wouldn’t it?” she fires back.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, starting to doubt himself, yet unable to take his finger off the trigger.

     “It’s all mighty fine that I’m staring down the barrel, but a bullet won’t kill a demon. It will kill me, though,” she brings to mind, pointing at her chest.      “A human is not supposed to be able to do that kind of freaky shit!” Dean exclaims firmly, still aiming the .45 caliber at her.      “Neither is Sam, but I don’t see you pointing a gun at him!” she returns.

     He swallows apprehensively, brought out of balance by her rapid reply. He hates to admit it, but it’s a valid comparison, one that scares him. Because if he’s able to keep Zoë at gunpoint, what does that say about how abnormal his brother’s abilities are?      “Do you want to soak me in holy water if that makes you feel better? Fine, be my guest,” Zoë offers, waving her hands to the side.

     But Dean already lowers his Colt M1911 and flips the safety on, the engravings in the metal catching the light from the fire as he tucks it behind his waistband again. The hunter looks away, aghast, the mixture of doubt and distress that he’s experiencing throwing him off. Unsettled, he peers outside, but the hellhounds have disappeared. He thought he understood Zoë’s fear for these things, but now that he actually can see them, he’s experiencing that same anxiety. His heart is racing so severely he can feel it beating in his chest, and his breathing does not seem to slow down either. Almost dying is something he has gotten used to over the years, but almost going to Hell is a new one.

     “You okay?” Zoë checks, noticing his weariness.      “Yeah, I’m okay,” he claims, annoyed by the fact that he isn’t.      He starts pacing through the cabin slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the door. But it’s not just the creatures he keeps an eye on, he can’t help but monitor Zoë too. He huffs almost unnoticeable. You fucking idiot, you thought you had her figured. There’s a whole lot more to Zoë Sullivan than she shows, that’s for sure.

     “It’s a good thing we’ll be stuck up here for a while, because it’s about damn time you start talking,” he makes clear, done playing catch-up.      The woman across from him wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand before she suggests otherwise. “We better make that call first.”

     Dean knows she’s avoiding the subject, but she has a point; he needs to reach out to his brother. He picks up the satellite phone and inserts the country code and Sam’s cell number, but before he presses the green button, he hesitates. He knows Sam. He knows his stubborn pain in the ass little brother; there is no way he is gonna talk to him after their fight. As soon as he will hear Dean’s voice, he will hang up, yet the one person he has been wanting to talk for days, is sitting right across from him.      He hands Zoë the phone. “You call him.”

Thank  you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if  you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work  or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part eight here

[monsterfuneral]

1950 / The Rebellion

Headcanon Series: Paul’s Life Through The Decades

Warnings: Angst, Paul is angry the whole time, brief description of murder, Dwayne being a sweetheart like always, brief mention of parental abuse, mentions of trauma responses 

Words: 748

Author’s Note: This one is a little shorter but I 100% make up for it it in next one! Anyway I hope you guys enjoy these headcanons! 

Questions regarding any of these headcanon posts are greatly welcomed! If you have your own headcanons or questions regarding mine, I would love to hear them! See you guys in the next part!

Series Masterlist

---

- The 50s was Paul’s ‘rebel teen vampire’ phase, it’s also the decade Paul remembers the least of. This was when he spitefully told David “You made me into this monster, now you’ll have to deal with it.” and started murdering people at random and leaving them for Max or David to clean up. He would tear his victims to shreds until they were unrecognizable, shredded and ripped apart in pools of wasted blood. The amount of missing person’s cases that were starting to get out of hand, and the police were getting far too suspicious. It got so bad at some points David literally had to lock him up in a reinforced freezer for three weeks so they could move locations again.

- This vicious side of Paul was a force to be reckoned with, plowing through groups of humans until the only things left were shreds of clothes and meat hanging from wet bones. There was no more guilt, no more shame, all Paul felt was a numb void that was only sated when he ripped through his helpless victims. It was an addicting feeling and once he got started it was hard for him to stop. Not unless David literally tore him from the bodies and put him into a both literal and metaphorical time-out.

- When they met Dwayne, a kind hearted bartender, Paul didn’t even spare him a glance. He saw how David eyed the almost innocent looking man, and knew exactly what David was up to and he didn’t want any part in his twisted mind games. All he wanted was someone to sink his teeth into. He was almost tempted to make Dwayne his next meal but he didn’t want to deal with the drama. So instead he found a group of young girls at a lake and scattered their limbs in the water, leaving them for his vampire companions to fish out. 

- So it was safe to say Paul wanted to make David and Max’s undead lives a living hell, and he did. 

- Paul paid absolutely no mind to Dwayne or David, in fact he had avoided them as much as he could, not wanting any old memories to resurface and ruin his streak of hatred. So when Dwayne eventually joined their fucked up little family Paul had evaded any and all kind of interaction with the newest member. He was out of their safe house the second the sun went down as a way to keep his distance from the budding friendship. 

- This little petty “i’m not ever talking to you” went on for a solid five years. Until one night when Paul got particularly carried away with a whole bar of victims. He had trapped them inside, listening to their screams and begging as he came for them one by one, forcing them all to watch as he fed, then proceeded to burn the bar down. This was when an impromptu ‘family meeting/intervention’ was held. They told Paul how worried they were but also how much danger he was putting all of them in by being so reckless. He merely rolled his eyes and said "I don’t care, let the danger come.” Which is when they all realized something. Paul literally has a death wish. David knew he hated being a vampire but he didn’t exactly realize how much. Not until now. 

- This was when Dwayne started trying a little more to get to know Paul. He would tag along with him on feedings and would tell him when enough was enough. He was a key point to Paul regaining control over himself at the end of the decade. He would let Paul rant and rave about how much he despised David. He would be Paul’s shoulder to cry on when he would reveal something particularly emotional like the abuse he suffered as a child, or how his life was before he turned. Dwayne was a patient and compassionate person and he was willing to suffer the brunt of Paul’s foul moods if it meant getting through to him and helping him regain control over his spiraling life. 

But anytime he would suggest talking to David about some of Paul’s grievances, Dwayne would be met with a glare that could probably kill if it were possible. 

- By the time 1959 hit Paul’s kill count went down tremendously. His friendship with Dwayne was a nice, comforting thing, yet his relationship with David was still strained, but on the path of mending. 

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Marco’s Home for Lost Boys

GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3 - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 (Or on FF if that’s your thing)

Tagging:

@kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda

Chapter 11: Reckoning

Killian was staring out at the ocean for what felt like hours. He had become so distracted that he hadn’t even lifted the anchor. He feared sailing out to sea in his condition.

He stepped into the bowels of his ship, looking at all the crates that Neal had him storing in his hold and his anger began to rise again. This needed to stop.

He took the photo out of his jacket and his resolve grew. He wasn’t going to let Neal get to Emma. He didn’t care if that meant everyone hated him or that he had to grovel with Graham in order to expose Gold’s secrets.

His entire life he had protected Emma and he wasn’t going to stop now just because he was ashamed of who he had become.

He ran down the plank and made the walk across the parking lot to the police station.

“I’m here to see Sheriff Graham.”

“One moment, let me see if he’s available.”

He nodded and took a seat next to the window. He hated the police station. Just sitting here made him feel like he was already guilty.

He was.

“I must say, I didn’t think you would show.” He looked up to see Graham’s smug face staring at him with apprehension.

“That makes two of us.”

“Let’s talk.” He sighed in annoyance and walked to the back of the station; Killian reluctantly followed him.

Of course, Graham would put him in one of the interrogation rooms. He knew that the man wanted to give the appearance of having the upper hand over him.

“Have a seat.” He gestured for him to sit in the chair.

“I’ll stand.”

“Of course, you will.” He says with annoyance. “So, Emma says you wanted to share some information.”

“Perhaps.”

“Either you do, or you don’t. I’m a busy man so don’t waste my time.”

Killian looked around the station. No one else was there except the man at the front desk. Raising his eyebrow, he chuckled. “Yes, things look so out of hand here.”

“Look, I’m only doing this because Emma asked me to. It’s no secret I don’t exactly like you.”

“Well, the feelings mutual then, Mate.” He plops down in the chair.

“Do you have information or not?”

“I happen to have lots of information, so really it just depends on what kind information it is you are interested in.”

“Gold. Stick to the damn information about Gold. What’s your job?”

“You are already aware that I play pirate on the Jolly Roger.”

He slams his hand on the table. “For Gold. What do you do for Gold?!”

Killian sighed. “Fine. You know, just for the record, I had no idea what he did when he hired me. I didn’t go looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, but it always finds you doesn’t it, Jones.”

“I suppose that’s a fair assessment.” He conceded.

“So, when did you realize it wasn’t on the up and up?”

“After a month I suppose. I was curious about what was in the envelopes I was gathering for Gold.”

“Cash?”

“Aye. A shit lot of it.”

“So, what was the money for?”

“At the time I wasn’t sure. I only picked up the envelopes. I didn’t ask questions. People who ask questions don’t usually show up for their next job.”

He growled, his annoyance obviously hitting his max. “Do you know anything? Because so far, you sure seem to know nothing.”

