#spoiler alert they make fierce do it instead

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Veil

Abel held the veil at arm's length as if it would attack him. "You want. To do. What."

"Well if they only let women in, we have to obtain information somehow," Rusl shrugged. "You're smaller in build than me, and your hair's all grown out."

If looks could kill, Abel would have cut Rusl into pieces.

[gay-dorito-dust]

⚠️A little drabble with slight Season 2 spoilers for AIB. ⚠️ this was shit.

“You had every opportunity to be rid of me and yet here I still breath, has my usefulness to you not ran out yet after all this time? Had there not been a time where you could’ve easily disposed of me?” You asked Chishiya as you dragged your bleeding form -curtesy of the king of spades- to mark your final resting place beside him, back pressed up against the car; too tired to accompany Arisu and Usagi to the final game but your faith in them was unwavering. They’ve came this far so it stood to reason that they could put an end to all this. You’ve all lost too much to meet your end here; despite how tragic that sounded, it was a befitting end. To die at the end of the game.

Freedom is almost within reach now and all you could do was reminisce on your time in the Borderlands as time etched away slower then usual. For you the more notable moments took place at The Beach; the once warm safe haven that turned into a nightmarish hellscape right to the very end as it burned down in a blaze of fierce flames. You met Chishiya and Kuina there during a period of your life where you’ve seen one too many of your friends die during the games; Even gotten betrayed by one or two during the more morally tolling ones, which forced your hand into killing them so that you may survive in their stead.

So your willingness to befriend or ally yourself with someone else were slim to none. At the time you didn’t care if you lived when participating in the games, so much so that it made you more reckless and daring during them. Which in retrospect was the dumbest shit you’ve ever done; thinking that the consequences don’t extend to you after your dead because they do and the games like to remind every participant of that. So when you did meet Chishiya and Kuina, you knew what they’re game was almost immediately.

They weren’t here to make friends and neither were you, which was why when one day they did approach you that you were immediately on high alert, hand reaching for the knife that you kept after removing it from the cold hand of a dead man you came across before reaching the massive mansion of party goers. They extended their hand in ‘friendship’ but you shut it down as you stared at them dead in the eyes and told them, “don’t think I don’t know what game your playing at because I ain’t willing in becoming an meat shield for either of you to hide behind when things get too rough. Find some other gullible bastard and quit bothering me.” Before leaving the pair in the hallway as you went to prepare for another game.

Another memory you remember so fondly was when after you had gotten hurt from a game, instead of going back to the cars that would lead you back to The Beach, you slunk your way into an alleyway to die, your position was very much the same as the one you were in currently, back pressed against the brick wall and waiting death to take you far away from this desolate hellhole. Just when you had closed your eyes in acceptance, a voice called out to you and it wasn’t belonging to an angel; It was Chishiya. “What’re you doing?” He asked, however you knew that he could care less for the reason, he just wanted to get a reaction out of you for his own entertainment.

“Waiting to die so I can be as far away from you as possible.” You replied, not bothering to opening your eyes to him.

“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think?” He responds, leaning against the wall as his eyes examine the wounds you received as his brows furrowed but not out of worry.

“Doesn’t matter, all that does is the fact that soon I’ll be free from all this pain and will never have to participate in another game as I cross over into the afterlife.” You stood to your reasoning with steadfast loyalty.

“Dramatic and selfish,” Chishiya said as he ventured forth into the alleyway and knelt so that he was in front of you, getting a better look at your injuries. He didn’t have the best view from where he was standing previously and decided that closer examination was needed. So he kept the conversation going without easing any suspicion within you as you ‘awaited death’ as you so kindly put it. “Your wounds aren’t that severe, they’re deep but the only everlasting thing they’ve leave is a scar at most.” He deduced as you opened your eyes to glare at him. “Now get up before the cars leave us behind and we’re presumed dead.” Chishiya then stood up, offered out his hand for you to take.

You begrudgingly took his hand as he then hauled you off of the floor and began to help you hobble back to the cars that took you back to The Beach, where Kuina was waiting in the lobby for him and subsequently you as she took you off of his hands and aided in getting you to Ann for medical attention. Luckily the additional days added to your visa allowed you to make a full recovery for the next game.

The rest were blurred chaos of varying degrees and the only face that you could clearly make out of that mess was Chishiya’s and his voice, cool under pressure, guiding you to clearing your hectic mind and silence the unnecessary noise that would’ve inevitably have you killed. Even when you weren’t accompanying him in certain games, his presence was with always with you that soon before you allowed yourself to be swept away with everyone else and their growing anxieties, you would clear away their screeching voices and allow yourself to let the answer come to you rather then hopelessly chase it.

“You’re right, I did have opportune moments where I could be rid of you in order to save myself but for some reason, I just let them keep slipping through my fingers. Every time. At first I was wondering if I had let this place force me into a moment of weakness. I was left perplexed and questioning everything when all but soon enough I found my answer.” Chishiya said calmly for a guy who had just gotten shot. Twice. “What was it?” You asked him, awaiting him to finish the sentence on baited breath. “I got attached.” He finally answered glancing over to gauge your reaction like he always did. Which was a habit of his that you’ve only began to take notice as of just recently. He never did once glance at anyone else other then you when he wanted to know how his words affected someone.

Chishiya knew how he made people feel but for some reason he put more effort into knowing how you felt about his words, his actions, everything. It was weird, he even did this back at the beach but when you asked Kuina about this, her answer didn’t make any sense to you. “He’s grown attached to you.” She said but you could only scoff at such ridiculousness, “he only cares about what I came give him. Face it Kuina, Chishiya would rather throw me under the bus then ever admit it to my face that he’s attached.”

You stared at him as though he had grown a second head all the while he rested his head on your shoulder, “what’re your plans after we get out of here?” He changed the subjected, already knowing how you felt about him, he always knew and deep down he believed that you did too and that’s why you didn’t say anything in response. “I don’t know, I’ve worn myself down by just trying to survive and outlive others that I haven’t given it all that much thought.” You admitted to him in a moment of vulnerability, “but I wouldn’t mind it if we went through the unknown together.” You added, resting your head on top of Chishiya’s.

“Is that so?” He asks with a slight air to his tone as though he found all this funny but his hand reached for your own, you tensed at how cold you’ve both become in such a short amount of time that you were starting to actually face your own mortality. It was scary but for Chishiya; you’d brave anything. “Only if you want to of course, wouldn’t want to deter the great Chishiya Shuntaro from better things.” You added as to make light of your situation but faulted when you felt him starting to weigh heavily against your side. “Chishiya?” You said softly. “That sounds nice,” he finally spoke after a moment of silence but his voice was a lot quieter then before, “see you on the other side.” He added as the blimp belonging to the Queen of Hearts finally came down in the form of fiery rain before everything became black.

You awoke in a hospital with no memory of how you got here. Lost and afraid you almost called out in a state of panic when is voice, cool and collected, reached out to you. Silencing the unnecessary noise within. “Your finally awake.”

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: Inner Demons Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester Rating: T Word Count: ~2.2k Summary: The so-called Drowley Summer of Love has officially come to an end, and Crowley is fine with it. Really. He is. (Spoiler alert: He is not.) Set during 10x02: Reichenbach. Warnings: Brief Instance of Self-Harm

Written for the 2023 Crowley Against Humanity Challenge, hosted by @crowleybigbang. Black card prompt: "Why can't I sleep at night?" x White card prompt: "My Inner Demons."

(Read on Ao3)

*****

If the depressingly dim and horrendously decorated Flamingo Lounge has a single redeeming quality, it’s that other than the wide-eyed bartender watching Crowley storm up to the bar, the place is mercifully, blessedly empty.

“Get out,” Crowley snaps at the man, shucking off his coat and sinking down onto a barstool. “Leave a bottle of whatever passes for decent Scotch, and get out.” He blinks; when his eyes re-open, they’re blood red. “Now.”

The bartender obliges, quickly setting the glass he’d been wiping down in front of Crowley, procuring a bottle that he places next to the glass, and all but running out of the bar.

“Smart man,” Crowley mutters to no one in particular. He snatches up the bottle and pours himself a glass of…Jameson? Really? “Dead man,” Crowley amends darkly, but making good on the threat would require going after said man, and Crowley has better—worse—more important things to do. He sets the bottle aside in disgust and knocks back his drink. It tastes like acetone, but it’ll have to do.

With a huff, Crowley reaches back to where his coat hangs and removes the First Blade—his “finder’s fee,” as he’d flippantly called it when talking to Sam. Judging by the positively murderous look in Dean’s eyes as Sam had driven away with his wayward brother handcuffed in the backseat of the Impala, Crowley himself would be paying a price if Dean ever got hold of him after this...

Well, then Crowley will just have to make sure Dean never gets hold of him after this, simple as that.

He turns the Blade over in his hands, taking in its…not craftsmanship, but rather, its underwhelming lack thereof. In the dingy fluorescent light of the bar, the Blade looks crude and unremarkable; it feels crude and unremarkable. Cut off from the power of the Mark and held by someone with no claim on it whatsoever, it’s no longer a powerful killing tool but simply a piece of old bone.

Crowley sets the Blade down on the counter in front of him and pours himself another shot of Jameson. For all his past scheming over the blasted thing, the act of actually possessing the Blade is decidedly anticlimactic. Honestly, the only reason he’d even taken the it at this point was because he could, so that Dean wouldn’t have it…

Dean stands over him, chuckling as Crowley glowers up from the floor—the bastard had pushed him. Crowley gets slowly to his feet, ignoring his still-stunned minions and ready to smack the smirk right off Dean’s face but managing to keep his anger in check…for now. “What…do you think you’re doing?”

Dean stares coolly back at him. “Oh, whatever I want.”

“Really?” Crowley counters. “Because I think you don’t know what you want. Tell me, Dean,” he sneers softly, “what are you? A demon? If so, why isn’t Lester’s wife dead? Did you feel sorry for her?” He feels a stab of satisfaction at the way Dean doesn’t meet his eye. “So maybe you’re human. Except you have those pretty black peepers, and you’re working alongside me. Why don’t you do us all a great big favor and PICK A BLOODY SIDE?!”

For a split second, he thinks Dean might strike him—good, Crowley thinks fiercely; he could do with throwing a few punches himself right about now—but instead, Dean just smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes and says, “Or what?”

There’s a veneer of calm to Dean’s voice as he speaks, but Crowley hears the underlying menace well enough. He hesitates, and Dean advances, his smile turning even more feral. “Hmm? Go ahead. Make a move. See how it ends.”

And Crowley…doesn’t make a move. Not so much because he knows perfectly well that Dean will gut him if he does, but because…because damn it, even though Crowley’s furious with Dean, and even though a large part of him would like nothing more than to lash out and make Dean feel at least a fraction of the betrayal Crowley himself is currently feeling, another, even larger part of him wants to lash out at himself for being stupid enough to think that this confrontation hadn’t been inevitable, that what he had with Dean Winchester, of all people, could ever last…

Dean huffs; then, in a low growl, he delivers his coup de grâce: “I ain’t your friggin’ bestie, and I ain’t taking orders from you. When I need to kill, I’ll call. Until then, stay out of my way.”

It’s as good a knife wound as any, even if it doesn’t actually pierce Crowley’s meatsuit. He feels himself on the precipice of a scream as hurt, anger, and an all-too-familiar sense of worthlessness coalesce into a writhing maelstrom of self-loathing and despair and foolish, feverish want—to strike Dean, to kiss him, to kill him, to just…have him in some way, or at the very least, to not lose him, not like this…

Open your eyes, Dean, he thinks furiously, desperately in Dean’s direction. See what I see, feel what I feel—

But Dean doesn’t hear him, doesn’t see, doesn’t feel. There’s nothing but hatred in the hollowed-out blacks of Dean’s eyes—hatred, and Crowley’s own pitiful, dejected reflection staring back at him, and…and fine. It’s fine. He's—

“Fine.” Crowley draws himself up, centuries of practice in play as he keeps his voice flat. “It’s over.” He feigns a shrug, addressing his minions. “What can I say? Crazy ones—well, they’re good for a fling, but they’re not relationship material.” He looks squarely back at Dean as he speaks the last bit, hoping it stings.

If it does, Dean doesn’t show it. “Are you done?” he demands, and this time, Crowley nearly does strike him, nearly does knock Dean to the floor and stand over him and shout until his voice goes hoarse and—

“We’re done,” he states levelly instead. It’s almost funny: even to Crowley’s ear, it actually sounds like he means it. He lets out a clipped, bitter laugh. “You know what, Dean? It’s not me. It’s you.” With that, he steps around Dean and makes for the door, his minions in tow. Dean doesn’t call after him, and Crowley tells himself he wouldn’t stop even if Dean did call out. The bar door slams shut with a heavy clang behind him, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t—

Crowley snarls and hurls his glass at the wall behind the bar. He’d given Dean a chance at something extraordinary, at a life free from the burden of having to give a damn about—about anything, and this was the thanks he got? For risking his life and helping Dean get the Mark and the Blade and indulging each and every one of Dean’s puerile, hedonistic, dive bar-centric whims every day for the past six months? This was what Dean gave him in return? Hadn’t they been more than that, been...been friends, been—

“Think of it,” he says conspiratorially to Dean. “The King of Hell, Dean Winchester by his side. Together, we rule. Together, we create the perfect Hell. And all of this that’s bloomed between us never ends…”

Well, so much for that, Crowley seethes. He seizes the bottle of Jameson and takes one final swig before slinging it forward to shatter alongside the remnants of his glass. So much for him and Dean and Growley and Squirrel and the whole great, big, fat, bloody lot of it!

Did you honestly think he’d say yes? jeers a judging, contemptuous voice from one of the older, more deeply hated recesses of his mind. Crowley recognizes the voice all too well—it is, after all, his own. Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, on your side? Anyone, ever, on your side? You were all too keen to call out Dean’s indiscretion with Lester, but did it ever occur to you, pot, that you were calling the kettle black? What do you think you are, hmm?

Crowley’s eyes fall on the First Blade, and a moment later it’s in his grasp. He hesitates; then, slowly, he brings the Blade up and runs it down the palm of his other hand…

A ribbon of red blooms in the Blade’s wake. Crowley watches as for a moment, the blood continues to flow…then disappears when the cut vanishes entirely, which is…good. It’s good. Plus one for demonic healing, and all that…

What was it you said to Dean? interjects the voice in an odious purr. 'Why don’t you do us all a great big favor and pick a bloody—'

Sod off, Crowley bites back, clenching his teeth and forcing himself to sit up straighter on the barstool. He doesn’t need to—He knows perfectly well what he is, damn it: he’s an arsehole, a bastard, an irredeemable villain of the highest degree, and he doesn't need anyone, least of all Dean sodding Winchester, on his bloody side! He’d somehow forgotten that over the past year or so, lost his previously unfailing sense of demonic clarity and allowed himself to get swallowed up in…in feelings, but no more. From now on, he’d be strong, would go back to thinking strictly of himself and his own best interests without losing any proverbial sleep over it, and if Dean ever did sort himself out enough to decide to pick up the phone and call him up for old time’s sake, well, then Crowley simply wouldn’t answer.

To prove it to himself, he pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs the power button, ready to pull up his contacts and block Dean’s number once and for all, and…and as his lock screen flares to life, he finds himself staring at a photo of him and Dean, taken months ago at some middle-of-nowhere dusty dive bar whose name Crowley can’t even remember, and yet—

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he grumbles to Dean as they step out of the Impala, the ridiculous cowboy hats Dean had found at the last petrol station and insisted on buying perched squarely on their heads. “When this is over, I expect you to honor our agreement. For the next week, I pick the music.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. Just do what you can to avoid cramping my style, all right? Unlike you, I plan on getting laid tonight."

The next few hours pass in a haze of cheap beer, loud country music, and the constant clack of cue sticks against resin as Dean hustles three different sods at pool…and Crowley loves every minute of it. He can’t help but marvel at how wondrous it is to see Dean like this, free and uninhibited in his flirtation not just with women but also men, the part of him that Crowley had long suspected to be locked away now on vivid, unabashed display for whoever feels like looking…and Crowley finds that he does feel like looking. He watches as Dean bends low over the pool table and expertly sinks the final 8-ball into the designated corner pocket, much to the consternation of his latest victim, and he wonders…

A few minutes later, he and Dean are back at their table, laughing and toasting Dean’s victory with fresh mugs of beer that Crowley’s starting to think isn’t so bad after all, when one of the servers walks by, and Crowley, in a moment of inspiration, holds out his phone and asks her to take his and Dean’s picture.

“Admit it,” Dean says with a wink, sounding more than a little drunk as he leans in and flicks the brim of Crowley’s hat. “You’re startin’ to like it, aren’tcha.”

And maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s the company, or maybe it’s the fact that Crowley can’t remember a time in recent memory where he’s enjoyed himself as much as he has tonight, but he feels himself smile back. “Maybe I am,” he concedes, and Dean laughs and claps him on the shoulder just as the flash goes off…

“Sir?” calls a voice, ripping Crowley from his reverie and setting him squarely back in the present. “Uh, Your Evilness?”

Crowley blinks, vaguely aware that two of his minions have appeared behind him, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he unlocks his phone and goes to his photo album, flicking through the files until he finds the one of him and Dean he’d set as his lock screen.

“Sir?” says the same minion as before. “Sir, it’s time to move on.”

And it is, isn’t it? Time to move on. Time to forget about Dean Winchester once and for all, to cut out this…this weakness at its source. Time to go back to being what he truly is, what he always has been, what he always will be…

Crowley hesitates, his finger hovering over the delete icon.

“You know why I always defeat you?” he says to Sam and Dean what seems like a lifetime ago, in Bobby’s junkyard. “It’s your humanity. It’s a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good old-fashioned common sense…”

A second ticks by. Then another. Then another. Crowley stares at the image on the screen in front of him…and then he pockets his phone, allows one of his minions to help him with his coat, and leaves the bar without looking back.

