#so what better way than forcing them into a unit together

[eir-parade]

Polar|Star (P|S)

Leo/Need Adjacent Band

A group of music enthusiasts finding comfort in one another through their own music. Made with and for each other.

Hoshino Ichika - Vocalist, Guitarist, Partial Lyricist. Losing her passion for music, she wants to relearn what it means to enjoy music.

Asahina Mafuyu - Keyboardist, Partial Lyricist. Wants to find herself and feels as if music is the correct direction.

Shiraishi An - Drummer. After learning the truth of RAD WEEKEND, An lost her aspiration of trying to surpass it but also out of respect for Nagi. Ever since though, she has been having difficulty trying to understand her music.

Kiritani Haruka - Bassist, Composer. After quitting being an idol, Haruka found her way with a new instrument, showing her feelings in a new way.

SEKAI: Empty Assembly SEKAI

Similar to the Empty SEKAI where it’s just a huge white area, except in the design of a School Assembly Hall.

Despite there being a stage, the Hall itself seems to expand on forever.

School desks and chairs haphazardly dotted about in the Hall, blank sheets or paper with garbled writing strewn out on the desks and the floor.

First Virtual Singer

Hatsune Miku - Is basically like Niigo Miku. Acts like a calming presence to the others.

Virtual Singers

Order of Appearance (StC)

All act fairly similar to their Nightcord selves (blame Mafuyu /lh)

Megurine Luka - Tends to specifically criticise Ichika. Will read over Ichika’s lyrics or hears how she plays and will ask “is that it?” Though never actually giving the answer, Luka will nudge and hint Ichika in the correct direction. Ichika used to dislike how Luka would ‘pick on her’ but now trusts Luka’s opinion whole-heartedly.

Kagamine Rin - The group's biggest critic. Even if they think they’re doing something correctly, or playing right, Rin would immediately criticise them, telling them they’re wrong and that they should be doing it like this. Her criticism helps bring Haruka back down to Earth but causes Mafuyu immense stress and panic. Rin also acts similar to a prefect so will tell them off for running or shouting (namely An).

MEIKO - Represents distance… again. And hesitancy. Specifically An and Ichika’s hesitancy to get close to people again due to their own abandonment issues. When the group were deciding on actually becoming a full band, MEIKO directly questions An and Ichika’s dedication.

Kagamine Len - Childish. Like Niigo Len, P|S Len represents Mafuyu’s inner child, a childhood she lost. He also represents being a good student and would stress when he doesn’t get something right but also has moments where ‘slacking off’ seems to make him happy. He can also represent the other’s childhood as he can be very starry eyed.

KAITO - Anger. Pure, unadulterated rage towards Mafumom, broken promises, liars, fakes, and the world.

Subject to Change as I go on figuring out this AU more.

[yaksha-lover]

I know there’s a lot of debate about whether Malleus could ever actually be with someone like Yuu, considering he is a fae and prince, but the more I think about it the more it feels plausible. While there’s most likely never going to be any canon romances in the game, I think it’s an interesting discussion. Keep in mind this is just my opinion!

We know about the fae-human war that occurred in Briar Valley before Malleus was born (the one that Lilia fought in). Lilia has talked before about wanting there to be peace and understanding between humans and fae.

Well, what would be a better way to do this than uniting the two groups through a royal marriage between a human and a fae? Irl, this kind of marriage does have historical precedent. This union allows both parties to come together and witness specifically the ruler of their nation forgo any prejudice for the other group by sharing this deeply personal relationship.

Even though a lot of fae may look down upon humans and vice versa (probably similar attitudes to Sebek), if the King of Briar Valley were to marry a human, it would facilitate both political and social change amongst both groups. Families and relationships like Sebek’s parents (human-fae) would probably become much more common and socially-acceptable

Furthermore, the next royal heir would be of both fae and human descent, making them more appealing to both parties (aside from those who would remain prejudiced against half-fae like Sebek).

Lilia speaks of how a constant inability to compromise led to such conflict as the war. Marriage is pretty much the ultimate compromise to tie the two groups together. There will be incentive for both human and fae to support the royals of Briar Valley. The political change would hopefully be having everyone be allies, of this being the thing that makes them actually sit down and have political discussions instead of going straight to war. This would hopefully only facilitate more compromise and unity between the two factions, with them being able to support each other with resources and trade, for example.

The catch is that some of these benefits would likely only apply if the human Malleus married was chosen by the humans in Briar Valley who previously fought against the crown/fae. This is difficult because (as of now) we don’t have much knowledge of any such powerful (human) political opponent groups, or if they even exist after the war.

I think it would still generally be beneficial for him to marry a human (probably one of another kingdom I suppose is another solution). Marrying Yuu specifically may be difficult because of them being of ‘low-birth’ in the eyes of snobbish royals (it seems like Briar Valley is still a feudalist society) and being magicless, but I’m not sure those things are deal breakers.

Another problem that arises is the difference in lifespan, but (and this might be cope) but I like to think the Draconia family would have access to something that would make extending an otherwise healthy person’s life possible (whether magic, magical artifacts, etc.).

I honestly doubt Malleus’ grandmother would really deny him the choice of who he marries after everything that’s happened in his life. Also just like…realistically, who’s going to stop him? Malleus will be King and he also has his magic to back him up, so it’s not like any advisors can say no and his grandmother doesn’t have any other family members so she can’t threaten to disinherit him.

Plus, I don’t think there’s evidence to say that he would necessarily be forced to have a very specifically arranged marriage with any other kingdoms right now. I doubt Malleus is down to marry any of the other powerful royals or families (Leona, Kalim, etc.).

So it’s not really like he’s necessarily making a fatal mistake in ruling by not gaining an essential alliance through marriage. Sure, he probably couldn’t marry just anyone, but I think there is a case to be made for him marrying a human (and perhaps Yuu in some alternate timeline where twst is a dating sim).

[yandere-sins]

Cupcake

Okay I will admit I've been soft-yandere yearning for a while now, but it's my birthday and I deserved them!! There’s nothing better than some self-indulgent fanfiction (;

Fandom: Call of Duty Characters: Yandere!Ghost x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Mentions of Punishments/Kidnapping, Forced Relationship, Emotional Distress

You didn't react to the sound of boots on concrete floor or the lock of the door clicking, hinges squeaking as someone entered the room.

Giving him attention was pointless.

You knew too little about him to get under his skin with words alone. Every bicker seemed to bounce off his broad chest with so much strength, it hit you right back in your face. You could never keep your arguments from sounding like childish complaints, and he chuckled at anything as direct as "I hate you!"

Instead, this man—"Ghost" you reckoned he called himself—seemed to bask in every minute of your putrid hatred. You could always assume the wisp of a smile beneath his mask, his eyes searching for yours no matter how much you glared at him. He possessed no inhibitions whatsoever, pushing, pulling, throwing you wherever he wanted, when he wanted, and not always gently mind you.

Yet, he pulled off his gloves before touching you, wiping the tears from your eyes and cheeks while he told you to stop crying now. That everything was okay and you shouldn't ruin your pretty face. He squeezed into the bed with you—the mattress too small for him alone, a coffin for both of you—shielding your body with his from the door so neither friend nor foe would see you first if they came inside.

Ghost made sure to top off your food with the ingredients you liked from his own plate when you were visibly upset. And on the nights when you were unconsolable, he pulled you on top of his chest despite the struggles, resting your head above his heart while he played with your hair or held your hand, intertwining your fingers.

It was hard to say what was going on in that man's head. His eyes spoke of wonders you couldn't see, but his punishments were so severe, so unforgiving as if you had personally harmed him in another life. You could be glad that you could still count ten fingers on your hands and ten toes on your feet, seeing how his mood shifted unpredictably at any moment you two were together.

So, it was best not to acknowledge him.

Even when everything inside you screamed profanities at this bastard, you tempered yourself with deep breaths. A deep inhale through the nose, and a long exhale through the mouth. Deep in, long out. Deep in, and a long breath out...

Zing.

The unique sound of a zippo reached your ear despite your meditation having been able to fade out his presence behind you. This sound was unexpected, new. Ghost and new impressions combined as well as fire and gasoline, so this was scary. You didn't know if he picked up a smoking habit or would burn you just from the sound alone.

You couldn't help the rather violent reaction to the fear that snapped your muscles tight. Jumping into action, you threw the blanket you had wrapped around yourself away, sliding into the farthest corner away from him. Your eyes widened as you took in the view in front of you, time coming to a brief halt as you mustered the absolute unit of a man in front of you holding a... cupcake.

Blue wrapping, yellow icing, and a flickering candle on top.

Ghost snapped the zippo shut after he had waited out your reaction, his shoulders relaxing after he concluded you wouldn't do something stupid. You had just been surprised. He let the silver square sink into his right pocket while the small flame illuminated his mask in a warm yet even more spooky way than it always was.

"Happy Birthday," he said, tearing you out of your state of shock. Your gaze jumped from the mismatched-colored cupcake to his eyes that rested on you, full of that disgusting, heart-wrenching adoration he harbored for you. Things were calm, too calm. Ghost was too relaxed, only holding the cupcake and not a weapon or anything remotely dangerous in his other hand. You couldn't trust the peace. Couldn't rely on his words or the actions you were seeing.

"Wait, what?" it suddenly hit you, your eyes widening. "Is it... Is it really my birthday?"

Prying your eyes off your captor, you looked to your right, to the small table across from the bed where Ghost had hung up a calendar for you. He'd been crossing off days diligently for you since you couldn't be bothered to keep up with the task on some days, Ghost knowing that time seemed to pass you by in weird intervals without a window in your room. And he was right. Damn.

Taking another step toward you, you didn't cower away, letting your guard down as you breathed out heavily. That meant you had vanished from the face of the earth for months now. No one would come looking for you anymore; the hope of your survival and return would have been smashed. What a depressing thought on your birthday, your family and friends surely heartbroken about your absence, just like you were.

The bed creaked as Ghost sat down, his weight shifting the mattress in a way that made you aware of his closeness. You collected your legs, keeping them away from him to not give him any chance of quickly grabbing you. But when Ghost held out his hand, it was filled by the cupcake stretched towards you, and he handed it over without another word.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between his and the pastry, but hesitantly, you picked it up, feeling the squishiness of it, a sweet smell drafting into your nose. The warmth of the ficker licked at your skin as you held the cupcake in front of you. So small yet so thoughtful. You thought a whole lot about this psycho, but to think he'd remember your birthday when not even you did? You couldn't even remember when you told him the date, much less expected him to prepare something for you.

Not like there was anyone else who'd care about it now.

Immediately, tears shot into your eyes as you realized you were truly alone. No one would come to save you, and nothing would change unless you could win against your captor. Even when he was with you, you were still alone. And even when you blew out the candle, wishing for these things to change, you knew the wish was wasted.

Sniffling, you bit into the cupcake, frosting getting stuck on your nose and lips, but you didn't care. Sugary sweet and buttery, the taste of homemade cupcakes like your mother would have made them coated your tongue and teeth, remaining there even when you swallowed, bitterness clogging your throat while the delicious treat produced enough serotonin to jump in joy.

You managed to devour half of it before the tears and stuffy nose caught up with you. Even your free hand couldn't wipe away all these emotions overrunning you. Fear, pain, hopelessness. The feeling of being stuck here and so, so alone. It needed two more hands, big, calloused, and warm, to gently hold your face between them, wiping relentlessly while hushing you softly.

"It's alright, darling," Ghost murmured, his voice invading your brain that couldn't detect all these phantom pains you were feeling but soothed them regardless. "I'm here. Everything will be okay, sweetheart."

It certainly wasn't what you wanted to hear, but it did the trick, keeping you from the panic attack that slowly built inside you. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you took another bite, sniffling and with tears falling relentlessly still. But Ghost's hands never disappeared. Instead, his thumb began to wander, brushing off crumbs as you devoured the rest of your treat, leaving nothing of this kind gesture for him as you were unwilling to share what little happiness you had been given.

Crumpling up the paper around the blown-out candle, you threw the trash away, finally having both hands free to wipe your own face and get a grip on yourself, your vulnerable side having come out shamefully. But even when you pushed away his hands, Ghost's presence right next to you didn't vanish, his body now much closer than before.

"Happy Birthday," he said again, gripping your shoulders. You huffed lightly, feeling exhausted after your cry, but before you could react, the sudden feeling of lips against yours threw you off.

You hadn't even noticed him pulling up his mask to reveal his mouth, lips more greedy and desperate than ever finding yours. Teeth and tongue played and nibbled, not so gently asking for entrance, and you... gave up. You had no strength to resist. Play a game you were bound to lose anyway, Ghost always cheating. And immediately, feeling your surrender, his hands slid back to your face, cupping your cheeks so he could deepen the kiss.

It didn't help. Didn't soothe the aches in your heart and didn't make the tears stop, but the intrusion of his tongue and the sweet taste now coating it distracted your thoughts. Ghost seemed to try to tell you that no, you weren't alone. You'd never be. He'd always be with you like he swore up and down. He'd protect you, take care of you, and love you.

Kidnapping, locking you away, and forcing you to do what he wanted didn't exactly scream protection, care, and love to you. But an annoying, nagging voice started to speak up in the back of your mind. He wasn't wrong. As long as you had to endure this horrific living arrangement, he'd be with you. He didn't leave you alone, didn't forget your birthday. You doubted even that he spent a single moment of downtime without the thought of you on his mind, considering how obsessed he was.

It would never be enough to satisfy you, though.

There was no way he could ever mean enough to you to make you love him. You'd never forgive him, never submit to him fully, body and soul. But at least on that day, the day that grieved you so—a joyous occasion turned bittersweet by your suffering—you weren't alone. He was there with you. He cared. Did he care enough?

"You're not going to sing for me?" you asked him, half-joking, half-challenging.

Ghost mustered you for a long moment, then you heard him huff, amused. He shook his head before pulling you towards him. You allowed it, no strength left to struggle. "Only because it's your birthday," he reminded you, and you caught the corners of your mouth turning upwards before you reminded yourself not to be amused by his banter.

His heartbeat was calm and gentle, nothing like the things you knew he could do to you. Ghost turned you both over until he could climb into bed with you, laying you down on your side, facing him and not spooning you like usual. It was a tight squeeze, but with his arms around you, face nuzzled into his chest, it was warm and comforting. Safe—for now.

Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday to you.

You almost didn't want to believe him when he began to sing, keeping his voice low. Ghost never wanted to rourse the suspicion of anyone else that possibly lived next door to you. His gruff voice didn't really fit the upbeat song, even with his accent tingling on every word. This time, you couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of the situation, but you listened, regardless, while being held in his arms as if you were meant to be there.

Happy Birthday dear darling.

Wearily, you closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat mixing with his voice. The man you hated the most was holding you and singing to you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if it was meant to be this way all along, almost making you forget the pain and suffering he had caused you in the past. But when he held you like a rare treasure, fulfilled your wishes, and went out of his way to care for you, you almost believed his version of love to be true. You almost started to believe the many times he said he was doing all of this for one reason only: "I love you."

Maybe he did.

Happy Birthday to you.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

The Zenins want Megumi. Gojo isn’t having it.

wc — 1.7k

tags — one suggestive line after “those girls are better off without you” if you want to avoid it, set after 棠, part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together

Gojo’s been in the doghouse since last night. Not literally, obviously - though he might have preferred it if you were there with him, at least. He’d take anything over being kicked out of your shared bedroom and being forced to sleep on the couch. 

If you had it your way, you’d prolong his punishment, but you can’t. Not when, as he told you last night, the Zenins are coming today to wrest Megumi from your custody. 

Fat chance. 

You’d die before you let that happen. 

Gojo’s not too keen on either of those outcomes. For the first time in his life, he’s taking the pacifist’s route and talking it out, though you’re sure his version of talking involves more insults than most people’s. 

He thought about simply having it out with the elders, but it’s not worth it. Not when he has a plan for the future of Jujutsu Society. Not when he has you, Megumi, and Tsumiki. He’s playing the long game. He can’t afford to screw it up now. 

Being a family man really has ruined him. 

Zenin Keiko is a tall woman with a severe black bob and the characteristic Zenin look of perpetual contempt. She’s Naoya’s cousin, alright. 

“Twice-removed,” Gojo whispers to you. “Or illegitimate. Something like that, I can’t remember.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper back out of the corner of your mouth. “She’s going to hear you.” 

Welcoming a Zenin into your home feels like blasphemy, though you suppose Gojo is the closest thing Jujutsu society has to a god. 

Gojo’s unimpressed by her, mostly because he feels like the Zenins are mocking him. It’s not like anyone can take him on, but to send someone who has no battle capabilities feels like an insult.  

Keiko is an auxiliary manager with no cursed technique to speak of besides a weak barrier. It’s a wonder she has the nerve to speak to Gojo. The Zenins truly did not care about her if they sent her as the proxy to undermine your roles as the Fushiguro children’s guardians. In fact, you suspect that’s the precise reason she was chosen - because she’s expendable. 

Keiko, to her credit, shows no sign of fear. 

“I’d like to meet the children, Mr. Gojo. It’ll give me a good grasp of what the situation is.” 

“Hell no,” Gojo outright laughs in her face. “I’m not letting a Zenin near my brats. Your-“

“Gojo.” You squeeze his knee. Cooperate. 

“I’ll go get them,” he says begrudgingly.

The two of you sandwich the children between you on the couch. Tsumiki sits on Gojo’s left. Megumi sits on your right. That way, the two that are most likely to fight are separated. It’s a strategized united front. 

“Megumi, do you like your guardians? Do you like staying here?” 

Megumi looks at you. You smile at him encouragingly - and there Keiko goes, scribbling away in her notebook. She’s probably saying something about how Megumi is so scared of you he won’t answer the question unless you give him permission. 

“Are you sure? Forgive me, but Gojo seems a little…immature for a parent.” 

A direct attack right out of the gates. Gojo objects to this very accurate assessment of his character. 

“He’s fine, I guess,” Megumi says. There’s more scribbling. You’re starting to hate the sound of pen on paper. “I like-“ 

He looks at you. There’s a tiny blush on his cheeks, just the faintest hint of red. More quietly, he says, “It’s fine, cause she takes care of us.” 

Gojo stares at him, slack-jawed. “Are you kidding me? You are one ungrateful brat. Who found you? Who took you in?” 

Tsumiki chimes in, “We like Gojo a lot too! He’s fun.” 