“Do you want my fucking help or…”

Suddenly the entire police station shook. They both looked at each other. “What the hell was that?”

“Sir, there was an explosion at the dock.” The man from the front desk stuck his head into the room.

Killian got up and followed Graham to the front of the station and that’s when he saw it.

Emma’s yellow bug idling next to his motorcycle.

He shoved Graham out of the way and ran toward the docks. Her car was still running with the door wide open. He looked down toward the pier. From what he could see, the spot his ship used to be sitting had been completely destroyed, fire was burning on the wreckage of what was left of her that was still floating.

He stopped thinking. His feet were numb.

“Emma.” He screamed as he pounded down the ramp to the bottom of the pier. “EMMA!”

No No No!

“Killian, isn’t that your ship?” Graham yelled from the top of the ramps to the docks.

He was looking around frantically. “Emma.” He yelled again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw red under a large piece of wreckage on the dock.

Emma’s jacket.

His feet carried him as fast as they could run and he dropped to his knees, ripping up pieces of broken wood and throwing them behind him.

Oh God, please be alright.

He yanked the last plank from her body and cradled her into his arms, protecting her head in the base of his hands.

“Emma, please.” He begged, peppering her hair with soft kisses.

“Oh my God, is that Emma?” Graham ran up behind him, “I’ll call an ambulance.” He opened his cell phone and dialed. “What the hell happened here?”

Killian shook his head. His ship was gone, Emma was hurt. He had no idea what happened.

Why was she on the docks?

He rocked her back and forth in his arms. “Please wake up, Love. Please, I can’t do this without you.”

Her pulse was weak. Her hair was covered in soot. She had scrapes on her face and her hands. There was blood on her shirt. He had searched beneath the clothing trying to find the source. As far as he could see it was small cuts here and there. His biggest concern was the gash in the base of her skull. She must have hit her head during the blast.

If not for the destruction around them, he would have thought she was merely sleeping. She was peaceful curled around him, cradled against his chest.

He would give anything to go back to that night where she slept in his bed. He remembered her looking angelic in the hours he stayed up watching her toss in her sleep. If only he could go back and wake her with a kiss and tell her he never wanted her to leave.

“Killian, you have to let go of her.” He felt someone pulling on his arm. “Jones. They need to take her.” He looked up to see Graham staring at him. It was only then that he noticed the paramedics trying to assist Emma. “She won’t wake up.” He mumbled.

“It’s ok, we’ve got her. But we need you to let go.”

He nodded and released her to the man in uniform. He fell back against the crate and watched them put her onto the stretcher. He couldn’t feel anything. He stared blankly ahead.

Suddenly strong hands were pulling him to his feet. “Come on Jones, I’ll drive. David is going to meet us at the hospital.”

He stumbled forward and followed Graham to his cruiser, barely registering the fact that his soot covered cheeks were soaked with tears that continued to fall.

~

An hour later, Killian was sitting next to Emma’s bed, lazily rubbing circles on Emma’s hand. The constant beeps that annoyed him when they first arrived in the room were now serving as a sort of reassurance. She still hadn’t woken up but as long as those beeps continued, he convinced himself that she was going to be alright.

“I’m going to make some calls and see if they have found out anything about the explosion.”

Killian glanced toward Graham who stood from his chair against the wall and walked out of the room. He realized he didn’t even know the man had been in the room.

“I know you’re in there, Emma.” He whispered against her ear. “I wish I knew why you were on the pier or what happened down there. You gotta wake up and talk to me.”

He let his lips lightly graze hers, a tear sliding onto his cheek. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”

He let his forehead rest against hers. “I love you. Please wake up.”

Beep…Beep…Beep

“I came as soon as I could, what the hell happened?” David burst through the door and rushed to Emma’s other side.

Killian stood up quickly. “I don’t know. I was talking to Graham when we heard an explosion on the docks. I found her down there.” His voice was shaky.

“Yeah, that’s the story Graham told me, I was hoping you would know why the hell your ship exploded and why Emma was next to it when it did.” He eyed him for a moment. “And why were you talking to Graham anyway?”

Killian swallowed, trying to stay calm. “We have much to talk about, but right now is not the time. I can’t answer what she was doing there or what happened to my ship. I fear I have just as much information as you do.”

Beep…Beep…Beep

David looked down at Emma. “Have the doctors said anything?”

He shook his head sadly. “Nothing, just that they expect her to wake up at some point. She hit her head pretty hard. I suspect it was the railing based on where I found her.”

“I got ahold of Robin and Will earlier. They should be on their way.”

“Ah thanks, I guess I haven’t been in the right frame of mind.”

“It’s understandable, I’m just glad you were here for Emma.”

“Aye.”

The entire room erupted in noise as Will and Robin sprang into the room.

“Where is she? Is she alright?”

There were many questions and expressions of concern and worry and yet Emma remained stoically quiet, her eyes still closed.

Beep…Beep…Beep

~

“You have no idea what you mean to me. I love you. Please wake up.”

Emma felt like someone was playing the drums in her ears. Each loud thump caused her head to hurt more.

Beep…Beep…Beep

She tried to remember why her head hurt.

She was talking to Neal. He was being a jerk.

That was no surprise.

She slapped him. She definitely remembered how good it felt to do that.

But then she had left Neal. She was driving somewhere.

Where was she going?

The ship. She was headed to Killian’s ship.

Why was she looking for Killian?

And then she remembered. She was on the docks. There was an Explosion. Killian’s ship exploded in front of her. She didn’t get to him in time.

She lost Killian.

She felt the tears welling inside of her and she wanted to scream in sadness. Nothing was coming out of her mouth.

Why couldn’t she scream?

She heard a groan. It was coming from her. She needed to open her eyes. She blinked; streams of light brought on intense pain. She squeezed them closed again.

“Killian.” She felt like she had eaten an entire bag of cotton balls as she tried to use her vocal cords.

Her eyes blinked slowly again, lightness flooding her.

“Emma.”

She turned her head, her eyes fluttering, trying to focus on anything in the room.

And then she saw blue. He was there. He was alive.

“Are you real?” Her voice was hoarse and deep.

“Of course, I am Love.” He held her hand in his, her fingers pressed against his mouth as he peppered kisses to her knuckles.

“But you were…” She coughed and her throat hurt.

“Shh, don’t try and talk.”

“Sh..Ship.” She groaned. “Your ship. Explosion.”

“Yes, Emma my ship exploded. I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know why you were there.”

“Neal.” She swallowed hard, hoping to coat her throat with enough saliva so that she could speak easier.

“What about Neal, Love?”

She coughed and tried to sit up, but his hands kept her against her pillow. She needed to tell him before something else happened to him.

“Emma, you can’t get up.”

“No, Neal, he did this. The crates on your ship. He told me.”

“Wait, Neal told you what? When were you with Neal?”

“He said you were going to see your brother again. I went straight to the docks; he knew you were sailing, I tried to stop you. I saw the ship explode, I thought you were on it, I thought I lost you.” She was sobbing and shaking.

“Emma, please stop.” He was hugging her tightly. “You need to relax. I’m fine. I left the ship earlier to talk to Graham.”

She lay back on her pillow and pushed the tears out of her eyes. She looked up at Killian who was a million miles away in thought. She reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek and he blinked.

“I’m so sorry, he was trying to hurt me.” He whispered. “Either way, he succeeded because he hurt you.”

“I’m ok Killian.” She smiled.

“What about next time?” His voice raised to a yell and then quickly calmed.

She gulped.

“Get some sleep. There’s something I have to do.”

Emma tried to sit up again. “Killian, no, he’s not worth it.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry Love, I’m not going to see Neal. I’m doing this your way. I need to see Graham.”

~

A day of Reckoning was coming.

He shoved the door to the police station open, the small bell ringing over the door. It was past midnight, but he knew Graham was working the overnight shift. There was no one at the front desk at this hour so he pushed through the small door and headed to the back offices.

Graham stepped into his line of sight. “Jones, is everything alright? Is it Emma?” He seemed less hostile than he was earlier, yet there was something off about Graham. He seemed almost reserved toward Killian. Perhaps it was his concern for Emma.

He waved him off, “She’s alright. She woke up an hour ago.”

The tension in his shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thank God. So, what are you doing here?” He asked cautiously.

Killian squared his shoulders. “I’ll help you take down the Gold Empire.” His jaw clenched. “On one condition.”

Graham shook his head. “I’m not a judge, Jones, I can’t promise that you won’t do jail time.”

“I don’t care what happens to me. And you can do whatever you want to Gold.”

“So, what’s your condition?”

“Neal Cassidy is mine.”

He laughed. “Ok Jones, maybe it’s time you and I have a real chat.”

~

It took hours to walk through everything with Graham. He couldn’t tell if the man was feeling vindicated for having a hunch that turned out to be correct or overwhelmed by the fact that the revelations were much worse than he imagined.

“So, what is he trading then? In the ships that move inventory every night?”

“Mostly drugs, but I’ve seen guns occasionally. Felix controls the docks. So, he keeps the inventory log.”

“How did we not catch this after all these years?”

“Well to be fair, he owns a lot of people in this town. It’s easy to cover something up when so many have their hands in it and are making money off it.”