[imtryingmybeskar]

A little angsty Joel drabble.

🍄Please be aware that this story contains a spoilers for TLOU 1 and 2🍄

Joel gets caught in a storm where his guilt won't leave him alone. Word count: 993

Rain pounded on the corrugated metal of the makeshift lean-to shelter he had hastily appropriated. The storm had blown up out of nowhere, catching him out and soaking him to the skin. His horse snorted softly and shook herself free of the drops that still clung to her mane and tail, then nosed roughly at his shoulder.

“I know, honey, I know,” Joel muttered. “I ain’t got anythin’ for ya. Have to make do m’afraid.” He glanced down at the sparse smattering of grass under his feet and sighed his disapproval at himself in not having been more prepared. He hadn’t expected to be outside Jackson past sundown, but the ferocity of the howling wind and lashing rain meant that he would now have to forego his cosy bed and hot food for the night.

Luxuries are makin’ you soft.

That critical voice had grown quieter over the past two years. Since Tess exited his life, since Tommy came back into it, since Ellie had saved him in so many ways. That voice used to be his custodian, it guided him in the shithole aftermath of the end of all things. Kept him alive, bodily at least. And sometimes there was still value in listening to it. Wouldn’t do to get sloppy. Not when he finally felt at home somewhere.

Still he’d had worse nights than this. Nights of being cold and hungry. And miserable. Completely alone. In the dark and terrified. And-

He shook his head away from the simmering memories that threatened to invade and huddled closer against the back wall of the shack he had found.

He would get no sleep tonight. The noise of the storm would mask any sounds he made, yes. But it would also mask the sounds of anyone or anything else that stumbled this way. He was close enough to Jackson that he trusted that the area had been patrolled and cleared relatively recently, but the conditions and terrain would make riding Amber treacherous should he need to make a quick getaway. He needed to stay alert for any dangers instead. Horses were precious. Couldn’t afford for her to break a leg out here. No, he was better off waiting till morning to head back.

He dragged an upturned crate and a mouldy old blanket from the depths of the shadows and sat down heavily, his knees making a crackling noise and the old wound aching around his lower back and abdomen. The rain was coming down diagonally, the wind whipping it across the ground in sheets. It was hitting the roof with such force that it sounded a little like gunfire.

The hospital…the doctor…Marlene.

Nope. Wasn’t going there. Wasn’t thinking about that.

Joel sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. He wished he had his guitar, foolish though that was. It had become almost a necessity to him in Jackson, another marker of how different he was from the man he had been. He probably wouldn’t even be able to hear himself play it over the weather, if he wanted to risk playing it at all. He hadn’t been out in a storm this fierce since…well since he and Tess had smuggled Ellie out of the Boston QZ. The rain had been both blessing and curse that night as well.

Tess…what would Tess think of what you’ve done?

“Tess ain’t here,” he growled to himself under his breath. “And I did what I had to do.”

What would Ellie think?

He had been wrong. It wasn’t his critical voice, it was his goddamn conscience that was needling him, goading him as it had done with increasing volume every single day since he and Ellie had got back from Salt Lake City.

“She’d be glad she’s alive to think anything at all,” he mumbled. “Never met a kid who wanted to survive as much as she does. What she did to that fella in the diner-“

He broke off, exhaled a shaky breath at the memory of her face covered in blood spatter and snot and tears. She had never looked younger to him in that moment he had taken her in his arms and reassured her that it would all be alright, that she had conquered the demon, and that he was there to help her move forward, to put those shattered bits of herself back together again.

She wouldn’t thank you and you know it.

The voice crept through his mind, intrusively insistent upon turning his thoughts to that he wanted to think about the least.

“CHRIST!” he barked in frustration, making Amber sidestep nervously away from him. He immediately rose from his uncomfortable perch and soothed her, stroking her nose and murmuring low, comforting nonsense into her mane.

He had to get a hold of himself. It didn’t matter one way or the other because she was here and thank whatever the fuck passed for God these days that she was. She was alive, and more than that, she was living. Learning to swim, riding horses, reading, laughing, cooking. Hell, he was planning on giving her the best damn birthday he could in a couple of months and had already starting clearing the trails that would lead them to the museum.

He could give her all of that, because he had made that split second choice. But it hadn’t even been a choice. Not really. There was never a scenario where he would have let them cut her up. Not even for every other goddamn asshole that was somehow still uninfected. And if he had the chance, he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

He stood there watching the rain, listening to its white noise above him and allowing it to wipe his mind blissfully blank. He thought of nothing but the smile on Ellie’s face as he breathed, blowing his fears and doubts away into the storm that swirled through the darkness.

@thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities

[thaisibir]

Hello! I love all of your headcanons for the Digimon Survive cast, especially when they are adults.

So, I have possibly a difficult ask, but I’m rather intrigued by it, especially when remembering works like Higurashi:

What if, as adults, the group begins to have dreams of the other routes, the “failed timelines”? How would they react and how do you think it would affect them, especially for the Harmony and Wrathful routes?

I’m so glad you enjoyed my “15 years after Survive” headcanons, and this is a great topic to explore and something I’ve thought about as well, so thanks a lot for getting the ball rolling! Below the cut are my long-ish musings (in order) for Ryo, Shuuji, Aoi, Kaito, Miu, and Saki.

(Spoiler alerts for Wrathful and Harmony routes. Content warning for mentions of depression, anxiety, and PTSD.)

Ryo His mother faces him with arms outstretched, inviting him to a warm embrace, but as her arms close around him, many more sprout from her body, and the shadowy hands grab him before he can flee. The last thing he hears and feels is the crunch of his bones and flesh, and the last thing he hears is his own scream. This is the stuff of his recurrent nightmares. They get especially bad around the anniversary of his mother’s death. He’s on medications for insomnia and sleeps with barely any blankets on, even on cold winter nights, because the weight and pressure of more would only remind him of the crushing hands. The dreams feel so real that sometimes he can't remember if they had almost happened or really happened. His fight-or-flight response kicks into overdrive if someone grabs or claps him from behind. One time Minoru did just that, only as a harmless, friendly clap on the back in greeting, and Ryo swung around so fiercely that he knocked back Minoru to the ground with a badly bruised jaw. (Minoru and Ryo had apologized to each other shortly after that.) His ultimate reassurance is his partner Kunemon, who always sleeps curled up next to him. Kunemon is a comforting presence and a valuable reminder that Ryo isn’t alone anymore, that he has friends who care deeply for him.

Shuuji When Shuuji sleeps, Ryo doesn't follow him in his dreams. He isn't there to smack sense into Shuuji as he's pummeling Lopmon with kicks. No one stops him from himself and the monster he makes out of Lopmon. The monster Lopmon becomes grabs Shuuji by the feet, no matter how fast he tries to run, and eats him alive. His head is spared, so Shuuji can hear his bones crunch between teeth and see his blood spew out under the pressure. It's not a quick and merciful death. Shuuji dives further into the monster's gut, becoming one with its torment as he's slowly being liquified and suffocated. He wakes up from these nightmares gasping for air and hit with a wave of nausea. For this reason he always keeps a bag of ginger candy at his nightstand. Having seen glimpses of what Lopmon could've become, and what would've happened to him, Shuuji would spiral into a roller coaster of relief and terror: relief that those dreams never came to be, and terror that Lopmon may become just that if he isn't careful. Shuuji goes the extra mile to treat Lopmon with nothing less than kindness, on top of often telling Lopmon that if he's being unfair, unreasonable, or mean in any way, he needs to speak up instead of just taking the mistreatment. Fostering an open, honest dialogue with Lopmon helps keep the nightmares at bay. He also often opens up to Takuma and the Professor, sharing his fears and worries and seeking their advice on maintaining a healthy relationship with Lopmon. He sees a regular therapist to try sorting out his issues with an abusive childhood and coping with being disowned by his family. To combat the weight gain from taking anti-depressants, Shuuji picks up rigorous weightlifting. He finds it also gives him a much-needed boost of self-esteem and sense of self-worth he sorely lacked through his early life. Shuuji realizes that the root of his problems lies in his self-loathing. He learns how to turn his life around by being kinder to himself, which is what really solidifies a good relationship with Lopmon.

Aoi Months turn into years, and the more time Aoi spends with Labramon, the more that strange nightmares haunt her. No matter how far she runs in the dreamscape, a monstrous, horned shadow with gnashing teeth always follows her. Even after years in law enforcement chasing down suspects, no matter how hard she runs, the shadow always catches up to her. What scares Aoi the most is when the shadow pulls her into itself, eats her alive, and says that it IS her. The nightmares only grow worse when Aoi gets married and has children. Sometimes the shadow doesn’t chase her down because she’s already the shadow, and when her friends show up in her dreams, she cuts them down without effort and mercy. She’s so terrified of that kind of dream that she doesn’t dare mention it to her friends, fearing that it would come true if she speaks of it. She doesn't get much respite during the day. She's wary of her own shadow and has a hard time looking at her reflection in the mirror, afraid of what may be staring back. Aoi finds out one late night at work, by accident, that she doesn't have the nightmares at all if she falls asleep exhausted. Since learning that, she would take more late shifts, read a book in bed until she can't keep her eyes open and nods off, or make love with her husband well into the night until she's too tired to go on any more. (Some of her kids were results of those nights.) As much as he enjoys the frequent sex, her husband can tell that something's been bothering Aoi and she won't tell him what it is. She hasn't even told Labramon, but she doesn't need to. Labramon suffers from the same nightmares and also keeps her silence. Aoi is determined to never tell another living soul and vows to take the secret to her grave. They're especially perturbed when any ghost and undead Kemonogami they run into show deference to them, as if Aoi or Labramon is (or will be) some kind of queen to them.

Kaito The world may be his oyster as he surfs the wave of his successful music career, but in his dreams, the world is in shambles. His worst fear of his little sister dying before him comes true in his dreams, and the world feels so much worse for it, so he goes on a rampage to tear it all down. Dracmon tries to be a voice of reason, but Kaito forces him to help tear down the world with him. This turns his faithful partner into something beyond recognition, a harbinger of destruction that destroys the world alongside him. His friends try to stop him next, but they're always no match for his wrath. And when that's done, the monster by his side turns on him. Kaito wakes up from these nightmares relieved beyond words that Miu is okay and the world is still turning. Sometimes he uses these nightmares as inspiration for his music, and it feels cathartic to some extent. But fear still takes root in his heart, and he's afraid of losing himself in a rage that'd hurt people he cares about. He's especially concerned about Dracmon, who in his dreams has shown to be loyal to a fault. He swears to himself that he would never make Dracmon do something he won't agree to, and tells Dracmon that if he ever does, his partner is free to slap some sense into him.

Miu Behind her cheeky smiles and quirky pluck, she's occasionally haunted by dreams of her own death. She's not so much afraid of that, because at least it's mercifully quick, but what she really fears is what happens after the fact: her brother losing his mind in his grief and doing terrible things to everyone and everything around him for her sake. What she hates most is how she could see it all play out in her dreams, but in her "death" can't do anything to change things or reach out to Kaito. That's why in the world that's real, she uses almost every waking moment to make her thoughts and wishes crystal clear: that she would absolutely hate to see him wreck everything and most of all himself. Miu makes him swear that if there's anything he'd do for her sake, it's to keep living and finding peace and happiness along the way. She believes that his music career helps him down that path, helps him carve out a life without her revolving around it all the time, and it's a big reason why she fully supports his creative endeavors.

Saki From an early age, with her chronic illness, Saki is well acquainted with the idea of death. She is very aware how closely she skirts the line and tangoes with it. She likes to joke that death is pretty much her dance partner. Despite her attempts to take it lightly, however, her dreams give her a sobering glimpse of how it could have been if death had claimed her in the other world. Knowing that death is always around the corner for her, and having dreams of it meeting her in other ways, it doesn't come as a huge surprise to her. What makes the dream a nightmare is how her death devastates everyone and especially, utterly breaks Aoi. All Saki can do is watch helplessly as Aoi spirals into crippling survivor's guilt, when all she wants is to tell her best friend not to hate and blame herself for being alive. In the dreams Saki always has a choice: to drag everyone in to her death or let go to save them. She always chooses the latter, even if that means seeing Aoi suffer in emotional torment. Sometimes Saki isn't sure if those dreams show how Aoi would have really reacted, or if they're just manifestations of her own feelings for Aoi. Would Aoi really miss her that much and break that badly if she died? Saki's afraid to open up and ask. What she knows for sure is to check up on Aoi whenever she can. The different time zones and their busy lives make it difficult, but they manage to make it work and stay in touch.

[shipsahoya]

Buddie Roleplay Search Intro:

Help! I've fallen on the Buddie train and can't get up! I also don't want to...

So! I am looking to find the Eddie Diaz to my Evan Buckley!

I've been roleplaying for a long time and I'm glad to do that here on Tumblr messages or on Discord (shipsahoya#9763). I have no required word count or paragraph length for you, but do tell me your preference!

My only requirement of my partner is that they are at least 18, because I'm in my early 30s.

I work a busy job full time, so I can’t always post every day, but I am usually able to post several times a week. I’m never going to pressure you or bug you to rush out a post, so I ask that you don’t either! Even if I can’t post daily, I’m happy to chat OOC! Let’s talk, share fanart and fics we like!

Plot Ideas

It's spooky season, so I'm craving some something in line with that. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, haunted houses, I'll take any of it! As mentioned above, I prefer to play Buck. I will happily play any side characters. I'm especially fond of found family so I would love for the rest of the 118 to be involved!

House of Nightmares: Maddie receives a call from a distressed family who says their house is ablaze. The 118 goes to put it out, only to see that the house is perfectly in tact, but the family runs out of the house, terrified of all they've seen. And as Buck and Eddie go in to investigate if there's a carbon monoxide leak causing hallucinations, the house shuts them inside. (Spoiler alert: they're not the only ones in the house)

Not Your Average Movie Night: Lately, Buck finds himself spending more and more time at the Diaz household, cooking for Eddie and Christopher nearly any evening he doesn't have a long shift. But one late movie night, Eddie invites Buck to stay the night. Buck falls asleep on the couch only to wake in the middle of the night when someone breaks in through the window. Before he has a chance to fight back, they jump him, biting into his neck. When he wakes the next morning, Eddie explains that a vampire attacked him. And how does he know? Because he himself is no average human. (It's totally up to you what he should be. My initial thoughts were werewolf or hunter.)

A Pack to Remeber: What if we loosely follow some events of the show, but the 118 is a pack? Alphas Bobby and Athena looking out for their pack that can never stay out trouble? Eddie coming to the 118 from his former pack in Texas? Buck being fiercely protective of his found family pack? I’m here for it all.

Stranger Things Have Happened: Instead of Hawkins, Indiana in the 80s, the upside down and demogorgons start to spread in LA. What will our fire fighters do?

Touch and Scent: I have no plot beyond Incubus!Buck / Werewolf!Eddie. It just makes sense, okay?

Anyway! If you're interested, drop me a message here or reach out on discord!

[sapphicellegreenaway]

forgetting is so long

elle greenaway x bau!fem!reader

moving on from the love of your life is harder than anyone could imagine

word count: 2.3k

warnings: spoilers for 1.22, 2.05, and 2.06, cursing, light allusion to sexual activity

a/n: it's angst city around here folks! heavily inspired by the line 'love is so short, forgetting is so long' from pablo neruda's poem tonight i can write (the saddest words)

⭒⭑⭒

She’s impossible to forget, no matter how much you want to.

Elle Greenaway was the love of your life from the moment you laid eyes on her. She joined the BAU from the Seattle field office, and rocked your world as soon as she stepped into your office to introduce herself. All kind eyes and confident smirks, she shook your hand and invited you to get drinks after finishing up so the pair of you could get to know each other better. The night had ended well into the morning, and you were inseparable from that moment on. The rest of the team was shocked, knowing how much it took for you to let people in, but something about Elle just made you feel safe.

Things progressed quickly, but naturally, and eventually she moved into your apartment because you were more established in the city. You fit together naturally, like two sides of the same coin, and you loved her with every fibre of your being. Elle reciprocated, protecting you fiercely and doing everything she could to show just how much she cared. Hotch and Gideon did their best to keep teasing from the team to a minimum but neither of you minded much — you had each other to get through whatever Morgan was going to throw at you.

Everything changed after the Fisher King case, though you understood why. While the situation had been hard on you it was exstruiating on her — after all, she was the one who got shot. You did all you could to support her through her recovery, taking time off work and making sure she didn’t do anything that could cause stress and slow her timeline down. Elle wasn’t shy about letting you know much she wanted to be back in the BAU, picking fights when you would return from the office and giving you the cold shoulder for days when you returned from cases. Despite her pain and hostility you thought the pair of you were working through the issues, and you had been waiting for the perfect time to put the ring your grandmother had given you to good use.

The plan disintegrated after Elle left, crumbled like dust in the wind. You had been away on a case with the rest of the team, only her and Hotch staying in Virginia to deal with the repercussions of her shooting the potential unsub from the previous case. No one had alerted you to her strange behaviour — whether it had been intentional or not you’re still not sure. When you entered the apartment upon your return there was nothing but silence and darkness instead of Elle’s laughter bouncing off the walls. She didn’t leave a note — just packed her go bag and left. No one could give you an explanation, doing their best to let you grieve your lost love.

Time certainly hasn’t made it easier, despite Spencer’s endearing statistics to prove the common saying, and you spend hours of every day reliving what you once had. She’s everywhere — coffee mug still in the break room and her favourite lipstick still stashed in the top drawer of your desk so she could make herself look presentable after a lunch-time make out session. She’s still in the apartment you once shared, trinkets and books and clothes left for you to pack up and donate. Elle Greenaway made it damn near impossible for you to forget her.