Keiko ignores her completely, focusing on Megumi instead. Your distaste for her grows. 

“Would you say that Gojo has an active role in taking care of you?” 

“Why aren’t you asking Tsumiki anything?” Megumi interrupts. “Her opinion’s important too.” 

Keiko gives him a strained smile. Gojo reaches behind Tsumiki on the couch to ruffle Megumi’s hair. He only tolerates this for five seconds before he shakes his head to get him off. 

“He loves me,” Gojo says. 

“I have Stockholm syndrome,” Megumi says. ‘Help,’ he mouthes. 

“He’s joking,” Tsumiki says nervously.

You’ve given up on making them behave. It’s just not happening. 

Keiko seems to have given up too. Rather than continue prodding Megumi, she turns to Gojo. 

“How often are you home?”

“Basically every day,” Gojo lies. He does try his best, but it’s more like every other day. Such is the fate of the strongest sorcerer. 

“Don’t want my baby all alone, poor little thing.” 

He catches your look and cackles. “No, the other one. My other baby,” and the kiss he presses to your knuckles is so tender it melts your heart. 

Keiko makes an uncomfortable expression. “Please try to stay focused, Mr. Gojo.” 

Megumi gags loudly. Tsumiki pinches his arm to get him to shut up and he yelps. Keiko narrows her eyes and makes another note. 

“I understand how Gojo might take responsibility for the children,” Keiko says, directing her attention to you, “but how did you come into the picture. Are you a girlfriend-“

“Wife,” Gojo interjects. 

Keiko’s entire body does an approximation of what it would look if a human had a screenshot function. 

“Aren’t you children?”

You don’t like Keiko at all, but you respect the balls it takes to talk to Gojo like that. All the Zenins seem to have that death wish of wanting to mouth off to the strongest. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. 

Gojo shrugs. “If I’m old enough for the missions you send me on, I’m old enough to take care of kids, right? How hard can it be?”

You pinch his thigh. “Gojo.” 

“What? It is easy. You just give them a bunch of lollipops and call it a day.” 

Keiko’s writing is now background noise to you. “Are you still doing that? I told you-“

“It’s fine! All kids need sugar to grow. I had a sweet tooth when I was their age.”

“And that’s probably the reason why you still have one now! Except it’s rotting your teeth-“

“It’s not-“

“It is!”

“Don’t be so uptight!”

“How does it look if I’m always saying no to him and you’re always saying yes? It isn’t fair, Satoru. Parenting has to be a team effort.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about you playing good cop, bad cop with him!” 

“Have you gone insane? We went over this! He likes you more than me! There is no good cop, bad cop when he just takes your side every single time.” 

“Excuse me,” Keiko says. She’s somehow managed to look a complex combination of perplexed, annoyed, and satisfied. “Please take care of your lovers’ tiffs outside of this interview. I will say that this doesn’t seem like an environment particularly conducive to raising children, however.” 

“What do you know?” Gojo says rudely. “The only reason you’re even doing this interview is because I’m letting you.” 

Normally, you would tell him off, but in front of the Zenins? You’re a united front. You place a hand on his forearm and look down your nose at the woman in front of you as best as you can when she’s taller than most people you meet. 

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” you say. 

“You agreed to an interview,” she says. 

“An interview, not an inquisition.”

“You can’t refuse a request from the elders without consequences,” she says, as patiently as she would speak to a child. It’s condescending. 

“Are you threatening my wife?” 

When you look to your side, Gojo’s face is shadowed. His eyes are storm dark and frightening. Keiko can’t hide her visceral reaction. 

She forgets her coat on her way out, she’s in such a hurry to leave. Gojo takes it and disappears. 

While he’s away, you let Megumi and Tsumiki return to their rooms. They’re muttering amongst themselves, but you don’t pry. Children need their space, too. You’ll talk to them about it later. 

He’s back within a minute. 

“What did you do with it?” You’re bracing yourself for the answer. 

“I just sent a message,” he says, as cheerily as if nothing had happened. “Think we passed that?” 

“Gojo, I think that’s the first test you’ve ever failed. Did you see the way she was writing during the last twenty minutes? And Megumi and Tsumiki! Every time they said something, she made a face!” 

Gojo shrugs, still so certain of his place in the hierarchy. One day, the elders will get tired of him throwing his weight around like Jujutsu’s one and only tyrant, but not someday soon if they want to keep their heads. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to make Megumi and Tsumiki act like repressed little puppet children just so that they can find some way to snipe them out from under us anyways. Who knows, maybe we’ll teach the Zenins a thing or two about healthy child raising. I hear they have two girls now. One of them has no cursed energy. Should we kidnap some more children?” 

“Like you know anything about healthy parenting,” you snark. “Those girls are better off without you.” 

“Does being mean to me get you off or something?” 

“Do you want to find out?” 

“I would love to,” he purrs, sliding a hand under your shirt just so slightly so his nails prick at your lower stomach. You grab his wrist. 

“Sorry,” you say, your stomach churning at the joke gone wrong. “I can’t.”

He stops immediately. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just- They want Megumi badly enough to go to the higher ups. I know what they do to their children. I can’t let him go there, Satoru. I can’t.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls.”

“Come here,” he says. 

You lean closer to him. He lifts his arm so easily, without thinking. When you slide under it, you fit into him perfectly. 

Now that you’re safely tucked under his arm, you feel sheltered from anything that could happen.  “I don’t want to give the kids to the Zenins. They’re monsters. And they would make monsters out of them.” 

“That’s only if they take them away,” Gojo says, his smile fanged and vicious. 

“And if they do?”

“I hope they try.”

You trust him. 

You know he’ll keep his word. If Gojo says Megumi and Tsumiki won’t be going to the Zenins as long as he’s alive, then they won’t be going at all. 

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I just recently discovered your blog and I’m in love with your Spencer fic’s. :)) Could you perchance write one where reader is sick and Spencer takes care of her??

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 792 words

“I’m fine,” you croak. 

“You’re not fine,” says Spencer, stirring honey into your tea. “You let this go too long without resting, and now it’s bad.” 

You inhale, looking like you’re going to disagree, but a coughing fit supersedes you. The force of it bends you over, and Spencer rubs your back, wincing. You sound like you’re hacking up a lung.

“Okay,” you say once you can, still coughing weakly. “You’re right, I’m dying.” 

“You’re not dying either.” A smile tugs at his lips. “You just need to rest. Is anything bothering you, other than your throat?” 

You shake your head. 

Spencer eyes you skeptically, passing over your tea. You’re infamous for this sort of downplaying. You’d been so good at covering up that you were feeling sick that even your FBI profiler boyfriend hadn’t been able to spot it until a couple of days ago, and even then you’d managed to convince him it was mild enough to go to work until he’d heard you coughing in the shower this morning. Spencer still isn’t sure if, when he’d come home today to find you flushed and miserable in the bed, you’d gotten worse or only stopped hiding it. 

 “Really, nothing?” he asks. “You don’t have any other symptoms?” 

You shrug. “Just other normal sick stuff.” 

“Tell me about them. How do you feel?” 

You frown, blowing on your tea. “Hot and dry. I feel like my entire body needs chapstick. And I’m tired, I guess.” 

Spencer frowns. He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers stoke down your overwarm cheek. “You look terrible,” he says. 

You snort. Your cough latches onto it as an opportunity, and you launch into another fit. “Ow,” you wheeze, putting a hand to your chest. “Thanks, you’re really—really wooing me, Spence.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” he laughs, somewhat nervously. “I just meant that you look so sad, honey. I don’t like seeing you so sick.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. You take a scratchy breath in, deep as you can without it catching. You look like you’re savoring it. 

He feels his eyebrows draw together compassionately. “You should try to sleep.” 

“It’s barely six. I don’t want to sleep.” 

“You don't have to wait until it’s late to go to sleep. It might make you feel better.” 

“I know, I just…I don’t want to.” 

Spencer looks at you for a while, thinking of what to do with you. Your tea is still too hot to drink. He’d bought you cough drops on his way home, but you’d already had so many throughout the day that now you say they’re making your mouth feel sore and raw, and you don’t want to take them if you can help it. Maybe he could have you gargle saltwater…

“You should stay at your place tonight,” you tell him gently. “I don’t want to get you sick.” 

He knew you would say that. He’s practically moved into your apartment, though he keeps his basically as a storage unit at this point. Whereas Spencer has filled his apartment with enough things for one person (one towel hook in the bathroom, one nightstand, only one really good pillow on the bed), your apartment looks like you’ve always assumed you’d eventually share it. The first time Spencer came over, you already had fuzzy socks for guests, enough towels for an army, and two really, really great pillows on the bed. It made him realize that his apartment was really just a place to sleep; yours was a home. He never wants to leave, but certainly not while you’re like this.

“I won’t get sick,” he lies. (He definitely will. He’s already been exposed to you for days already and his immune system has never had his back.) “And anyway, how will I teach you chess from my apartment?” 

You groan. 

“This is really the best time,” Spencer says, going into the living room to grab the chess board you’d let him keep here. “You’ll never have more free time than when you’re sick. And this way, you won’t get bored.” 

“Sure about that?” you ask wryly as he comes back in, but you’re smiling. 

“Unless you want to try to sleep?” 

You look like you’re actually considering it. “When I was little and I got sick, I used to play mad libs.” 

Spencer feels his face screw up. “I don’t really like that game. They never make any sense at the end.” 

“That’s the point,” you laugh. A weak cough follows it. “Anyway, I’m sick. I promise I’ll let you teach me to play chess soon.” 

“You’re sick,” he allows, setting the chess board on the floor. Not that you don’t get what you want the rest of the time anyway.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 4

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt

-🐺-

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, mutt?”

Your breaths were coming in hard pants, your body was worn to shreds. It took everything in you to look up at the angry face above, and when you finally mustered enough strength to tilt your head, you were met with deeply disapproving eyes. For once they didn’t rattle you, you’d already seen something so much worse. 

“She’s dead,” you murmured, looking back down at the empty eyed body across from you. 

“And you’re about to be too if you don’t get yourself together, stupid dog!”

You’d been yanked up and forced to keep running, shoved out in front of corners and into oncoming fire. It was a miracle you hadn’t joined your old teammate on the floor - not that you really saw it that way. You drew the enemy’s fire and allowed your current handler to get to exfil unharmed, you in your sorry hollow state had been shot in the chest, or the vest rather. Either way you were terribly struggling to breathe when you were eventually lugged along into the helicopter. 

It was difficult to remember much in the days after that. Your memory was a blurry haze, tugged along and shoved into transport and various different rooms until you were abandoned in an infirmary to heal. 

The main thing you remember is how the tiger girl you’d been fighting alongside had fallen, and no one else had batted an eye. She had been one of the best hybrids you’d worked with, someone the soldiers had clamoured to get onto your team, and none of them gave a shit when she’d died. The same girl that had so earnestly been teaching you and given you valuable advice for the field was no more than a few hazily remembered lessons and an empty vessel. 

The thought burned in your mind when you’d laid on the hospital bed, keeping your eyes narrowed to tiny slits and your tail twitching as you recovered. You’d been too young to actually be assigned to a combat mission, but you’d been sent along with the unit that day because they thought they were doing a routine water run to a nearby village and they’d wanted you to observe.

Now you were marred with your first battle scar and laden with the knowledge that it didn’t matter how good you did - you’d be nothing more than a pile of bones left behind to rot. 

-

“Move along, mutt!”

Maddox loomed over you and smacked you with his club, sending you sprawling as you refused to run his training drill. You’d since recovered and been cleared for work once more, but that was just what the doctors said. You had a different opinion entirely. 

“I’m not doing this,” you said quietly, hefting yourself back up to a standing position. 

“What?” Maddox’s voice came through in a chilling growl.

The sounds of the rest of the hybrid’s running the training exercise he’d set echoed all around you. You watched them scrambling around, flying through the course like clay pigeons, and blinked slowly. They were all just training to be better canon fodder. What was the point? You were all going to meet the same end, whether you died honourably fighting or were shot down into a pink mist from where you stood, no matter how good any of you were it wouldn’t matter. You’d all just die anyway. 

“You heard me,” you growled, puppy voice still too young to actually have much of an impact. 

Maddox wasn’t used to being defied. From day one you’d all tried to do what you could to appease him, had run around trying to make sure you weren’t drawing his ire. None of you liked his horrible booming voice when he scrambled at you, you were all afraid of his club and being at the receiving end of one of his thrashings. What was the point? 

He looked incensed, he was the most angry you’d ever seen him. He smacked you a few more times, landing heavy blows onto your back, thighs and butt, but you weren’t anymore motivated to get going. Instead you lay uselessly on the ground and cried out, ears drawing back as you prepared for his worst. 

“Get the fuck up! Do as you’re told, dog, no exceptions. Now move!”

You whined, but stayed where you were. Even while your back was on fire, even while he still beat dents into you, you didn’t feel anymore convinced to go along with any of it anymore. You just wanted to give up. To stop having to live through the pain, and just accept that it would be all there was. 

In the back of your mind you registered that everyone had stopped running, could feel the ground stop rumbling with their desperate footsteps and had all stopped to watch the spectacle. Though you didn’t really think much about it. 

It took a few more blows, but eventually Maddox seemed to recognise that you were quite happy for him to mash you into a fine pulp. His lesson wasn’t having any effect. So he left you on the ground and walked away a few paces, his shadow falling over your face and draping you with the weight of it. 

You choked out a sob and watched as he addressed the room. His words weren’t immediately intelligible to you, you were too lost in your brain fog still. Everything was dull, and noises were like far away recordings playing on scratchy speakers. Your head was a swelling water balloon fit to burst. 

“-see what happens when you decide you’re not going to do what your commanding officer tells you.”

Thwack.

You heard the sound, but you didn’t feel anything. You tilted your head, ears twitching confusedly as you tried to work out why the pain didn’t reach you. The sound of the wailing banshee scream following soon after clued you into why your bones weren’t rattling with anymore pain. 

“Please, sir! Please!”

It was like a plastic sheet had been melted from your eyes. The white hot screech of the voice burned through you and you scrambled up with a shock, watching on with horror as one of your fellow hybrids was getting whacked like nothing else. A wheezing breath gushed in through your lungs and you screamed in unison with the poor boy, begging Maddox to please stop. 

“Oh now you’re willing to plead for forgiveness? Now you’re ready to participate again? Watch and let this be a lesson - You don’t decide when you’re done! You do as you’re fucking told!”

“No! Please, no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir. Please, please ple-”

-🐺-

“Hey, Pup, hey, shhh. Wake up, Pup.”

You felt raw, throat vibrating with the last of your unconscious screams, your mind raced as you struggled to register your surroundings. Soft lamplight bathed the room in a warm, hazy glow, and all around you were rumpled blankets, all thrown around the place in splatters of blue as if a tower of paint cans had exploded. Most startling of all though, was the behemoth of a man right in front of you; sitting on your bed and looking down at you with a worried expression. 

You backed away to the wall when you finally noticed him, panting and growling like hell when you searched through your bleary mind and couldn’t recognise him. His eyes were like molten gems, his long face and pouting lips drawn into a picture of concern. There was something almost familiar about him, if you squinted and ignored the shock of blonde hair that gently curled on top of his head (something told you that you weren’t used to seeing that). The only thing that stopped you from jumping him immediately was the calming scent of citrus peels. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you growled, curling your hands into fists. “What do you want with me?”

The man blinked slowly, his eyebrows raising from the gentle frown he’d been wearing and twitching up into surprise. He smiled uneasily then, the look seeming foreign on that big scarred up face, one of the scars at his lips puckered with the effort it took to move over the muscle. 

“Shit, sorry. It’s me, it’s Ghost,” the man sighed, his accent washing over you like a warm wave. “Forgot my mask.”

You gasped, feeling all your muscles release their tension at once as you slid down the wall and into a weary slump. It was ok. He wasn’t some horrible soldier come to drag you away to a new mission, or an enemy looking to startle you before they bagged a kill. It was just Ghost, and Ghost was safe. And Ghost looked… well you were too tired to really get a solid grip on what you thought of how Ghost looked.  

“What are you doing in here?” you asked, only speaking when you were confident you wouldn’t stutter. 

“You were screamin’, Pup. You looked like you were fighting off possession or somethin’, that must’ve been some bad dream you were having,” Ghost said softly, gently running a hand over the top of your dewy head. 

You gritted your teeth and used the butt of your palms to wipe the stray tears from your cheeks, still feeling your throat burn from all the shrieking. It had been a long time since you’d had one of those dreams, or rather memories, but you knew well enough you’d have been loud. You realised you’d probably woken him if he was coming to you bare faced. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, tail tucking between your legs in realisation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, bringing his hand down to stroke over your cheek. “I’ve woken up with plenty of those myself.”

“But you…you’ve shown your face to me when you didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” you sighed, looking away guiltily. 

Your toes curled and your body froze up, your instincts gone haywire as you tried to process what was happening. Was he going to punish you now? Would he beat you until you forgot what he looked like? You shuddered at the thought of your dreams piercing through into reality. 

“No, don’t be sorry, darlin’. I’d have taken it off for you sooner or later anyway,” he shrugged. 

You bit your lip, unconvinced that this was the case. Given that his team didn’t think much of the mask, it was clear that he wore it often. He probably didn’t like to be bare faced around other people. Maybe he wanted to keep his face a secret. 

“Didn’t think it’d effect you this much,” he chuckled, chucking you under your chin. “I did warn you.”

“You warned me?”

“Mhmm. Told you I was bloody handsome.”

Nothing could help the snort that burst from your nose. That then descended into full blown laughter, your body lightening from the growing load that your mind posed. You wrapped your hands round your knees, in an attempt to contain the giggles, and only stopped when you saw the gentle smile that sprouted back onto Ghost’s lips. 

“There you go. Better now, huh?”

You nodded slowly and smiled back at him. For some reason mirroring him felt like the easiest thing in the world. It was like a warm glow had burst from him to you, softening your sharp thoughts and turning your body to jelly. You’d be able to sleep again as if nothing had woken you, usually you would stay up until light broke through your curtains. 

“You wanna talk about anything before I get back to my beauty rest?”

“No, I’m good,” you said hurriedly, not wanting to relive everything you’d dreamed again. 

“Alright then…You get back to sleep, you’ve got another big day ahead. Try not to scare the piss out of me again for another few hours at least,” He sighed. 