“And Neal seems to be taking on a bigger role?”

He shrugs, “Neal has become a bigger dick if that’s what you mean, but I fear that has more to do with Emma. However, the older he gets the more Gold entrusts him with.”

“Did Emma know that Neal was involved in this the whole time?”

He paused. “That’s not my story to tell. What I will say is that Emma is a smart girl, and she knew enough to remain away from him.”

“So why didn’t you get out? Why keep working for Gold.”

“I had my reasons. None of them will matter to you. I tried to get out. The ship was part of that plan. But things did not work out the way I had hoped.”

“This have anything to do with Milah and how suddenly I don’t see the two of you meeting up at the park at 9pm anymore.”

Killian’s brow raised. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Sorry, but I am a cop, I’ve had you on my radar for a while. I stopped following you when I realized the intent of the meeting had nothing to do with business or Gold.”

“Oh, how I wish that was true.” He said sadly.

Graham seemed surprised. “Milah works for Gold?”

Killian stared at his hands resting on the table in front of him. “Yes.” He said softly.

“I always thought the two of you were thick as thieves back in high school, even when you tried to hide it. I guess you could say I was partly right.”

Bastard.

“My relationship with Milah is not part of this discussion. I will tell you however that she is with Gold in more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say their relationship is both professional and carnal.”

Graham’s face scrunched in disgust. “Ewww.”

Killian chuckled. “Not quite the reaction I had when I found out.”

Graham continued taking notes in his book and then paused and looked up at him. “We’re going to have to bring David in on this.”

Killian tensed. “I feared that would be the case.”

“I can give you til tomorrow evening to tell him yourself, but after that I’m afraid it’s going to come from me.”

“Thank you, Mate, I appreciate that.”

He looked like he was contemplating his next thought before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing for the last 3 hours.” He chuckled.

“Why are you coming in now?”

Killian met his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocked and found the photo he had been debating on providing and tossed it on the table.

Graham took it apprehensively and then his eyes widened.

“What the hell is this, Jones?”

“I found it on my ship. Before it went Kaboom.” He shrugged.

“And you’re just giving the damn thing to me now?”

A man walked in the room and looked between Graham and Killian before speaking. “Boss I need to speak to you.” He looked at Killian and then continued in a whisper. “In private.”

Graham walked out of the room closing the door behind him leaving Killian with his anxious thoughts of how he was going to tell David everything that was going on and the decisions he had made.

He was never going to hear the end of the lecture once he had the full story. David had the purest heart of anyone he had known and behaving in any way that was less than honorary was a huge disappointment to him.

The door opened and Graham was holding a folder in his hand. “I need you to look at something.”

Killian sat up in his chair as the folder was tossed across the table to him.

“Do you recognize this man?”

He flipped open the manila paper and stared at the photo of a mangled and bleeding man.

He turned the photo over to face right side up and his eyes went wide. “That’s Felix.”

“Well, it was Felix.” Graham corrected. “They just found him in the wreckage on the docks.”

~

“Would you stop fussing, I’m fine.”

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” Will yanks her pillow and pushes it around her back.

“I can still smack the shit out of you! Stop doing that!” She reaches out and smacks his arm away from her bed sheets.

“Bloody hell. That hurt!”

“Will, would you just go out on your date with Belle, please?”

“Oh, I’m gonna cancel with Belle. I want to make sure you are taken care of now that you’re home.”

“That’s not going to happen unless you leave.” She groaned loudly as he continued to fuss back and forth in her room.

“I swear if the two of you don’t stop fighting, I’m going to ground you both.”

They both look up to see David leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and a look of amusement on his face.

“Please tell him I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”

David laughed. “Will, it’s good. Go. I’m not leaving for a few hours and Killian just got home.”

Emma felt a flutter in her heart at the mention that Killian was there. She hadn’t seen him since he left the hospital last night. He did not return when she was released from the hospital either. She needed to know what happened with Graham.

If she was being honest, she just needed to see his face. She longed to feel his touch again. She was so relieved to know he was alive. That she hadn’t lost him.

“See, I have enough babysitters. Go on your date. You waited 21 years for Belle, please don’t waste another day.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Fine, but you’re a right pain in the arse, you know, that right?”

She winked at him. “Only for you dear.”

“You alright, Emma? Need anything?”

“I’m good David, I’m just need some rest.”

“Take all the time you need.” David switched off her light and pulled the door partially closed behind him.

~

Emma woke with a start in a darkened room, voices being raised somewhere in the house.

She sat up, wincing at the stabbing pain she felt from head to toe.

“What in the hell were you thinking?”

“Not everyone can be you, mate!”

Emma grasped the door and used the structure to keep her standing upright then took a small step into the hallway.

“All these years you’ve been lying to us!”

“I’m trying to make things right.”

“It’s a little late for that don’t you think?”

Emma followed the sound of the raised voices and turned the corner to see David and Killian locked in a shouting match in the living room.

“I get it, you’re disappointed, but I’m trying to do the right thing here.” Killian yelled.

“You almost got Emma killed!” Killian flinched and David took a step toward him. “This is your fault.”

“Stop shouting at each other.”

Both men’s eyes snapped toward her. David moved quickly to her side.

“Emma why are you out of bed. Sit down.” He grabbed her by the arm and Emma yanked it away from him.

“I can take care of my damn self.” She looked up to see Killian masking a slight grin.

David sighed. “Let me get you back to bed. Killian and I were just talking about something.”

“It sounded more to me like you were blaming him for my being hurt, and that is really unfair of you David.”

“Emma, you don’t understand what is going on here.”

“If you’re talking about Gold, I already know.”

David’s mouth parted and he looked between her and Killian.

“Emma.” Killian finally spoke.

“No, you will not protect me either.” She turned back to David. “He’s trying to do the right thing, David.”

“How could you know about this and not tell me?” He argued.

“It was not my secret to tell, David.”

“This is different.” He scowled.

“Marco always told us that it didn’t matter what wrong we had done in our past as long as we allowed the future to lead us to the right path.”

David’s head dropped. “Emma, this is serious. What he’s doing with Gold could have gotten you killed.”

“Neal caused this. Not Killian. Neal. I was the one involved with Neal. That’s on me.” She yelled.

“His ship exploded!” He shouted.

“And thank God he wasn’t on it. Did you think about that? Did you think about the fact that maybe Killian could be dead right now? Because I do. I watched that ship explode in front of my eyes and I thought he was on it. So, I think I’ll take a few scratches over the alternative.”

Her eyes met Killian’s across the room, and he lowered his head sadly, his eyes glossed over.

“So, what the hell do you want me to do now?” David sighed. “All is just forgiven?”

“No, I get that you are upset and I’m not telling you that we just let it go. But right now, we need to help Killian make this right. Because ridding this town of Gold isn’t going to be easy. Hell, just a few months ago you thought all this was a conspiracy that Graham made up in his head. It’s been going down right in front of your face for years, David.”

“And that makes it ok, because I didn’t see it?”

“No, but we’re family. And that means we stand by each other.”

“Thank you, Swan.” Killian said weakly. “David, I want to fix this. Things are getting out of hand.”

David laughed. “You’re telling me!”

“People are getting hurt, killed. They found one of Gold’s men on the pier when they were cleaning up the wreckage. Things are escalating, David.”

David hung his head and sighed loudly. “Ok. Let’s just deal with the problem at hand first, then we will all sit down, as a family, and work through this.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, Mate.”

There was a loud knock on the door and David and Killian exchanged glances.

David walked to the door with his hand on his hip, cautiously touching the pistol that was attached there.

He opened the door slightly before standing down. “Hey Graham, what’s going on?”

Graham stepped into the house with a serious look on his face.

“I fear I’m not here for a social visit.” He frowned and then stepped toward Killian.

“What’s happened?” Killian asked.

“Jones, I’m afraid I need to take you in to the station, I have an arrest warrant.”

Emma stepped forward between the two men. “What the hell for?”

“Emma please, we can talk about this at the station.” Graham pulled his handcuffs off his belt as Emma stared in horror.

“Mate, can you at least tell me what I’m being arrested for?”

“Killian Jones, you are under arrest for the murder of Felix Hernandez.”

Notes:

Not sure how many chapters are left. I had originally planned to go to 15 but I just wrote what I thought was going to be Chapter 13 and only used the first 3 notes from my plan so this might go a bit past 15 but not too many past :) Thanks again for sticking around.