⭑

“I call dibs on the left side!” Elle shrieks, pushing past you and running full speed into the hotel room. Hotch knows now to book the two of you a room with one bed because neither of you will use the second one, after one too many times of finding the pair of you tangled together under one set of sheets.

You frown, upset at her for picking the side you always sleep on. “But I always sleep on the left,” you whine before realizing you sound like a child. Instead, you square your shoulders and enter the room while doing the best you can do pretend like it doesn’t bother you.

Elle laughs when she sees you, bright and bubbly in stark contrast to your broodiness. “Oh baby,” she coos, closing the distance between your bodies and wrapping her lithe arms around your waist, “I just want to be able to protect you, stay between you and the door.”

Her concern is endearing, and you’ve never been great at staying angry with her. Any and all negative emotions vanish the moment she kisses you. It’s tender, loving, but with a gentle buzz of electricity humming underneath to let you know her true intentions. You’d risk your life a thousand times over if it meant you got to kiss Elle whenever you wanted.

“Okay,” you sigh breathily when she finally pulls away.

“Okay?”

You look at her confused, as if she couldn’t have possibly forgotten what made you upset in the first place. “You can sleep on the left side of the bed, but only if I get to be the big spoon while we watch the news.”

She smiles. “That’s my girl.”

⭑

You’d do anything to have her call dibs on part of the room right now.

Instead, you open your hotel room door to find two double beds placed a perfect distance apart. You’re bunking with Emily, the new girl, and while she’s friendly enough and the two of you get along well, she’s not Elle. She’s not the one you want to be sharing a hotel room with in Wisconsin in the middle of January. She isn’t the one you want to brush your teeth with and make small talk about the case and any potential leads with.

There’s no real reason for you to slam your duffel on the floor beside the bed left to you, but you do. Elle isn’t here, isn’t coming back, and you need to get the fuck over yourself. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier, and when you face plant into the stiff mattress and let out a gravelly scream Emily gets incredibly concerned. She’s noticed you’ve been off since arriving at the hotel — it wouldn’t take an FBI profiler to see you’re struggling with something internally.

“What’s the matter,” she asks tentatively, worried her words might set you off further. “Case got you down?”

Emily doesn’t see you roll your eyes because they’re tucked so close to the blanket it’s suffocating, but you can’t help it. Of course she’d think your issue was the case — she didn’t know Elle or the history you had with her. You remind yourself it isn’t her fault and manage to muster up a response.

“It’s nothing, Prentiss. Sorry for making you think there was an issue.”

There’s no way she bought the lousy excuse, but Emily is also smart enough to leave well enough alone. If she hears you sobbing in the shower she doesn’t mention it. When you eventually step out of the bathroom and walk towards the left bed Emily gave you without a fight, you can't help but notice she doesn’t watch the news to unwind. It was something you did with Elle as a sort of grounding exercise, but you find Emily scribbling away in what appears to be a sudoku book. The silence in the room suddenly makes your ears ring and you cover them in an attempt to block out the pain and loneliness the sound represents.

She isn’t clueless and refuses to believe there isn’t something seriously wrong with you. “Okay, what the hell is going on? If you don’t want to room with me just say so. Hotch won’t have an issue putting me with JJ if that’s what you want.”

“No,” you sigh, so exhausted by the weight of your emotions, “I don’t have an issue with bunking with you. This is just the first time we’ve had a case that required travel since someone incredibly important to me left the team, and I’m having a bit of a hard time adjusting.”

Emily nods like she understands, and while you don’t think she really gets the gravity of your confession it’s nice to know someone is there for you. When she asks about Elle and what she was like you laugh — how do you encompass Elle Greenaway into a single sentence? The task seems impossible but Emily is patient, letting you talk as much as you want. Once the words run out and you’ve cried enough tears to fill a swimming pool the two of you turn out the lights and try to sleep. There’s still an Elle sized hole in your soul, but having someone not skirt around her in conversation was refreshing.

⭑

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You close your mouth, open it, and close it again, but no sound comes out. Elle’s standing on your doorstep in a shimmery black floor-length gown that hugs her figure perfectly, red lips contrasting the darkness and knocking the breath out of your lungs. She had insisted on getting ready for the gala separately, to ‘keep the mystery alive’, and you’re glad she left early this afternoon to get ready at Penelope’s. If she hadn't, neither of you would have made it to the gala.

“Shut up,” you grumble, pulling her inside and kissing her with the fire of a thousand suns. “You look exquisite.”

Elle giggles, tosses her hair over her left shoulder, and reconnects your lips. “Me? This old thing? You’re the real smokeshow here, baby.”

The deep green long-sleeve dress you found in the back of your closest pales in comparison to what she’s wearing, but the way Elle is eyeing you makes it seem as though you’re wearing a tiara gifted personally by the Queen. A warmth creeps up the back of your neck and wraps around to your cheeks, fueling the fire for Elle to continue to marvel at you.

“Come on, you,” you sigh, looping an arm around Elle’s waist and leading her out the door. “We were supposed to pick Spencer up nearly fifteen minutes ago.”

She doesn’t speak, knows you’re right, and follows you willingly. Elle does the driving, always has, and when she opens up your door she steals another quick kiss. Your laughter bounces off the roof of the car the entire way to Reid's apartment.

⭑

The knock doesn’t belong to her. There’s no plan for her to pick you up for the gala this year. Hell, you don’t even know if she’s in the country. You know all that, and yet you can’t stop yourself from hoping Elle will be on the other side of the door when you open it. She isn’t — it’s Gideon, looking incredibly dapper in a tuxedo that must be over twenty years old but somehow still fits. A corsage rests gingerly in his hand, and you could cry at the sight of it. The small bouquet is made of lilies and baby’s breath, known by everyone in the office to be Elle’s favourite flowers.

“I thought you might want a piece of her with you tonight,” he says tenderly, and slips it onto your wrist. Tears well in your eyes, but they’re mostly the happy kind. Of course you wanted Elle with you, in any capacity you could get, and the fact Gideon didn’t hesitate to make it happen makes you love him more. Before his hand can leave yours you raise them both towards your face, placing a chaste kiss to the back of his in thanks.

He’s patient as you lock up and opens the car door for you like a true gentleman. Though you adore Jason Gideon and would probably follow him to war if he asked, he isn’t the person you want beside you. Your heart and soul yearns for Elle in a way no one else will ever understand. Gideon doesn’t pretend to share your pain, which you’re incredibly thankful for, and is the only team member who isn’t pressuring you to get past the monumental loss that was Elle leaving.

“I miss her so much,” you sigh when Gideon stops at a red light.

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, as if he’s letting you feel just how much you miss her at this very moment. “I know, kiddo. I know.” When you turn to face him, Gideon offers a smile and turns the radio up a little louder. It takes a moment for the sound to reach your ears, but when it does you begin to cry again.

Through the crackling speakers of the old truck is the song you and Elle shared your first kiss to. It had happened on the dance floor of the Hotchner’s vow renewal, in front of everyone, but it had been absolutely perfect. You still remember the cheering from Morgan and Garcia, and JJ and Spencer’s fond smiles. Time eclipses you, and you’re thrown back to that night for the rest of the song. You’re a little shaken up when Gideon parks the car at the event space, and he gives you a moment to compose yourself before he leads you inside and stays near the rest of the night, always there to cheer you up when the loneliness begins to hover a little too close.

⭑

Missing Elle Greenaway is something you’ll do for the rest of your life. You have no doubt about it — in fact, it’s about the only thing you’re certain of. The love the two of you shared was epic, one the poets couldn’t even properly comprehend, but when she left a hole formed in your heart. You aren’t sure it will ever be filled.

Time passes in the way only it can, but you still think about her constantly. Not a day goes by where you don’t remember her laugh bouncing off the bullpen walls, or the click of her heels across the hardwood floor of your apartment when she’d get home later than you and just wanted a kiss. Elle Greenaway was everywhere yet nowhere in your life, and will be for the rest of time. Loving her was so short, so bright, but forgetting her is so long.

⭒⭑⭒

consider reblogging and giving feedback if you enjoyed! it helps a lot x

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering

next chapter

Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13. 

Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins​

A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk

Word count: 12.1k

           “Reid is in jail.”

           I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.

           Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.

           “Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.

           “In Mexico.”

My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.

It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”

Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”

“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”

For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.

There was no way he would throw all of that away.

“What type of drugs?”

“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.

Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.

“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.

“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.

Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.

I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.

“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”

I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.

“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.

“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”

           The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.

--

           “This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”

           “Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.

           “The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.

           “Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”

           “We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.

           “Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.

           “Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.

           “Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

           “Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”

           “How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”

           “Three days.”

           “That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.

The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.

Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.

“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”

“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.

“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”

I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.

But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.

“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.

“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.

A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.

“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”

“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.

“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”

Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.

I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.

When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.

“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.

“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.

Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.

“Get clean? What are you talking about?”

I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.

“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.

Thank God for Luke Alvez.

After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”

Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.

“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.

“You two are close, I take it?”

I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.

“He’s my best friend.”

Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.

“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.

Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.

“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.

“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”

“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”

“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”

“Only if they’re cute.”

And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.

“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”

Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.

“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”

My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.

“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.

When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.

I absolutely hated it.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”

--

The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.

“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.

“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.

“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.

“No.”

Color me unsurprised.

“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”

“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.

Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.

My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.

“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.

Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.

Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.

“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.

           “We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.

           “Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.

           Spencer was quicker to respond this time.

           “Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”

           Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.

           “Where did you meet her?”

           Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.

           “I… I don’t remember.”

           “If you saw her, would you remember her?”

           Spencer nodded in affirmation.

           “You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.

           “It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”

           “And you’ve been drugged?”

           I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.

           “Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.

           “Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”

           Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.

           “Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.

           Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.

Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.

           Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.

           “Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.

           Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.

           “Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”

           Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

           “No.”

           “Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.

           “Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.

           Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.

           “Can… Can you stay?”

           Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.

           “I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.

           “Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.

           Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.

           And then there were two.

           I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.

           “Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.

           As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.

           “About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

           “I’m… In Mexico.”

           A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.

           “You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”

           I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.

           “It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”

           “Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”

           “Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”

           “How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.

           “I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

           “Wait, so, where are you?”

           “I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.

           “Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”

           I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.

           “The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”

           “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”

           “I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”

           “I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”

           There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.

           “Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.

“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”

           “Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”

           “I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”

           “Love you, too.”

           I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.

           For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.

           I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.

           I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.

           I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.

           “I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”

           He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.

           I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.

           “Do you remember what happened to your hand?”

           Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.

           “I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.

           “M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.

           Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.

           “Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”

           The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.

           “Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”

           The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.

           It would have to be enough for now.

--

           Nadi Ramos was dead.

           I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.

           I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.

           And target him he fucking did.

           “We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.

           “How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.

           “She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.

           Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.

           “We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”

           “What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.

           “He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”

           I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.

           “Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”

           Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.

           “It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.

           “Do I want to know?”

           Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.

           “Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”

           “I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.

           “Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.

           “I’ll try.”

           Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.

           “There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”

           Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

           “What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.

           Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.

Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,

“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

           “I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.

           Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.

           “Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”

           Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.

           “I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.

           “Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”

           Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.

           “I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.

           I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.

           “I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”

           I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.

--

           When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.

           We are so beyond fucked.

           “How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.

           “He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”

           “They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”

           Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.

--

           While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.

           “We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

           “I don’t know how.”

           “He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.

           “If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”

           “Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.

           “Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”

           “I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”

           Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.

           “Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”

           “So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”

           “I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”

           I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.

--

           “We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”

           “Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.

           “Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”

           “Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.

           “We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”

           Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.

           “Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.

           “Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”

           “That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

           “Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”

           “I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”

           “So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.

           “It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.

           “Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.

           “Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”

           “Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.

           “You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”

           “I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”

           “Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.

           “Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”

           “We need to know more about her,” Clara said.

           And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.

           “What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.

           Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.

           “There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”

           “Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.

           “Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”

           “Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.

           “Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.

           “So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.

           “Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.

           “Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”

           “Garcia, I have some questions for you.”

           “Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.

           “Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”

           “I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.

           “Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”

           “Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.

           “Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”

           “That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.

           “What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”

           “Why?”

           “Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”

           “Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.

           “Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”

           “This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.

           Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.

           “It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.

           “We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”

           Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.

           “I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.

           One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.

           “With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”

           Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.

           I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.

--

           “We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.

           Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.

           “I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.

           “It was for the right reason.”

           “I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.

           “We do, too.”

           Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.

           “Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.

           “Effective immediately,” Matt added on.

           We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.

           “I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”

           I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.

           “I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.

           “Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.

           Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.

           “For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”

           I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.

           We cannot give him that recording.

           Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.

           “I didn’t record it.”

           Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.

           “But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.

           “I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”

           Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.

           Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.

           “You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

           “We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.

           But so is Scratch.

--

           All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

           Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.

           “You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.

           “I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”

           “You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”

           Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.

           “Since when did you get so insightful?”

           A grin stretched its way across his face.

           “Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

           “And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.

I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”

Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.

“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.

“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”

“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.

“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”

A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.

“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”

I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.

I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.

“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.

“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.

“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”

Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.

“You’re entirely too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”

No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.

--

Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.

JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.

“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.

Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”

Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?”            “Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”

I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;

Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.

Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.

Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.

Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.

Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.

Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.

That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.

I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re on our own.”

And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

           -Storm Constantine

[bluegarners]

For the bingo card, I'd like to request the "tortured for information" square with Dick being the one who's tortured (sorry Dick alskjda). You can include any other batfam member(s) that you want, I'm not picky 😁.

Oooo, that’s a good one! I was super excited to see your request, I hope this does the prompt right~ @hood-ex

Tortured for Information

The room they’re being contained in is small, perhaps eight foot by eight, and the ceiling barely crests at seven. It’s cramped and hot, the stone bricks that surround them leaving no room for air ventilation or any sort of moisture except their own sweat. They know there’s a door somewhere off to the right, but the enclosing darkness leaves most of it to the imagination. Pitch black inks the area, not a single source of light filtering through its void. They only know there’s a door in the darkness because there used to be four of them where three now sit in anticipation. A few inches rest between each of the three remaining figures, all trying their best to breathe through the heat and not inhale the stench of their own gross fluids.

Time is hard to tell in the dark, minds so used to constant movement that stillness is unexpected and dangerous. What they do know is that, before there were just three, they awoke one by one, feeling out for one another in the darkness, checking supplies (they had none), and trying their best to figure out how to escape. The door was the obvious solution at first, the largest of them using his shoulder as a battering ram against the heavy wood. There’s no give, no weakness, and the eldest stops the biggest before there’s unnecessary hurt inflicted. There are no hinges or door knobs or anything obvious through the touch of careful fingers, so other than hopelessly banging against the door, there’s no way to open it.

All of them were still on the cusp of disoriented when they realized there’s no air flow and that, if they’re as trapped as they believe themselves to be, conserving oxygen was the next priority after a failed escape. Suggestions of being underground were thrown around, all failing to recall how they ended up in the small room in the first place or who took them. The underground theory is plausible, being that there’s no light, but the sweltering heat doesn’t match the coolness of deep earth. Being in a basement was also likely, but seeing as their prison isn’t much of a room for a house or other building also leaves the hypothesis flimsy. They compared notes from what they could remember.

��Patrol,” Tim started, a small voice in the black, “in the West portion of Gotham. I was alone though.”

“Spoiler accompanied me in the South,” Damian said.

“Last I remembered, I was in the Cave with B,” Dick chimed in. “We were going over logs. Hood?”

“Drunk,” was the muttered reply. “Still nursing a headache actually so if you guys could shut up and think, that’d be great.”

They’re still on rickety terms with the estranged brother. Things have gotten better over the years, but the progress only graduated from ‘shoot on sight’ to ‘stay the hell away’. Progress is progress though. They’re getting there, slowly, and one day Alfred will coax him into a Manor dinner.

Silence fell on them, more out of nothing else to say rather than to comply with the command, and the only sound was their breaths filtering through the stagnant air. The heat isn’t unbearable. No, far from it, they’ve all endured worse, but the closeness of their bodies provided little relief. There’s hardly enough room to stand and take a few steps before accidentally smashing someone’s hand and soon enough, agitation was brewing. Britsling words, huffs, tuts, an occasional snap; none of them did well in dark, small, and claustrophobic situations.

The hard part about residing in shadow is that one cannot tell when eyes are open or closed, seeing darkness or dreaming in black. When Jason awakes for the second time, a fierce pounding building behind his ears, he realizes that someone is missing. Someone is gone from their eight by eight confinement. A stutter of breath is absent among the shallow patterns. His fingers fumble loosely against the hard flooring, rough in texture and covered in cracks and pebbles, until he finds a body.

He shakes them. “Wake up. Wake up now.”

It’s Damian. He’s up and alert in an instant, grasping at Jason’s wrist in a move meant to harm the older man. It merely pinches him. “What’s going on?” the boy hisses, grip frightfully tight.

Jason ignores him. Feels around for another body. His hand barely moves a foot before he feels something loose and soft. He tugs at it and a startled yell answers. “What the hell?” Tim growls, low enough to be a whisper but quick enough to be panicked.

A snake of oil and water falls into his stomach as Jason confirms it. It twists around in his gut even as he crawls over to where he thinks the door is, slamming a fist into it over and over again as he feels his own panic settle coolly into his feet. They took him. Dick is gone.

That was, in their best estimate, an hour ago. Now they all sit within reaching distance, careful to watch for the signs of induced slumber, periodically calling out to reassure one another. Tim thinks it was gas. Damian thinks drugs. Jason doesn’t know what to think, just that it happened and now Nightwing is gone. He does not voice his more sinister thoughts aloud on what happened to the man in blue, what might be happening right now, but he does not console the younger vigilantes. Order would dictate that it was now his job to look after them, as the second eldest, but he’s been on his own for years and doesn’t know how to.