You nodded, scooting back over so that you could lie back at the head of your bed. However before you could angle yourself down, Ghost drew you into a side hug. At first you resisted it, curled your hands around his arm so that you could stop whatever harm might come your way, but when there was none. Your eyes grew heavier as he held you, his body heat seeped down into your bones and it tempted you ever deeper into the restful darkness.

You let your hands drop and nuzzled into him. There wasn’t anything to fear. 

“S’my good, Pup,” Ghost mumbled, releasing you seconds later. 

You sank into bed afterwards, falling into a deep sleep as if a switch had been flicked. There were no more disturbances after that. 

-🐺-

“Not so hard, Steamin’ Jesus!”

Soap’s whizzed right past your ears like a bullet, you were too focused on getting to the target point. Paintballs splattered overhead, loud noises rang out from the speakers that’d been set up, and your heart was racing. Everything perfectly combined to drive you wild and send all coherent thought elsewhere. The only reason you stayed put behind your current cover was because you knew Ghost was watching - because of some foreign underlying need to make him proud. 

“Johnny, you have to take control.”

“I’m fuckin’ tryin’! Your bloody sled dog has other ideas,” Soap huffed, growling down the line. 

Ghost’s chuckle rattled around the comms like a swarm of bats. The ever present hand on the front of your neck dug into your collarbone a little, but still you persisted and pushed forward through the resistance. Soap had no idea what he was doing, had no idea how to control your advancement through the fake field. 

“Sled dog tendencies aside, you’re not holding em’ right,” Ghost chastised. “Stop the exercise!”

The splat of the last paintball echoed dully around the room and all at once your more human senses returned. The sharp fuzz in your ears dissipated and the blurring at the edge of your peripheries came staggeringly back into focus. You almost sent Soap crashing when you stopped fighting his hold, though luckily for him he swivelled just in time to keep his feet on solid ground. 

“Fuckin’ here we go,” Soap muttered, releasing your collar. 

You frowned up at him in question, but you didn’t get an opportunity to wonder what he was so pissed about. Ghost jumped into the little arena he’d created and crossed the floor, patting your vest before he took a hold of you himself.

“You’re holdin’ Pup round the front like this,” Ghost said, sliding his hand around your collar to illustrate his point. “You’re just choking them and driving them forward to get away from ya’ or get to the checkpoint.”

“Because your precious little Angel keep’s growlin’ and turnin round when I hold the collar round the back like you do. I feel like I’m about to get my face rearranged again!”

Ghost sighed and put his hand on Soap’s arm, driving the other man to give a cursory glance down at you before fixing a hard look on the Lieutenant. There was no mistaking the sharp little shake of his head he gave, no matter how much he had tried to hide it. Ghost put his hand down, holding it up in mock surrender before it fell completely. 

“It’s because you’re holding on too tight, Johnny,” Ghost explained, his voice growing softer. “You don’t have to. Pup won’t hurt you.” 

“You sure about that?”

“Johnny,” Ghost growled. “Don’t say anything stupid, now.”

You looked up, alarmed at the tone Ghost was taking. You didn’t really blame Soap, or anyone else, for being afraid of you. A lot of people were - anyone who knew your reputation at least, and from that little comment you surmised that Soap was well aware of it. Though from the way Ghost was acting, it was as if Soap had told him he was going to shoot you. His eyes were stuck in a stormy glare and his full height was rigidly stretching up over the Sergeant. 

“You know this is difficult for me,” Soap said, jaw as taught as a piano wire. 

“I know…” Ghost sighed. “But it’ll only be harder if you keep going like this, learning to control a wolf the wrong way will only get you both hurt. You’ve gotta dig deep here, push past the bad memories. This one’ll never hurt you like that.”

“So you keep saying,” Soap grumbled. “Why don’t you try tellin’ them to fuckin’ behave when they’re being handled rather’n having a go at me.”

A creeping feeling of shame crept through your mind, suddenly you felt like a very small child in the middle of a fight between your parents. The tiny little voice you hadn’t heard in so long chimed just as true as it did then, They’re fighting about me again. Your ears folded back straight against your head and you leaned closer into Ghost, accidentally catching eyes with Soap as he registered your movement. 

Soap’s eyes softened. 

“It’s not that simple. I have a plan in the works though,” Ghost said carefully, shifting his gaze to you as he felt you press against him, and then back at Soap. “It’s gonna take a bit to undo years of shit training, yeah? I told you how it’d be before, those shitheads at Branhaven always train up hybrids to look as showy as possible for their superiors. That means they pull like crazy and bark and growl up a riot while they work because it looks effective and scary to the knobheads who don’t need to handle them. I need you all to learn how to handle Pup as they are now before I’ve worked with them, and then you’ll be prepared for anything…’sides, its always you n me together, Johnny, remember? Realistically you’re not gonna have to actually handle them on the field, you just need to be prepared to.”

The ‘Just in case’ that eluded his last sentence was silent.

The whole time you couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that Ghost was unusually…tender for a man in charge over the Sergeant. Normally when people bitched at the higher ups in your base they’d be shouted at and told to man up or fuck off. Ghost was actually explaining himself to Soap, trying to rationalise what he was doing as if he somehow owed it to him. He treated Soap like he treated you, ensuring he was able to calm down and trying to fill him in so he could take comfort in knowing what was happening. 

The treatment seemed to work just as well on Soap as it did you. He huffed out a defeated breath and relaxed, looking from you to Ghost while the irate cloud above him dispersed and became lost in the gentle atmosphere. 

“Fine. Can you show me what to do again?”

“Atta boy,” Ghost said, grin evident in his voice. “Hand here, and legs nice and stable. You need to keep moving forward at a nice even pace, you have to set the right speed. Soon as Pup tries to push on ahead, you grip the back of their neck like that.”

You growled as you felt Ghost put pressure on your scruff, instinctively feeling the work drive build up within you. He just shook his head and gave you an unamused stare for your efforts. 

“The growling’s all just noise. Stupid noise,” Ghost said, intentionally setting his eyes on you, “but there’s no intention of threat behind it - not while we’re in charge.”

“What do you mean ‘not while we’re in charge’?” Soap asked, making a face. 

“Pup won’t have any reason to hurt us. We’re not gonna go yanking tails and hitting like fuckin’ children when we don’t get our way.”

“Wh- y’mean that was a commanding officer that did that?” Soap asked, motioning to your crooked tail. 

“Like I said - shit training. C’mon, take the collar.”

Soap didn’t quite look like he’d recovered from the shock of being told about your tail. He gingerly reached out and took your collar with a frown set heavily into his face. You wondered if it was because he really pitied you that much, or if it was because he thought you might take out your anger on him. You leaned more toward the latter reasoning. Despite his reservations though, he was able to do as Ghost asked this time. 

“Good, that’s it, Johnny.” 

Soap visibly puffed up from the praise. His grip on you tightened. He was more sure of himself now, he marched ahead and set you into an even pace, the rhythm catching onto your feet contagiously. Naturally there were still a few moments where you wanted to pull forward and rush through, but now that Soap was placing his trust in Ghost’s intuition, you were gently guided into keeping within his step. 

“Good Pup, keep it up!”

Soap didn’t immediately latch onto what Ghost had told him about your growling, he still wrenched himself back a few times after correcting you. The horrible tractor-like sound would comically twist his features. However this time, he was actually able to get to the checkpoint with you. Then after a few more trials, you were both flying down the course, high on Ghost’s praises and untouched by any paintball that tried to come your way. 

After the fourth time he called for a break, roughly crossing his hands into a T shape while he doubled over and panted and puffed for air. His signature sage scent wafted strongly from him now, invading your senses and forcing you back a step or two.

A discreet smile stole its way onto your face, a smug one if you were honest. There was a steady tension starting to warm in your legs, but you were no where near over extension. Apparently all the breakfast and rest you’d gotten had done you wonders, because you felt like you could keep going all day and all night, maybe longer than that. It made you wonder if maybe Price and Ghost didn’t have a point to all the nice things they were doing for you afterall. 

“You did well, Soap,” Ghost chuckled, wandering back onto the course with a swagger to his step. “You too, Pup. Reckon you’ll be nice and warmed up for Price and Garrick now.”

“Christ, Pup’s gonna do this two more times?” Soap asked, looking over at you in wonder. 

“Mhmm,” Ghost hummed.

“You not tired?” Soap asked, directing his question toward you.. 

You laughed at that, unsure as to why he’d be so shocked you were going to keep going. Normally you’d spend your whole days training when you weren’t on an active mission. Running and sparring were practically all you knew. If you were to tire out early, you’d be punished for it, blamed for not getting enough sleep or not eating your shitty MREs. Stopping wasn’t in the equation. 

“I can go all day,” you shrugged.

“Christ, and they tell me I’m hyperactive.”

-🐺-

Overall impressed with your performance that day, Ghost had insisted on dragging you out to a shopping villiage, or as you now thought of it - a torture desensitisation arena. Even later on at night, there were so many people around: screaming children that were moaning about being tired and hungry, teenagers laughing like hyenas, couples arguing over what they should and shouldn’t spend their money on. It didn’t help that there were so many busy shop fronts as well, colours and flashing lights and products you wouldn’t even know what to do with. It was a circus of too many stimuli and you were stuck at it’s roaring centre, sticking to Ghost like a fly on tape. 

As soon as he’d parked up you’d demanded to know why he’d brought you there, not able to help the rising panic at being taken somewhere new. He’d explained that it was time to buy you some much needed casual clothes. Personal items. At the mention of that dreaded subject, you’d tried to protest and remind him about getting your brand new stack of clothes from the quartermaster, but Ghost had just snorted and said that he wasn’t taking you everywhere in your uniform. He didn’t care for the looks it would get him - said the man wearing a black medical skull mask over his face.

Undeterred by your saying that he didn't need to waste money on you, Ghost all but yanked you into all clothes shops, leading you by the hand and forcing you to pick casual clothes that you liked from the small selection the hybrid sections offered. It was an exercise made to humiliate, you’d thought, you had no idea how to pick clothes for yourself that weren’t standard issue - had no idea what colours and materials and fits went together with what. He’d made you pick what felt good in the end, said that Soap had told him the important thing was picking something comfortable - it didn’t narrow your search by very much.

Propelled by the thought of getting to leave if you just compiled, you eventually settled on some blue vans trainers, a cosy pullover hoodie, two new pyjama sets, a couple of pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts that weren’t too adventurous - save for the one that had some illustrated plants on it. Even that little amount felt like far too much, overwhelming you with how much choice you’d have when your promised downtime would come. Though every time you asked if you’d picked enough, Ghost would just fix you with a stony look that told you to keep going. 

Then as if that wasn’t enough, he took you over to a bookshop as well, claiming you needed something to entertain yourself with in your downtime. Even when you told him you’d managed alright up till that point. However, when you were left to explore so that Ghost could go pick something for himself, it wasn’t the books there that you were most taken by. 

“What’ve you got there then?”

You froze, shoulders bunching as you heard Ghost’s voice softly break your awed silence and looked guiltily down at the little puppy teddy you were holding. You weren’t supposed to be looking at that- that’s what you figured when you saw his shadow cross your path. A picture of his sneering face crossed your mind’s eye, darkened by that unruly blonde fringe of his. 

What were you supposed to say to him? After blankly looking at a few of the books, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over to the little displays of plushies, and had slowly gravitated toward it when you saw the little dog that was now in your hands. 

The dog’s fur was so unbelievably soft and its little spotted face reminded you of one of your favourite cartoons from when you were small. It called out to you and lured you in with the reminder of some old theme song that played in your head, made you pick it up and stroke its squishy black and white tummy with a smile plastered all over your face. 

“I got distracted, sorry,” you murmured, gently placing it amongst its spotted siblings. 

Ghost came round to your side and picked up the same puppy you’d been holding. You tilted your head in surprise and watched as he did the same as you, stroking the soft tummy while inspecting it. It looked comically smaller in his hands though, like a newborn pup. 

“You want him?”

Your ears perked in surprise when he spoke. Finally you chanced a look up at him and felt your cheeks warm when you made eye contact, thoroughly embarrassed that you’d been caught. Though he didn’t look judgemental like you’d thought he would, instead he just stared at you earnestly over his black medical mask and gave you a chance to speak. 

“I…um...” you weren’t sure what to say. 

Of course you wanted him. Every little instinct in you wanted to take the toy and hold it and cuddle it and never let go. However that wasn’t the kind of behaviour befitting of a military class hybrid like you, and it was the kind of thing you’d have been endlessly mocked, if not punished for before. 

Soldiers don’t cuddle their teddy bears and blankets, they make their beds quickly and efficiently and don’t concern themselves with such stupid frivolities!

“It’s not a trick question, Pup. No wrong answer,” Ghost supplied, holding the puppy out to you encouragingly. 

You breathed out a sigh, but your chest didn’t feel any less heavy. Even if it was such a silly decision to make, it still felt like such a big undertaking. If you said yes and took it, would Ghost think less of you? You already thought less of you for wanting it. You were already filled with judgement, the voices of all the superiors that had ever disciplined you mocking you in one big evil choir. 

Stupid little baby wolf. 

You whined, but even despite yourself, you took it and held it to your chest. 

“Hey, you deserve to have things of your own, that’s what tonight’s all about,” Ghost said, gently setting his hand on your shoulder as he did so. “You deserve to exist outside of the military, to be more than a war dog. If this makes you happy, then we should get ‘im.”

You wanted to keel over then as you rolled your eyes, let your whole body collapse with the motion. This dog at least was a simple decision in terms of what you liked, much easier than when you’d been standing in front of all those dreaded clothes racks, but it didn’t make finalising it any easier. Not when your feelings were colliding like waves against a harbour wall, one side seemingly solid while the other corroded it.

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“I’m not supposed to want things like this,” you mumbled, holding the teddy out in front of yourself again like it was some kind of alien object. 

“Why not?” he chuckled.

“Because it’s for children,” you said dryly.

“It’s not for children,” he scoffed. “There’s no rules on who gets to buy cuddly toys. Anyway, you clearly want the little fella, so we’re getting him.”

You frowned, looking confusedly down at the dog again. 

“But It’s a distraction…All of this stuff is,” you uttered, feeling Maddox’s voice speak through you like a spell had been cast. “It’ll take my mind off important things and get everyone hurt.”

You thought back to the kid in the bunk next to you, the one that had cried on the first day because they couldn’t have their teddy bear to sleep with. Maddox had lectured you all then and there, almost shouting the fur off your ears, saying that hybrid soldiers couldn’t let anything get in the way of them functioning. Needing a teddy bear to sleep wouldn’t fly when you were overseas and catching bullets because you were sleep deprived, reading books to escape your miserable new lives would get you killed when your heads were still stuck in them, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. 

“You don’t think we all need distractions sometimes?” Ghost asked. “Distractions make life worth living, and you’re no less deserving of that than anyone on the team. Don’t you think?”

You didn’t have an answer for that. In fact, you were arguing a point that wasn’t even yours. So, in response, you shrugged and traced one of the puppy’s patches.

“I think you care about me like…a weird amount,” you mumbled. 

“A weird amount?” Ghost scoffed, hiding a crinkly eyed smile behind his mask. “Why’s it weird to care about you, huh?” 

You shrugged again. 

“Ok, listen. You’ve been all twisted up by those idiots at your last base and I want you to know that I’m not gonna legitimise a single thing that they’ve taught you. This is what it’s going to be like now, this is what you get for coming in everyday and working your arse off. The fact that you’ve been given no compensation and been run so badly into the ground by those cretins is nothing short of appalling. Believe me when I tell you that I know it’s not as simple as flicking a switch and getting used to good treatment - it won’t happen just because I tell you it’s all over now and I understand that. Just…let me give you a little bit of comfort, yeah? Just to show you how things should be. Just enjoy a distraction or two and see that it won’t be life ending, and it’s not gonna get taken away from you. I promise you’ll be fine” 

Your throat was too thick with emotion to answer. So instead of making a fool out of yourself you nodded your assent and looked down at your new prize with wonder. How long had it been since you’d owned something that didn’t have any function or use on the battlefield? How long since you’d held something so soft?

“Now…did you actually look at any books or did you just stand and bully yourself for wanting something nice?”

You jumped when Ghost’s grizzled voice sounded out and brought your mind back to task, shaking your head of all your musings. Choosing books - right. All at once, the multicoloured aisles came back to view and all the people in them, the room filled out around you and made you hold your puppy down low at your side and out of view.

“Yeah, I um- I think I found something cool.”

-🐺-

That night Ghost let you stay up in bed for a little bit to read. Leaving you nestled in your swarm of blankets sitting side by side with your new friend as the plush sat up against the pillows with you. Your eyes poured over the artwork of your new graphic novels in wonder, admiring the bold colours and thick lines, turning the glossy pages ever so slowly as if your heart would stop beating when you got to the end of the book. 

When you ended the first chapter you smiled down at the little dog rather childishly and bit your lip. It was silly to name inanimate objects, it didn’t take someone standing over you and shouting at you to know that, though you couldn’t help it when the name seemed to cling to him with an unshakable grip. Simon. You’d name him Simon after the main character in the story. It seemed to suit the little black and white dog just as much as it did the hybrid boy, and now there was no changing it - unfortunately for you. 

[thedustyleaves]

Sorry if you’ve answered this before, but I really love how your illustrations have such a cohesive color palette, how do you pick your colors to have a certain theme without looking monochromatic?

(In your breakdown on the saloon/western BP illustration, you mentioned that the overall color was reddish brown so you added blue to the main group to set them apart. But like how did you decide on which reddish brown colors to use for the flats?)

Thank you!! Your art is really expressive and the colors always work so well in the illustration. I’m always in awe of your pics

That’s an excellent question! My drawings actually start out pretty monochromatic because I tend to put most of my effort into the lighting and shading part to help differentiate where I want people to look.

For all of my pieces, I want my characters to be in focus. So no matter what, I always have to keep their main colors in mind and make sure their outfits and the background don’t clash with them (Kain’s red hair tends to be a problem, pft).

For my flats, I generally work with two main colors that tend to contrast each other and then I mix a lot of neutrals around them. (Sometimes the main colors are in the light and shading itself, but I’ll just focus on the flats!).

Sometimes, I will change the hue of their colors. So while Kain has bright orange hair, I will dull it down if it overwhelms the piece or doesn’t fit with the tone - like I did for the cowboy drawing - but never so much that it no longer looks like him.