[princess-josie-riki]

Misc - A Little Piece of Heaven

A crossover collage involving Shantae, Mixels and Dragon Quest with Techmo (Ammo Baron x Techno Baron), StoneSquid (Krader x Stretchabelle) and Booga x Boodica. Before the story begins, is it such a sin, For me to take what's mine, until the end of time We were more than friends, before the story ends, And I will take what's mine, create what God would never design Our love had been so strong for far too long, I was weak with fear that something would go wrong, Before the possibilities came true, I took all possibility from you Almost laughed myself to tears, (Ha hahahahaha) Conjuring her deepest fears (Come here you fucking bitch) Must have stabbed her fifty fucking times, I can't believe it, Ripped her heart out right before her eyes, Eyes over easy, eat it, eat it, eat it She was never this good in bed even when she was sleeping Now she's just so perfect I've never been quite so fucking deep in It goes on and on and on, I can keep you looking young and preserved forever, With a fountain spray on your youth whenever 'Cause I really always knew that my little crime Would be cold that's why I got a heater for your thighs And I know, I know it's not your time But bye, bye And a word to the wise when the fire dies You think it's over but it's just begun But baby don't cry You had my heart, at least for the most part 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, We fell apart, let's make a new start 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, yeah yeah But baby don't cry Now possibilities I'd never considered, Are occurring the likes of which I'd never heard, Now an angry soul comes back from beyond the grave, To repossess a body with which I'd misbehaved Smiling right from ear to ear Almost laughed herself to tears Must have stabbed him fifty fucking times I can't believe it Ripped his heart out right before his eyes Eyes over easy, eat it, eat it, eat it (Eat the shit out of it) Now that it's done I realize the error of my ways I must venture back to apologize from somewhere far beyond the grave I gotta make up for what I've done 'Cause I was all up in a piece of heaven While you burned in hell, no peace forever 'Cause I really always knew that my little crime Would be cold that's why I got a heater for your thighs And I know, I know it's not your time But bye, bye And a word to the wise when the fire dies You think it's over but it's just begun But baby don't cry You had my heart, at least for the most part 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, We fell apart, let's make a new start 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, yeah yeah My baby don't cry I will suffer for so long (What will you do, not long enough) To make it up to you (I pray to God that you do) I'll do whatever you want me to do (Well then I'll grant you one chance) And if it's not enough (If it's not enough, If it's not enough) If it's not enough (Not enough) Try again (Try again) And again (And again) Over and over again We're coming back, coming back We'll live forever, live forever Let's have a wedding, have a wedding Let's start the killing, start the killing (You fucking bitch) "Do you take this man in death for the rest of your unnatural life?" "Yes, I do" "Do you take this woman in death for the rest of your unnatural life?" "I do" "I now pronounce you..." 'Cause I really always knew that my little crime Would be cold that's why I got a heater for your thighs And I know, I know it's not your time But bye, bye And a word to the wise when the fire dies You think it's over but it's just begun But baby don't cry You had my heart, at least for the most part 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, We fell apart, let's make a new start, oh, 'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime, yeah yeah My baby don't cry ~ A Little Piece of Heaven (Avenged Sevenfold) I hope you like this crossover pic. Made with Pixlr E. Shantae (c) WayForward Technologies Mixels (c) John Fang, David P. Smtih, Lego and Cartoon Network Dragon Quest (c) Square Enix and Armor Project Song (c) Avenged Sevenfold Idea, concept and artwork (c) me

[adultswim2021]

Home Movies #43: “Everyone's Entitled To My Opinion” | November 11, 2003 - 3:00 AM | S04E01

Home Movies is BACK! Sort of! This was actually a stealth premiere, airing on Tuesday morning at 3:00AM. This is the one where Brendon starts getting really into writing reviews for a movie review website and actually winds up getting paid for it. He’s like Lights Camera Jackson with teeth (Did LCJ have teeth in 2003? probably not). Meanwhile, Mr. Lynch is the interim principal of the school for some reason, and McGurk uses this to be bad. And thaaaat’s the frea-kin’ plooooot!!! 

I think most fans remember Home Movies season 4 as the season where the show got a little soft. In my estimation that’s probably true; season 4 does have a larger share of forgettable episodes. Also my least favorite episode is from this season. It’s the only episode of Home Movies I truly dislike, actually. We’ll get to that one eventually. This episode was pretty wonderful, though you can sense the show focusing on being a little more scripted.

Two moments stick out: A scene beginning in science class starts off with the teacher saying “wow, I didn’t expect to spend the first 25 minutes of class answering a single question!” and it cuts to Brendon looking satisfied, holding a book titled “THE WORLD’S HARDEST QUESTIONS”, and a part where Mr. Lynch does monkey bars and all of his stuff falls out of his pockets and you hear him sighing and grunting. Both of these moments seem to have scripted out the actual action happening on screen, where earlier seasons might’ve just created a largely audio-driven story, leaving all that stuff up to the animators. But those two gags seem very written in a way that would make famous rapist John K. furious.

Now, that isn’t to say that they completely abandoned letting the animators be creative. The commentary reveals that the kids’ movie wasn’t written or recorded with the idea of it being a Sopranos homage in mind. That was the work of the animators. I don’t know, maybe it’s nitpicky or a more shallow observation than I’m making it out to be. Like the monkey bars gag struck me as a gag that would be put in by the animators as an afterthought but the fact that Mr. Lynch has dialogue to support it made me think it wasn’t. What’s the fucking difference, anyway? That they put more work into the script? Big deal. This is apparently an annoyance to the creators of the show, who’ve heard this criticism over and over, and maintain that the ratio of scripting/improvising has remained pretty consistent while the show was on Adult Swim. Nonetheless, I noticed a difference. And I have to talk about SOMETHING on this blog, don’t I?

This write-up deserves to end on a less critical note: the opening scene on this one is one of my favorites. It’s the one where Brendon and Melissa are just laying in the grass talking and there’s a reveal that they’re in the middle of a game. McGurk comes over to yell at them and then winds up sitting down himself to shoot the breeze with them. Real wonderful.

MAIL BAG

Here’s the mail bag. First message is about yesterday’s Brak Show recap (which was probably bad because I forgot to do my customary editing session before it went to press):

Before you tread any further with this project, I BEG you, please watch the documentary The Problem With Sexy New Brak Show Go. It will open your eyes AND make you think for once in your (*looking up an adult swim show*) Momma Named Me Sherrif-addled life

How dare you, I’ve never watched Momma Named Me Sherrif, and I’m disgusted that there was a spin-off of Mr. Pickles (RIP Jay Johnston, who I think was in that). As for the doc, if it’s half as good as The Problem With Apu, then it’s bad

2003 Scharpling voice is freaking me out!

I used to go through Best Show archives pretty regularly, but it’s been a while. Weird to think we’re coming up on the 20th anniversary of the first Best Show. I remember when ten years seemed extreme. Mortality is nasty.

Parts of Broodwich are inspired by Don Hertzfeldt. I thought a fan of classic animation would be pressed to point that out but you must be spending too much time thinking about "the twinkies" to mess that up.

I never made this connection, damn. To be honest the first time I saw Rejected I really didn’t care for it. I’ve seen more of his work and I appreciate it a lot more. I don’t know what I was so mad about. I think as a young adult I was still hyper sensitive about what I perceived to be bad “random” comedy, and almost anything that was a quick succession of little gags would always come off that way to me. Also, fuck you. I don’t care about Tiger and the Twinkies.

Would you eat a haunted hamburger provided it had your choice of toppings (nothing). Or would you be too chicken?

I am addicted to hamburgers and would probably eat it. My soul would burn in hell’s eternal flame. But what else is new

How much of the Adult Swim cast could John Wick and Bob Odenkirk kill before they were stopped? Would it be Space Ghost with his powerful rays? Would it be Frylock with his mindbending magic? Thundercleese? Oh! Do tell! We really want to know (rolleyes).

NOTE: I misread this as John Wick Bob Odenkirk, taking “John Wick” to be a descriptor for Bob’s Nobody persona. The following answer has not been changed, because I don’t want to think of a new one:

In Bob’s current state (recuperating like a bitch), I don’t think he’d get past even FREAKING MEATWAD, lol. But it’s my sincere hope that he’d last long enough to face off against the big boss: Icelandic Ultra Blue’s David Cross, finally putting an end to him once and for all. Hey everyone, it’s Bob vs. David!

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Can I request #14 under angst with David please? 🖤

Absolutely! 💕 I hope you like this

14. Can you shut up for once in your life?

---------

When you woke up the first thing you noticed was that you weren't in the cave. You weren't in the comfort of your own bed, laying on layers of pillows in the arms of your mate, both of you covered in a thick blanket. You couldn't smell the sea anymore, not could you hear the waves crashing against the rocks outside of the cave. You couldn't hear the wind brushing through the cave, moving the curtains just a little. No. You weren't at home. You were in a cold, damp place. A small beam of moonshine shone through a small window, but that was the only light around.

You tried to get up, wondering where the hell you were, when you heard a voice.

"Don't bother."

"David?" Why was he here? Why - you didn't know what you could ask him, all you knew was that even though waking up in this place scared you, you were glad he was here with you.

"Are you okay?"

"I- I guess. Where are we? Are you hurt? Did- did something happen to the cave? Are the others okay? Is-"

"Shut up."

"What?" You became quiet, not used to hearing the coldness in David's voice.

"I need you to be quiet, alright? Goddamn vampirehunters got to us. They think we're out cold but if you make to much noise they'll come here and kill us. Alright?"

You nodded, a cold wave of dread washing over you. David had gotten up, his hand brushing through your hair. "We're gonna be okay," he mumbled softly. You nodded, leaning your head against his leg. You'd moved, only a little, but it was enough for your pants to move. It was enough for the silver chain around your ankle to touch your bare skin. And it was enough for you to cry out in pain when it began to burn.

"Can you shut up for once in your life?"