Dick is gone and they can only sit and wait.

~oOo~

The vapor takes him last. He’s wedged himself into a corner, straining his eyes to make out even an outline of his brothers, when he hears a body slump to the floor, followed by two after. The noise is alarming because, well, those were bodies hitting the stone floor, his brothers, and Dick prepares himself for something as he holds his breath, clasping a hand over his nose.

The door suddenly opens and white light pours into the small room like an ocean hell bent on taking everything with it. It washes over everything, and for a moment, Dick is completely blinded and overwhelmed with the sudden contrast. Just as quickly as the light burst in, there are hands scraping and clawing against his shoulders and Dick is tempted to shout, but the vapors have finally reached his lungs and he feels the lull of sleep drag at his insides until his eyes weigh a thousand pounds and he is forced to close them.

When he blinks them open, he has to bite back a scream because there’s a masked face in front of him, a ghastly brown mask with gaping holes that peer into the depths. Dick is more than a little startled but finds it within himself to evaluate. His mask is still firmly in place, he can feel the spirit gum sucking at his skin, and he is still fully garbed in his Nightwing suit. A quick glance is easy enough to prove he is no longer in that dark prison he and his brothers had been held in, and another glance confirms that he is the only one out.

His brothers are still trapped.

He, too, is trapped, secured against what feels like a metal cot with leather and metal chains and straps tying his feet and arms to the corners of the cot. The masked face moves away from him, decidedly once it's confirmed he is in fact awake, and retreats back. Dick strains to see where they go but they disappear out his peripherals and is instead replaced with the sight of an old woman, gray, almost silver, hair falling in front of her eyes. There’s bright pink lipstick on her mouth, a dull blue shimmer shade smearing her eyelids, and a coral pink blush struggling to lift up the saggy flesh in what might be an attempt at youth. She smiles down at him. Her teeth are plastic.

“Good evening, Nightwing,” she simpers, reaching out a gnarled hand to stroke at his face. “Did you sleep well?”

Dick says nothing, trying to piece together the woman’s motives. He doesn’t recognize her. She’s new. But old. Perhaps an underground leader then. The masked person from earlier would indicate some sort of dramatic cult. Dick doesn’t know if the concealment of their identity means they intend to release him later, or if the showing of the old woman’s face is a move of power, as if to say that they have the means to keep him stationary and have little fear in doing so. The woman could be anyone from a simple grandmother to an “immortal” mortal, striving for some elixir of youth like the League of Assassins. Really, this could be anything. They, whoever it was that took Dick and his brothers, were clearly very capable.

Just as Dick begins to consider the idea of magic being involved, the old woman snaps her fingers and the wooden face from earlier reappears. The blow is quick, a metal stick coming down to strike at his abdomen, and Dick has little time to brace as metal meets his thin flesh and pain lights a fire inside his stomach. He bites back a scream.

“Now, you listen here young man,” the woman berates, a shaking finger pointing accusingly at him. “When you are asked a question, you answer. Where are your manners?”

Dick is too busy catching his breath to form a coherent response, and the woman snaps her fingers again, another blow striking at his stomach again. Dick relaxes as fully as he can despite the panic that’s quickly taking hold of his limbs, and the metal collides with his side this time with bruising force against one of his kidneys. A huff of hurt escapes his mouth and Dick instinctually begins to curl up into himself, only stopped by the straps that hold him down.

“Do you understand?” the old woman asks, raising her hand threateningly as if to snap again.

“Yes,” Dick wheezes out, breathing through the pain. “Yes, I get it.”

She drops her hand, a pleased and rather pleasant smile marring her face once more. “Good. Lovely. I’m sure you have many questions, Nightwing, but I am not obliged to answer any. However, I want you to answer some questions for me. How does that sound?”

Dick isn’t sure if a head nod is enough to placate her inquiry, so he manages another verbal affirmation.

“Excellent,” the old woman crows. “I’ll begin then. Oh drat, I almost forgot. You arrived with your brothers, yes?”

Dick feels the blood in his face drain. She notices.

“Oh, not to worry!” she reassures, a wrinkled hand coming up to pat his cheek. “No harm will come to them. I would never hurt a child, Nightwing, no sir. Family is very important after all. That’s why you’re here! So, to make sure that you answer truthfully, I would like to propose a bargain.”

“Bargain?” Dick questions. His side winces, still struggling to adapt to the injuries. He’ll have to deal with it later. Later.

“Quite so,” the woman agrees. “If you answer my questions with complete honesty, and I mean that young man, I will grant a few privileges to your brothers. I don’t like shutting them away in their room, but I know otherwise they wouldn’t behave. You can help them though. Here, I’ll show you.”

A screen flickers to life above his head, a monitor illuminating the ceiling.

“If you answer my question, I will turn on one light for them,” the woman says, shakily motioning to the pitch black screen. “That is how this will work. I will tell you what privileges can be earned for your brothers, and then ask you a question. Answering truthfully is the only way to give them those rewards though. Do you understand?”

“And if I don’t?” Dick questions back, the situation finally settling into his head. Rule number something that Bruce had always instilled in him was to never bargain with your captor, especially when others were involved. Innocents.

“Then I snap my fingers,” the woman responds coldly, “and Burtrum will do his best to force the truth out of you.”

Burtrum. The hulking figure in the wooden mask. Burtrum. Okay. Okay. Not the weirdest but- okay, fine. Burtrum.

“We’ll start easy, just so you understand that I am truthful in my promises. Are you ready, Nightwing?”

He can say no. He can say no and get beaten for it, but if he says no, then there’s the chance that his brothers will suffer for it. The old woman promised not to hurt them, she said she wouldn’t hurt children, but he can’t take anything she says as absolute fact. If he says yes, that he’s willing to answer her, there’s no telling what kind of questions she might want to pry an answer for out of him. She could ask about anything: identities, the Justice League, the Titans, Batman, codes, locations, anything. And if he doesn’t answer the way she wants, he’ll get beaten for it. Tortured, more like it, and he really doesn’t want to put himself through that if he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t know how you were raised, but I don’t accept silence as an answer. You will use your words.”

Tell that to Bruce, Dick thinks ruefully, mulling over his options once again. “Fine,” he settles on, “I’m ready.”

“Splendid. Burtrum, do please fetch me a chair. My knees are brittle and it’s cold in here.”

The massive figure of Burtrum, dear lord that sounds like a name Alfred would know somehow, lumbers away and Dick, admittedly, feels a little tension ease out of him now that the immediate threat is gone. Well, the immediate physical threat.

“Now, I promised you that I would turn a light on for your brothers. I understand that children can be afraid of the dark, and it is not my intention to frighten them like this. So, tell me, Nightwing, what is your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” he repeats back dumbly.

“Yes, indeed. Answer that and I will lighten the room. It’s not a trick question. Everyone’s got a favorite color.”

Dick can’t think of how his favorite color might be used against someone, and he certainly doesn’t use it as his own password or anything, so he says, “I like blue.”

The old woman laughs, a vibrant blue fingernail tapping against the emblem spread across his chest. “I do as well,” she titters excitedly. “Lapis is such a beautiful color, wouldn’t you agree? Such a darling, delicate shade.”

Dick doesn’t know if it’s a question he actually has to answer, it seems rhetorical, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. The fewer bruises, the better as always. “Yeah, it’s-”

“As promised,” the old woman interrupts, talking over him, “I will turn on the light. I am an honest person, Nightwing, so I hope this show of good faith will inspire you.”

Immediately, Dick’s eyes snap to the screen above him, holding his breath in anticipation as he stares into the darkness. A few seconds later and a calm yellow washes over the dark screen, the slumped figures of his brothers finally in view. It appears to be a live feed, something Dick had originally been worried about, but as he sees Jason stand up at the new lightness and Tim’s head whipping around in astonishment, Dick feels his heart sigh.

Burtrum re-enters the room, rumbling with a newer heaviness in his arms as he carries a padded wooden chair. He gently places it onto the ground and the old woman sinks into it with a gratefulness that reminds Dick that this is literally an old woman he’s dealing with. Not some crime lord, not some super villain, not some drugged out meta human. She is, quite literally, just an eighty something year old lady with a singular, large butler like henchman at her service. It all feels quite ridiculous now that he thinks about it, and for a moment, Dick wonders if he’s hallucinating or dreaming.

The smarting ache in his stomach reminds him that, no, neither of those things are true and this is truly a dangerous situation with so many unknown variables. He needs to be careful. Needs to be smart about things.

“Now that we have established my honesty, it is time to establish yours. Let’s begin, shall we?”

~oOo~

The darkness retreats suddenly and unexpectedly. Damian does not jolt, any Robin to a respectable Batman never jolts, but he will admit the sudden brightness leaves him feeling antsy. The lights meant a few things. One, someone was watching them. Two, the room was far more complex than a few bricks and an immovable door. Three, something was going to happen soon with this new development or something already did.

Todd is swearing left and right, making for the door again. Drake is peering around the room skeptically, angling his head this way and that in an attempt to understand the new light sources. And he? Damian is staring a hole into the rough ground, thinking hard. About what, he can’t quite put to words, but somehow, the light does not comfort him. It only reassures him that there was something, rather someone, crucial missing from this entire situation, the darkness having hidden that blatant fact beforehand.

The illumination does not heat the room any further than it already feels, but Damian supposes time will change that. By itself, even before the brightness, the small prison was near sweltering and Damian could feel the back of his suit becoming soaked in his own sweat. Perhaps three hours, maybe a bit more, has passed since the first time they awoke to be trapped in this confinement. Dehydration was inevitable. Escape, by all means, was still a quandary that would not be answered for the foreseeable future. There was no telling if anyone was looking for them currently, no way to communicate a location with all of their materials stripped from their persons, and being trapped inside such a tiny space with two of his least favorite people in the world only worsened that fact.

To top it all off, Richard was still gone. Still missing. Captured. Elsewhere.

The heat must be making him light headed because suddenly his neck feels too weak to support his thoughts. He rests his face in between his knees and continues to think. There is little else to do.

~oOo~

“I have a list of necessities here. Every question you answer is one of them given to your brothers. When I have run through the entire list, of which there are only three elements, I will have Burtrum deliver the items you answered to. Is that clear, Nightwing?”

It’s insane is what it is, is all Dick can think, but his voice says otherwise. “Crystal.”

“We’ll start with hygiene. How often do you patrol in Bludhaven?”

“Whenever I have time to.”

The old woman frowns and taps two fingers against the metal cot. Burtrum and his dark brown mask loom forward and Dick can feel hands rest against his ankles. Dick has the sudden realization that his boots are gone. He has nothing but thick socks and a few band-aids on his feet.

“Do not be coy, young man,” the woman carps. “Answer properly. A schedule will do.”

Will giving away specific days be too much? Yes, likely so. Though it’s true he patrols whenever he has time to, those are for extra patrols when he has the opportunity to do so with a friend or fellow vigilante. Every second month on the third Tuesday, he patrols in Gotham with Batman and Robin. On a ‘regular’ schedule, he takes every chance he can get to go out on the streets of Bludhaven. Even then, if someone watches closely enough, he does have a pattern in the how/when/where he patrols. It’s a bit too far reaching to truly connect dots, but he can’t be sure. He also had to consider that there was hygiene on the line, whatever that meant. It could be a bathroom, a shower, medical supplies, medication. It could be many things, so was he willing to pass over that for his brothers? No, not truly, but he doesn’t really know how far he can push vagueness in order to appease the lady.

He’s taking too long. The grip around his ankles is tightening and though he’s almost sure Burtrum isn’t a meta-human, he certainly looks strong enough to do some serious damage.

“I don’t have a schedule but-”

The twists are sudden, efficient and ruthless, and the sickening snap that echoes in Dick’s ears takes a moment to register. Adrenaline keeps his brain from processing the sight of both of his feet and the tops of his toes pointing straight at him, but the bulge that shines through his socks is enough to jerk his thoughts to a screeching halt. Then the pain comes. It’s blinding. Bones grinding against each other, snapped unnaturally and grating against his muscles, creating a euphoria of fire and cold, cold ice that spreads to the very tips of his toenails. On instinct, he flails and immediately, immensely, regrets it as tears spring into his eyes and his lips contort in a half snarl, half gag of anguish.

“Your brothers have lost toilet privileges,” the old woman mutters unkindly, dull eyes unfeeling for his pain, “and Burtrum has done exactly as I warned. You are a selfish man, Nightwing. Selfish and unwise. I pray this has been a lesson for you on the consequences of being dishonest.”

Dick can hardly hear her over the roar of blood in his ears, heart beating faster and faster as the pain only continues to torment him. It’s crazy, he knows he can’t actually feel the bones touching one another, it’s not something he’s aware of on a daily basis, but right now it feels like his bones are singing and his nerves are their opera house. A raging cacophony of violence and crackling misery. He sucks in a breath. Slowly pushes it out. Repeats. In. Out. In. Out.

“Let’s try again. Water, three twelve ounce bottles. Do you work with the BPD often?”

Even in his agony induced haze, Dick understands that this is something he must answer. Water is important, essential, and he doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be captured here. The offer of water is much too tempting to pass up and he knows that the room the others are cornered in is already hot. Dehydration would take hold of them soon and he only has the flimsy word of his captor that his brothers will not be harmed. He has to have some trust that the bottles of water will remain un-tampered with.

“No,” he manages, words thick like sludge on his tongue, “not officially. Sometimes, I’ll help them with drug factions or serial killers.” Dick closes his eyes and breathes deeply again. Speaking is difficult when he wants to bite through his lip to distract himself from his broken bones. “I don’t have a working relationship like Batman does with the GCPD.”

The old woman hums, clapping her hands together. “I am happy you’ve come to your senses. Your honesty has earned your brothers some water.”

She reaches out to brush some of the sweat slicked strands of hair from his face, cooing in an odd motherly way. He hates the tenderness in her touch, as if she hadn’t just ordered someone to break his ankles. This woman wasn’t just dangerous, she was psychotic. Unpredictable. To further worsen a bad situation, he still can’t figure out what the purpose in all of this was. What the ultimate goal is. She seems interested in him, Nightwing, rather than his secret identity. She’s neglected to pry about Batman, of which all villains do when they’ve got a bird in their grasps, and the soothing motions of her hands juxtapose her violence.

Dick’s head is spinning from it all, the fire licking at his feet worsening the vertigo. He doesn’t understand anything at all and the circulation in his legs is thrumming in the worst way. His feet will turn blue soon, but before that, the flesh will balloon into something almost unrecognizable with the swelling that is sure to come. How long does it take for ankles to heal? Two months? Three? That’s ignoring physical therapy and if all goes according to plan. The breaks look bad, not exactly clean, and Dick is scaring himself with the possibility of never walking properly again.

“Let’s proceed with the final item on the necessities list. Three granola bars, all high in calorie. A real treat with chocolate chips, ho ho. I know children just love sweet things.”

He’s tempted to drown her out, just focus solely on the monitor still hanging over his head and watch his brothers, but once again he evaluates that food is indeed essential too and that he still doesn’t know when rescue or escape will be. His best estimate on timing is that they’ve been captured for the better part of four, maybe five hours. Possibly more. They’re nearing the timing in which someone will notice all four of them gone. Help will come soon, but he’s got to compensate for that large if in all of this. If help arrives. If they escape. Those snacks could end up being a saving grace depending on all of those ifs.

“What do you know about the Anaconda Killer?”

The moniker is familiar. An early 2000s serial killer in Bludhaven that strangled his victims after kidnapping and holding them for a week. Most of his victims were young girls, high-schoolers and undergraduates in college, and all were blonde with blue eyes. The killer was never caught and it haunts the BPD as their first major cold case, a total of seven known victims staining the profiles.

He tells her as much, paraphrasing, and she frowns. For a moment, Dick fears that he wasn’t specific enough despite his little knowledge on the subject. His eyes dart to Burtrum, still stationary at his feet and mask staring at nothing and everything, and Dick waits for confirmation as the old woman closes her eyes.

“You worked on the case?” she asks slowly, hands crawling up to rest lightly against the metal cot. “You know of the victims?”

“Yes,” he answers, careful to keep his tone steady. A jolt of doubt strikes through him though as the old woman’s eyes snap open, a feverish excitement taking hold of her.

“Oh that’s good,” she whispers. “Very, very good.”

~oOo~

They pass out for the third time.

Knocked out is probably the more correct term, but Tim can’t find it within himself to actually care because that was the third fucking time. He can’t figure out how they do it. He’s almost completely sure it’s some sort of gas agent that leaks in through the bricks, but he can’t find any gaps or seams where the gas would invade from. He’s looked, double checked, and he can’t find any discrepancies between the bricks and stones. It’s driving him crazy because if it’s that easy to take them out, why hasn’t anything been done to them yet?

And furthermore, why leave water and food in its place?

He’s holding one of the bottled waters in his hands, inspecting the seal to make absolutely certain it hasn’t been opened. Tim knows there are other ways to tamper with water other than actually unscrewing the cap, but honestly he feels a little desperate for a bit of relief for his thirst. He’s sweat through his uniform, having unclasped his cape about an hour into their confinement. He’s sure his face is a little clammy looking and breathing through his nose feels like he’s sucking in sand, so the water was like some sort of hallucination when he first saw it. The others weren’t sure what to make of it at first either, Damian suspicious that it was poisoned and Jason not really giving a fuck.

Tim’s thirst is winning over his skepticism though, the more he turns the bottle around in his hands, the more appealing the slosh of water looks. “They wouldn’t give this to us just to poison us,” he suggests, trying to reason his way into feeling less guilty about drinking. “It just wouldn’t make sense. Why give us drugged food and water when they’ve already shown they can do that with the air? It would be-”

“Holy shit, just shut up and drink it,” Jason mutters, uncapping his own bottle and taking a large swig. Both of the younger boys turn to him with large eyes, clearly watching to see if there are any immediate, negative side effects. Jason will admit he’s a little nervous to find out as well but his defiance on the subject merely just makes him take another sip.