With the cowboy drawing as an example, if I strip it down to my flats, it instantly becomes very dull and monochromatic. I really enjoy working with these colors because they’re easy on the eyes (or my eyes specifically) and I can see the difference in subtle hues a lot better than if they were very high in contrast. I like working with subtleties when I want background characters to become a single unit but still be separated as individual people.

When I picked the colors for the background, I wanted to separate the characters from the walls. Therefore, I kept the walls red and gold, and the characters brown - they’re still within the same warm-colored family, but they’re far enough away from each other that they don’t become one with each other. I also like to not have clothes from different characters blend together, so overlapping colours can't be the same. I made one coat lighter than the other, the glove warmer than the dark jacket, and so on.

(their coats are also in the same realm as the green/gold colour of the details for the curtains and the frames on the walls)

For the paintings I actually chose to put a bit of blue and green in to help create some interest for the main characters and keep your eyes around that area, as it matches the blue they’re wearing, just a whole lot darker. It also makes them pop just enough so they look interesting against the wall, but not enough to overshadow the main characters

I know, because of the way I work with layers, that when I add my overlays, I automatically brighten and saturate the colors a lot. It’s a lot easier for me to saturate something “dull” and move it into all kinds of hues than saturating something already high in contrast and then trying to force it into a new color theme.

But because of this, I usually have to go back and change the colors I work with constantly while the overlays are on. Since the overlays don’t know what sort of materials they’re laying on top of, everything gets lighter and washed out, so dark skin tones, hair, and clothes have to be corrected one by one afterward. If I were to remove the overlays after I corrected it to make it feel like a dark blue outfit on Raki, it’s basically just a black void now; but with the overlay, it’s a dark blue outfit. Before that, he simple blended in with the background too much and he didn’t feel like he was a part of the group either. 

I always try to put down colors how I imagine they’re going to look like, unaffected by light, but I’m also naturally drawn toward more earthy and warm tones, so all of my color choices will tend to lean that way.

Here’s another example of main colours vs. neutrals; the main colours are red and green/turquoise, with dark browns and greys to encapsulate them, and gold for accents or to make certain things pop (the chair, Dakon’s dark coat, etc.).

I never want them all to wear the exact same color, but I want them to feel connected and be in the same 'colour family,' so Dakon and Kain have nearly the same dark red/brown, and Christie and Raki have nearly the same 'bright'/red.

The blacks and browns, I’ve kept warm as well, so they stay within that realm of red. I also make sure that none of them are too close to Kain’s hair since he’s in the middle of the piece, and I want your eyes to be drawn toward the middle, and his orange hair helps with that.

The paintings I basically do not care too much about, as long as each individual painting has a single dominating colour. I mute them down with a darker overlay and ensure they don’t have strong shadows and light, so they get pushed to the background, so despite being a bunch of different colours, each painting feels like a solid color and they’re still cast in the same light as the rest of the piece, so they feel like they belong in the same room.

I try to help move the eye around the piece as well, so I keep the big painting sort of in the same realm of red and brown as the main characters, because it’s so big it shouldn’t dominate with a new color and force interest toward it. The blue/purple ones melt in with the background as they’re close to the turquoise background, but without disappearing, the yellow ones work sort of like the gold accents and blend in with the frames, and the green paintings at the top give the illusion of a monochrome fade, so everything gets more eerie and green as the image goes up - there’s also a subtle green fade that affects the gold accents from the top down, to enhance that effect.

This is just a few examples, if there are any pieces in particular you were thinking of, and it’s neither of these, just let me know, and I can break those down as well!

Thank you for the question; I hope I answered it somewhat, and thank you for the kind words! <3

[buckrecs]

You are literally doing god work thank you so much for this blog

I kinda have a request if that's okay. Can you please give us some Mob Bucky recs . Series or one shots

Thank you so much

Mob!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

Thank you so much:) Here are some Mob!Bucky fics!

* = contains smut

ONESHOT

Kiss it Better by @straywords

You’re not entirely sure your boss with the staring problem even likes you, but you’re determined to do your job either way.

little lilly. by @raysheart

you unknowingly bring out a side of bucky he never knew was there.

*Come Home. by @sinner-as-saint

Bucky comes home to find you and your son asleep in your bed and his heart damn near explodes with how much he loves his family. And after putting your baby to sleep, Bucky proceeds to show you just how grateful he is to have you and how much he loves you... 

That I What? by @itsthewritergal

Y/N’s ex seems to have more of a hold on Y/N than Bucky realised.

Never Giving Up by @itsthewritergal

Reader is ill on the one day Bucky said no interruptions... 

*the proposition of a lifetime by @tee-swizzle

mafia!bucky teaches his best friend how to please a man.

Put My Mind At Ease by @slyyywriting

You married the head of the mob in payment for your father’s debt. The contract includes that you must give whatever Bucky wants. And what Bucky wants is for you to be jealous.

protector by @vxntagedior

the moment bucky fell in love with you

Kerosene by @metalbuckaroo

“You took my heaven away and didn’t think that I wouldn’t go looking for revenge?”

Black Card by @jelsasnowflakes1

When Bucky finds out you finally used the card he gave you he was confused why you only spend 15 dollars with it.

third date rule by @classylo

you had a rule, the third date rule, you had never reached it so perhaps that’s why you were still a virgin...that is until you meet the infamous sweet mob boss.

I Am Your Fall by @sinner-as-saint

You’re hiding from your past, in Madripoor. You did nothing wrong, other than mix dangerous business with a lot of pleasure. You couldn’t go home because... he would find you and Madripoor was the only place he didn’t do business, or had any allies or friends. But little did you know that the mob boss had finally found you after obsessively looking for you ever since you left, and left him in pieces. He didn’t want revenge, he just wanted the one thing he had hopelessly fallen in love with; who also happened to be the one who had betrayed him and hurt him more than anyone or any bullet ever did before - you. 

A Simple Housewife by @beyondspaceandstars

A new member starts getting too friendly with you one night, forcing Bucky to show a side of himself you’ve never seen before. And possibly never want to see again.

Could It Be Fate? by @bxcketbarnes

taken. by @wintersldr1

when you are captured by Bucky’s enemy, he will stop at nothing to get you back, and remind everyone the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

a wolf in man’s clothing by @witchywithwhiskey

you walk into a bar owned by the Russian mob, and Bucky just has to swoop in to save you—and claim you.

Protector by @cherryrogers

Ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with.

*My Devotion by @cryptidcasanova

The one where Bucky doesn’t take your breakup well.

SERIES

A Business Deal by @ezm-imagines

Mafia Boss Bucky and Stark Reader agree on a deal to improve their businesses. A deal which will unite them together forever, whether they like it or not. Well, that is if they go through with the deal…

*A Moment of Your Time by @stevesbestgirl

A soulmate AU where the headstrong reader realizes that she’s meant to love the brutal mob boss of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes. She doesn’t want to be a part of organized crime and she doesn’t want to rely on anyone, but how do you ignore your soulmate?

*Deception by @avecra

Growing up in the dark business your father ran, violence wasn’t new to you. Rivalries and bloodbaths were something you unfortunately were used to. And in order to save your father from an unnecessary fight, you force yourself into an arranged marriage with Brock Rumlow. But when he threatens your father over a small mistake on your part, you find yourself in front of your husband’s biggest rival and your old friend, Bucky Barnes. With the shared history between the two of you, Bucky finds himself drawn to you once again, and will risk everything he has just to keep you safe.

Gunslinger by @ghostofskywalker

The bitter reality was this: you did what you had to do to survive. And if that meant going head to head with the most feared mob boss of the city, so be it.

*honey, there is no right way by @bonky-n-steeb

when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

*Hostage Of Your Eyes by @sinner-as-saint

You accept an unusual offer made by a very familiar, but dangerous mob boss. And despite the rather bizarre situation and all the troubles which come along the way; old flames rekindle – and you find love again, where it wasn’t supposed to be.

Invisible String by @oitommothetease

James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

*Lost Without You by @angrythingstarlight

Soft Mob Bucky Series

Missing by @buckyalpine

Bucky’s baby is missing and he will not stop until he finds her.

Run to Me by @sgtjbuccky

In where you’ve always had a habit of ending up in situations you shouldn’t, and when you caught the eye of the man who ran New York, Bucky Barnes, your life changed. They warned you about him, but the one thing they never warned you about was how you’d always want to run to him. 

*Run To You by @bestofbucky

Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard.

The Light We Lost by @world-of-aus

James Buchanan Barnes had been it for you, and you wanted to believe that what the two of you had, was you making it. You wanted to be the other side of the statistics that actually made it, but your marriage wasn’t meant for this life. You fought hard to make your way back to him, to get him to see you, but life had a funny way of kicking you down when you were already down.

*wrong choice, right places by @mvtthewmurdvck

never wanting to work for him or protect his fiancé, falling for you was the last thing he should do—especially when his boss was zemo, who now ran most of the city.

The Maid of Mr. Barnes by @disasterofastory

You get a job as Mr. Barnes's maid. You heard about the notorious gangster, but since you desperately need money and a place to live, you are not in a position to be picky.

Icarus by @marvellous1917

it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Speed Limit 2525

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: When Tim Bradford goes head-to-head with a bomber, he finds himself on a bus carrying a bomb and you.

Warnings: spoilers for Speed (1994) (I think this qualifies as an AU/rewrite), angst, bombings, nightmares, death and fear of dying, teasing, fluff, a little make out scene at the end? basically every warning that applies to the movie and The Rookie. I also made up a story about "Reaper"

Word Count: 11.7k+ words

A/N: This isn't completely proofread, but I'll be back soon to check it. I hope you enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Shoot him.

Tim doesn’t feel the trigger depress, only the hot desert air beating against his face. Though the trigger doesn’t move, a bullet rips through the barrel and into Tim’s only surviving squad member. He yells to warn his teammate, but no sound comes out. The wind is loud in the desert, yet the sound of Tim’s friend falling against the sand seems to echo for miles.

“Bradford,” the injured soldier coughs. “Wrong target, Reaper.”

Tim’s chest is tight with guilt and anxiety when he wakes. The sheets are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his shallow breaths distract him from freeing himself. Before he has time to orient himself, Tim’s phone rings and snaps him out of his post-nightmare, adrenaline-fueled state as he reaches across the empty pillow to answer it.

“Bradford,” he says.

“Get to the station as soon as you can,” Sergeant Grey demands. “Your Metro captain has me calling everybody in. We’re sending patrol units out, too. It’s gonna be a long day, Tim.”

Tim forgets about the nightmare and the memory within as he rushes to get ready. Tim’s tunnel vision focuses on work, and everything else fades away. Middle-of-the-night calls aren’t unusual, especially for a Metro Sergeant like himself, but this many officers getting a wake-up call is. Whatever is happening is big, and it doesn’t sound to Tim like it will be over any time soon. He makes it to the station in record time, and his commander is directing the other Metro officers when he enters.

“We don’t have time,” she says suddenly. “I’m running this force from here. Sergeant Grey will fill you in on the way. Get to the target location and stick together. Bradford, you’re with Temple!”

Tim nods as Harry Temple walks to his side. Harry was one of Angela Lopez’s first patrol partners, but he decided Metro was a better fit when the time to move forward in his career came along. Like Tim, he was in the Army before becoming a police officer, and he and Tim have some shared experiences. Neither of them is overly eager to bond over them, however.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Tim asks Harry as he turns on the lights and sirens in the shop.

“All I heard was ‘elevator,’” Harry answers. “I’m assuming they’re more to this than that.”

“Listen up,” Sergeant Grey says over the radio. “This is your official brief. When we roll up to the scene, we go straight in. No time for questions after we exit these cars. Fifteen people are trapped on an express elevator. The owner of the building is also inside. A bomb took out the cables, and our bomber is demanding three million dollars, or he blows the emergency brake, too. Cell phone service is spotty in the building, so we can’t rely on that to track anyone or anything.”

“Cell phone service is nonexistent in the elevator. A defensive move against trade secrets,” someone adds.

“What’s our clock, Sergeant?” Harry radios.

“He gave one hour when he called, which leaves us with twenty-eight minutes.”

“The only thing that’ll stop the elevator is the basement, right?” Tim adds.

“The city plans to avoid that. They’re working to release the money.”

Tim stops the shop beside the curb at the front of the building. He leaves the lights on as he and Harry remove their weapons from the back and meet the rest of their tactical team in the lobby.

“We can’t just unload them,” an officer says.

“The bomber wired the elevator doors and the hatch to trigger the bomb. So, he’s crazy, but he ain’t stupid,” Wade explains as he enters.

“Harry volunteers to examine the device,” Tim interjects. “He was on the bomb squad in the Army.”

Harry turns to glare at Tim as he says, “Right. And since Bradford also has Army experience, he’d like to provide a second opinion.”

“Fine,” Wade says. “You two check it out. Hey! Where’s the nearest access panel?”

“32nd floor,” a nearby employee answers on his way out. “It’s in the hall by the storage closet.”

“Report only. We’re in a holding pattern until we get word from your Commander back at the station. Confirm building evac and keep your radios active.”

“What about the other elevators?” Harry asks the employee.

“In an emergency, all passenger cars go to the nearest floor and shut down,” he says.

Tim frowns and moves his gun to his side. “Looks like we’re walking up the stairs.”

Harry nods before sprinting up the stairs behind Tim. Tim outpaces him but waits at the access panel for Harry to arrive with his small tool kit. He begins removing the nuts from the metal cover while Tim watches the hallway. Harry gives Tim a signal and Tim lifts the metal sheet. Light filters into the elevator shaft as Tim crawls through the opening and moves to the top of the elevator, where the bomb rests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the L.A.P.D.,” Tim announces loudly. “There has been an elevator malfunction. Just relax and we’ll have you out of there as soon as possible.”

Harry looks up from the bomb and raises his hands in question.

“I didn’t lie,” Tim defends.

“I don’t recognize this work, Tim. Whoever our bomber is… he’s a pro and the work is solid,” Harry says.

“Bradford, Temple, hold position,” Wade radios. “We’re waiting to hear back from the bomber.”

Tim looks at his watch and muffles a curse. Their time is nearly out, and Tim continues to look at his watch rather than think about the lives in the metal death trap below his feet.

Harry sees the look in Tim’s eyes and decides to distract him. “Terrorist in a crowded room, five pounds of dynamite. He’s got a deadman’s stick. What do you do?”

“How close am I?” Tim asks, looking away from the elevator.

“Twenty feet.”

“Taser. He can’t let go with enough volts surging through him.”

“Alright, hot shot. Fifty feet?”

“Nice try.”

“Airport, then. Gunman with one hostage, using her for cover. He’s almost on a plane, you’re a hundred feet away.”

“Why is the hostage always a woman in these scenarios? Watch too many romcoms in the academy?”

“What do you do?” Harry repeats.

Tim kneels to examine the bomb once more and remembers his nightmare. Shoot him. He shakes his head before answering, “Shoot the hostage. Take her out of the equation, he can’t get to the plane, and I have a clear shot.”

“You are out of your mind, Bradford.”

“This is wrong,” Tim says suddenly. “He’s gonna blow it. How much do you think this elevator weighs?”

“Why? You wanna try to bench it?”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge the teasing as he adds, “We can do something about the hostages.”

“No shoot them, right?”

“Roof,” Tim reads as he points to a roof access sign. There’s a heavy-duty winch secured to the corner of the roof, and Tim runs to it as he says, “We don’t shoot them. Just take them out of the equation.”

Tim pulls the cable from the winch toward the elevator housing on the roof. He drops it in and watches it fall several feet before it catches.

“It’ll hold,” Tim tells Harry. “It’ll hold,” he repeats, quieter.

“Six minutes,” Harry alerts.

Tim throws his legs over the edge of the housing and lowers carefully onto the elevator cable. He hooks the winch hook to his tactical vest before moving down in the elevator shaft. Wade and the Metro team argue with the city council about releasing the money in the lobby, and no one has a clue that the shooter is listening to their radio frequencies. Without cell phones, they’re completely reliant on their radios to stay in touch with one another. Tim ignores his radio as he flips so he’s headfirst as he nears the trapped elevator.

“One more pop quiz,” Harry begins. “Psycho Sergeant Tim Bradford rigs an elevator to drop thirty stories. What do you do?”

Tim rolls his eyes before gesturing for Harry to hold the winch cable steady. A small pile of C4 waits beside his feet, but Tim ignores it as he secures the cable hook to the frame of the elevator.

“Why did I take this job?” Tim murmurs.

“Hey, a few more decades and you get a tiny pension and a free watch,” Harry answers.

“Hit the switch, Temple.”

Harry runs to the winch, hoping that the cables used to wash windows are strong enough to catch a free-falling elevator. He flips the switch, and the winch begins pulling in the cable. As the extra cable Tim pulled into the shaft begins unspooling, he moves up to the open access panel.

In the basement, a man missing a thumb presses a button on his handheld device. Instantaneously, a red light illuminates on the bomb. Tim sees it and throws himself through the access panel just before the bomb goes off. The passengers begin screaming, but the winch catches the falling elevator before it reaches the bottom of the shaft.

“What is happening, Bradford?” Wade asks, his concern evident over the radio.

“He’s early!” Harry yells as he returns from the roof.

“We have to get them out of the elevator. They can’t be lower than 28,” Tim exclaims.

When he and Harry meet the rest of their team on the 28th floor, they see that the elevator is stranded between floors. Only the floor is accessible from their current position, but there is no time to run up and down the stairs and look for the perfect access point. The elevator passengers lower to the floor and Tim and Harry pull people out one at a time. Tim pulls the last woman to safety seconds before the winch fails and the elevator plummets to the bottom of the shaft. After the sound of impact, Tim and Harry lean back against a wall and pant from the effort they exerted.

“Is your watch slow?” Tim asks.

“Nah. He jumped the gun,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “We had three minutes.”

“He blew more than the elevator. He blew his three million dollars. Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth it.”

Tim sits up as he declares, “He’s here.”

“He could have blown that thing from anywhere, Tim.”

“He knew we were doing something, that’s why he acted early. That means he’s close.”

“He’s not gonna corner himself in the building. The building we evacuated.” Harry leans his head back against the wall and thinks for a moment before he adds, “He’d want to be here, yes, but stay mobile… The elevators.”