David growled lowly, not having noticed what had happened to you. He'd covered your mouth with his hand, trying to keep you as quiet as possible. Only then he noticed the thick, red tears streaming down your cheek. Before you'd noticed it he'd ripped the chain apart, freeing you.

"Fuck," he whispered, holding you close, "I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to lash out." He tried to comfort you, but he knew that the way he had growled, Ightfield have scared you more than you wanted him to know. He was quiet for a moment.

"Give me the safety pin from your jacket," he told you softly, as he took out his earing. You did as he asked, your hands trembling as you handed it to him. It took him awhile, but eventually he managed to pop open the lock. He picked you up, holding you close, as he ran out.

The two of you were gone before any of the hunters even noticed it.

You were quiet the rest of the night, worrying David.

"You know I didn't mean it, right? I love listening to you, and hearing you, but in there I was terrified of losing you to them. They'd threatened to kill you the second you woke up. I was just trying to protect you."

"I know," you said quietly, hugging him tightly. It didn't take long before you fell asleep, holding on to him still.

[babbushka]

Two Doves (6/6)

Drafted into a war he didn’t want to fight, Flip Zimmerman comes home to a country that doesn’t want him. With your help, he works through it all.

Word Count: 7.8k ; Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, angst, with a healthy helping of comfort.

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

The sky splits into nothing but white bright heat, lightning which cracks through the air, a downpour crashing onto his helmet. It’s really not the best time for conversation, Flip thinks as he’s hiding behind trees, the machine gun in his hands racketing and rumbling and rattling around, spraying too many bullets too many rounds a minute.

It’s pouring rain, they’re waist deep in mud, they’re losing.

Fuck, they’re losing.

So when Eric wades over to him, when he presses his back against Flip’s own, he can’t help but be a little short, can’t help but be frustrated as he blinks the milky brown water of the jungle out of his eyes.  

“What’s that?” Eric asks, shouts, has to shout over the sound of the fray.

They can’t go anywhere, nowhere to hide. It’s daytime, at least it’s supposed to be daytime, but it’s too dark from the clouds, the green of the trees deepened to an almost-black, as it pours and pours and pours on their heads.

“What’s what?” Flip snaps back, trying his best to concentrate, trying his best to stay alive. He’s got the kid to his back to give him cover, and he’s thankful, even if he’s not in a chatty mood.

“Your necklace, what’s it mean?” Eric asks, and Flip couldn’t be frowning any deeper if he tried, but he tries anyway.

“Does everything have to fucking mean something?” Flip doesn’t have time for this, not right now.

Not when he can’t even fucking see where he’s shooting, an expert shot meaning nothing in the dark. A crack of lightning illuminates the world for just a minute, and in front of his eyes soldiers dance and bend and crack their spines in half as they trip and slip and choke on mud.

“It does!” Eric won’t let this go, and Flip wants to scream at him, but he knows that doesn’t help, that won’t solve anything. It’s not like they’re hiding anymore anyway, not like they need to keep stealthy anyway. They’ve been found yet again.

“Magen David, it’s like our symbol.” Flip’s hand doesn’t shake anymore, when he reloads the gun. He wants to be sick, wants to heave up his stomach except for the fact that there’s nothing in it yet, there’d be nothing to get out. He wants to claw everything, all of his insides out. Instead he reloads his gun and tries not to let the kick-back smack Eric in the back of the head as he shouts, “Jewish people, I mean.”

“You’re Jewish?” That catches Eric off-guard for whatever reason, and even though his friend never lets his finger off the trigger, Flip can feel the curiosity pressing through his shoulders.

“What, never met one before?” Flip grits his teeth and does let out a long shout of rage and adrenaline and pure blind terror, because an enemy got too close, too close to killing him, too close.

He shoots him down and when his blood sprays up onto Flip’s face, he prays the rain washes it away.

He knows it never will.

“I don’t know, I don’t pay too much attention.” Eric shrugs as best he can while he tries to give Flip the same courtesy of minding the kickback. It’s not easy, with his hand blown off, not easy to do anything.

Flip gets hit with the butt of Eric’s gun, but he feels like somehow he deserves it.

“Fair enough.” He says when the shooting has stopped for now, only for the moment.

He grabs Eric by the scruff of his neck, drags him through the mud to hide hide hide, to hide until they can run.

Eric ducks down, presses himself as deep into the mud as he can, still fucking talking because that’s all he knows what to do. If he doesn’t talk, he’ll scream.

“Is your wife Jewish too?” Eric whispers, asks so softly that the pouring rain nearly drowns him out.

“Ohh fuck yeah she is.” Flip breathes harshly, tries to catch his breath, his heart beating in his ears. But above the noise of the rain and the gunfire and the pulse slamming against his brain, he hears Eric chuckling, somehow despite it all. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, you just sound different when you talk about her, that’s all.” Eric says, and Flip doesn’t have the time to really sit and digest that, because he notices someone’s boot’s sloshing through the water.

“On your left – ” He warns, rolling the kid underneath his body, hoping and praying that he can play possum long enough for them to pass.

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

Flip reads the letter over and over again.

He can’t stop rubbing his thumb over the text, smearing the ink beyond any real recognition. He knows they’re words, he knows they say something, but the cold numb of fear has blinded him to their meaning. He feels like this can’t be English, because he can’t read it anymore. He feels like his eyes are full of mud.

 Mr. Zimmerman,

Eric spoke so highly of you in all his letters. I wanted to thank you for being there for him, for looking out for him. I know how war goes, I know not everyone has the time to look out for their friends. But you did. You cared for him when other men would have left him, and I am eternally grateful for that. He mentioned something about your wife’s tapes, about the comfort they brought him. I can’t imagine the compassion it must have taken for you to share them with him, but even up to the very end, they helped him, and I thank your wife for that too.

I hope you can understand and will come to this address for his funeral, for his memorial. It would mean a great deal to him, I know it would. It would mean a great deal to me, anyway. I’d like to meet you, to thank you both in person for making his time in that hell a little more bearable.

Philip, he loved you very much.

-Mrs. Costell.

He wants to rip it into a thousand pieces, wants to scream.

Maybe he does, maybe that’s it, the last straw. Maybe that’s it.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob, having fallen to your knees in front of him, having fallen to the floor, wrapping your arms around his legs, desperately clinging to him so he can’t go out and burn the world down to the ground.

He sinks down too, lays down on the floor. The room spins as he breathes too fast, too hard. There’s a ringing in his ear, and he digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, lets out a stuttering shout of agony that he doesn’t even feel, he just hears in his own head.

“I don’t – I won’t – I can’t believe it.” He can’t even speak, incoherent, blind sobbing. “He was supposed to go home, he was so fucking close to going home!”

Flip rolls over onto you, buries his face in your stomach, shoves his head up under your shirt. The world is too much right now, too painful. He can’t bare to look at it, to look at anything but you. He paws at your sides, collecting you in his arms as he hides away from the world, hides in your embrace.

“Was it his hand? Is that what did it?” You ask, trying trying trying to process it, trying and failing.

You didn’t even know the poor kid, not really, and you’re failing.

“I don’t know, I don’t – fuck, (Y/N), fuck!” He shouts into your stomach, nose fitting right into the divot of your belly-button as he curls around you.

You only clutch him to you, you wrap your arms around him and let him shake shake shake, sobs wracking through him.

“It should have been me,” He wails, an angry outburst that has him pushing his face up through the collar of your shirt, has him shoving his forehead against your neck, your throat. “It should have been me instead.”

He tries counting your pulse, tries to stop himself from wanting to throw up, tries to stop himself from wanting to break something. There’s that beast in his throat again, clawing angry tearing up his windpipe as he gasps, trying to gulp down air.

11…12…13…14…what comes after 14?

“Don’t say that.” You immediately stiffen up, carefully try to extract him from how he’s entangled himself in your shirt.

“No, no please.” He fights you on it, doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go of you, he’s desperate for your touch, you’re the only thing that’s worth any of this, you’re the only one he wants. He refuses to slide out from under your shirt, refuses.

“He was nineteen, ketsl!” He looks up at you, blurry and warped through the tears in his eyes as he bemoans and pleads to let him stay this close to you just for a while longer, feeling broken, shattered, “He was nineteen and had never even had a drink before. He was nineteen and they killed him.”

“Phil.” You say gently as you card your fingers through his hair, a steady stream of tears from your own shock and terror cascading down your cheeks. Your breathing is stuttered, and Flip shuffles down enough to press his lips to your sternum, tries to leech some of your pain away.

“I should have – ” He starts, but you shake your head.

“There was nothing you could have done honey.” You’re heartbroken, for the both of them yes, but mostly for Flip.

“There should have been!” He slams his fist down on the wood floor near you, the dull pain throbbing through his hand. “There should have been. I tried – kestl I tried so fucking hard to keep him safe, I tried so hard, and he died. He died anyway. They all die!”

He cries loudly for a while, consumes you entirely underneath his body. He’s just rubbing his face, smearing his tears against your skin. You let him, don’t make him try to leave, don’t make him try to move. You just let him cry, you let him press himself as close as possible, try to climb inside your ribs.

You’re terrified for him, you’ve never seen him like this – not even when his Zayde died, not even then. You hold him too tight, because it’s all you know what to do, all you know how to help.