Ten minutes go by and Tim’s tongue is feeling tacky and borderline dry. He gives in and drinks half of the bottle, swishing the lukewarm water around in his mouth. It’s a huge relief.

“Imbeciles,” Damian says, watching with ill-concealed fascination and disgust. “You are both foolish to accept that from the enemy.”

“Maybe,” Jason tosses back, lying down. His feet almost touch the other side. “Or maybe not. It could be from Nightwing.”

Damian's head snaps up. “What do you mean by that?”

Jason hums. “Well he was taken, what, a few hours ago?”

“Four.”

“Yeah? Huh, no shit. Either way, that leaves time for negotiations. A deal. Goldie just loves making deals.”

“You’re implying that Nightwing is speaking with the enemy about our treatment?” Damian says slowly.

“Speaking, screaming, dying, who knows. But sure. He’s talking to them about our treatment.”

Tim throws a small glare to Jason’s slouched form, irritated that he’s being so casual in such a potentially dangerous situation. A small part is also starting to get more worried though because the older man does make a point. Dick is probably speaking with their captors but it’s a far reach to say it’s voluntary. There’s about a seventy-three percent chance Dick is being tortured at the moment, tortured for information or otherwise. In terms of stubbornness and resistance to torture, Dick was only second to Bruce when it came to that sort of thing, be it threat of pain or mental anguish. His eldest brother has a hard head and an even tougher mindset, but his weak spot is his heart.

If Tim and the others were being used as bargaining chips, well, there wasn’t much Dick wouldn’t agree to. Suddenly, the bottle of water doesn’t feel so much like relief as it does guilt.

~oOo~

“We’re moving on from necessities,” the old woman proclaims, anticipation now tainting her voice. “I have no intention of keeping you and your brothers here forever; children should be allowed to frolic and such. So, Nightwing, this is your chance to earn them their freedom.”

He’s never been offered something like this before. Typically, the go-to style of his torturers always involved a threat of ‘You tell me what I wanna know and I won’t kill you and your loved ones,’ or ‘You’ll eventually talk if I keep you here long enough,’. Dick can’t remember a time where he’s been offered his freedom in exchange for information. It’s just not how these things work.

“I am willing to give your brothers their supplies back as a first exchange, excluding their weapons of course. Such a prize, however, can only be earned through truth and if you lie, I will know and your punishment for lying will be severe. I do not like hurting you, you know,” the woman simpers, “but I will order Burtrum to do so. This is very important to me. Do you understand?”

The stakes are climbing higher and higher with each minute that ticks by. Dick can’t really feel his feet much, only if he chooses to think about it or if he attempts to move anything below the knee, and the pulsating in his stomach isn’t a fantastic sign. He hadn’t originally thought the blows were enough to cause actual harm, maybe a few dark, dark bruises to show for them, but the sharp pin pricks in his side where he had been struck in the kidney doesn’t feel right. Internal bleeding is something that crosses his mind, the symptoms of numbness and a faint migraine building, but Dick forces himself to categorize and shelve the pain. Now isn’t the time. It’s really not the time.

“Yes,” he says stiffly, feeling his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth. “I understand.”

“Splendid. Who is the Anaconda Killer?”

And wow, that’s a loaded question to start off the promise of liberty with. “The BPD never caught-”

“I don’t care,” the woman snaps, leaning forward. Her breath smells like old soup. “Tell me who the killer is.”

Dick swallows. Takes a breath and releases it. Eyes Burtrum, who is still hovering by his feet. Trails his eyes back to bright lipstick and shimmer eye shadow.

“Kennedy Giavich,” Dick says, unsure if he really should be giving out the name of a civilian that has never been charged. “My investigations pointed to him being the killer but there wasn’t any conclusive evidence.”

The old woman taps a fingernail against the cot and Burtrum moves forward, placing a single meaty hand on top of Dick’s mangled feet. Slowly, languidly, the man pushes against the soles of his feet and Dick sucks in a quick breath, screwing his eyes shut. The pain, like the first time, is laced with fire and ice and Dick is starting to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have nerve damage if this keeps up. Never mind having to stay off his feet for a couple months, he’s never going to have proper feeling in his toes again.

“Who is Kennedy Giavich?” the old woman presses, leering further into Dick’s face.

In. Out. In. Out.

The woman taps her finger again and the pressure releases, the small scream Dick had been holding back dissipating as well. “Who is Kennedy?” she repeats.

“H-He’s a security guard,” Dick manages to wheeze out, still trying to catch his breath. “Works at a communal library. It’s where he sought out his victims. He, mgh, quit last year though. Brown hair, brown eyes, large build.”

“What else?”

“I tailed him for a couple months but he didn’t have any new victims. He lives near the library he worked at and hasn’t gotten another job since. That’s all I know.”

The old woman eyes him, pressing her lips together in what might be a scowl. She regards Dick with an air of suspicion, as if she could somehow read his mind to discern if he was telling the truth or not. He is, seeing as he really hasn’t done much follow up on Giavich in the past few months. A mistake, possibly, on his part but a cold case is cold, and Dick leaves it at that. Especially when there are more active and pressing things to attend to with the little time he has.

Reaching a decision, she raises a wrinkled hand and waves it behind her, signaling Burtrum to leave the room. Dick’s eyes travel upwards to the screen again, watching with a sick feeling in his stomach as one by one his brothers succumb to whatever invisible agent leaks into their small room. A minute later, the thick wooden door creaks open slightly, Burtrum out of sight of the ceiling camera, and a few utility belts are thrown in. The door shuts quickly, presumably some sort of locking mechanism closing it completely, and Dick abruptly doesn’t feel as bad giving away a supposedly innocent civilian’s name. Hopefully, with their tech back, his brothers will find away to escape and get out of whatever hole they’ve been trapped in.

“You said that he hasn’t taken any victims in recent times,” the old woman says quietly, hands folded into her lap. “That he’s been inactive?”

Dick nods. The sick in his stomach is starting to roll around a bit more violently, nausea taking hold. Burtrum re-enters the room holding something in his left hand, but Dick can’t tell what it is, the large figure just out of his peripheral vision. He swallows at the silence that follows his entrance, the air thick with tension. Dick holds his breath.

The old woman snaps her fingers and Burtrum descends upon him.

The blows are rapid and without prejudice, slamming into every available surface that isn’t obstructed by the straps that hold him down. It’s so fast, so savage, that Dick can’t follow the movements and prepare accordingly, the flash of a weapon and it’s strike zone too much for his pain muddled mind to physically follow. One barely glances against his feet but even that is enough to send his brain into a shock, white fire lacing up his legs and to the tip of his nose. It’s bruising, crushing force, each impact enough to completely paralyze him for a few precious milliseconds. His arms are jerking in their restraints, knees bumping against each other on reflex, and there might be a sound escaping his jaw each time a blow connects, but he can’t be sure because everything is happening much too fast and his lungs are gasping for air that escapes him.

All the while, as Burtrum continues to pummel him and break his bones and bleed him dry, the old woman is muttering, gazing at the beat-down with angered, uninterested eyes and a frown cold enough to freeze the sun.

It’s all Dick can do but try and relax, there’s no point in defending himself like this, but his instincts are going hay-wire. He wants to clench and retaliate, snatch the weapon out of those ruthless hands, but Dick’s own hands are secured tightly. He can feel the marks pulling at the skin of his wrists, indenting and leaving bright red and raw flesh behind in his frenzy. Desperately, his eyes once again travel to the screen above him, his brothers’ forms still and un-moving. The sight brings little comfort, a small and irrational portion of his head screaming that they’re dead, that the old woman killed them, that Dick killed them, that he’s going to die to-

The beating stops. The old woman has a frail hand resting against Burtrum’s huge arm. She’s staring right at him.

“That was unfair of me,” she says. “I should have warned you again.”

Blood dribbles past his lips, saliva and bile sliding out as well and leaking onto the cool metal.

“I told you at the start that I wouldn’t tolerate lies.”

Something shifts inside Dick’s chest. He thinks a rib might’ve been broken. Or maybe that’s his clavicle. Sternum. Something. It hurts. It hurts.

“That Burtrum would extract the truth if necessary. Really this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, Nightwing.”

Breathing is difficult. His stomach spasms with each inhale and exhale. It’s slow and pained. Thoughts are difficult too. His eyes remain fixed on the dull monitor. Jason is moving. Reaching for his empty holsters. Tim is shifting. Damian remains still.

A gentle hand guides his chin away from the screen.

“Don’t lie to me,” the old woman whispers. There are tears in her eyes. “I told you that this was very important to me. Would you like to know why? Why I do this?”

Dick doesn’t have the strength to say yes or no. Doesn’t have the will to nod his head or turn it away. He can only stare through the lens of his mask.

“He has my grand-daughter,” she admits, voice trembling. Her fingers tap a frantic rhythm against his chin and blood flicks in their dance across his face. “I just know it. And I know you must know it too. You live in Bludhaven, don’t you? You work with the police there. Surely you must know? You’ve told me as much, so surely… Surely you know where she is?”

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

The tapping stops and fingernails dig into the sides of his jaw, shaking him. It jars something in his mouth and he coughs, spittle flying out and something hard dislodging. He’s lost a tooth then it would seem.

“Her name is Maria Dunken,” the old woman tells him, looking, searching, for anything like recognition in Dick’s bloody face. “She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s only sixteen. Please, you must know what he did to her. Where she is. Answer me! Tell me!”

Dick feels himself drifting, mind floating somewhere between coherence and dizziness. He can’t feel his feet anymore, his heart is beating beating beating, and there’s a dark fuzz building at the edges of his vision.

The old woman releases his face, pulling instead at the heavy arm of Burtrum. “This,” she says almost breathless, the panic building in her voice, “This is her uncle. Don’t you see? You must, you must know where she is. We are her family. Family is important, I know you understand this. See, look at your brothers! You do this for them, don’t you?”

Yes, Dick thinks, a mist falling over his sight. Always.

“I, we both, would do anything for our families. This was my last hope, Nightwing. My last resort. I tried so hard to get the police involved but no one would answer. Do you know how long I searched for you though? How long would you have ignored my grand-daughter if I had not brought you here? How long?”

Dick doesn’t know. The room is getting darker. He can feel his shoulders sagging against the cold table, muscles trembling and collapsing.

“Sorry,” he rasps, because that sounds like the right thing to say. He is sorry about Maria Dunken and her poor grandma. He is sorry he didn’t stick with Kennedy Giavich longer. He is sorry he ever got into this situation. He’s paying the price for it now.

The old woman laughs wetly, Burtrum jerking in her grasp. “All will be forgiven if you tell me where Maria is. Everything will be okay. Just tell me. Please.”

Dick’s eyes are drifting back to the monitor, it’s dull glow all he can focus on. Its bright edges are just enough to chase away the luring darkness that’s clouding his eyesight. Jason is up, pacing, pounding against the door. Tim is picking through his belt, nimble fingers taking stock. Damian is staring right at him. Straight at the camera. Dick feels a smile tugging at his sore features. He doesn’t remember the last time Damian ever looked so small. He’s grown up, hasn’t he?

“Nightwing?” a voice calls to him, distracting him. “Where is she?”

Slowly, Dick glances back over to the petite and frail woman and her hulking figure of a son. They make a funny picture, contrasting spectacularly against each other, but their faces, even if one is covered, are filled with a dangerous kind of hope. Thrill. Expectance.

Suddenly, a headline crosses to the forefront of Dick’s mind. Two weeks ago, a body was found in an alleyway, stuffed underneath piles of garbage. It was a young girl, a Jane Doe, and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was strangled to death. Even now, the details are barely there, the news a similar story to all the other tragedies that happen and continue to happen. But still. Grandmother and son look at him, his bruised and broken body, and think he has the answers they seek.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“She’s dead.”

Dick blinks and finds he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes again.

~oOo~

Jason is about to punch the door for the fifth time when he hears something click on the other side.

Tim is trying to figure out how to get his communicator to work with little reception when he sees Jason take a step back from the door.

Damian is still staring at the weird indent in the ceiling when he realizes neither of the other occupants are moving.

They all stare at the heavy door as Jason carefully edges towards it, pressing a hand against the far side. There is little resistance and the obstruction that had trapped them for so long swings open. White light pours in and they have to squint against its brilliance. An empty hall reveals itself past the frame, and through the hall is another open door, the sounds of the city filtering beyond it. 

Jason is the first to move, taking a step out of the small room that smelled of sweat and old heat. Tim follows, gathering his emptied belt and peering into the white expanse. Damian trails after, suspicion the only thing keeping him from fleeing out into the streets. No one stops them as they walk down the long, clean hallway. There are no doors, no windows, no other exits other than straight ahead and when they step out into the damp and smog filled air of Gotham, life dances before them.

They are free.

They are free and are forced to wonder: At what cost?

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART THREE - A Rogue One Fanfic

This part/scene went in a little bit different direction than I had thought it was going to go, but I regret nothing!

Read Part One

Read Part Two

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Three

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Looking, Ogling, Leering, Letching, Yearning… Okay, Lusting. (Only Jyn doesn’t realize she's there yet...) Let me know if this needs a 'nsfw' tag... I'm not sure. There's nothing explicit.

Words: 1217

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

3 hours until the ceremony…

Jyn was loathe to do it, but there really was no other alternative. She could at least try to be gentle, even though being gentle honestly never had been in her nature. Before.

She’d also been fiercely independent. Before.

With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed, indulged in a moment to study the unconscious man, who deserved the few hours of peace he’d had over the past week, after the decades of suffering she often found reflected in his eyes, in his voice, the tense way he held his body.

His body…

She’d be a liar if she tried to claim that she didn’t find his body appealing, and not just because it felt so good when she pressed her own against the warm, sinewy flesh of his, feeling his heart beating in his chest and the rhythm of his breathing. With Cassian, she felt safe and content in a way she hadn’t since childhood, which was ridiculous with the state he was in. If anyone would be protecting anyone, it would be her protecting him.

And gladly.

It was a possessiveness she had never experienced before, having precisely one item she valued, her mother’s kyber crystal necklace, and no one significant to her.

And maybe it was that unbidden possessive feeling twisting her up inside which rendered Cassian Andor the most beautiful being Jyn had ever encountered. She could just look at him for hours, study the contours of lean, wiry muscle on his slender frame, his tan skin with its abundance of scars that rivaled her own collection, the smattering of dark downy hair across his chest and trailing down from his navel to beneath the waistband of his shorts.

The angles of his face intrigued her to no end. And the broody downturned curve of his mouth, which if she just brushed her fingers across the sharp plane of his cheek…

Cassian’s mouth softened and his cheek rounded as his lips curved into a contented smile, which pulled a smile from Jyn’s lips as well.

He. Was. Pretty.

And part of her ferociously insisted that he was hers.

Whether she could keep him beyond this moment, these past few days of easy, quiet intimacy more or less apart from the rest of the universe, remained to be seen.

But reality could not be avoided any longer. She brushed the unruly hair that had fallen across his forehead out of his eyes.

He murmured her name in his sleep and heat blossomed in her chest. Jyn tamped it down the best she could. She was letting herself get carried away by this… whatever it was… Infatuation?

She’d never been infatuated with anyone or anything in her life. She was not a romantic person, but was she romanticising the rebel captain?

He was stubborn and single-minded with his goals. At first, she thought he could only follow orders, thought him cold and hard. But she’d learned he was soft and warm and wounded inside. And wounded outside now. And that damned blind loyalty she’d hated when they’d first met -what, 9 or 10 days ago- it was what made him hers. Well, maybe it made him hers. She’d never had anyone’s loyalty before. No one had ever come back for her until him. No one had ever stuck by her. To the end. He'd been with her through what should've been the end. But somehow hadn't been. And now… She would stick around for him.

Jyn took a deep breath and placed her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm and inviting but she resisted skimming her palm down his arm, resisted exploring the shape of triceps and biceps with her fingers. Instead, she gave him a shake.

“Cassian. It’s time to wake up.”

He whimpered, a low throaty sound that was so filled with gravel, it was practically a growl. It did things to her she didn’t have the capacity to consider. And when he said her name, all sleepy, thickly accented and heavy on his tongue, she had to dig her fingers into her palm to prevent herself from grabbing him and doing things to him.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, the effort making his muscles twitch shift beneath his skin, making him wince, but then he was running a hand over his face and the back of his head, ruffling the messy overgrown hair. His dark eyes settled on her face, as clear and alert as ever. He was no longer on meds for pain and Jyn was happy to find all the clever sharpness had returned to those deep brown eyes of his.

“How long?” He asked the same question every time he woke, something a soldier, a survivor asked, always wary about what might have happened when they were asleep, as if they had no right to a moment’s peace.

“Thirteen hours.”

Cassian swore softly in his native language before addressing her in Basic.

“You promised me you wouldn’t let me sleep more than ten hours.”

She shrugged, but wouldn’t meet his eyes, not worried he was upset with her, but afraid that he could see straight through to her possessive thoughts about him.

“You need it.”

“I need to move around or I’ll get all stiff.”

Jyn bit her lip. No. She wasn’t going to-

Her eyes convulsively dropped to his lap and thenshot back up to his face, and just as quickly darted away.

He was stiff.

And not just his back and leg as he'd actually meant. But his partially aroused maleness wasn't intentional, she knew. And the times when she'd woken up tangled in him with the feeling of him half hard pressing against some part of her, despite the interest her own body returned, she knew it wasn't a conscious choice of his. He was asleep and his body was just doing its natural thing. It wasn't as if he actually wanted…

Cassian swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting so close, her body practically hummed in response, began gravitating toward him. Why? Why did she need him, so deeply she could feel it in the marrow of her bones? Sometimes she felt as if they had actually been hit by that energy weapon, while they were embracing on the beach waiting for death, and were fused together on the subatomic level.