“All of the passenger cars stopped, and we checked them.”

“Did we check the freight elevators?”

Tim’s eyes widen in realization as he and Harry push themselves to stand and run to the freight elevator doors. Once Tim pries the door open, he slides down the cable and lands on top of a car. Harry reluctantly follows and freezes when a noise echoes inside. Tim doesn’t notice Harry behind him as he prepares to enter the elevator. Before he can, a shotgun is fired between them, and Harry falls into the elevator. The man inside knocks him out with the butt of the shotgun, and Tim waits until the elevator moves up to drop in through the roof panel. As he lands, he looks up and sees a shotgun barrel in his face.

“I don’t suppose anybody would pay me three million dollars just for you,” the nine-fingered bomber muses.

He pulls the trigger, but the gun is empty. Tim removes his Glock from his side and demands the bomber lower the shotgun. He does so but opens his coat to reveal dynamite strapped to his chest and a deadman switch detonator in his hand.

“Hotshot,” the man begins. Tim’s jaw clenches as he realizes the man listened to their conversations over the radio, but he can’t say anything before the bomber says, “Terrorist holding a police hostage. He’s got enough dynamite to blow the building in half. What do you do?”

“Fifty cops are waiting for us in the basement,” Tim states.

“Standard flanking, I’m aware.” He presses a button on a device wired into the elevator controls. “So, maybe we’ll get off early.”

The elevator stops at a parking level, and Tim watches as the bomber pulls Harry toward the door. His eyes open slowly, and Tim keeps his eyes on Harry rather than the man pulling him.

“Well, end of the line, Bradford. This day has been a real disappointment, I don’t mind saying.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t kill everyone?” Tim asks.

“There will come a time, hotshot, when you will wish you’d never met me.”

“I’m already there.”

“Look! I have your partner, I’m in charge! I drop this stick and they clean us up with a sponge!”

“Go ahead!” Harry yells. “Drop the stick!” “Shut up!” Tim demands.

Harry looks at Tim and mouths, “Shoot the hostage.”

Shoot him. Wrong target, Reaper. Tim takes a deep breath and shifts his arms to shoot Harry in the leg. He collapses onto the floor, and the bomber steps back in shock before running into the garage. Tim steps over Harry to shoot behind the feeling suspect. As the man reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder to smile at Tim before he disappears. Tim can’t check on Harry as the garage explodes and the force pushes him back against the wall. As Tim collides with the concrete behind him, everything goes dark. And everything changes.

After Harry’s unplanned and involuntary retirement party, Tim nearly oversleeps. His alarm pulls him from a dreamless sleep, and he winces at the sound before turning it off. Before he showers, he decides to go for a quick run to clear his head. Once he’s dressed and ready for the day, he drives to his favorite café. It’s one of the only places in Los Angeles where you can get a decent cup of coffee and breakfast without being surrounded by millennials working on their screenplays. Tim nods at another regular, Vince, as he enters.

“Hey, Tim. You look awful,” Bob, the owner of the café, says.

“Thanks, Bob,” Tim grumbles.

“Pretty boy party too hard?” Vince asks Tim.

“I- I don’t remember that well.”

“Wake up alone?”

“Always do.”

“Must be nice,” Bob interjects. “The last time I partied like that I worked up married.”

Tim shakes his head as he accepts his order and walks out behind Vince. He sets his coffee on top of his truck as he retrieves his keys from his pocket. Vince’s bus starts behind Tim and pulls away from the curb. Tim turns to wave at Vince before unlocking his door.

After it crosses the first intersection, the bus explodes. Tim stumbles as he looks toward the source of the noise. He runs to the bus as it rolls to a stop and fights against the flames to help Vince, but it’s too late. As Tim lays his hands on his knees in shock, he notices an abandoned cell phone lying on the sidewalk behind him. It rings continuously, and Tim doesn’t hesitate before he answers the phone.

“What do you think, Bradford?” the bomber from last month asks. “You think if you and Harry find all the driver’s teeth they’ll give you another medal?”

“Where are you?” Tim demands.

“Twenty-second delay. I’m in the air duct when the garage blows. Did you think I wouldn’t come prepared? I spent two years on the elevator job. Two years. I invested myself in it. You couldn’t understand the commitment I have. A child, Tim, you’re a child. You ruin a man’s life’s work and then think you can walk away. You’ve got blinders on, but I got your attention now. Didn’t I, Tim?”

“Why didn’t you just come after me?”

“This is about money – 3.7 million. Not you and your ego. None of it had to happen, Tim, and I hope you realize that. How long do you think the driver’s wife and kids will wait before they get worried tonight?”

“When I find you, I will kill you,” Tim threatens.

“There’s a bomb on a bus, hotshot. Once the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If the bus drops below fifty, it blows up. What do you do?”

Tim doesn’t answer but looks around for any sign of the suspect.

“What do you do?” he repeats.

“I’d want to know what bus it was,” Tim answers. He’s accepted the challenge and knows that it has to end with a death: either his or the bomber’s.

“You think I’m going to tell you that, Tim?”

“Yes.”

“Very good.” The man sounds happy, and Tim presses a hand against a nearby wall to control his anger. “Now there are rules, Tim; we have to do this right. No one gets off the bus. One passenger leaves, I will detonate it. Now, if I don’t get my money by 11 a.m., there’s also a timer.”

Tim looks at his watch: 8:05 a.m. “I can’t pull that money in time-“

“Focus, Tim! Your concern is the bus. Don’t call, the radios are jammed. Number 2525, running downtown from Venice. At the corner of Lincoln and Pico…”

Tim drops the cell phone and runs to his car to follow the bus. The lives on that bus are in his hands, and he doesn’t plan to shoot any hostages today.

“Please stop! Sam!” you yell as you chase your bus.

You don’t want to ride the bus, but since your most recent speeding ticket, it is your only mode of transportation. In the few weeks since your license was suspended, you’ve gotten to know the driver, Sam, and some of the regular passengers. You hope that camaraderie is enough to convince Sam to stop for you. The brakes on the bus squeal as it stops, and the door opens.

“This look like a stop to you?” Sam asks.

“You are an amazing man, Sam,” you say as you walk onto the bus. “The men in books and songs have nothing on you.”

You swipe your bus card and take a seat before saying hello to Ortiz, a regular passenger. Comfortable in your seat, and glad that none of the passengers are in a talkative mood this early on a weekday, you relax and hope to get your car back soon.

Tim drives his truck in and out of traffic, onto the shoulder, and into the emergency lane as he tries to catch up with bus 2525. Other drivers honk their horns, flip him off, and yell insults through open windows, but Tim doesn’t notice or care. If he can stop the driver before it reaches 50, then the bomb will never activate. The only danger would be the man with the detonator.

You look up as Sam slows for a traffic jam.

“Can’t you just drive over them?” you ask with a smile.

“Is it always like this?” a man asks from the back of the bus. “It’s my first time here, and it took me three hours just to get out of the airport.”

“Yep,” you answer. “It’s usually worse.”

“That’s why I never drive,” the woman behind you interjects. “I’d never have a car in this city.”

“I have a car. I miss my car,” you lament.

“In the shop?” the tourist asks.

“Something like that. Sam, seriously, the bus is huge, just run them over,” you say again.

When Tim sees the bus has stopped because of a stalled car ahead, he sighs before he pulls onto the shoulder. He exits his truck and runs toward the bus, but the accident clears faster than he expected, and begins moving before he reaches the door. Hitting his fist against the side, Tim yells for the driver to stop.

“Can’t blame him for wanting to get on the bus,” you mutter as you watch him slap an open palm against the door.

“Get off the doors, man! Wait for the next one,” Sam yells before he speeds up.

Tim removes his badge from his pocket a moment too late. He continues chasing the bus, and you look down at your phone as the other passengers watch the unknown man run down the freeway.

Nearly half a mile from his truck and with no other option, Tim stops and waits at the edge of the road. He sees a speeding sports car approaching, and he moves into the middle of its lane and raises his badge.

“Stop!” Tim yells over the traffic.

The young man driving the car slams on his brakes to avoid hitting Tim. Several cars behind him blow their horns, and he raises to yell over the convertible’s windshield.

“What the-“

“L.A.P.D.,” Tim interrupts. “Get out of the car.”

“This is my car! It ain’t stolen and you have no right!” the driver argues.

Tim pulls his gun from its holster and says, “It’s stolen now. Move over.”

The man nods quickly before he jumps over the console and settles into the passenger seat. Tim sits behind the wheel and swerves into another lane as he ignores the owner’s pleas not to scratch the car. Tim drives the expensive, sporty convertible exactly as he had driven his truck, and the man in the passenger seat covers his eyes in fear for his car more than his life. As Tim steers the car beside the bus, he lays on the horn. Sam looks over and immediately recognizes him, and his eyes widen to prove it.

“I’m a cop!” Tim yells.

Sam lowers the window and raises his voice to ask, “What?”

“L-A-P-D!” Tim spells slowly. “There’s a bomb on your bus.”

“There’s a what?” Tim’s passenger exclaims.

“I can’t hear you,” Sam says.

“There’s a bomb on the bus!” Tim repeats.

Sam shakes his head, and Tim looks at the convertible’s speedometer. He’s over 50, so the bus must be, too.

“Drive!” Tim yells as he gestures for the bus to keep moving. “FIFTY! STAY ABOVE FIFTY!”

Sam nods rapidly and trembles a bit as he holds the speed steady. The commotion draws your attention, and you turn in your seat to watch the man who desperately needs a ride or is crazy.

“Call the Mid-Wilshire division station,” Tim says as he hands his phone to the man beside him. “Ask for Detective Angela Lopez.”

“Okay, okay.” The man speaks into the phone briefly before passing it back to Tim.

“Angela,” Tim says.

“Why are you calling me on your day off?” she asks. “Harry’s here, if you’re looking for him.”

“He’s alive.”

“Who?”

“The bomber! He’s back.”

“Harry!” Angela calls.

“Tim, did he hit the bus in Venice?” Harry asks as he approaches Angela’s desk.

“Temple,” Wade interrupts. “We just got a ransom demand from your dead terrorist. Says he rigged a city bus. Where’s Tim?”

“Where do you think?” Harry replies.

Tim ends the call and navigates around the back of the bus to drive alongside the door. Traffic is increasing with the morning rush, and he doesn’t want to risk getting stuck in another slowdown. He honks to get Sam’s attention, and gestures for him to open the door.

“Drive straight,” Tim directs him. “Stay in this lane.”

Sam agrees before Tim speeds up to get ahead of the bus. He opens the driver-side door and hits the brakes, so the bus rips the door off the car. Tim presses the accelerator again to catch up with the bus as he is yelled at by the owner of the car.

“Take the wheel!” Tim says.

Tim waits until the car’s owner moves back into the driver’s seat to jump into the open bus door and pull himself up the stairs.

When the bus rips the door off a convertible, you finally look up. The man driving the car beside the bus is attractive, but you’re a little concerned for his mental well-being. Sam seems willing to help him, and you don’t understand why. When he jumps from the car and onto the bus, you stand and grip the bar above your head. He locks eyes with you before holding up a police badge.

“Everyone, I’m Sergeant Tim Bradford, L.A.P.D. We’ve got a slight… situation on the bus,” he explains.

“Are you crazy?” you ask.

“Ma'am, if you’ll please sit down, we can deal with this in an orderly-“

“But what are you-“

“Ma’am.”

His tone and the look in his eyes convinces you, so you sit down as Tim walks toward the back of the bus and looks at the other passengers. You watch him move and wonder if he’s truly a cop or just insane.

“Just stay in your seats and remain quiet,” Tim says. “Then we’ll be able to defuse the, uh, the problem.”

A passenger you’ve spoken to before, Jay, leaps from his seat and points a gun at Tim.

“Jay!” you yell worriedly.

“Get away from me!” Jay demands.

Tim pulls his gun and matches Jay’s stance. Two women at the back of the bus scream, and you look between Tim and Jay from your seat.

“I don’t know you, I’m not here for you. Let’s not do this,” Tim says calmly.

“Stop the bus, Sam,” Jay calls.

“He can’t. Look, I’m going to put my gun away.” Tim holsters it slowly and raises his hands to show they’re empty. “I don’t care about what you did. It’s over. I’m not a cop right now. See? We’re just two guys on the bus.”

Tim tosses his badge to the floor beside your feet, and you look at it before raising your eyes to Jay again. You understand why he calmed down so quickly; Tim Bradford has a soothing voice, and his presence is assertive but caring. More importantly, you can relax now, because his badge looks real. Jay’s hands begin to lower, but your fellow passenger Ortiz jumps onto his back before Jay puts it away.

Tim rushes forward as Ortiz tries to pull the gun from Jay. A shot goes off, and everyone ducks before a second shot fires.

“Sam!” someone screams.

You turn toward the front of the bus before moving to help Sam. Tim disarms Jay with minimal effort while another woman joins your side.

“Move him,” you say.

“He’s bleeding,” the woman argues.

“We have to stop the bus!”

At your words, Tim spins quickly to face you.

“No!” he yells. “Stay above fifty.”

“Sam is wounded,” you begin.

“You slow down, and this bus will explode!”

Tim holds your eyes and nods slowly. He’s not kidding, you realize. Turning quickly, you look at the speedometer, which falls to 51. While Sam is still in the seat, you push your foot onto the gas pedal and watch the line rise above fifty.

Tim handcuffs Jay to one of the poles before he explains, “There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it will blow. If anyone tries to get off, it will blow.”

The women on the bus surround Sam and help him get comfortable as they try to slow the bleeding. As they pull Sam from the driver’s seat, you slide into position and steer into another lane to keep the speed over 50.

“We’re only gonna make it through this if everyone stays calm, sits down, and listens to me,” Tim adds.

You don’t hear everything he says, with your complete focus on the road ahead and the speedometer on the dash. Your knuckles are white because of your grip on the wheel, and you don’t hear Tim approach behind you. He lays a hand on the headrest behind you and leans down.

“This is great. A bomb on wheels,” you muse sarcastically.

“Can you handle this bus, ma’am?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just like driving a big Toyota, right?”

“Can you handle it?”

“I’m fine. What’s the plan? Is there a plan?”

Tim nods and stands to his full height. He watches you take a deep breath before turning to the rest of the passengers.

“Everyone, I need your cell phones,” Tim announces.

“No way, man!” the tourist yells.

“There is a terrorist out there with a bomb, and I don’t need any of you live streaming or interfering with the radio signal he could be using to detonate a bomb. So, I will only say this one more time. Phones - and anything else with a cellular connection – now.”

The passengers nod and offer all of their cellular devices. Tim accepts an empty bag from a woman beside Sam and places everyone’s belongings inside. He returns to your side and removes his phone from his pocket.

“Do you have anyone you need to call?” Tim asks softly.

“No. I- I don’t want to think like that,” you answer.

“We don’t have to. Everything’s going to be okay. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

You nod and Tim lays a kind hand on your shoulder to add, “But I need your phone.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s- uh- it’s in my back pocket. Right side.”

Tim’s hand brushes your lower back as he pulls the phone from your pocket. He apologizes, though you can’t imagine why. You’ve only known Tim Bradford for a few minutes, but his words mean something, and you can only hope he keeps the promises he’s making.

“You’re a cop, right?” you ask.

“That’s right. Metro Sergeant,” Tim says. “But you can call me Tim if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Uh, no. Thanks, and you can stop calling me ‘ma’am’ while we’re at it. I just- I should probably tell you that I’m taking the bus because my driver’s license was suspended.”

“What for?”

“Speeding.”

Tim shakes his head and hides his smile before calling the station again. He leans forward, but keeps his hand beside you, to look at the news chopper circling above the bus.

“Lopez, it’s me. I took phones from all the passengers. Where do we start?” Tim asks.

“Alright. Harry and Wade are with me,” Angela replies.

“Check the speedometer, Bradford,” Harry says. “Has it been messed with? Any wires or anything that don’t belong?”

“Sorry,” Tim whispers as he leans in front of you to check the dash area. “No, it’s clean.”

“Then it’s gotta be under the bus. Probably rigged to one of the axles.”

“I can’t get under the bus to check right now. The whole you stop, you die thing. Remember?”

Tim doesn’t sound like he’s kidding; in fact, he sounds grumpier than when he first boarded, but his comment makes you laugh. He pats the back of your seat before turning.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Sam calls weakly. Tim kneels beside him to listen, and Sam stutters, “There’s a- an access panel… in the fl-floor.”

“Hold on, Angela,” Tim says into the phone.

He unscrews the panel and pulls it aside. The asphalt moves quickly under the bus, and Tim looks around before handing his phone to a passenger. You look up in the mirror above you to watch Tim briefly before returning your attention to the road.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Stephen. I’m a tourist,” Stephen introduces.

“Welcome to the City of Angels. Hold my phone, please. Tell my partner what I see.”

Stephen nods and raises the phone to his ear as Tim moves so he can see under the bus. He takes a deep breath; Tim knows a bit about bombs from his time in the Army, but it’s Harry’s expertise.

“Okay, there’s a bundle here,” Tim yells over the wind. “Pretty big.”

“There’s a pretty big bundle,” Stephen relays.

“Brass fittings. I think I can reach the circuit wire.”

“He can reach the circuit wire- No, don’t do that, Sergeant Bradford. It can be a decoy, he says. What else?”

“Hold on,” Tim murmurs before moving further underneath the bus. He sees the extent of the bomb and pulls himself back up to take the phone. “Angela, Harry, there’s enough C4 on this bus to take out everyone on the highway. There’s a wristwatch: gold band, cheap.”

You look back at Tim quickly before inhaling sharply. “Sergeant,” you call.

“What do you think, Harry?” Tim asks.

“Bradford!” you yell into the bus speaker.

Tim moves to your side and places a hand on the dash to lean forward. His face is right beside yours, and you wish you were nervous because of him and not the bomb underneath you.

“Everybody’s stopping,” you point out. “What do I do?”

“Get on the shoulder.”

“This is an exit!”

Tim flinches as you sideswipe several cars.

“Tim!”

“Off. Get off!” Tim yells.

You nearly miss the ramp and pull the wheel to the right to merge onto another road. Honking the horn and yelling for people to get out of the way, you take a deep breath. At least you’re off the freeway. Tim tells you to keep driving as he answers his phone again.

“Where?” he asks. “Got it.”

“Do I stay here?” you inquire.