 Eventually, the sobs subside.

 It’s light outside when they do, a whole evening spent choking and gasping.

The birds chirp outside when they do, the rest of the world waking up and going about its business.

You’re exhausted when they do, your knuckles are stiff and sore from fisting the soft flannel of his shirt so tightly for hours on end.

“What the fuck, what – what the fuck is the point? What’s the point of all this?” Flip whispers, too afraid to speak too loudly, in case he starts screaming again, in case he scares you again. He wants to pull out all his teeth and cut out his tongue, for scaring you the way he had. “We never should have gone, we never should have started this. How much longer – how many more kids are going to die for the selfish greed of politicians who don’t give a shit about us?”

He sighs, lets himself sigh, lets his shoulders sag. He’s exhausted too, crying taking too much out of him. His voice is rough and raw, and yours is no better when you say,

“I know.”

“He’s just a kid, it’s not fair.” Flip slides out from underneath your shirt finally.

He needs to comfort you now, needs to have you in his arms, needs to hold you close. He feels guilty, so fucking guilty, about everything, about losing it the way he had. You eagerly bury your face into his neck, kiss every square inch of him that you can with small reassuring smooches.

How the fuck were you not running for the hills, he wonders. How were you not packing up a bag to leave him right this very instant?

He’s so emotionally fried that he just starts to cry all over again at the mere thought of that, of you leaving him.

“I know.” You say, and it’s like you’re answering everything, all of it, all at once. He doesn’t know how you do it, he doesn’t know, how you’re so able to just be so understanding.

“It’s all my fucking fault I should have – ” he shakes his head, desperate for a cigarette, reaches around in his pockets for one, for something.

He’ll settle for a stubbed out butt in an ashtray at this point.

“No.” You sit up then, you cup his cheeks firmly in your hands, your perfect hands with your wedding ring and your polished nails, untouched by war even if touched by time. “No, it isn’t. None of this is your fault. None of it. I need you to know that Phil, I need you know it’s not your fault.”

You’re insistent when you look at him with reddened eyes.

“He was going to go home soon, to his ma. He was almost out of it, almost clear.” Flip’s voice is just barely above a whisper but it cracks anyway, “And now he’s gone. Fuck I can’t think – I don’t want to think about him dying like that, dying alone.”

“Maybe he didn’t.” You say, so so so soft, voice like a cooling balm on his raw wounded mind.

“Huh?” He frowns, wondering what you’re talking about.

“Maybe he didn’t die alone, maybe…” You shrug, tuck his hair behind his ears, a nervous habit of your own that you can’t stop doing, not now, not ever. “I don’t know. Maybe he was in the hospital in Aurora, maybe he made it back. Maybe he got to see his ma before he passed. We don’t know, Phil you don’t know.”

“It should have been me.” Flip says again, but you shake your head, your eyes grow sad and soft in a way that makes Flip want to kill something.

“It would have been the end of me, if it were you.” You admit, steadily and evenly and with so much conviction that Flip sits up, leans up against the wall.

“Ketsl.” He warns, not wanting to even – unable to even think about that, about a world where you don’t exist.

“I’m serious.” You stand your ground, you get it out, even though Flip can’t listen to it, doesn’t want to. “It would have been the end of me, that would have been it.”

“Don’t talk like that – ” He says, growing panicked.

“How am I supposed to talk? Am I supposed to say, yes I wish you were dead? Am I supposed to say I wish the letter was addressed me to instead? I can’t, Philip, and I won’t.” You’re angry, and shame burns through him almost as strongly as the pain does.

“(Y/N)…” He chokes out, but you have to say it, you have to.

“You know that that was my biggest fear? That was my nightmare every single night when I could manage a wink of sleep? A call on the phone, a knock at the door, a letter in the mail. Someone handing me a folded flag, with I’m so sorry and he’s gone. I woke up screaming, picturing your body and face so mangled that the only way they could identify you was through the dog tags – screamed myself hoarse.” You’re crying hard again now, and he scrambles to hold you tight, wonders if he’ll ever really be able to let you go again.

“I would wrap myself up in your clothes and wander the house and burn your cigarettes and stare at pictures of you and hope and fucking pray to a god I’m not so sure even exists, that you were okay. I’m selfish – I know I’m selfish. But I would go to temple and sit and pray and beg and plead that you’d come home to me because the thought of that folded flag kept me up at night.” You shouted, not at him, never at him.

You shout at the world, you thrust a pointed finger to the window, voice loud and raw and rough as you shout into his neck, as he crushes you to him, as he shakes all over at your outburst.

“And the worst part? People shunned me. People spit on the sidewalk where I walked, people keyed my car and threw rocks into the window because they thought I was happy with you leaving, they thought I wanted you to go and fight. But no one listens to the wives and mothers who kicked and screamed and burned the draft cards, no one listens to us when you all leave. I sat on my own in a corner of the room and I begged the heavens above to return you to me – I offered everything, would give anything to the stars if it meant you’d be home.”

You wriggle back enough, just barely enough, to wipe away your tears with your hands, and you shake your head, steely gazed, angry angry angry at the world.

“So I will not sit by and listen to you saying it should have been you. I will not sit by and let you take the blame for something that you had no control over.” You say, finish off your speech by saying that, before letting out such a deep and long breath that Flip gets anxious, wanting you to breathe in now. And you do, and when you do you’re calm again, calmer now that you’ve said all of that.

“Phil, you kept that boy alive so much longer than he ever would have, had he not met you.” You say now, a shuddering sigh sinking through your chest as you rest your head on his shoulder there on the floor, the sun rising up over the mountain. “You protected him when no one else did. You did more than enough.”

“I thought…” Flip tries, tries to keep his voice soft, quiet, tries not to have an outburst again. “I thought if I could do that, if I could just….”

“Breathe.” You encourage, the two of you taking in breaths together, heartbeats and lungs in sync.

And this is the hardest part, he thinks.

This is the part where he has to admit how fucked up he is, how evil he is. This is the part where you’ll realize he’s broken beaten and splintered to the bone.  

“I thought if I could keep him alive, if I could keep him safe, then it would at least make it all worth it.” He admits, finally has the courage to admit his selfishness. “Being there, doing all the awful shit I did. If I could just save one person, keep one innocent person from harm…then maybe I wasn’t such a monster.”

But then you do the miraculous. You don’t scold him, you don’t blame him, you don’t shame him.

You hug him.

“You’re not a monster.” You say, as the birds chirp outside and the sun rises and the mountains wake and the mail man makes his rounds and the breeze blows leaves all around. You hug him and you speak to him and there’s not an ounce of anger anymore in your voice, “You’re a kind man, who did the best he could in dark times.”

“I don’t feel very kind.” He says, tears clinging to his lashes.

“Kind men never do.” You pull back enough to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.

He doesn’t have the words to express how heavy the weight of that admission had been on his shoulders, how free he feels to have said it out loud. How lucky he is that despite it all, you’re still holding him in your arms on the floor.

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

They’ve got to catch up, to the rest of their squadron. They’re behind, Flip knows, that’s why they were in this shitshow to begin with. Flip wonders how many of them are left in the squadron to even meet up with.

They wade through the roads which had become rivers, water thick and murky, ominous. Flip can’t wait for the mountains, can’t wait for the dry air, can’t wait for the paved streets of home as he slings his gun over his shoulders, walking side by side with Eric through the jungle, towards a destination he doesn’t even know exists.

The rain has subsided to a light drizzle, no longer the tempest which raged only hours ago. Still, the world seems water-logged and he just knows that the minute he takes off his boots, his socks, he’ll see prunes in the place where his feet should be.

Eric smokes, and Flip smokes with him, a shared pack of Camels that the kid won in a game of poker, the red tips glowing in the grey-green filtered air.

“Where do you think we go?” Eric asks, shielding the cigarette so a droplet of rain doesn’t put it out, “When it’s all over.”

Flip’s hand is in his pocket, fiddling with the watch. He does this sometimes, runs his finger over the cool silver of it, clicks it open and closed, a nervous habit. Maybe he doesn’t feel nervous right now, he thinks, but his body still is, hands still are.

“You mean like, death?” He asks back, takes in a deep drag of the cigarette.

They’ve talked about a lot of things, over the past year and a half. They’ve talked about life and love, goals and dreams, history and future plans. But they’ve never once talked about death. Flip doesn’t like it, doesn’t really want to. He’s too afraid to jinx it all.

Like speaking the word out loud would catch the attention of the cosmos.

Flip doesn’t need any more attention.

“Yeah.” Eric says anyway, genuinely curious, curious in that way young eager kids are, “What’s the Jewish take on the afterlife?”

And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Flip thinks as he flicks his ash into the river of silt.

“I don’t know.” He admits honestly, feeling bad for not having more of a concrete answer to give this boy, this boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and a cross on his chest, who wants to know about the world before he goes. “We’re notorious for being vague about it.”

Eric chuckles then, a chuckle which turns into a cough that has Flip worried, nervous. He clicks the watch open and closed in his pocket, not wanting it to get wet from the rain.