And then felt like maybe she’d suffered a brain injury they hadn’t detected, which scrambled her survivor’s practicality into delusions of romantic grandeur.

Get your head on straight, Jyn Erso.

Cassian got to his feet. It was a bit of a production, difficult to watch and also heartening, but Jyn made no move to help him. Oh, she would assist him. And she had done so. But not when he could manage on his own, not when he needed to know he could.

“I’m going to wash up,” he said. “Then maybe we can go to the mess.”

Jyn raised an eyebrow. Did he really feel like he could walk that far? She hoped he was feeling that strong, because,

“You’re going to need to shower. Command wants us to go to this Award Ceremony thing.”

“What?!” Cassian’s look was pure confusion, as if she’d let him sleep for thirteen years and he’d woken up to a completely unfamiliar galaxy.

She sympathized. It made no sense to her either. And she’d much rather just curl back up in bed with him. Just Cassian and her, together.

Nothing had ever felt more right. But since when had the galaxy ever given Jyn what she wanted?

[fatefulfaerie]

Brighter

Inspired by @hetsuu and @itsmeyaboi ‘s ramblings so honestly all credit goes to them I just play with a computer keyboard and a word document like a toddler plays with a toy xylophone and a stick. Music comes out because there’s sound y’all but that doesn’t mean I ever know what I’m doing or that it sounds good lol

Spoilers for Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity under the cut:

Link wasn’t a fool, and thus there was no use in denying it.

His claim to the Master Sword had triggered for one reason and one reason only.

He was in love with the Princess of Hyrule. And, in the very moment that he reached for her, wishing that some way, somehow it would be enough to save her, his sword broken and shattered to pieces, the Master Sword shone bright with a renewed purpose.

Link needed to save his love and, chosen hero or not, the Master Sword had allowed him to do just that. It didn’t matter to Link that Her Highness was unaware of his growing love for her. As far as he knew, reciprocation on her end was out of the question and there was no use in inquiring after her feelings. Especially considering the impending fight against Calamity, Link knew he needed to set aside what the the King he swore loyalty to would surely call a frivolous distraction. Link couldn’t afford that with the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders and on the shoulders of the woman he was in love with.

Zelda however, expected to unlock her sealing power with as much ease as Link had pulled the sword that seals the darkness, was fruitless in her multitude of tiring attempts.

By the time the Calamity had befallen upon Hyrule, Zelda’s power awakening seemed a distant dream, a hope too good to be true and a wish that had ruined their expectations of victory.

Onslaught after onslaught, battle after battle, this widespread war seemed one they could never win, warriors forgetting rest in the midst of sleepless nights. At the mere hope that peace may return, that the tide of the war may be turned, warriors of all races attempted to counteract these insurmountable forces.

And yet, like beavers building a dam to stop the rush of a river that was just too strong, it seemed that, stick by stick, Hyrule would wash away into oblivion.

Link himself finally lost hope of victory when he was surrounded by Ganon’s blights, a fierce strike everywhere he turned. And yet, knowing Impa was hurrying Zelda to safety by his quick nod to prompt her, he was determined to fight to his very last breath. The odds were against him and still, he would do nothing else but fight for the slim chance that he may degrade the forces of Calamity Ganon just enough to help Hyrule win, even if by a hair’s breadth. 

“Link!” He heard her exclaim as a bright yellow light surged in the corner of his eye. Link panted as he stood up from where he had crumbled to the ground, hearing Guardians whirring with decreasing power, seeing Ganon’s blights diminish into mere specks, blotted by the light.

Link turned around to find the source of this salvation, expecting perhaps to see an angel, greeting him into the afterlife he was waiting for. Perhaps he had died at that last strike from Thunderblight Ganon and so here was transcending mortality all together.

But when he turned around and instead found Her Highness, his princess, the love of his life with her power finally awakened reaching for him, Zelda had afforded him the tiniest of moments to suspect that she may harbor similar feelings of love for him. Before, of course, the seemingly endless battle waged on. His suspicions had to be set aside.

Zelda unlocking her sealing power was the turning point against the forces of the Calamity. Every soldier fought with a renewed strength at the light in her leadership. It was a hard battle to win, but in under a day, the ashes of war were descending into the dirt of a new Hyrule and a sun was rising on a completely new era.

Link’s suspicions only grew without the pressure of the calamity upon them, although he didn’t know what to do with his quandaries, never being particularly good at voicing them. 

It was only an inkling of suspicion, after all, Link reminding himself that it could have merely been out of fear of losing such an integral warrior that her sealing power was awakened, or the stress of the situation, or just random chance, or any number of things. Jumping to conclusions by acting on his suspicions would be much too embarrassing for him and he would have to leave Hyrule all together. 

Thus, Link assumed he was misinterpreting things and disregarded it.

After the victory over the Calamity, the King insisted that Link take some time off duty. Link, who didn’t quite understand the point or meaning of a break, took the extra time to train. Zelda, who felt her increasing duties had kept her from time with her dear friend, sought him out, soon finding him alone in a training room in the castle.

She stood leaning on a doorway watching him with adoring smile, knowing better than to alert someone armed with a sword and ready for anything. He may accidentally chop her head off thinking her a Bokoblin.

Zelda hoped Link found her at least prettier than a Bokoblin.

Nonetheless, she greeted him after he had sheathed his sword, Link turning his head and bowing immediately.

Zelda insisted he stand up and yet once he did his face paled completely and his eyes had widened with shock. He looked completely frozen, but it wasn’t just because Zelda was only a foot away from him. 

It was because she was glowing golden like the sun, not enough for her to notice, but enough for him.

“Uhm,” he said with a nervous chuckle. His eyes scanned nothing and darted every which way as it came together in his head. This was real, this wasn’t just an illusion, she was really glowing. No one else was around and this was the first time they were alone since the calamity. Link could hardly catch his breath. What was he supposed to do?

“Link?” Zelda asked, tipping her head. “Is something the matter?”

“With me?” Link asked, his voice cracking before he cleared his throat. “N-no of course not, uhm…”

Somehow this was far more nerve-wracking than facing a Lynel. His breaths were heavy and panting. His heart was pulsing out of his chest and his brain felt foggy.

What was he supposed to do?

There was no protocol for this, no guidebook for what to do if you fall in love with the Princess of Hyrule and you find out she may love you back because she’s glowing. Glowing. She is glowing.

“I…I-I have to go,” Link said practically running past her and into the hallways of the castle. Zelda turned her head, following him with her eyes and a furrowing brow. She questioned to herself the rest of the day what was wrong with her knight.

When Link returned to his duty defending Her Highness, his stoicism was borne from trying to keep his love inside, much like it was before the Calamity. Zelda didn’t press the matter of his acting odd around her because of this stoicism. Perhaps things were going back to normal, but at the same time, did she want that?

While guarding the Princess, Link would attempt small things like closing the distance between him and Zelda and trying not to gasp when she emitted a faint glow. He would quickly move away so Zelda wouldn’t notice his experiments, but anyone in their right mind would have noticed them.

Zelda even went so far as to ask Impa and Purah if they noticed anything strange about Link recently, citing his odd behavior. Robbie interjected with his analysis of what he called post-calamity oddity syndrome, but Robbie’s pre-existing eccentric nature made Zelda disregard his analysis as legitimate, although she thanked him for his efforts. Impa and Purah said they noticed nothing odd, and Zelda thanked them as well for their honesty.

Zelda, who was at her wit’s end, was the complete opposite to Link, who was ready to try the next attempt up his sleeve in order to confirm his suspicions.

Link was standing by the door, standing guard much like a statue as Zelda tinkered with Terrako on the other side of the lab. Purah and Robbie were huddled around the diminutive Guardian, all three spouting observations Link didn’t even try to make sense of.

Zelda finally stopped tinkering, her hands letting go of the tools she used and dropping to the table loosely. Link spotted his chance and seized it. He knew not how he was going to explain himself out of this one if his suspicions were incorrect, but he was almost sure of her feelings now.

“With enough parts I’m confident we will be able to restore Terrako in full,” Zelda said as Link approached, Link in particular wiping the sweat off his hands via his Hylian trousers. “I think we may even be clo—”

Link had taken Zelda’s hand, which immediately interrupted what she was saying.

“Link, what are you doing?” She asked as she looked over at him, but his expression was deep with love and his blue eyes somehow reflected gold. Aside from the warm blush on her own cheeks that she was fairly certain he would disregard by now, she wasn’t sure what else he could be looking at.

“Link?” Zelda asked again before she looked over to Purah and Robbie, whose mouths had popped open completely, Purah’s red eyes and Robbie’s goggles reflecting a similar gold sheen.

Zelda finally looked down at herself to see her form absolutely coated in a golden light, Zelda hurrying away from the stool she sat on, declasping her hand from Link’s.

She looked at her glowing palms for a lingering second for she looked to Link, her expression softening from confusion to something akin to love and affection. She started to shake her head.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” she said. “I didn’t know you were acting strange because…because you…”

Zelda couldn’t even bring herself to say it, and Link was smiling, almost warmer than how she beamed. His eyes were sick with love and so were Zelda’s as they stared at each other with an unspoken understanding between them.

“Purah,” Link said. “Do you have goggles like Robbie?”

“Uhh I can,” Purah said, hurrying to a nearby shelf and sorting through a particularly messy stack of all sorts of gadgets and gizmos. She finally found a pair with an “Aha!”

“Be careful with those, now,” Robbie said as Purah returned to his side,. “You break it, you fix it.”

“Oh, so intimidating,” Purah said sarcastically before offering the goggles forward to Link. “Here you go.”

Link chuckled, shaking his head and returning his gaze to Zelda. 

“They’re for your eyes,” Link said. “Not ours.”

Link walked toward Zelda, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. Zelda was already brightening when Purah put the goggles on.

“I love you,” Link whispered. Zelda smiled.

“I love you, too,” she said before they both went in for a kiss, their lips meeting slowly and yet with a passion they couldn’t contain.

The golden light from the laboratory could be seen from the castle and, although Zelda’s power would deteriorate over the next few years, her love for Link only grew.

[erinhime83]

So…so, since someone managed to get my muse all Sailor Moon happy, I figured I’d take the time to complete a couple of design sheets I’ve had sitting around for, like, a couple of years.  So, yeah, while this seems like this might have been an undertaking, they were all pretty much done around the same time as when the Sailor Aeolus design went up, except the last two.  I just had been too lazy to really finish them to be put on deviantArt.

I mean, it wasn’t that much of an undertaking to begin with, seeing as they’re all basically the same design, so it involved a lot of copy/pasting.  ;P

The only thing that I did to them for this was change their casual designs from their school uniforms to actual clothes because I had the idea of taking the school angle away and just make the story take place on, say, Aeolus, but I decided that doesn’t work 100% with what I have planned, but still.  Maybe they don’t have uniforms?  

I also did up the last two recently, but again, it didn’t take that much effort.  I just wanted to design the main villain, and then figured I might as well toss in her teammate as well.

Sailor Aeolus/Aeris Anemone/Erin O’Colley – CLEARLY, I didn’t do much to her since the last design other than changing up her civilian outfit like I mentioned.  I still love the idea of her hair being magically altered so no one knows she’s actually the princess Aeris (and I like how Aeris and Erin sound close enough that it’d make sense for her to adapt a more common name in hiding), but then the Millennium Crystal negates the magic and reveals the Aeolian royal family is quite alive and well.

Basically, when Aeris was young, her planet was attacked by the previous Sailor Nemesis, who did a hell of a lot of damage before the previous Sailor Aeolus (Aeris’ mother) faced her down.  The explosion that ended the fight ended Nemesis, and the common belief was that it ended Aeolus as well.  And since her family was nearby, they thought they had all died as well.  Aeolus took her family and hide them in order to protect them because of this, and the general idea was that the power of Aeolus was lost.

And yet, no one really thought much about the fact that this girl who was around Aeris’ age shows up at the Academy with the power of Aeolus, go figure.  They really just thought the power transferred to her instead of simply being reborn.  Erin (Erin being the nickname her commoner father gave her when she was born) is actually unremarkable as far as students are concerned – she’s a model student, sure, but she’s honestly just another face in the crowd to most people.  At least until it’s discovered she’s the lost princess of Aeolus.  For some odd reason, despite just having the power of Wind, Aeolus is considered extremely powerful and people want her power.  Doubly so with the Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Gaios/Terra Fitz – I think it’s funny how this character is now required to be dark skinned, no matter what form it is.  ;P  I like her eyeliner, and I have no idea why I gave it to her, lol.

So Terra is Erin’s best friend/roommate.  They started at the Academy at the same time, and have been together ever since.  Terra actually comes from a species that’s, like, 75% women, which, of course, changed the gender dynamic.  Since there’s so few men, no one really settles down with them because they need to be available to, you know, continue the species and all that.  Most couples are lesbian, obviously.

Terra comes from a different sort of family.  Her parents settles together, and even had another child.  Full blooded siblings are highly unusual.  As such, Terra’s upbringing was different than most of her people, and while she’s definitely a tomboy, she’s not exactly one-of-the-guys, either.  Mostly, this is important just because the previous Gaius was her aunt rather than her mother.  Her aunt never had any children, which is why the power went to her instead.

Terra is fiercely loyal to Erin, and people always think she has a crush on the redhead, but they’re really just BFFs.  Due to her tomboy nature, Terra is very hands on with combat, and is a bit of a tank in the group.

Aegir/Nereus Knight/Seamus Triteia/Patrick McHaley – Yeah, he’s got a lot of names.  >.<    But I guess it makes sense considering it’s the only male and he’s a villain hiding amongst the heroes.  Sorta.  

So before the attack on Aeolus, there was an uprising on Nereus that ended up displacing the Nereis royal family on Aeolus.  Seamus and Aeris basically grew up together because of this, resulting in them becoming super close.  However, when Aeolus was attacked, Seamus was captured and brought to the evil people in order to be brainwashed into helping them.

A little spoiler alert, but the brainwashing actually didn’t take full effect. He just sort of acts like it did because it makes his life a little easier. He developed a dark form of his power and took on the name Aegir, and fights alongside the villains for a while. However, they decided to have him infiltrate the Academy, and he took on the alias Patrick McHaley.  (Due to the fact that Nereids don’t believe in marriage, no one actually knows who Seamus’ father actually is, except for Seamus and his mother, so he adapts his father’s surname as his alias.)  

While at the Academy, he ends up becoming really close with Erin (of course), and decides to join her even before it’s revealed that she is actually his first love.  When he gains his own Millennium Crystal, it wipes away the evil form and reveals him to be Nereus Knight.  Except, like I said, he was never evil to begin with, so…yeah.  

Sailor Helios/Angelia De Helios – I really could have given her a more ‘alien’ form, but I figured I needed to separate her from Aerona, sadly.  

Sadly, I don’t have that much on the last members of the team.  She’s bubbly and happy and optimistic.  The only bit of drama she has going for her is the fact that her sister disappeared some time ago, and she’s been searching for her off and on when she can.  

Sailor Aethos/Sunny Colours – I really love Sunny’s design.  I think it’s funny I took the Iris name from her, but still gave her the rainbow hair, go figure.  But hey, she’s a soldier of light, and like refracts and it still totally works!  I really like her civilian outfit.  While it was stolen from someone else, I might have to find a use for it elsewhere…well, in this form, to be precise.  ^^;

Sunny probably has the most normal life.  Her sister doesn’t care for her very much, but otherwise, no much has happened in her life other than her becoming Sailor Aethos.  She enjoys being the guardian of her planet, and I believe her claim to fame is the fact that she’s the first to get a Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Erebus/Melody Draga- Melody is Erin’s cousin through her mother/Erin’s father.  Which is impressive, since her father is, like, 1000 years old.  Basically, her parents met because Seren has business on Aeolus, and Amelia was visiting her brother, and sort of caught the eye of Seren briefly.  They had a bit of fun which resulted in Amelia becoming pregnant and Seren bringing her back to Erebus with him.

Except she was one of many concubines/wives.  Melody was raised sort of separated from the rest of her half-siblings, although her father did care for her.  But she was a Halfling and the child of a commoner, so she was looked down upon.  So everyone was surprised when it turned out to be her that inherited the Erebus power.  

Melody is actually the only one who knows Erin’s true identity, but that’s mostly because she guessed/knew of Aeris’ nickname.  Aeris was pretty much her only friend growing up until her ‘death’, so she and Erin became really close at the Academy.  She’s also the second one to gain her Millennium Crystal.

Sailor Thanatos/Alex Lea – It’s sort of obvious that I based her hair off the Earthia Thanatians. I just thought it would be funny.  But I differentiated them by giving her normal skin.

Thanatos was an unknown member of the team until very recently.  They hadn’t known about the Academy or the other members for, like, ever, so the previous Thanatos’ have just sort of been winging it. They were rather surprised to learn they were actually a part of a team and very eager to send Alex off to the Academy to meet them.

The previous Thanatos is Alex’s grandmother, since the power skipped a generation.  She actually joined the Academy at the very start of the story, which is why her first form is a lot older than the others.  She hadn’t figured out her second form yet, but she figures it out very quickly with the help of the others.  She generally feels out of place because she hasn’t been around the whole time, but the others are very exciting to have her around and love being with her, and are very welcoming.

Sailor Nemesis/Topaz – Ugh, I love this design!  It absolutely sucks that she’s a villain.  >.<  Don’t ask me why I gave her species horns while trying to make everyone human-eque. I just thought it’d look cool.