“Yes. Just straight on this, they’re trying to clear the roads for us.”

“I’m never getting my license back, am I?” you grumble.

“The police commissioner will buy you a car if you ask,” Tim says quietly. “You’re doing well, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

You nod and return both hands to the wheel. Tim removes the flannel shirt he’s been wearing, leaving him in a white t-shirt, and drapes it over the back of your seat. Your eyes catch on his biceps before you chide yourself for getting distracted.

One of the phones in the bag rings, and Tim yells, “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”

No one is willing to admit their fault or doesn’t want to risk dealing with Tim’s wrath and ending up like Jay where he sits on the floor. Tim digs through the bag and pulls the ringing phone out. The number is one he recognizes, but he hesitates before answering.

“Taking their phones was smart,” the bomber says as the line connects. “2525… nice passengers, aren’t they? See, that’s the beauty of being in this day and age. I know everything about everyone on that bus. So, if you or your little girlfriend, or even the tourist from Kalamazoo try to double-cross me…”

“The bus explodes,” Tim interjects. “I’m aware.”

“What’s with the attitude, Tim? You’re seeing one of the prettiest places in the world, riding a bus for free… Oh, no, I know. Can’t shoot a hostage that makes that cold heart beat again, huh?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want! 3.7 million dollars. I get the money, and then we can both get what we want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know what you don’t want. Tell your girlfriend to keep her eyes on the road.”

The call ends and Tim raises the cell phone in his hands. “He knows who is on this bus.”

“How?” Ortiz asks.

“Your bus passes, your phones, both, maybe. Look, one of the conditions of our survival is that no one gets off the bus. If he knows who you are, then we are even more obligated to keep that promise.”

“You didn’t even try to get us off the bus!” Jay accuses.

“Because he would have blown it. I understand what you are feeling, but I need you to trust me, trust the L.A.P.D., and work with me on this.”

“Tim is this your team?” you ask over your shoulder.

A police car pulls into the lane in front of you as several more flank the sides of the bus. The road clears around them, but more news choppers are joining the airspace above you.

Tim nods and looks at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. What happens now, though?”

“My teammates are working on it. We’ve got gas and open road, so keep driving.”

“Is it- can I be okay and really nervous at the same time?”

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t nervous.”

“You don’t look nervous.”

“My friend Angela says I never look anything; thinks I can’t show emotion because I can’t feel them.”

“Is it true?”

Tim looks at you and lowers to squat beside you. “No, it’s not.”

“How’s Sam?”

“The driver? He’s gonna be alright. Thanks to you.”

Someone calls for Tim, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly as he stands. You glance at him in the mirror as he returns to the access panel. A police helicopter drops to fly above you, and you wonder what the news stations and police officers know or think about the situation. The bus begins losing speed as you steer around a curve, and when you try to speed up again, you realize something is wrong.

Back at the station, Harry and Angela work with Wade and a bomb expert to search for a way to disarm the bomb and for their suspect. Harry has a description of the bomber, but there’s only so much they can learn about the bomb without seeing it.

“Sergeant Bradford!” you cry as you press the gas again.

“What?” Tim asks with wide eyes. You were calling him Tim, and your sudden change of formality and tone concern him.

“The gas pedal’s stuck.”

“What else can go wrong?” Tim asks under his breath. “Move your foot.”

You pull your foot from the pedal and steer as Tim presses his leg against yours to slam his foot down against the pedal. It doesn’t move, and the speedometer dips closer to fifty. Tim moves his hands to cover yours on the steering wheel and moves his leg between yours to try a new angle. You’re close to him, but the fear of dying keeps you from enjoying it in any way. He pushes the pedal again and his shoulders drop.

“There,” he announces as he steps back.

You take the wheel back and press the accelerator down again. The bus gains speed and you catch up to the police car before you.

“Lopez, talk to me,” Tim greets as he answers his phone again.

“You’ve got a hard left coming up,” Angela says. “Really hard.”

“Hard left up ahead,” Tim tells you.

“We’ll tip!” you argue.

“Who is that? Your driver?” Angela inquires.

“We’re not going to tip,” Tim says.

“Yes, we are!”

The curve in the road comes into view, and Tim suddenly agrees, “We’re going to tip.”

He leaves your side to move everyone onto the right side of the bus. The weight distribution keeps the bus from tipping, but as Tim helps you pull the wheel as hard as possible to make the turn, you forget why you were concerned. His presence is the only thing keeping you calm, and you wish he could just sit beside you the whole time.

“Angela, get those news crews off our tail!” he yells over the cheers of the passengers.

You look in the mirror beside you. The news crews must have arrived recently because you didn’t notice them before.

“On it. Harry’s working with the bomb squad. Keep it fifty,” Angela responds.

“Don’t try to make that a thing, Lopez,” Tim says before he ends the call.

“Hey, who’s doing this?” you ask Tim.

“The bomber? He’s just a guy who’s angry with me for foiling his last bombing attempt,” Tim explains.

“So, he’s trying again? Using you to get whatever it is he wants?”

“More or less.”

“What if you stop him again?”

“We do this again tomorrow. Until one of us dies trying.”

“That won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not available to drive tomorrow.”

Tim nods but doesn’t reply before a flatbed truck merges into the lane beside the door. His Metro captain and two officers are on the back, and the driver blows the horn to get his attention. Tim opens the door and moves out of the door to talk to them. You can’t hear much but suspect that they want to get the hostages off the bus, which Tim already said was impossible. Your sudden and unbending trust in him should probably concern you, but you will do anything and everything he tells you, even if that means staying on a bus with a bomb on it.

“He called the station looking for you,” an officer announces.

“Why? He has my cell,” Tim says.

“Maybe it died.”

“Just give him my number again! And keep looking; find this guy so we can move these people.”

Tim steps onto the main platform again and closes the door.

“Are they going to help us?” the woman holding Sam’s head up asks.

“Sure, they will. They’re the police,” someone jokes.

Another phone rings in the bag, and Tim pulls your phone out this time. He hadn’t thought to turn yours off because he was concerned about you and wanted to make sure you could drive like the bus needed to be driven.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Tim, you know I trust you. But it looks to me like you’re trying to move passengers off the bus,” the bomber says.

“I need one as an act of faith,” Tim argues. “The driver has been shot.”

“You shot another hostage?”

“He’s dying! If you want your money, show a little charity.”

The line is quiet for a moment before the bomber says, “Fine. You can try to get the driver off. I have more people to kill. Tell your girlfriend behind the wheel not to slow down or he won’t get a chance to bleed out.”

“We’re getting the driver off,” Tim announces after returning your phone to the bag. “Just him for now.”

Ortiz moves out of the seat to help Tim move Sam to the door and onto the truck.

“Get as close as you can,” Tim says. “A little closer.”

The side of the bus hits the truck and swerves, and you rush to apologize.

“It’s okay.” Tim says your name, and you know that he means what he says. “Perfect! Hold it steady!”

You sigh as Tim walks past you again after getting Sam to safety, but then you see a woman walking toward the door. The officers on the truck reach out to help her, unaware of what will happen if she steps off the bus.

“No!” you yell.

“I have to,” she responds.

“No! Don’t get off! Stop!”

An explosion echoes through the bus as the steps fall out and go underneath the bus. The female passenger disappears after she falls with the debris, and you look away quickly as Tim falls forward trying to catch her.

“You’ve got to get those choppers out of here!” Tim yells to his captain. “He’s watching!”

The bus is silent as Tim stands up and waits beside you. With your eyes on the road, he doesn’t see the tear that leaks out. When the passengers start arguing behind you, your grip on the wheel tightens.

“Hey!” Tim calls as he turns to face them. They silence, and he moves his attention to you. “How are you doing?”

Tim steps forward, sees the tears covering your face, and squats with an arm behind you. “What can I do?”

His voice is softer than when he yelled at the men behind you, and you can’t lie to him.

“I thought that was the bomb. When I heard it… I thought everything was over. But then I saw her fall under the bus, and-“

“You’re glad you’re still alive,” Tim finishes.

“I’m so sorry. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No. It doesn’t mean you don’t care. We’re still alive, and we’re all allowed to be thankful for that. The guy who put us here? He’s a terrible person. Don’t think that you’re a bad person. You’re not.”

“Tim,” you say before pointing to his Captain, who is waving for his attention.

“There’s a gap in the freeway. It’s big. We have to get these people off, Tim,” he says.

“You know I can’t, Captain.”

“Tim?” you ask as he walks past you. “What’d he say?”

“There’s a gap in the road,” Tim tells everyone.

“How big is a gap?” Ortiz asks.

“50 feet, a couple of miles ahead,” Tim says.

“Tim?” you repeat. “What if I shift down and just keep the engine revving?”

“He thought of that… Floor it.”

“What?”

“There’s an interchange, maybe there’s an incline. Just floor it.”

“Okay.”

“Everyone keep your heads down.”

The police car leading you falls off the side, but you continue driving toward the unfinished overpass. The needle on the speedometer nears 70, and Tim waits beside you. As you approach the end, Tim yells for everyone to hold on. He puts his arms around you and pulls your head down with his. You feel weightless for a moment, grounded only by his arms around you before the bus collides with the other side of the interchange. Looking up over Tim’s arm, you see more road ahead and press the gas again, so you don’t slow down.

Your forehead begins to burn and hurt, and you press your palm against your temple as the people behind you cheer. Tim checks on everyone before returning to your side, and he immediately realizes that you’re in pain. He moves your hand and presses the bottom of his shirt to your head. It’s stained with blood when he pulls his hand away, and you grimace at the idea of a wound on your head.

“Get off here!” Tim calls suddenly.

“Yes! Get off!”

You obey and soon enter the Los Angeles International Airport. Tim gives you directions to an emergency runway and explains that you can simply drive here. Without traffic or road closures, the only concern is staying above fifty.

Being in restricted air space is also a bonus, and you notice that the news helicopters are hovering at a distance. Tim seemed concerned about the presence of news cameras, so maybe the location will also keep the bomber from knowing exactly what is happening.

“Yeah?” Tim asks as he answers his phone.

“The airport. Well done. You had some close calls, but you did well, Tim,” the bomber says.

“What do you want?”

“My money. Help me get it before it’s too late, will you? The negotiators think I’m doing this for fun?”

“Are you not?”

“Oh, now you think you know me too?”

“I know you want money you didn’t earn. More than you deserve.”

“I did earn it! I got a medal, too, you know.”

“Let me off. If you want my help, I need to explain that you’re not bluffing. Just me.”

“Alright. But you have to come back. I can see everything; remember that.”

Tim ends the call and slides his phone back in his pocket.

“There’s a plan now?” you ask.

“Maybe. He’s letting me off,” Tim says.

“Hey, don’t forget about us,” you call as he steps off the bus and onto an SUV. “He’ll be back,” you promise the others.

While you circle the airport runways, Tim works with the other officers he told you about to find a way to disarm the bomb. Ortiz walks to your side and looks out at the airport.

“Ortiz?” you ask.

“He’s not coming back, I’m telling you,” he says.

“He didn’t have to get on in the first place. Hey, get behind the yellow line.”

Ortiz looks down and takes on short step back. “You let the cop up here.”

“What is that?” Stephen asks as he joins Ortiz.

“I have no idea,” you answer as you look at Tim standing on the back of a truck covered in machinery. It pulls over in front of you, and Tim lowers onto a cart attached to a winch, and you mutter, “I was right. He is insane.”

“How’d they get that so fast?” Stephen asks under his breath.

You focus more on driving in a straight line as Tim disappears under the front of the bus. He looks up at you just before he disappears, and you nod once. Knowing that he’s under the bus makes you more nervous to drive than you have been at any other point today. Driving in a straight line at the airport is more stressful because Tim is underneath a moving vehicle and touching a bomb. You know he has friends and colleagues who are helping him, but you feel more than a need to survive when you look at Sergeant Tim Bradford.

The winch on the truck releases suddenly, and the cable unfurls.

“Check and see if he came out the back!” you demand. “Can you see him?”

“He’s not back here!” Ortiz calls.

“Look under the bus! Back by the tires!”

“I don’t see him.”

The winch cable snaps and the back tire bounces over something. You press a hand over your mouth in shock, and Ortiz runs to the back access panel.

“Please tell me he’s alright!” you yell. “Do you see him?”

“I see him!” Ortiz responds. “He’s alright!”

You look back and forth between the empty runway and the back of the bus. Ortiz and Stephen pull Tim up onto the bus, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or relieved with him. Tim thanks Ortiz before walking to your side.

“How are you?” he asks.

“You scared me!” you accuse. You slap his vest to express your displeasure before hissing in pain. “What’s that smell?”

“Gas. We have a new leak.” “You caused a leak?”

“It was that or get run over. You can see the difficulty I had choosing.”

“Don’t try to be funny right now. I thought I killed you.”

“I’ll ask my captain to get a fuel truck.”

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not exactly comforting, you know that?”

“You just hit me and now you want comfort?”

You sigh and look at him again before saying, “Thank you, Tim.”

“Just doing my job… ma’am.”

Tim stays beside you while Harry and a S.W.A.T. team infiltrate the house listed on the bomber’s records. He was surprised by how quickly they found his identification, but now that they have the element of surprise, he hopes that this game is almost over.

 When he gets another call, you can only see the anger in his eyes as he listens to the person on the other end. The bomber tells Tim that Harry and the S.W.A.T. team walked right into his trap. You watch him and can only wonder what is making him so mad. His life is in danger, but something is capable of pushing him even further, it seems.

“I’m going to rip your spine out. If you know as much as you think you do, you know I can,” Tim threatens lowly.

“Oh, I do, Reaper. That’s why you should do what you’re told. You and I both know you can’t do it without Harry and his ability to follow a cheap watch, anyway. Get me my money and it’s over. Otherwise, you, lumberjack-ie, and the others are dead. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Tim says after a moment. “Howie.”

The bomber hesitates at the mention of his real name but doesn’t let it stop him. Tim listens to Howard Payne’s demands before ending the call. Tim turns around and kicks where the stairs used to be before pulling against the handrail in his anger. You try to get his attention over his yelling, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Tim! Please!” you try again. “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Tim slows his movements before gripping the rail beside you. His jaw is clenched as he looks at you, but your pleas soften his eyes.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“We’re going to die,” he says.

“No. You got us this far, right?”

Tim leans against the dash beside you and looks at you. His shirt is still behind you. Lumberjack-ie. Your little girlfriend.

“Lumberjacks wear flannel, right?” Tim asks.

“Uh, yeah. As far as I know,” you answer. “Why?”

“He can see you.”

“What?”

“Keep looking straight ahead.”

You turn your face to the windshield and watch the runway as Tim examines the top of the bus. He sees the camera at the top of the windshield and shakes his head.

“He said, ‘your girlfriend behind the wheel’ and ‘lumberjack-ie’. I didn’t even realize. There’s a camera in your face. He can see the whole bus.”

“He can see me, but can he hear me?” you ask.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Bus cameras can’t be very high-tech, Tim. Can’t your people get it on a loop or something?”

“You’re brilliant,” Tim murmurs before pushing himself off the dash and to his feet. “Guys, there’s a camera over my left shoulder. I need everyone to sit still. No big movements, no talking, just look concerned and sit still.”

He calls his captain and asks for someone to approach the news trucks at the fence to end the live broadcasts and use their equipment to make a video loop. His captain agrees and texts Tim with an update that the reporters are cooperating.

“Remember, stay relatively still. Just look scared,” Tim reminds everyone.

“That won’t be hard,” Ortiz grumbles.

Tim leans beside you while the video is being recorded. You drive in silence for a minute before noticing the blinking red light on the dash.

“Tim,” you whisper. “Look.”

“Cap, roll the tape. We need fuel,” Tim says into his phone.

“We only have a minute recorded. That won’t convince him, we need more footage” Wade argues.

“No time. Get these people off before this bus runs out of gas.”

“Fuel tanker is running behind. Driver said big rigs need radio signals, and they’re still jammed. Crazy not stupid, right?”

“Right.”

“Now what?” you ask Tim. “Are you tired of that question yet?”

“I’d like an answer to it,” he replies. “Get alongside this bus, okay?”

You nod and drive steadily alongside an LAX passenger bus. Tim’s team lays a wooden board between the bus doors and helps people cross to safety. You listen to Tim encourage the passengers across and are glad he was the cop who got on the bus today. The rear tire blows out suddenly, and you pull the steering wheel back to the middle and yell for Tim to come help.

Tim falls on his way back to the front of the bus, but when he reaches you, he moves his arms across you to pull the wheel.

“Use this to hold down the gas pedal,” he says.

You take the device from his hand and lower it into place. Tim steps back to tie the steering wheel to the floor of the bus, and you steer to keep the bus straight while he works. The moment it’s secure, he pulls you to your feet and tells you to get on the metal access panel.

“I can’t do this,” you argue.

Tim raises his hands to either side of your neck and brushes his thumbs along your skin as he promises, “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you.”

You swallow nervously and nod before sitting on your escape route, a thin piece of metal that Tim moved with no problem. Tim moves to lay over you, and he wraps an arm around your waist as you hide your face against his shoulder.

“I got you,” he promises once more.

The bus turns and the access panel cover falls out of the bottom. You clutch Tim tightly as the metal door slides across the runway and into a nearby patch of dirt. He sits up and watches the bus slow as it nears a plane but doesn’t let go of you. Just before the bomb detonates, Tim pulls you down again and lays over you to protect you from any debris. Sirens echo in the distance, and you wrap your arms around Tim’s back.

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

“No,” you answer, your first honest answer of the day. “Oh, I hate the airport.”

Tim moves to your side but keeps an arm around your shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

“You can’t get mushy on me. You can’t show emotion, remember?” you tease.

“I think I might be able to after all.”

“Relationships that start like this never last. It’s just the high-stress, adrenaline pumping, all that.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe we can change that.”

“Uh, I think your friends are here.”

Tim looks up but doesn’t move as Angela and Wade exit a police car and run toward him.

“I was worried about you,” Angela says. “And here you are.”

“I’m sorry about Harry,” Tim offers. “I wish we could have changed it.”

“You good?” Wade asks. “’Cause I might be a nice guy and let you take the rest of the day off.”

“And stop worrying about what we could have done differently. You saved a lot of lives today, Timothy,” Angela adds.

“A day off sounds like a good deal,” you murmur.