“Well then, what’s the Zimmerman take on the afterlife?” Eric says through his hacking, giving Flip a smile with the camel stuck in that gap in between his teeth.

“You really gotta get your mind on something else.” Flip says, trying to be light-hearted, trying to steer him in a different direction, a more positive direction. He’s the least positive person in the world, he’s a hypocrite, Flip knows. But this kid still has too much optimism, he wants him to hold on to it as long as he can. “It’s no good, thinking about shit like that.”

“Aw I can’t help it, you know?” Eric shrugs, jostles the weapon he’s got over his shoulders with his good hand, “Every time I fire this gun I think about it.”

And Flip sighs, stops walking for a minute.

He turns his face up to the skies and closes his eyes against the cool clear rain. It’s not cold, not really. He doesn’t think anything here could ever get cold, not the way it does back home. But his eyes are sore from the gunpowder and smoke, are sore from being so exhausted.

So he turns his face up and sighs again, lets the rain fizz out the rest of his cigarette, and for a moment, just for a moment, pictures your face.

“I know.” He says, when he’s calm again, when the thought of you smiling at him has settled the churning in his stomach at this reality, “Me too.”

“So?” Eric asks softly, watching him with careful eyes.

“I don’t know.” Flip responds with a sheepish shrug.

He doesn’t have room in his head to think of anything other than surviving long enough to get back to you, and staying with you once he has.

“Guess the Zimmermans are notoriously vague about it too.” Eric cracks a grin, kicks up a small splash of the thick water that has Flip shaking his head fondly despite it all.

“I just…” He shrugs, cracks his neck, his wrists, his back, tries to find the words that he doesn’t have, “I don’t think there’s anything out there, after all this. We have what we have and then when it’s done, it’s over. It’s not optimistic, so I don’t like thinking about it.”

Eric’s quiet about that for a while, and Flip tries not to feel guilty.

He does, he still does.

He thinks he always will.

He’s not so sure what he thinks anymore.

“Do you think there’s a God?” Eric tries with this one, and at least Flip can give a definitive answer.

“No. But my wife would always say, if there’s a God, and if there is something after all of this,” He sighs, turns to the skies once again, “He’ll have to beg for our forgiveness.”

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

You’re dressed in black, from head to toe. The sight makes him nervous, makes his brain trip up about all the ways this could have gone, how it could have been his funeral you’re so pretty for.

You’ve got your star around your neck, hair combed back and neat, and you’re fiddling with the band of your wedding ring as Flip drives the truck an hour away from the safe warm home you’ve built, out into Aurora. He doesn’t ask for directions, says he knows where he’s going, but he doesn’t.

When he pulls into a gas station and goes inside with you to pay for a stick of gum and a coke, he tries not to make a scene of it when you ask.

You don’t let go of his hand, not once the entire drive over, not once. He’s grateful it’s an automatic, the truck, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to let you let him go to shift the gears if he had to.

He doesn’t know when the last time was that he was in a church. He feels almost like an outsider, with the statues and paintings and glass stained faces all staring down at him, like they know, they know he’s not one of them. You hold his hand and stand beside him as he squares his shoulders and does his best, tries to pick out who might be Eric’s ma.

She finds you before you find her, if the tap of her finger on his shoulder is anything to go by.

“Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman?” She asks, voice hushed in the pews.

Flip is silent, stunned, because he looked so much like his ma that he could almost cry again, looking at the face of his fallen friend. Thankfully, you don’t push him, don’t do anything other than offer this tiny woman a hug, somehow reassuring everyone, setting everyone at ease wherever you went.

“Mrs. Costell, I’m so sorry for your loss.” You offer your condolences, eyes wet and sad, brows pinched in.

“He’s…” She steels herself, takes in a deep breath as she gestures to a casket that’s open near the front of the room. “He’s over there, if you’d like to see him. Say goodbye.”

This shocks Flip, makes his heart beat faster.

“He made it home?” You ask, clutching Flip’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Yes, they emergency rushed his departure in the middle of the night, they knew he was dying.” Mrs. Costell doesn’t seem so sad, she must have known he was dying too.

“From his hand?” Flip asks, has to ask, throat still sore from all his shouting the night before.

“No, the cancer.” She shakes her head, making you both freeze.

“What?” Flip asks, blinking, thinking, trying to see, trying to…he doesn’t know.

“Did Eric not tell you?” Mrs. Costell asks, eyes gone wide with how such a secret could have been kept, kept for a year and a half, no less. “They only gave him a year, he decided to spend it fighting for something he believed in. I think he regretted his decision as soon as he made it, but. Kids do stupid things when they’re young.”

She smiles sadly in the direction of the casket, and Flip…Flip can only stare in disbelief.

“He was very brave, from what Phil tells me. Very brave. You should be proud of him.” He can hear your voice in the back of his head, as the world fades away.

The three of you walk up to it, and there he is, sleeping peacefully. He looks too thin, gaunt, and Flip wonders why he never asked, wonders why he never pressed the issue, made him eat more when he saw him getting thin. Bile burns in the back of his throat, but somehow, somehow seeing his face, knowing he’s here with his family instead of in a bank of soot and mud, there isn’t that gnawing clawing terror anymore.

“I am.” Mrs. Costell whispers, daring to place a gentle hand on Flip’s shoulder, a reassuring squeeze as if it’s not her son who lays before him when she says, “Mr. Zimmerman, he spoke very highly of you.”

“He was a good friend to have, ma’am.” Flip takes her hand, gives yours and hers a squeeze as he looks at Eric’s face, wonders if he’s somewhere among the stars. “I only wish I knew, I would have done more for him.”

“There wasn’t anything any of us could have done, once Eric sets his mind to something, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Costell says with a smile, before turning her head to the priest who gives her nod. “I believe they’re about to start.”

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

By the time they make it back to the meet-up point, the rain has stopped. They’re met with a thousand questions, the usual who what when why and how of battle. Flip and Eric answer the best they can, and then they follow their orders to clean up and get better dressed.

It’s almost time for Flip to leave, to go back home. For real this time, he’ll be getting on a helicopter which will take him to a plane which will take him to a bus which will take him to you.

For the first time in a long time, Flip looks in the mirror. He hadn’t been able to really see anything for a good couple weeks, not since Eric got his hand blown off.

He’s standing in a small building in a pretty well populated base, and the sun is out and he has no idea who the fuck is looking back at him when he glances into the mirror. His hair is long but all one length, not the usual layers he wears. His face tired and his skin is a frustrating combination of too dry and too oily, like all the moisture leeched out of his skin and sat on top of his face. His facial hair is unruly, wiry and patchy and all over the place.

Thankfully in this bathroom in this building in this base, there’s a standard issue razor completely unlike the one you use on him at home, and within the first two minutes he’s nicked his face, bright red drops plopping onto hard white porcelain.

“Fucking – ” He hisses, reaching for a piece of tissue or something to press into the cut on his cheek, “Shit.”

The door opens then, and in comes Eric, freshly buzzed hair down to his scalp. His ears stick out, not anything crazy like Flip’s did, but enough that Flip thought he was brave for doing it. It’s worrisome, just a little bit though, the way his skull seems to be so present, his bone structure too prominent. He’s been losing weight, too much weight, Flip’s noticed, even though he’s been eating just as much as Flip has.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, cupping some water in his good hand from the sink and dousing it over his head, washing away the little bits and clippings of hair that inevitably cling to the back of one’s neck.

“Cut myself shaving.” Flip mutters, willing himself to just get this over with.

It’s harder with Eric here, he doesn’t want the kid to think he’s incapable, an imbecile.

“You look like you’ve never picked up a razor before.” Eric laughs anyway, making Flip roll his eyes.

“My wife does it for me.” He says, unashamed. He’s embarrassed only by his own inability to get a fucking grip, and the longer he stares at himself in the mirror the longer he feels like he’s going to lose it.

He’s so so so fucking close to going home to you, he can’t lose it now.

“She does?” Eric asks, but there’s no trace of humor in his voice when he does, instead he hops up onto the small counter near the sink and watches him as he shaves.

Flip wonders if Eric ever learned how, or if he just never needed to. He’s only nineteen, only covered in a light dusting of peach fuzz as it is.

“Yeah,” Flip nods, picks up the razor and tries again, gets the hang of it this time as he faces the reality of his time in ‘Nam in the face, “She sits up on the counter just like that and cleans me up when I get too scraggly. She says it makes me look like the lumberjack I used to be. I just, I wanted to look nice for her, since I’m going home soon.”

He’s shy for some reason now, talking about you. He feels bad, feels so guilty, that he gets to go home and that Eric has to stay. He shouldn’t, not with his hand, he should be whisked away and taken care of, but they’re all too full, all the hospitals around, full up with men who won’t live to see another day.

“Hey, when you’re home and when I’m home, do you think we could meet up?” Eric pipes up, so brightly that Flip almost drops the razor down the sink. “Since we live so close I mean.”

“Sure kid,” He stops halfway, one side clean and looking more like the Flip he used to know, used the be, the other still a work in progress. He reaches for a tissue, rummages through his pocket for a pen and scrawls his address down onto it. “Come find me when you’re out, okay?”