So, obviously, Topaz lost her mother in the attack on Aeolus, and she one hundred percent blames Erin for this fact since she’s the one who now holds the power her mother sought.  Her entire reason for being is to get revenge for her mother’s death, which is one reason she sends Aegir to the Academy to get dirt on her.

She’s also completely in love with Seamus, which is one of many reasons he was abducted in the first place.  He obviously shows no feelings for her, since he’s always been in love with Aeris, but that doesn’t stop her from acting like they’re destined.  

She’s actually a very competent villain, but once Aeolus started to get involved in her schemes, she’s started to get a little sloppy, which is why, of course, the guardians are always able to get the upper hand over her.  I was thinking about giving her a Millennium form as well, but decided to keep that to be something only Aeolus and her team can achieve.

Sailor Eris/Morrisa de Helios – Again, I love this design sheet, and hate that the best designs are being used for the villains, lol.  This one has the best concept to boot.

So, obviously, Eris is Helios’ lost sister.  Basically, she was rather angry about the fact that her younger sister is the one who inherited the Helios power, and ran away.  She ended up coming across the previous Eris over there, who decided to bestow the power to her.

See, while the other powers are always inherited, usually between family members, the Eris power is always given.  It’s the reason why her secondary color is different from the previous form. Morrisa sort of hates playing second fiddle to Topaz, but she also doesn’t mind because she considers Topaz a close friend.

(I got a laugh at the thought of Topaz making them have sort of matching dressed and then wear the same shoes because she 100% would do something like that.)

Morrisa isn’t necessarily a bad person, just misguided and a little vengeful, which is why she works well with Topaz.  She’s not a huge fan of Aegir, but tolerates him for the most part, but feels hurt when he does got and betray him, since he was just always…there.)  Oh, and she does care for her little sister, which makes her missions interesting when she’s around.  

I was enjoying thinking about this story and was actually considering maybe doing a fan-fic for NaNo this year, lol.  But I figure I might as well toss up the designs somewhere rather than sitting on them for another three years, and it might as well be Tumblr, right? (Tumblr tends to keep the file size and not just have the shrinked version years later XD)

[sonia7atm]

BRIDGERTON BOOK SERIES REVIEW.

So here it is, before I start I just wanted to say that I’m in no way shape or form an expert in english or literature for that matter. English is my third language and I’m studying science. Having said that, I have read all eight books in less than two weeks and I have a lot of opinions that I wanted to share so here they are. Obviously: SPOILERS AHEAD

The series in its entirety

The bridgerton series is probably the best written series that I have ever read. I loved the fact that it is made up of 8 books, but also the way the books are structured. In each of the books we focus on one of the siblings and their significant others, and even when the side characters are there, they are not really a main focus of the story. This means you can pick up a random Bridgerton book without having read the other ones and you would not feel like you are missing something. I really liked this because it meant that with each book you were getting to know a different sibling, thus you are never really bored and there wasn’t unnecessary drama happening with the already established couples, which is refreshing at the least.

However, it does have setbacks. In some of the books, you find that this side characters really change from the way they appear in the background or the other novels, and it can be difficult to digest at first. Another flaw that I found is with the brothers' books. When I was reading some of the books dedicated to the men of the family sometimes I found that we don’t spend enough time with them and when you finish the books you don’t have an understanding of who they are. Maybe I’m not making sense but I’ll elaborate in each book a little bit more.

But in the end, even these little flaws, I had a great time reading the books and finding out what was happening with the family.

My favourite book - AOFAG

I know some people have trouble ranking the Bridgerton books, especially, the favourite one, but I’m not one of them. I am obsessed with “An offer from a gentleman”, I love the story, I love Sophie, I love Benedith and I love Violet Bridgerton with all of my heart. This book is great from the start, even though b, the third book you know a happy ending is what the book is leading to, it still excites you and makes you wonder. AMAZING DARE I SAY.

Sophie is one of my favourite characters in all of the books. She has a strong morals system and you get really inspired by her. All of the things she goes through are horrible, but she still remains such a calm and kind individual that I cannot help but stan. HARD. She has very strong ideas and morals and she sticks with them even when they mean losing Benedict. I found this message really important and powerful because we usually see the opposite: people changing their views for their significant other, and I don’t think it's right. So, hereby I declare Sophie QUEEN of the Bridgerton clan.

Moving on to Benedict, I heard a little bit of criticism with his actions in this book and I see where they are coming from, but I don’t share them. I think Benedict is one of the brothers that suffers from a really deep female counterpart and as such his thoughts are not fully explored. In my opinion Benedict is tormented by the fact that he is the second Bridgerton and nothing more (similar to Colin and kinda Gregory really), and also by the fact that he lost the woman at the ball. On top of that, Sophie comes along and he starts falling for her and he feels guilty that he is falling for someone else, so he doesn’t fully commit to Sophie but also doesn’t really leave her. It’s a messed up situation and he doesn’t make the best decisions but I understand his actions and I support him. The only thing that really annoyed me about Benedict is that he doesn’t recognize Sophie at all. I wanted to hit him, hard, in the head, with a fucking piano.

Now the best of the best: Violet Bridgerton. She was the surprise character of this book in that prison scene. In the previous book you still see her and like her but she saves the day in this one, and I felt like I really knew her after that. She is not the typical ton mother, she really values their children’s happiness and takes everyone under her wing. She knows who she is and the importance her family has and she uses her powers for good. I gained so much respect for her. A surprise character and a great one.

To sum it up, Benedict and Sophie are perfect to each other, like this mellow entity. Two kind souls, always happy, always calm. Of course they live in the countryside, they could not live anywhere else.

Top tier books - WHWW, RMB, TVWL

WHEN HE WAS WICKED

This book wrecked me, I have to admit I was a mess, I could not deal. A tragic story with so much longing and guilt and despair, I love a drama, man this is great. I went in knowing the basics of it but I was not prepared.

The poor Francesca has the most devastating story in my opinion: she suffers from infertility, her husband dies, she doesn’t feel like she fits in her family, and when she falls in love Michael is sick, WHY?!. Throughout the book you get to see how strong she is, how strong-willed she is. We are not talking about this enough. She loves with all her heart and she suffers with all of it too. She and Michel have a really strong chemistry and it translates really well. I think she was really clever to wait and think before committing to Michael, and I see how she would need to see him in danger to really let herself fall completely. In the end, she knows what losing someone you love feels like and she doesn’t want to feel that again. I understand. Also, an important part of Francesca's journey is to realize that loving someone else doesn’t diminish her feelings for John, and I love how Michael acknowledges it. 

Michael is a really interesting character who falls in love at first sight with the wrong woman. He is fully aware of this fact and it is really good to see that he doesn’t doubt his love for her, but is instead aware of the impossibility of doing something about it. Even when he can do something about it, his respect for his cousin is always present. The guilt he feels for loving Francesca both when John was alive and after he died is so different but so well written. It’s eating him up and It is painful to read to be honest. However, I found that said guilt disappeared rather quickly after his conversation with Colin. I may be the only one but I was a little bit put off by it, and that’s why this is not my favourite book in the series.

THE VISCOUNT WHO LOVED ME 

The bees, I could talk about the bees for days after reading this one. This one has a lot of Bridgerton backstory, and it explains so much of the rest of the bunch even if not directly. So I would say not to skip it (but why would you skip any of them?).

Kate Sheffield is one of the best written characters in this series. She is complex, fierce but delicate, confident but self-conscious. I would kill for her, she deserves it. Her family dynamics are impeccable. You feel the love between these three women and the roles they have, and you get them really quickly: Edwina is the little sister, a little naive but good-hearted, Kate is the fierce older sister and Mary is the compassionate step-mother. I really enjoyed their dynamics. The introduction of Kate’s character is by presenting her goal for the season: defend her sister. When Anthony enters the pool of suitors, she obviously opposes and their back and forth shows she is very witty. But as the story goes on we get to see her insecurities and fears, in a way that it’s so in character but at the same time so different from the start. It’s amazing and I can see why she is such a fan favourite.

Anthony is a baby.We can see how Edmund’s death really scarred him, and those wounds are deep. He believes in his own demise so blindly that it is conditioning all of his decisions.He grows a lot until he is able to share them with Kate and they bond so beautifully over it. Getting to see that, was something that I loved and enjoyed so much. It makes you really connect with both of the characters and it explains so much of his behaviour, that even if he frustrates you, you can’t be mad because you understand where he comes from.

Newton is the guest star in this one and I would like to take our time to appreciate the captain of the Kanthony ship. This little dog is such a plot device, put there to cause havoc and bring Kate and Anthony together, it is so funny. He smelled Anthony and decided he wanted a new dad. Put a plan in march, probably alerted his friend, THE bee.

ROMANCING MR BRIDGERTON

The message of this book is amazing. The journey they both go through to re-know each other is beautiful. Penelope and Colin have known each other for years, and they both have a version of the other in their minds but as the story progresses they unveil hidden personality traits about each others and I love how it is acknowledge and developed into a clear message of “people are flawed and not the perfect individual you wish them to be, and that’s ok”. It is really necessary and it made me reflect on my own relationships and how I could improve them. Colin and Penelope have to be my favourite couple of the series, but, because they were because of the show and not the books, when I finished this book I was left feeling like I wanted more, and that is why it is not my favourite one.

This is the book where readers find out Penelope is Lady Whiseldown and it is a big plot line. However, this revelation is maybe halfway through the book and until then, Penelope's inner monologue doesn’t reveal anything. I would have loved to really focus on it and know from the start how she really did it but at the same time, we get to see so much of Pen’s growth anyways. She is shy and kind but when she is with someone she trusts (in this case Colin and Lady Danbury), she is full of wit and boldness. I see myself so much in these characteristics that I cannot help but make her my favourite character in the series (totally biased but it is what it is). She starts with a sense of discontent about her, she knows her fate and accepts it but, she doesn’t necessarily like it. She is trying to change the way people see her and Lady Danbury helps a lot with it. She and Colin spend a lot of the book kind of on opposite sides in part because of their own demons, she wants to prove herself and at the same time is faced with the realization that the Colin she made up in her mind is not the real one. It really makes you wonder if it’s a happy ending at the end of it, because they both have such strong points but they are so diverse. At the end, after they talk about it, their relationship is full of devotion and you feel how they are making each other focused and better. I would die for them.

Colin is such a tumultuous character and it is a stark contrast on how we get to see him in the previous and following books. He is used to putting the charm on and fooling everybody but, of course, in this book we explore his inner workings and now we know the truth. He is just a lost puppy, looking for something to do with his life, and he is so focused on this search and runnin away for his family that he doesn’t see that there is already something that he is good about: writing. His relationship with Pen is obviously key in all of this searching because it pushes his limits and makes him think. His realization, of both his vocation and his love are slow and steady. He sometimes jumps to conclusions and rushes things *ahem*the proposal*cough* but not love, and once he commits he does it fully. The “stay, stay, stay” scene is a monumental hallmark in the book. We see Colin really deciding and choosing Penelope and Lady Whistle down with all that it entails. And later on, he opens out about his jealousy over her work, but he does it when he is ready, and Pen allows him to come to her when he needs without judgement. They are so perfect it hurts. 

The lack of Eloise is an insult to my soul but we get Lady Danbury as the guest star. She is on Penelope's corner helping her navigate the ton and her relationship with Colin, as a mother figure would. I believe she at least has a big suspicion that she is LW, but I might be wrong.

All-nighter books - OTWTTW, IIHK. ON THE WAY TO THE WEDDING

Gregory’s book is full of twists and turns that you just cannot put it down. Not the fact that the main female character is Lucy and not Hermoine, like Gregory thinks half of the book, just because you don’t. It is pretty clear that Lucy is our heroine so the fact that Gregory falls for her is not a twist itself because we (and Kate) already know. But in my opinion, the fact that it starts with Gregory interrupting the wedding and then it goes back and explains the backstory to you, so it is constantly leading up to it. 

Lucy is not the most interesting of the female leads but it is part of her charm. She is a normal girl, her life is already arranged, so she doesn’t feel the pressure the rest of them do, she is just enjoying herself. She doesn’t believe in love, and it is so funny how in denial she is about it, until it all explodes. 

Gregory’s life was influenced by her brothers before him and his big family but he feels so alone because of the age difference. He is trying to find his place in life and, because he saw all of his siblings fall in love he wants the same thing so badly, that he confuses desire with love. He is so precious, and must be protected at all costs.

The last few chapters are action packed, there’s an urgency in everyone's actions: Lucy, trying to save her family and Gregory, trying to save Lucy. I couldn’t figure out what was going to happen and that hooked me. The fact that the wedding actually takes place is the most shocking plot of all of the books.  

To conclude, Gregory owns my heart and I trust him with it.

IT’S IN HIS KISS

This story is another “all-nighter”, because it revolves around a mystery and the search for Gareth’s grandmother lost jewels. This quest brings Hyacinth and Gareth together, with a lot of Lady Danbury’s help. It’s really interesting to read about the felonies they commit, all of them instigated by Hyacinth, who, in my opinion, is chaos personified. 

Hyacinth is the most forward-thinking woman of this series. She is outspoken, confident, loud and apologetic. All of these traits really set her apart, because she doesn’t play by the rules of society, she does what she pleases, and she should. She is the typical little sister, a little spoiled but with a good heart. Her conversations with Violet are really touching. 

Gareth on the other side, is not in a good place with his family, and it is endearing to see how shocked he is by the Bridgerton’s closeness. He has a severe lack of self love, and sees himself as an imposter, and not worthy of Hyacinth. But when he falls, OMG, HE FALLS. His attitude towards Hyacinth’s personality is amazing because he loves her exactly as she is, and knows he will be following her orders for the rest of his life. Adorable. (He is the “That’s my wife” meme).

Lady Danbury is again the guest star and it only helps to cement her as the cool grandma that we all aspire to be. An honorable mention is Anthony getting super-duper happy that all of his sisters are married and therefore he is free (my poor guy).

However, the main issue I have with this book is that the decision of getting married is really attached to Gareth’s need to vex his father, who is a horrible person, and it makes me mad. 

Not my favourite books - TSPWL, TDAI

TO SIR PHILIP WITH LOVE

In this book Eloise decides running off to meet a possible husband is a great idea. Her brain, I can’t. Obviously the Bridgerton brothers follow her and force the two to marry anyways, although they were already falling in love when they found her. Phillip, Eloise's love interest is a loner and lives outside of the ton and I think that these traits really work with her because they are polar opposites but at the same time they fit so well. The relationship Eloise has with Amanda and Oliver is so cute, because you can see that these kids just need some attention and help navigating the world without her mother and Eloise is there for them.

However, even though I loved their storyline and I wanted to rank this higher I couldn’t. The other Bridgertons are a big part of this book and when I was thinking back on it the parts that I remember fondly the most are when Anthony, Benedict, Colin and Gregory arrive to kill talk to Philip, and then when Charles is ill and we get to see Benedict and Sophie as parents. So, I like this book because of side characters and not the main ones, even though I know there is nothing wrong with them. However, I do think the book is ok and I would recommend it nevertheless.

THE DUQUE AND I

I don’t have much to say about this book. The r*pe is completely unnecessary in my opinion. Daphne and Simon have terrible communication skills, but so do Kate and Anthony, for example, but still, the repercussions are not that severe. It is so much worse in the books and it has no consequences whatsoever. Up until that point, the enemies to secret dating to falling in love is such a classic thorpe that I usually like, but I cannot separate the two of them. In fact, I would advise to skip this one.

Hapily Ever After

Thank you to the heavens for this book. It is just a little exploration of all of the sibling’s future and an extra story for Violete.

Daphne’s story revolves around her last pregnancy. A surprise one when she is quite old. I found it really sweet and it looks like she and Simon are really happy with their life so good for them. Also, Colin and Penelope visit with all of their children so I’m obligated to like it.

The TVWLM continuation is a get together in Aubrey Hall for a Pall Mall rematch. I had so much fun reading it and getting to see all of the Bridgertons interact in a “relaxed” manner.

Sophie and Benedict’s story focuses on Posy and her search for a husband. She is lovely and I do want her happiness but getting to see Sophie and Benedict interact while actually together was a treat. I feel very blessed to see them be the balls of sunshine they both are.

Then we get to see how Eloise found out Lady Whisheldow’s identity. It was fun, and we get to see Pen and Eloise being friends, which we don’t get enough of in their respectives books. Colin and Penelope leaving the wedding early, was a gem. They are a couple of horny idiots and I love to see it. After that, we focus on Eloise again and we get to see a little bit more about Amanda and Oliver.

One of the main things about Francesca in her book is the fact that she wants a baby, and it is never resolved. In this one, we get to see how Francesca and Michael become parents and it's another heartbreaking one. We get to see how worried Violet is for her and also how Michael and Francesca talk and understand each other. They are one of the best relationships on this series, I said what I said.

In IIHK the diamonds are never found, but we find them here. It is great to know they were not missing and also a relief to know that Gareth was able to rescue the family even without them. The fact that Isabella actually finds them and proceeds to say nothing is hilarious. But when Hyacinth finds them the happiness she feels is so wholesome.

Then we get to see Gregory and Lucy’s twins be born (their 8th and 9th children). It is not an easy task and for a moment I was afraid for Lucy but it all works out in the end. It was filled with great moments but the one that I like the most is when Gregory says that Katherine gave him purpose in life, because he was meant to be a dad. I cried ngl.

And lastly, we meet Edmund. He is very present throughout the book but I was not expecting to grow so attached to him with this little story. It is divided in different stages of Violet’s life and obviously we get to see her romance with Edmund. I loved the little details, his behaviour reminded me of Gregory but he eats a lot like Colin so it is great to see where they get their traits from. The later parts, after he dies, show you how much importance Violet puts on remembering him and preserving his memory. They were truly soulmates, and it is such a shame that their time together was cut short.