Tim shakes his head before introducing you to Detective Angela Lopez and Sergeant Wade Grey. When he finally stands and sees the scrapes and gashes littering your skin, he forces you to let a paramedic treat you. Tim follows you to the ambulance but hangs back to talk to Angela. He’s lost a partner before, too, and knows what it’s like.

“I’m sorry for bringing everyone into this. Howard could have just come for me,” Tim concludes.

“I appreciate everything,” Angela responds. “But, you’re going to the hospital, too. Is that Chen?”

Tim turns quickly and sees Lucy running toward the police cruiser parked behind the ambulance.

“Sergeant Grey!” she yells. “We’ve got Payne on the line, and he wants to know when he’s getting his money. Whoa, Tim, are you alright?”

“He doesn’t know,” Tim says. “He doesn’t know the bus exploded.”

“Tell him thirty minutes,” Wade alerts all the nearby officers.

“Stay in the ambulance,” Tim tells you.

“But I-“

“Ma’am, stay in the ambulance.”

You nod and climb into the ambulance after refusing help from the paramedics. They continue bandaging a cut on your leg as Tim climbs in.

“I need to make a quick stop on the way to the hospital,” he tells the driver.

“Where?” she asks.

“The drop spot. Pershing Square.”

The driver reluctantly agrees, and you watch Tim as she drives. He demands you stay in the ambulance until he returns, and you agree but don’t mean it. You’ve been beside Tim for most of the morning, and you neither remember how to be away from him nor do you want to. You stand on the sidewalk beside the ambulance and watch people move around you. It’s another normal day for them, but your life will never be the same after today.

“Miss, you can’t stand here, you need to move back,” an older officer says as he grabs your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m waiting for Tim-“

“Tim Bradford, yes. He asked that I move you out of harm’s way.”

“But he told me to stay here.”

His hold on your shoulders tightens as he says, “And I’m telling you to move.”

“Payne is late,” Angela complains.

“He’s not late,” Tim says. “He’s never late.”

“Two hundred cops are watching that sculpture, plus a tracker in the bag. He hasn’t been here,” Wade explains.

“Turn on the tracker,” Tim requests.

“What for?”

“Just do it!”

Wade presses a button on the laptop before him, and the blinking light of the tracker travels across the screen.

“He’s got the money,” Angela says.

Tim runs out of their hiding spot and to the drop spot. He pushes the art installation over and kicks it when he sees the opening in the sidewalk beneath it. As he drops into the defunct subway system, he sees someone walking farther into the tunnel and pulls his gun.

“L.A.P.D. Freeze!” he yells.

The person stops, and he aims at their head before saying, “Pop quiz. Someone has a clear shot at your head. What do you do?... Turn around.”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll kill Tim Bradford,” Howard Payne threatens as he secures a vest covered in dynamite around your chest. “What are you going to do?”

“Wait- wait for him to come in and walk away. Then I listen to you,” you answer shakily.

“Perfect. Maybe you two can have your happily ever after all. You say one word that I don’t like and you’re both dead.”

Howard disappears down the subway, and you bite your bottom lip to refrain from crying or screaming for help. Tim may shoot you, no questions asked, but at least he will be safe. When you hear something crash above you and sunlight infiltrates the dark staircase before you, you take a deep breath and begin walking away.

Tim’s voice doesn’t carry the same comforting words or soothing lilt as in the bus, but you still recognize it and want to hear it as he yells at you.

“Turn around!” he demands.

You turn slowly and can see the moment Tim realizes he’s pointing his gun at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The apology echoes off the concrete walls as Tim lowers his weapon. You don’t see or hear him, but you can feel the change when Howard appears behind you.

“Be prepared!” Howard says as he walks up the stairs behind you and raises the detonator, a deadman’s switch. “What are you gonna do, Tim? I don’t think you can shoot this hostage.”

“Let her go,” Tim demands as he points his gun at Howard.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that. Move the money,” he tells you.

You transfer the money from the L.A.P.D. bags and into Howard’s duffel bag as Tim yells at him to let you go.

“You don’t need her!” Tim adds.

“I will let go,” Howard threatens as he moves the detonator switch. “You don’t get it, Tim. Do you know what a bomb that doesn’t explode is? It’s the cheap, gold watch they gave me after I lost a finger and a life to my country.”

“You’re crazy.”

You push yourself against the wall as you listen to their exchange, but you keep your eyes on Tim rather than the bomb just below your chin. Howard demands you take his money and enter another part of the tunnel system and you know that you’re going to obey because he’ll kill Tim if you don’t. You tear your eyes from Tim and walk exactly where Howard leads you.

As you enter a crowded stop, Howard fires several shots into the concrete ceiling as you drop your head and cover your ears. The subway passengers waiting for the next train flee in terror as you try to get away from Howard. Tim can’t be far behind, but when you’re pushed into a subway car, you’re tempted to think that no help is coming. Howard handcuffs your hands around a pole before the subway lurches into motion.

At the back of the subway, Tim struggles to pry a set of doors open before he falls into the car. He moves strategically through the empty rows of seats with his mind on you and ending this game with Howard Payne once and for all.

The subway conductor reaches for his radio, and Howard forces the deadman switch into your hands and tells you to hold it. He turns his back on you and kills the conductor as you struggle to move away.

“Look, you won. You beat Tim, you beat everybody, you can just throw me off the train. I don’t care,” you plead.

“You see this stick? When you explode, the police will come there. But that’s not where I’ll be, so I get more time. I promise it won’t hurt,” Howard replies as he pulls the detonator away from you.

A series of dull thuds echoes, and Howard looks up quickly. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Hey, Tim. Is that you?” he asks. “He’s so persistent. Wouldn’t be able to interest you in a bribe, would I, hotshot?”

Howard kneels and opens the duffel bag full of cash. You watch as a dye pack explodes in his face and paints his money purple. In his anger, he fires bullets into the roof, and you drop to the floor as Tim rolls out of the line of fire. Howard runs through a door, and you can only listen as he climbs onto the roof and begins struggling against Tim.

Howard has the deadman stick in his hand and can kill you by moving a centimeter to the left or right, but you’re more worried about Tim with every noise against the roof. You stay low on the pole you’re cuffed to, twisting your wrists and manipulating your fingers as you try to slip free. The struggle above you silences suddenly, and you watch the door nervously.

“Tim!” you call when he rushes in. “Tim. Where’s Payne?”

“Uh, he lost his head. Turn around,” Tim says.

You circle the pole, and Tim rips a wire free before loosening the straps of the vest.

“Let’s take this off,” he says before pulling the vest away from your chest.

“Tim, can you hear me?” someone asks through the driver’s radio. “This is Wade. Listen, the track isn’t finished.”

“What else can go wrong?” you murmur.

“Wade, I copy,” Tim radios.

“Do you copy? Try the emergency brake.”

“I copy!” Tim tries again before throwing the radio down.

He steps to the right and hits the emergency brake. After the train doesn’t even slow, he begins hitting other buttons, but nothing happens.

“None of this works!” he exclaims as he hits the control board.

He turns away from the useless machinery and returns to you. When he notices the handcuffs holding you in place, he slows.

“You can uncuff me and we can get off,” you say with an exaggerated nod.

“I don’t have a key,” Tim replies.

“You don’t have…”

You trail off and look at the handcuffs. If only you could slip your hands through them, you think. Tim begins pulling and kicking the pole as you try again to pull your hands through the metal cuffs. He pauses and lays a hand against your arm to look at how tight the cuffs are.

“Help me pull,” you grunt as you lean your weight back against the restraints.

“No, no,” Tim says quickly as he pulls you forward. “You’re just hurting yourself.”

You stand still and see a bead of blood running down your fingers. As you stare at it, Tim walks to a map on the wall. He remembers the nightmare again; a series of bad memories that end with him, “the Reaper,” standing alone in the desert before being rescued and awarded a medal. As he searches for a way to save you, Tim decides that he will never shoot the hostage again, and he won’t leave you behind, even if that means dying with you.

“Tim, please just go,” you beg.

“There’s a curve ahead. I can make it jump the track.”

“Tim! Sergeant Bradford!” Tim turns to you, and you repeat, “Get off this train. You can still jump. Tim, please. Please.”

Tim ignores you as he returns to the controls and increases the train’s speed. You slide your hands down the pole as you sit on the floor, and Tim walks silently to your side. He leans in beside you, and you raise your arms to wrap around his neck as you lean your head against his. He moves his arms around the pole to circle you and holds you tight as the train picks up speed.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper just before the lights go out.

The train car hits something and spins, but Tim tightens his arms around you. With every bump and move of the subway, you become more convinced that you’ll never get out of this position. Light enters the windows as you crash through something, and the car flips onto its side as it lands on asphalt. The impact loosens the pole, and you fall onto Tim, whose grip on you doesn’t waver for a second. As the car slides to a stop, you squeeze Tim and take a deep breath.

“You didn’t leave me,” you say before forcing yourself to open your eyes.

Tim cradles the back of your head before moving his hands to your back. You lean up gently and look into his eyes again.

“I told you to leave me!”

“I didn’t have anywhere to be just then. Rest of the day off and all,” Tim responds before pulling you down against him.

He kisses you, and you’re surprised that it is more than adrenaline. The kiss is more than a relief to be alive, and you want to feel Tim Bradford at your side every day for the rest of your life (which would have ended today if not for him). You move your hands to Tim’s short hair as you return his kiss. It’s relief, joy, love, and passion in a single touch. When Tim begins breathing heavily against you, you move up.

“I’ve heard relationships that start during intense situations like this never work,” Tim says.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Then I guess we’ll be the first.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Glass rains down on you as you kiss Tim again, and though your day went nothing like you thought it would, it’s now the best day of your life. Tim helps you stand as his team approaches the scene, and you stop him before you exit the car.

“You know if this was a movie, they’d make another one where the same thing happens again, right?” you say softly.

“We’re never taking public transportation again,” Tim states.

“Yeah. Hey, where is the truck you were driving this morning?”

Tim hesitates and tightens his arm around your waist before turning away to yell, “Chen! I need you to do something for me.”

[witcher-and-henry-cavill-stuff]

Enchanted Flames

In the heart of New Orleans, a powerful witch named Y/N found herself caught in a whirlwind of chaos. Her magic crackled in the air as she faced off against a group of vampires, her eyes blazing with determination. Unbeknownst to her, her display of power had caught the attention of none other than Klaus Mikaelson, the infamous hybrid.

Klaus watched from the shadows, his curiosity piqued by the fiery witch. He had always been drawn to power, and there was something about Y/N that intrigued him. He approached her, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "Impressive display, love. But you should be careful. The streets of New Orleans can be dangerous."

Y/N's eyes narrowed as she turned to face him, her voice laced with defiance. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you. I don't need your help."

Klaus smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, I never said I was offering my help. Merely making an observation."

Despite their initial animosity, fate seemed determined to bring them together. They crossed paths time and time again, their encounters filled with tension and sparks of undeniable attraction. Y/N's fiery spirit matched Klaus's own, and they found themselves drawn to each other despite their better judgment.

As their connection deepened, a dangerous enemy emerged from the shadows, threatening to tear them apart. A coven of witches, envious of Y/N's power, sought to eliminate her and claim her magic for themselves. They launched a relentless attack, their spells lashing out with deadly precision.

Klaus, unwilling to let Y/N face this threat alone, stood by her side, his protectiveness surfacing. Together, they fought against the onslaught of dark magic, their powers intertwining in a dance of strength and determination. The battle raged on, each passing moment testing their resolve and their love.

In the midst of the chaos, Y/N found herself cornered by the leader of the coven, a formidable witch named Isabella. Isabella's eyes gleamed with malice as she raised her hand, ready to strike a fatal blow. But before she could unleash her spell, Klaus appeared, his eyes burning with fury.

"No one touches her," Klaus growled, his voice filled with a deadly promise.

With a flick of his wrist, Klaus rips Isabella's heart out. Y/N stared at Klaus in awe, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and love. At that moment, she realized that Klaus would always be there to protect her.

The remaining members of the coven, realizing the futility of their efforts, retreated into the shadows, leaving Y/N and Klaus victorious but weary.

Y/N reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped Klaus's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Klaus's eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, his voice filled with tenderness. "You don't have to thank me, love. Protecting you is what I was born to do."

In that moment, their love transcended the chaos and danger that surrounded them. They had faced death together, and in doing so, they had forged a bond that nothing could break. Their love burned brighter than any spell or curse, an eternal flame that would guide them through the darkest of times.

As the dust settled and the city of New Orleans began to heal, Y/N and Klaus found solace in each other's arms. They knew that their journey was far from over, that more challenges would come their way. But they faced the future with unwavering determination, knowing that their love was a force stronger than any magic or enemy they would encounter.

And so, in the heart of New Orleans, two souls entwined, their love a beacon of hope in a world filled with darkness. Together, Y/N and Klaus would face every obstacle, united in their love and ready to conquer whatever lay ahead.

[ghcstao3]

Among us -is inspired idea:

Everyone knows there is a couple non humans on base. Of course they think Ghost. But in a plot twist it is in fact Soap and Gaz. Price and Ghost help them hide it and sometimes corner some particularly annoying recruit in a corner to be scared/eaten by either of them.

No one else knows about this, the paperwork something Price can fudge well enough to keep his little unit together. Plus they help on missions where big scary human thing splitting open does the job better than guns ever could.

Wherever a special task force exists, it’s almost a given there will be secrets and rumours that come with it. It’s also a given that when one of those task force members stalks around base wearing a skull for a mask, usually that’s where those same secrets and rumours are aimed.

However, anyone to assume Ghost to be the strange entity lurking around would be wrong—but they didn’t have to know that. Not when it does wonders for covering up what the task force’s sergeants really are.

Ghost is plenty happy to be the cover story so long as it means keeping their operation up and running. So long as it means having bloodthirsty monsters on their team, and nobody else’s. He knows Price, Gaz, and Soap all prefer it that way, too.

And it’ll stay that way. As long as no one notices smiles uncomfortably wide with a few too many teeth from Gaz and Soap, or the suspicious disappearance of the occasional recruit who dares to question the task force’s secrets.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Through the Fire

Jason Todd x batmom!reader

Jason’s death broke you almost beyond repair, sending you into a dark pit that you struggled to claw yourself from. But what about your baby boy? What about what happened to him? And could you ever save him like you should have done years ago?

Warnings: ANGST, lots about Jason’s death, kidnapping, Jason needs a hug, references to Damian’s conception, I repeat shit tons of angst, reader wants to die for a while, swearing, descriptions of scars, insults thrown at reader, references to murder

WC: 1.7k

A/N: I realise I took this in a different direction than what the request actually was but I hope you still like it!

Minors DNI

You didn’t think being a mother was ever in your life plan, it wasn’t like you didn’t want children, you just never expected it to happen. Then, a little bird named Dick trotted into your life, bringing along with him a man who you knew was your soulmate. And a few years later, things got even better.

A boy, barely 11 years-old, tried to steal the tires off of the bat-mobile. And less than 24 hours later, he became a Wayne. Life was good, for a while. You did your best to provide your boys with as normal a life as possible given the circumstances and they seemed to flourish. That is until Jason was a month shy of his 14th birthday.

You remember that night in vivid detail like a horrible nightmare you couldn’t escape. Bruce had been silent on the coms after the explosion making a deep sense of unease settle in your gut. You remember little Jason’s bright yellow cape saturated with red, the fabric wrapped tightly around your son’s body, shielding you from the horror.

Bruce made eye-contact with you and you knew, you knew your little jay-bird had been ripped from you before his life could even really begin. The scream that echoed through the cave as you fell to your knees still haunts Alfred and Bruce to this day. The utter despair and rage of a mother who lost their baby rattling their bones.

For a long time, you blamed Bruce. Once Jason had been buried beneath his favourite tree on the grounds, you stopped speaking to your husband. You moved to the other side of the manor, refusing to eat or even sleep. You wanted so badly to be with your boy again and you wished every day that you had been the one who died, not him.

The appearance of Tim saved you. That smart little boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer wormed his way into your heart. He helped gather the pieces of your heart and stick them back together, even if there were a few shards that lay with your Jason.

Bruce welcomed you home with open arms and you both were finally able to grieve together. You became a united front once more, able to face any situation with the knowledge that you weren’t alone.

But nothing could have prepared you for this.

With a pained groan, your mind emerged from the darkness of unconsciousness. Your eyelids felt heavier than normal as you struggled to open them but eventually, you were successful. As far as you could tell from the dim light streaming through the windows, you were in an abandoned apartment. It stank of stale urine and cigarettes.

You huffed and glanced down to find that you had been tied to an old dining chair. Your gaze lifted to the door which was only a few feet in front of you. If you could bounce on the seat with enough force, you might be able to shatter the old wood and make a run for it.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” The deep voice that spoke from the darkness further into the apartment startled you but you regained your composure quickly, after all this wasn’t your first rodeo.

“What do you want? Money? Leverage?” The man chuckled and you saw the shadow of his figure move. From what you could tell, he was huge.

“No, we just need to have a little conversation without Mr Wayne meddling.” Your stomach dropped. Who the fuck was this guy? But before you could retort, he stepped from the shadows.

The red of his helmet was what struck you first. The metal was smooth save for the white slits for his eyes, even to you who had faced the Joker head on, it was incredibly intimidating. Then emerged the maroon bat on his chest so like the symbol your husband sported. Then the two guns strapped to his thighs.

Anger rushed through your veins before you could stop it. “Red Hood.” You spat. 

“Very good!” He replied sarcastically. “I’m glad I made an impression.” He walked casually over to you, his goliath body towering over you. The old floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved with the grace of a man who had spent his whole life being a soldier.

Your face remained stern as he approached, not showing even a lick of emotion. Your husband’s words echoed through your mind. “Do not show your fear, give them nothing.”

“You’ve already killed more than 20 people in Gotham, I don’t think that’s a great impression to give.” 

“20 people that you know of.” He snarked, a thick Gothomite accent slipping through his carefully crafted facade. “It isn’t like your beloved husband is doing much to clean up the streets.”

He walked casually behind where you were bound and tugged on your restraints. You flinched as the rope dug into your plush stomach. “I mean he couldn’t even kill the son of a bitch that murdered your precious ‘baby bird’.” He hissed, voice full of raw hatred.