And he smiles with shaving cream all over his face, which makes Eric laugh, which makes him laugh, and he takes Eric’s hand in his own when he says,

“It’s a deal.”

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

The ceremony is beautiful, if devastating. There’s not a dry eye in the room by the time the priest has finished, by the time he closes his book. He looks out to the small crowd who has gathered to mourn the loss of this boy, this teenager, tucks the book under his arm and clasps his hands in front of his chest.

“I’d like to now open the floor for anyone who might like to say a few words.” The priest steps away from the podium.

One by one his family goes to the front, has kind words and memories to share.

One by one they tell of his spirit, his spunk, his curiosity, his fearlessness.

One by one they return to their seats with polite smiles until they can curl themselves into their chair and hide their face behind white linen handkerchiefs.

One by one the room narrows down to you and Flip, and the small couple notecards burn a hole in his pocket when he realizes it’s his turn.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right here.” You whisper, leaning in to press a comforting kiss to his cheeks with a quiet, “Love you.”

Everyone looks at him when he stands up, no doubt confused as to who he even is, no doubt suspicious of what he has to say. He’s not in his uniform, never wants to wear it again, never wants to be seen in it. Instead he’s in the only nice shirt he has, a beige button-down with white and cream stripes, the one you always tease him for.

There’s no teasing now.

Flip leans into the microphone on the podium, fishes out his cards and stares at them for a moment.

For a moment, they feel like the letter had, and he makes the probably unwise decision to just speak from his heart.

“Um, hello. My name is Philip Zimmerman. Eric and I were friends, overseas.” It’s hard to talk about him, to think about him in the past-tense. And Flip has to take a moment before he can continue. But when he does, he finds that the words you helped him write coax the words in his brain out even more, and he finds he can’t shut up.

“The first day we met, he came over to me and asked if he could walk with me. I hadn’t ever had someone ask me anything, until then, and I thought to myself that this was a kid who was too good for war, too good to be in a place like that, doing the things we were doing. But he did them, and he held his chin high, even when he was sure things were going to go south.”

“We talked a lot about life, me and Eric. There’s not much else to do when the fighting has stopped. He was a lot smarter and wiser than just about the entire squadron put together, but he never once acted cocky or too brash or anything like that.”

“It’s hell, over there, right now. It’s been hell and it was hell when we were there, and it’ll be hell long after we leave. But Eric’s smile made the chaos a little less chaotic, made us all feel like if we could just get through the night, then anything would be possible.”

“He liked poetry. My wife used to send us these tapes, and she’d always read aloud something on them, to help us sleep at night. Eric loved the ones she sent that had her reading aloud the poems. I thought, in a way to honor him, I might read aloud his favorite poem that she sent. She uh, she wrote this one herself.”

And then everyone is looking at you, back at Flip, as he shuffles for the cards then, tries to find the poem you scratched out just for him, the one that was the only thing that could soothe the beasts in all their chests. It’s not the same as your voice, he knows, but he hopes it’ll be good enough for Eric, wherever he is up there, if anywhere at all.

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

It’s his last night, in the war. His last night in this uniform, his last night in this bunk. In any bunk, ever again. He can’t sleep, eyes refusing to shut and stay shut, mind refusing to quiet down. Next to him, Eric lays in the bed one over, and Flip can see the shine of his irises too.

The lights are off and the world is asleep, but they aren’t. Flip doesn’t want to think about how sad he’ll be to leave him, how scared he is for him. Who will watch out for Eric now, now that he’s going home?

He wishes he could bring him home, smuggle him into his bag and stow him away on the plane, but he knows that he can’t.

“Could you play the tape?” Eric whispers in the dark, quiet enough to not disturb anyone, not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

“Which one?” Flip asks, already reaching into his stash of them, dozens and dozens of small cassettes that have your pretty handwriting all smudged and faded, from the sun from the rain from the mud. Some have blood caked onto them, others have dirt. Some are scratched and some skip and some are so broken that there’s no way to hear your sweet words again.

“You know which one.” Eric says with a hopeful smile, hopeful that the tape he wants isn’t so damaged, isn’t so beyond repair.

He knows, he remembers, the one with the poem you wrote. A poem and some music, soft instrumentals from a big band a decade or two ago, the kind that plays on the TV when there’s nothing else on the air.

“Here – ” Flip says, plugs two sets of headphones into the player, hands the kid the player so he can hold it close, can rewind it as many times as he wants, as he needs. “We can share.”

Eric nods, grateful. He doesn’t show how grateful he is in anything other than his eyes, but Flip knows. He doesn’t have to say it.

Flip is going to let him keep it, he thinks. The cassette the player, the headphones. He doen’t need any of it, not when he’ll be coming home to you.

In the quiet, it’s enough to have the volume barely turned on in his headphones, and despite not being able to sleep, he is at least able to let go of that breath he’s been holding this entire time, lets it out low and long and steady, as your voice washes over his ears.

 “You say you found two rocks, dull and cloudy and scuffed.

I say you found two diamonds, diamonds in the rough.

You say you picked two weeds, spindly winding undone.

I say you picked two roses, roses desperate for the sun.”

 He spares a glance to Eric, but the boy has his eyes closed, has the blanket tucked up practically to his ear. It isn’t long before his breathing evens out, and Flip knows he’s fallen asleep, cradling the cassette tape to his chest, clinging to the sweet words of your voice. Flip can’t wait to feel them, to hear them, to let them wrap around him in person.

Tomorrow he gets on the plane, the plane which will bring him tens of thousands of miles away, and at the end of it, at the end of all of this, he’ll be back to you.

You, with your wide smiles and bright eyes, soft hair and skin and well-kept nails. You with your frozen grapes you slice in half, you sweaty palms, your sticky kisses. You with your pain and your sorrow and all your fears, all of the bad as beautiful as the good because they’re yours.

He tries, tries so hard to calm himself for you, tries to let himself fall asleep to the sound of your voice.

 “You say you hear two sirens, shouting in the night.

I say you hear a mother, holding onto her child tight.

You say you feel two sunsets, orange heat blazing in the air.

I say you feel napalm, sticking to innocent’s hair.”

 When Flip wakes up, when the time has come, Eric is nowhere to be seen. His bed is empty and made with tight-tucked corners, no trace of him.

Instead there’s the cassette player and his headphones, stacked neatly on the pillow. Inside it is a pack of camels where the tape should be, and Flip smiles.

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

They leave the funeral home after an hour or so. He doesn’t have any answers for their questions, doesn’t want to talk any more.

You hold his hand as he drives you home, and when you’re home you open your arms and pull him against your chest in your big warm bed. He counts the heartbeats there, looking out the window.

“You’re a brave man, Philip Zimmerman.” You say, no real purpose for it other than it’s on your mind. “You’re a brave man and a good man, and I’m glad that you’re mine.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know. So he doesn’t, instead he just kisses you, kisses you, kisses you some more.

He kisses you until the sun begins to dip low in the sky, until he’s exhausted and eager for a shower, eager to scrub the day away.

“Do you think we’ll ever get back to normal again?” He asks, rubs his nose against your cheek, his freshly trimmed facial hair tickling you, making you smile.

“I don’t know what normal ever was.” You point out, and he huffs out a small laugh, because you’re right – you’re always right.

“Do you think they’ll hate me?” Flip asks, scared, but needing to talk, wanting to talk to you.

“Who, honey?” You answer with a question of your own.

He only places his hand on your stomach, small circles there from the space where he hopes hopes hopes will one day house his child, will one day hold his baby. He doesn’t know, but that day is coming soon, so soon.

“What would they hate you for?” You ask, you whisper, voice hushed. You give him a small smile, snuggle up close to him in your bed underneath the covers, underneath the weight of all of the world. For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel so suffocating. “For being strong? For being compassionate? For having courage?”

He doesn't know if you're doing that on purpose, being sweet to him. He doesn't know if you're doing it because you know how frayed his edges are, how shot his nerves have been. He reasons it doesn't matter too much, because in the years and years and years he's known you, you've never once lied to him -- and why would you start now?

“You’re too good to me.” He shakes his head, counts your heartbeats underneath his ear. 

“I’m not nearly good enough.” You say, voice real soft, “They’re going to love you, all the parts of you. You want to know how I know?”

“How?” He bites, asks even though he knows the answer. 

“Because I do.” You reply. 

And for the very first time in nearly two years, for the very first time in what feels like a lifetime, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a breath deep in his chest that burns through his veins. He will wake up to see another day, and you will be there with him through it all, through the good and the bad and the ugly, with a smile and a kiss and a hug too tight.

And for the very last time, for the very last time hopefully for the rest of his lide, he reaches across the bed to click on the cassette player, presses play on the worn button that’s been pressed so many times that the paint has rubbed away, as your voice fills the air.

And for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time, he is grateful to be in your arms, in your home, with you.

 “You say you taste the ocean, salty fresh and clear.

I say you taste the residue, proof of civilian tears.

You say you smell fireworks, festivities and culture.

I say you smell gunpowder, smoke charcoal and sulfur.

 You say you see two soldiers, mangled and twisted and torn.

I say I see two souls, souls which we’ll forever mourn.

You say you see two pigeons, branches in their beak.

I say I see two doves.”

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

                                                          The End. 

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

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