Ice ran through your veins. You couldn’t answer him, too shocked that he knew of Bruce’s double life. “I mean what kind of a man replaces his son less than a year after he was beaten to death with a crowbar! And you know what makes it even worse?” His face was now right beside yours, his mask pressed against your ear as he whispered his next words. “You let him.”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about!” You crumbled, you couldn’t help it. The pain of Jason’s death was all-too-present in your lives. “I died the same day he did.” 

“And yet you’re still breathing.” He moved away, turning his back to you. “And I know why, it’s because you weren’t really his mother. You just took him in as a little pet project because you were a bored housewife with no one to nag since your Brucie was out fucking other women. If you were really my mother, you would have killed yourself a long time ago.”

A gloved hand reached up and undid the hidden clasp in his helmet. The metal fell away easily, revealing a mop of pitch black hair that covered the back of his pale neck. “Poor Mrs Wayne, stuck in that big house all alone with so much love to give but no one to give it to. Jesus Christ, no wonder Dick left, you are so stifling.”

He huffed through his nose as if this whole thing was one big cosmic joke before Red Hood finally turned to face you once more. “Well mommy, how does it feel to know that your jay-bird is a murderer?” 

“Oh god.” You whimpered as you took him in. Jason’s face was covered with the silvery lines of old scars, including a large one that curled up from the corner of his lip all the way up his cheek, giving him a snarled smile. His eyes were no longer the soft hazel that they once were but now an almost supernatural green. A slash of white cut through his dark hair.

He was so different but he was still Jason. “My baby.” Tears quickly rolled down your full cheeks. “You’re alive.” You didn’t fight against your bonds anymore, you couldn’t. It felt like your body was shutting down as shock set it. 

Jason scoffed at your tears. “Oh so now you wanna start crying? Fucking pathetic.” He rolled his eyes.

“My boy, my boy.” You cried. He was alive, all this time he was alive and you hadn’t found him. Guilt settled heavily in your gut and suddenly it was like it was 5 years ago. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re just sorry that now you have to face the consequences of your actions.” You shook your head. “Or are you sorry that you weren’t a better mommy?” He asked mockingly. 

“I’m so sorry Jason. I’m sorry. I love you so much.” You were in near hysterics now. “I love you.”

But evidently, that was the wrong thing to say because with an explosive amount of power, Jason threw his helmet at the far wall. The metal dented upon impact, shattering the cheap drywall. “No you don’t! You never did!” He blazed with an anger you had never seen before.

“I do. You were the best thing to happen to me Jason. You’re my baby. I’ll love you forever.” And for a split second, you saw the rage melt away and what was left was that scared little kid who just needed a guiding hand.

“Fuck you! You’re just a fucking trophy wife who can’t even keep her husband in her own bed!” He screamed into your face but you did not flinch.

“I love you.” You repeated, your tone unwavering.

“You aren’t even my real mother!” His face was red with emotion, just the same way it used to when he was upset or frustrated.

“I love you.”

“I don’t love you!” He shouted back but his eyes could no longer meet yours and his hands were shaking.

“I love you.” Your voice was soft now, just barely a whisper but you knew he heard you. He shot forward, slipping a knife from some hidden pocket into his palm. The ropes that held you fell away just as he collapsed into your arms.

You did not hesitate, you wrapped him up as tightly as you could, Jason’s head falling to the crook of your neck as your fingers tangled in his hair. “I love you my Jason.” Tears soaked through your shirt as he sobbed, his huge chest heaving with his pain.

“I was so scared. I just wanted you and you weren’t there. There was so much fire and blood.” Thick arms wound around your waist, squeezing you harshly. “I wanted my mommy.”

“I’m here now. I’m never letting you go again, never.”

He nuzzled further into you and you almost didn’t catch his quiet “I love you momma.” 

“I love you more.”

And that’s where Dick found you hours later, kneeling on the dirty floor of a condemned building, Red Hood asleep in your arms as you sang him a lullaby.

Anon request: 3.The boys did something wrong and she punish them by (whatever you want to do) and one of the replies, “you’re not My Mom!”

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[lieutenantism]

i'm currently thinking about how jean loses himself completely to harry. just dissolves entirely. very little sense of identity left outside his partnership with him, which i find so intriguing. i mean, it's the definition of codependency, but that doesn't make it any less interesting (long post, again).

"i won't let my life unravel because of this." is just so insane and melodramatic to me because WHO is that man to you, jean? and why is his alcoholism the reason for your life unraveling? jean takes on harry's drinking problem as a problem of his own, a threat to his life before harry's, even though the drinking doesn't affect harry's ability to do his job, and jean acknowledges that as well as everyone else in the major crimes unit.

but why does he have such a big problem with harry's alcoholism? why's he the only one out of the task force who seems to care obsessively? because the one before him failed to save him, and he feels as though it's his responsibility now. to jean, harry's life is divided to three parts; before him, during him, and tragically, after him.

the fact jean puts himself in the same position as dora, harry's ex, tells you enough. almost as if he considers them to be the same, in terms of responsibility for harry's wellbeing. he's cleaning up her mess, he seems to think. she was way before my time, as though they hold the same significance to harry. of course, this isn't entirely jean's fault. both him and harry share the guilt of their twisted relationship; harry's guilty of getting too personal with anybody within arm's reach.

and jean's guilty for wanting to clean up a mess that he didn't make, and losing sight of himself and his true professional duties in the process. so it goes like this; they partner up, harry's bad at drawing the line between personal and professional relationships and jean's even worse, harry goes on benders every week and jean witnesses them and tries to pull him out of them relentlessly, which then leads to whatever fucked up partnership they had, right before martinaise. the question is why did jean feel the need to save him? because he projected onto him severely.

they're both broken men; mirrors of each other, though jean will never say it out loud. he sees himself in harry, and since he can't save himself and everyone's given up on him, even the professionals, he decides not to give up on harry. in a way, jean's trying to prove to himself that he's not a lost cause through sticking by harry's side through it all, because if even the most lost of causes manages to have at least one person who's there for them at all times, who says he can't have one too? why must he be labelled as the anomaly? if harry du bois could be saved, so can he. he maintains this "i have my shit together, i'm better than you." persona during the entire confrontation, when he isn't. like i said, harry is everything jean works hard in order not to become, yet he still manages to lose his sense of identity while "saving" him and only becomes "harry's partner". that's all he is. nothing but a safety net, there to catch him at all times.

that's why he becomes extremely defensive when you choose the "kim's cooler than you." option, because you're practically robbing him of his identity. throughout the entirety of the game, he keeps repeating: "i'm your partner", to reassure himself more so than anything else, and what the game does here is very clever. you first hear him say that on a call, so distant and away from you; he cannot convince you that he's your partner even if he tried. then, he says it when he's in an idiotic disguise that you didn't recognize, and quite frankly it's making you uncomfortable, it's hard to take him seriously when he looks so stupid so you don't believe him, again. then at last, when he confronts you, and he's himself. then you think it sticks.

but it doesn't, and you dismiss him again to ask about the others. i've always found it perplexing how there's no "how can you be my partner?" option during the confrontation. you can ask about mikael heidelstam for fuck's sake, but not your partner. simply because you don't believe he is, at least not anymore. he's just a very angry man who was in a stupid disguise, and that's all you can ask him about. isn't that so insanely tragic? when you think about how dismissive the "confrontation" is? and jean's lashing out that way because his whole identity is hanging in the balance? no matter what jean tells harry, there's no click, no lightbulb flickering moment, nothing. jean tries everything, it's painful to see, really. the "i didn't lie to you. no one lies to you." and his lines to judit and trant where he's like "i told you, it's typical harry behavior. it's our shitkid." and so on are all attempts to prove that he, jean, knows him, harry, better than anyone else, even himself. he KNOWS him, which is why harry has to need him. he has to keep him. as his partner or whatever the hell it was, because nobody else knows him or will ever get to know him that way.

jean's response to harry telling them "i don't wanna be in your unit." only further proves it. "i'm your partner, i answer for you when you're not there." considering the fact harry and jean had begun to blur ever since their partnership came into being makes the line funnier lol. jean had locked himself up in a prison of his own making, of course with harry giving him all the means necessary to build his own cage beforehand. it was a matter of time and conditioning, and severe loneliness. every crime of harry's feels like one jean is guilty of.

[lemotmo]

Where is the promised romcom?

So I’ve been mulling something over in my head for days now. In one of his cameos/interview Lou said that Tim called him up to play Tommy again and that he would eventually get involved with Buck. He said that Tim wanted to create some kind of a romcom situation for Buck. (Did Tim mention the same thing in an interview somewhere? Or did I just make that up in my head? I’m not sure. I thought he said something in the same vein, but I might be wrong. Not that it’s relevant to this post.)

Well, where is the romcom?

Buck and Tommy basically met in 7x03, exchanged one simple look and then nothing until 7x04 where he spent all of this time obsessing over Eddie having a new friend, only to reveal in the end that he liked Tommy. (Which… really? Even Tommy was all ‘My attention?’ Are you sure about that?) Cue Buck and Tommy kiss. Then in 7x05 they go on a very awkward date. Buck ends up saying something very dumb, so Tommy leaves. In the end he asks him to meet for coffee and they reconcile. (Then Buck proceeds to be dumb again as he asks Tommy to be his date to his sister’s wedding. Which is sooo not a good idea for a second date. But whatever.) I’m sure we’ll see them being cute together at the wedding and there might even be a dance and/or kiss. But it’s all so bland and uninteresting. Where's the chemistry? Where’s the tension?

So again, where is the romcom in this scenario?

Compare it to this:

Buck and Eddie meet in season 2. When Buck sees Eddie for the first time ‘Whatta man’ is playing as introduction music. There is some hostility at first, but they get over it pretty quickly. They become fast best friends that help each other through hardships. They support each other through the lawsuit (which hurts their friendship, but only briefly), the tsunami, the firetruck falling on top of Buck’s leg, the shooting, the Eddie breakdown, different relationships… They are there for each other, through everything. Buck also forms a very tight bond with Eddie’s son: Christopher.

Next to that, they are there for each other on an emotional level. They understand each other better than anyone else. They’re like two peas in a pod.

So basically, they are a unit at this point. Sure, they still see each other as best friends, but that isn’t a problem, because best friends realise they’re in love with each other all the time in romcoms.

This is such a great set up for a romcom. They love each other through and through, but never considered there might be more to it. (Although I still headcanon that Eddie knows exactly how he feels about Buck. He has known since the shooting. But that’s neither here nor there.) Now one of them comes out as bisexual (which again YAY!) and the other will be forced to rethink their relationship. Eddie will see Buck and Tommy together and he will be confronted with them at the wedding. Romcom-wise this could be an excellent opportunity to introduce some feelings of discomfort in Eddie, when he sees them together. Or they could go with the romcom trope of the current ‘boyfriend’ (Even though Tommy isn’t his boyfriend yet. They haven’t even gone out on a second date.) realising that his love interest is completely gone over his best friend and gently remind him of that or make him realise that’s what it is. Or maybe they will reveal to us that Eddie has been aware of his feelings all this time, he just didn’t think he ever stood a chance with Buck.

There are so many ways to go with this scenario. If it’s just bucktommy, there is no real romcom scenario to explore. But if you add Buddie to that story, it just becomes so much more interesting and potentially romcommy (Is that even a word?).

This isn’t saying that Eddie (nor Buck for that matter) doesn’t still have a lot to unpack in his personal life and that everything will be peachy with Buck as soon as they realise they are into each other, but it will set up a great narrative for them to try to ‘hide’ their feelings from each other, telling other people while trying to act ‘normal’ when they’re spending time together. Eddie still thinking bucktommy are together, when in reality they have become just friends. Buck thinking that Eddie would never be interested in him because he is ‘straight’. Endless romcom scenarios to choose from right there.

Finally, I know there has been a rumour going around that Buck won’t be able to afford his loft anymore and he’ll move in with Eddie. It’s just speculation based on a few random facts and observations, but I swear, if we get this scenario? I will ascend! It would be the peak romcom scenario: Two friends moving in together while one of them (or maybe both?) is still possibly in a relationship? I have seen this movie before, many times. And let me tell you… the people forced to co-habit because of outside circumstances? They always end up together.

TLDR, in the end, in a romcom you want the audience to cheer on the couple with the deepest connection and chemistry. The superficial love interest (Which fits Tommy to a T. I mean, what do we even know about the guy? Nothing, only that he is brought in to help Buck out of the closet. What does Buck know about him? Not a lot. He hardly spends time with him before he gets kissed by him.) never turns out to be ‘the one’.

I don’t know guys. All of this just makes so much sense to me. Only time will tell if I’m right (or wrong).

Thoughts?

[mae-i-scribble]

I rewatched a few of the early episodes of spyfam today bc getting to see the movie gave me an itch to scratch, and in particular episode two made me finally able to conceptualize what about fandom twiyor that irks me so deeply. If you like widespread fandom interpretations of them I would uh, look away bc none of my opinions on it are positive.

Episode 2 of the spyfam anime remains one of my favorites because of all the little flourishes the studios add to sell you on Yor as a character while also expanding a bit on the manga's original commentary on the stigma that follows older single women. What draws Yor and Loid together as a family is that neither of them are capable of having conventional relationships. Both of them are war orphans forced to grow up far too soon and who threw away aspects of their humanity to fight for what they believe to be a better world. While Loid's position as a spy and mastery of deception allows him to avoid the stigmas that would come from the ordinary person discovering what he does, that is not something that holds true for Yor, whose weakest point is that she simply cannot understand "normal." She's aware of the way her coworkers demean her and insult her but can do nothing about it because her only conflict resolution skill is murder. She is constantly reminded that she is an outsider, hence why Loid's declaration at the party is so meaningful to her, and what convinces her to ask him to continue the facade as a married couple.

Underneath it all however, is a quiet showcase of amatonormativity that drove both Loid and Yor to their arrangement. Eden requires a student to have a perfectly nuclear family. Societal conventions dictate that Yor, happily single at 27, is someone pathetic (to her coworkers) or someone in need of help (to her brother). Marriage is an expectation that Yor is pressured to commit to, and a societal requirement that Loid must uphold for the sake of his mission. And while this showcase begins in episode 2 it is something that spyfam continues to highlight when it comes to the expectations both Loid and Yor struggle to meet when they try to hard/become to anxious over what is "expected" as a married couple vs what the other person is actually thinking/feeling.

Now, what the fuck does this have to do with fandom you ask? Here's the thing. Spyfam reached the broad range of anime fans when it exploded in popularity, which is when I started engaging with it beyond just comments on the latest manga chapters. Modern fandom already has the issue of classifying ships into tropes rather than actually like, shipping characters as they are. And that's exactly what happened with twiyor. People began going "oh my gosh this is the moment she fell for loid," "oh he's so in love with her just look at him," before we had even reached episode 10. Which was incredibly frustrating to me because clearly Loid and Yor are not anywhere near in love that soon in the story- and the basis for that frustration starts in episode 2 for me. Because Loid and Yor's marriage is one that is unconventional from the very beginning, and it is that factor that defines their dynamic an allows them to function as healthily and sweetly as they do. People don't need to be in love to be married or to be a parental unit. None of that requires romantic love, it is simply an expectation of our society, the same sort of expectation that cripples Yor and makes her think she has to find a partner, then that she has to find a husband to appease those around her. Seeing that completely erased in a large portion of art/commentary/fics written about them angers me because its something baked into the foundation of their dynamic and something I feel enhances them as a potential romantic pairing rather than detracts from it. But we can't have that because of course a man and woman living together and caring for a kid fell in love almost immediately.

And don't even get me started on how people misinterpret Loid for their far more romantic interpretations of his motivations and relationship with Anya and Yor or else I will start losing teeth from how hard I am clenching my jaw

[stealingpotatoes]

can we get a rundown on the anakin-raises-leia au? i’m totally in love with (read: obsessed with) it but i missed most of the context and i’m so curious!

are they coparenting? was it a parent trap style agreement to split the twins? is it temporary, until the war ends? who decided who gets which twin? did mustafar just never happen?

the answers to ur questions in short are: not really, arguably, absolutely, i did, and no!

in longer, the main thing you need to know for context is it's an Anakin-doesn't-turn-to-the-darkside-but-Palps-still-succeeds AU!

Anakin chooses not to try save Palpatine from the Jedi council and instead goes to Padmé's to angst abt the fact he might be losing her -- only to feel a very solid Other loss in the Force and see the temple up in flames ): he tries to go help but gets his shit kicked enough he leaves when Bail shows up

obi-wan and yoda both return to coruscant, obi-wan shows up to Padmé's to ask her hey do you know where Anakin is??? except Padmé's not there either bc after Sidious made his Big Speech anidala realised Anakin's totally a fugitive so they decided to Leave

i'm not 100% on what happens around here (lbr we all know my focus is the kids) but i'm currently thinking they nearly get caught or smthn, fight happens (??), Obi-wan gets there just in time to help thanks to Dormé snitching -- and Padmé goes into labour w the shock/stress

whatever exactly happens, Obi-Wan is there when they get Padmé to a medical station and the normal rots ending group unite. Padmé gives birth (keeping her will to live) and a question hangs heavy in the air: what are they supposed to do with the twins?

Anidala are too caught up in the joy of being parents to think about it, but they're quickly and forcibly snapped out of that when the Survivors all have a chat like canon. Yoda's the (brave) one to say they need to be apart because their force signatures would be too strong together and in the dire case Palps finds them, he could NOT take both. He's probs initially like they shouldnt even be kept w you two, Anakin's too powerful himself and Padmé you're too visible (while I imagine Bail and Obi-wan know their respective besties and are like king they are NOT gonna take that well)

and theyre right! Padmé, fresh out of like three of the top ten most harrowing experiences of her life, is like stfu u little green bitch im not losing my kids. but after some convincing she sees the need for her to remain in the senate and anakin's need to fight/run. she knows they can't fight the empire effectively together and she knows it's too dangerous to put the twins together. both parents want more than ANYTHING to be with their kids -- but they also don't want their kids growing up in a galaxy eaten by tyranny or being stolen by palps.

so they made the hardest goddamn decision of their lives and each take a twin (probably chosen on "anakin thought the baby'd be a girl/padme thought it'd be a boy" or smthn) and after some time planning their next moves, Padmé and Anakin are forced to go their separate ways to save the galaxy for and with their kids ): knowing the better they fight, the sooner they free the galaxy from the empire's clutches, the sooner they can reunite and be a family