[introvertguide]

Duck Soup (1933); AFI #60

The next film on the AFI top 100 is a throwback to before the Golden Age of Hollywood when "talkies" were new, Duck Soup (1933). This film was the last attached to a 5 feature contract that the Marx Brothers had with Paramount pictures. It was moderately well received at the time but has since become the most critically acclaimed of the Marx Brothers films. The movie is only 68 minutes and is absolutely packed with gags. It is not, however, packed with a storyline or plot. I want to very briefly go over the summary because that is not what this movie is known for. Let's unnecessarily start with...

SPOILER ALERT? THIS MOVIE HAS NO PLOT. IT IS ALL ABOUT SITE GAGS AND SET PIECES. READ AWAY!!! IT WILL NOT DO ANYTHING TO HURT THE EXPERIENCE!!!

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The film starts off with the wealthy Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont) insisting that a man that she is sweet on, Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho), be appointed leader of the small, bankrupt country of Freedonia before she will continue to provide much-needed financial aid. Meanwhile, neighboring Sylvania is attempting to annex the country. Sylvanian ambassador Trentino (Louis Calhem) tries to foment a revolution and to woo Mrs. Teasdale, and he tries to dig up dirt on Firefly by sending in spies Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo).

After failing to collect useful information against Firefly, Chicolini and Pinky are able to infiltrate the government when Chicolini is appointed Secretary of War after Firefly sees him selling peanuts outside his window. Meanwhile, Firefly's secretary, Bob Roland (Zeppo), suspects Trentino's motives, and he advises Firefly to get rid of Trentino by insulting him. Firefly agrees to the plan, but after a series of personal insults exchanged between Firefly and Trentino, the plan backfires when Firefly slaps Trentino instead of being slapped by him. As a result, the two countries come to the brink of war. Adding to the international friction is the fact that Firefly is also courting Mrs. Teasdale, and, like Trentino, hoping to get his hands on her late husband's wealth.

Trentino learns from his femme fatale spy, Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres), that Freedonia's plans of war are in Mrs. Teasdale's safe and tells her to assist Chicolini and Pinky in stealing them. Chicolini is caught by Firefly and put on trial, during which war is officially declared, and everyone is overcome by war frenzy, breaking into song and dance. Chicolini and Pinky join Firefly and Bob Roland in anarchic battle, resulting in general mayhem.

After a fierce battle, the end of the film finds Trentino caught in a makeshift pillory, with the Brothers pelting him with fruit. Trentino surrenders, but Firefly tells him to wait until they run out of fruit. Mrs. Teasdale begins singing the Freedonia national anthem in her operatic voice and the Brothers begin hurling fruit at her instead.

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There are many exceptionally good and bad aspects of this film. On the good side, there are a couple of amazing set pieces that the Marx Brothers did like no other. The mirror scene in which Groucho and Harpo stand in front of each other and Harpo perfectly mimics his brother's movements was outstanding. Specifically, there is a point where Groucho stands outside the reflection and moves in a ridiculous way past what he thinks is a reflection. The mirroring between the brothers is exceptional. Add in the same dressing gown and cap to the actual resemblance (they are full actual brothers) makes for quite an effect. This mirror gag was first done on film by Charlie Chaplin almost 15 years earlier, but this is likely the most well known and best done example of the bit by real people. It was repeated by Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, The Pink Panther, Tom and Jerry, Scooby-Doo, and the Smurfs. That kind of mirror quality action was only repeatable through animation, apparently.

The constant wardrobe changes during the frenzied war scene have caused full speculative articles to be written. Groucho starts out in a Union officer suit, then appears in a Confederate officer suite, then a British palace guard uniform, and then in what looks to be a boy scout officer suit, and finally a Davy Crockett hat? The deep cynicism and anti-war sentiment of the brothers was blatant. It is summed up by the line "while you're out out there risking life and limb through shot and shell, we'll be in here thinking what a sucker you are." The United States had just gotten out of a war and many militaristic leads felt the need to show off. This lack of care after feeling so dominant following WW1 was the mindset that in part led to the Stock Market crash and the Great Depression. There was turmoil brewing in Europe and many Americans wanted nothing to do with it after seeing so many young boys getting ripped apart by trench warfare and machine gun fire. The brothers were satirizing all of those figures that we use to teach boys to want to fight for their country. They also went after what they believed were the causes of many wars: money and moral indignation between powerful men.

Although the film gives the audience insight into the mindset of much of the population during those extremely turbulent times between wars, it also boasts some of the most unsophisticated humor of a new visual medium. The silly songs do not translate well and sound like something created by a child. With truly clever artists like Frank Zappa, the Dead Kennedys, and national treasure Weird Al Yankovic, the Marx Brother's songs just sound lame to me. I think the same of Groucho's one liners. With comedians like Mitch Hedberg, Paula Poundstone, Steven Wright, and Jimmy Carr, the work of Groucho Marx feels seriously dated and quite cringy.

The real let down for me in this particular film was the fighting between Harpo and the Lemonade salesman. In fact, the character of Pinkie was "The Joker" levels of psychotic. I know he represented the constant undermining of communism. That is fine and makes a good point. Practically speaking, though, he reveled in causing problems for no reason and he was a constant nuisance. I have been around a lot of teachers and they sat that students who act like that are the bane of everyone's existence. It may be witty, but it is not funny. I have seen movies like Borat and Jackass, who are at least very creative in the way they cause problems and mostly harm themselves. I legitimately hate the character of Pinky and find him devoid of any real humor beyond the mirror scene. I also realize that Chicolini is a play on Mussolini, but I didn't really find him funny either. I want to emphasize that these are my opinions and I welcome comments on why Pinkie and Chicolini are hilarious.

There are some things that I do forgive and almost find charming. Directors from the silent film era had to emphasize that their actors over dramatize their lines so that the audience could get even a modicum of tone. This over-the-top dramatic speaking continued with many actors into the era of talking pictures. You can tell that this film was made near the change over because a lot of the actors talk like they are making one continual speech. Just about everyone is projecting for the cheap seats, and I totally appreciate it and smile. I also appreciate that the Marx Brothers absolutely jam pack the film with gags. I don't think many of the gags are funny, but I acknowledge that the movie is 68 minutes of constant jokes and the Marx Brothers made a concerted effort to give their audience the most bang for their buck. Good for them.

So does this movie belong on the AFI top 100? I am actually going to say no. I think that Horse Feathers is a funnier film and has the iconic football scene that got a screen cap on the cover of Time magazine. If the AFI was going to choose a Paramount produced Marx Brothers film, this one seems to me to only be second or third choice of the five. Would I recommend it? Sure. It is definitely dated and the jokes will not make a lot of sense any more, but some of the scenes have become iconic and it is fun to see what has been so heavily referenced in current media. It is a pretty fun movie to sit back and just experience for an hour, so I would give it a shot.

[garbogreenlemons]

Country, horror and ancient Egypt - films of the weekend!

This has been some film week! And I’m so glad. After a summer of binge-watching a variety of TV series, last weekend turned into a nostalgia-filled movie marathon. Not just because of the choice of movies, but because of the deeply reminiscing feeling I get when watching a movie in mid-day on a Saturday. It’s just something so 2002 about that for me.

So where did my eyes wander? Well, starting out with Walk the Line, the Johnny Cash-biopic from 2005 that made Joaquin Phoenix’s star shine brighter. Sure, he had a string of great roles behind him at that point, however as the Man in Black he really was able to shine. I saw this movie at the cinema and loved it instantly. It has since been coming along with me through its DVD and it is one of those movies that requires, no demands, several re-watches. But watching it now, I realize, maybe 16 years too late (but hey, I’m trying over here), that I shouldn’t just call it a Johnny Cash-biopic, when in fact it’s just as much a June Carter-biopic. With this role, Reese Witherspoon got her She’s-actually-a-fantastic-actor-and-should-not-get-stuck-in-comedies-role. With the risk of sounding condescending, I really mean what I’m saying here. As wonderful as she is in Legally Blonde, it’s the honesty, vulnerability and fierceness that she brings to June Carter’s story that makes this movie all the richer. The chemistry between Phoenix and Witherspoon makes this more than another music biopic or a story about famous musicians – it’s a love story, pure but not so simple as that.

The weekend continued with one of the most riveting and intriguing horror movies of the last decade – The Conjuring. With it’s well-written scares, real characters and… You know what, I can’t write much about this one, sorry. It’s just too scary to be sitting up late at night when my love has gone to sleep and I’m up on my own. What if by writing about it I actually do what the title suggests and…conjure something? Anyway, I power through just to mention the film’s interwoven old and new (well, 1970s) horrors and the on-screen movie couple I can’t get enough of – Ed and Lorraine Warren played by Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga with ever-present strength and tenderness. It’s a treat for any horror fan and thanks goes out to James Wan for creating a horror film one actually wants to watch again. Although sometimes I truly wish I didn’t…! :-O :-O

After such a horrific re-watch you must understand my need for running back to safety the next day by watching an animated story from past childhood weekends. Now it was time for The Prince of Egypt to part the horrors of my Saturday night, just like Moses parted the Red Sea (Spoiler alert!? Really?). And just like when I would watch it as a kid, I didn’t do much reflecting on its historical or religious (in)accuracy – sorry – and instead enjoyed the glorious animation and dramatic score. I was always fascinated with the hair of the ancient Egyptians, underscored by this movie’s animation and style. I used to be shocked when the movie showed everyone in the palace didn’t have the same large round set of pitch-black hair, which would always stay in place with no hairspray. No, it was all wigs! No matter what you think of the movie and it’s subject matter, we can all agree that there’s one thing this movie brought to the world for which I will always be eternally grateful. Truly, this movie was never really all about the stand-off between Moses and Rameses. It’s the coming-together of two of music’s giants, Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, in their duet ”When You Believe”. This has been my go-to-song when I’ve been in need of that perfect combination of movie soundtrack, a commercial hit and endless wailing and melisma. Thank you, Moses!

HT

[cranberry-bar]

Doukyuusei BLANC CH 9 [SPOILERS]: really long post about Sajou’s internalized homophobia

SPOILER ALERT: don’t read if you don’t want spoilers for the entire Doukyuusei series, including chapter 9 of Blanc

A/N: this is just MY interpretation of the chapter.... spoilers below the cut :)

Ok so in Blanc chapter 9 there’s this scene where Sajou pulls Kusakabe away from the funeral pews, and it’s identical to the panel in Doukyuusei chapter 2, when Kusakabe dragged Sajou away from Harasen’s office. It’s a great parallel, mostly because the juxtaposition of these two scenes pretty succinctly summarizes Sajou’s character growth, but also, it serves as a concise metaphor for the entire series’ overarching conflict: Sajou’s internalized homophobia.

Kusakabe is not homophobic. In fact, as Sajou points out in Sotsugyousei, Kusakabe is painfully optimistic and open-minded. We see this throughout the series… Kusakabe doesn’t care who knows he’s gay. He wants to kiss Sajou in public and hold his hand on the crowded bus — requests which Sajou nearly always refuses. Kusakabe proudly announces to the sales person at the jewelry store that he’s buying a wedding ring for a man. In Blanc, he wants his music video to reflect that his song was written about Sajou, not about a woman.

On the flip-side, Sajou is deeply insecure — especially about being gay. He pushes Kusakabe away almost compulsively; in public, he rejects Kusakabe’s affection for fear of being seen. In private, he repeatedly closes himself off emotionally from Kusakabe. We see it again and again. He refuses to cry or admit to his feelings. While Kusakabe freely gives and receives love, for Sajou affection is a constant battle. Sajou never lets himself believe the affection Kusakabe gives him is genuine or will last.

This is the real conflict in Doukyuusei — the theme that spans every installment in the series, the reason we needed Blanc in the first place: Doukyuusei is still, at it’s very core, a “getting together” story, even after all this time, because even though Kusakabe and Sajou technically get together in the very first chapter, Sajou continues to wall himself off from his emotions, and by extension, from Kusakabe himself. They’re not truly, equally in it together until this very moment, in chapter 9 of Blanc.

And so, we come to these two parallel scenes: the one in Blanc, and the one in Doukyuusei.

In Doukyuusei chapter 2, Harasen exploits Sajou’s fears of Kusakabe leaving him. When Kusakabe pulls Sajou away from Harasen, he isn’t just saving Sajou from a physically uncomfortable situation, he’s yanking Sajou away from his own insecurities.

Early on in the chapter, Sajou closed himself off and pushed Kusakabe away, but Kusakabe eventually sees through it. That’s what makes Kusakabe a great character. After he realizes what’s going on, he goes back for Sajou to essentially rescue him from his own overthinking. 

If Harasen represents Sajou’s fears, then Kusakabe is his salvation. Kusakabe reassures Sajou of his feelings for him, and for a while, they’ve put a band-aid on the bigger issue.

It’s interesting, then, that the over-arching symbolism for that chapter is Emperor Tenchi’s poem about the leaky roof in the harvest hut. The roof hasn’t collapsed yet, they’re not in imminent danger of flooding. This is a slow and gradual leak, which over time will become a bigger and bigger problem until it consumes them. It’s foreshadowing what will happen later on in the series. Kusakabe grows more and more eager to progress their relationship, but Sajou is still stuck. He can’t move forward until he moves on. It’s a little ironic that Kusakabe knows only the first part of the poem — “Course the rush-mat roof / Sheltering the harvest hut / Of the autumn rice field…” — but he can’t seem to remember the second part. Metaphorically speaking, he’s not yet aware of how monumentally this leak is going to effect their relationship. Sajou, though, he knows the end of the poem — the more famous line, or in other words, the one everyone else sees coming — and he completes the poem which Kusakabe cannot remember: “And my sleeves are growing wet / With the moisture dripping through.”

By the time we get to Blanc, the leak has sprung.

Sajou’s reluctance is holding their relationship back. They break up, but by chapter 3 Kusakabe is ready to call Sajou and beg for a second chance, and it could have gone down that way, nothing learned nothing forgotten. Instead, Sajou’s mom falls ill and it’s the catalyst for Sajou and Kusakabe confronting their problems. We know what happens: Kusakabe comes through for Sajou like always, he proves his dedication, he’s there by Sajou and Kumi-san’s side, and then we get chapter 8. Kumi-san has passed away and Sajou, grieving, wants Kusakabe’s comfort, except this time, the literal physical embodiment of the looming homophobia Sajou has always feared is standing in their way.

In chapter 8, for the first time in the entire series, Kusakabe and Sajou experience a trial as a couple which is directly caused by external forces of prejudice and homophobia, and ironically, in a roundabout way it still comes from within Sajou himself, but this time it comes from within Sajou’s family. It’s his insecurities come to fruition, in the form of his father. And now we see where Sajou’s fears of acceptance and his internalized homophobia stem from. It’s ironic, then, that only a few chapters prior, Sajou had told Miyamura-san: “I don’t have confidence in myself. It’s fine if I’m alone… if something happened it would be my responsibility, but with him it’s different. I’m scared. He pulls people into his life. If people look at him weird, if he loses something or gets hurt, it would be my fault. So I can’t do this anymore.”

All this time, Sajou has agonized over the fear that Kusakabe will suffer because of their relationship. He fears Kusakabe will face judgement and discrimination, and one day he’ll have had enough, and he’ll leave Sajou. Except, Kusakabe has already left him, and it wasn’t because of any external force of homophobia. It was because of Sajou, himself, that couldn’t own up to who he is, that he couldn’t truly accept himself or his relationship. He couldn’t truly accept being gay. Really, the entire series has led up to this moment: Sajou must choose between overcoming shame and confronting his fears or succumbing to them.

And Sajou stands up for Kusakabe.

It’s the first time in the series this happens. Time and time again previously it’s been the same. Sajou runs, Kusakabe runs after him. Kusakabe reassures, emotional peace is restored, and Sajou’s dangerously precarious self-worth lives to see another day. Kusakabe spends his whole life running, chasing, pining, and waiting for Sajou. After the fight with Sajou’s dad, Kusakabe tells Sajou “I was waiting for you.” Not just now, but forever, since the very beginning, Kusakabe has been waiting for Sajou to truly be ready, to accept not just Kusakabe, but himself, and what this really means is “I will keep waiting.” 

It’s especially poignant when you look at Sajou’s parents as two halves of Sajou in opposition — his mother representing the part of him that embraces himself whole-heartedly, that loves Kusakabe, and his father representing the part of him that feels obligated to conform to society’s standard of normal, to push people away and build walls, to shield himself from emotional pain. It is meaningful, then, that Sajou tells his father “I wish you had died, instead.” Because, really, this is Sajou choosing which part of himself he wants to survive. And he chooses the better part, the part of him which gives love freely and accepts himself and his sexuality full-stop.

And so… and so and so we come to the panel in Blanc chapter 9. Kusakabe has shaved his head (oof don’t remind me), he’s taken out his earrings, and shown up to the funeral in a respectable suit and tie, all in the name of appeasing Sajou’s father, and Sajou hates it (can’t blame him, the hair looks so bad) but really, in a way, seeing Kusakabe like this is what Sajou’s always feared: that Kusakabe would some day have to change himself, or make himself smaller, in order to be with him. Though other characters may refer to Kusakabe as idiotic or foolish, Sajou has never thought poorly of Kusakabe. He has only ever thought poorly of himself. What Sajou loves about Kusakabe is his fierce determination to go after what he wants and to express himself freely and openly. But now, for the first time, Kusakabe is stifling himself for Sajou’s dad, and really by extension, for Sajou. Of course Sajou hates it.

Sajou’s dad orders him to sit, but Sajou ignores him, he pulls Kusakabe away from the stands and they run, and they talk, and finally Sajou admits what we’ve known since the beginning: he was afraid, because he couldn’t let himself believe that Kusakabe truly wanted to marry him. He apologizes, they cry, and when Sajou’s dad barges in and interrupts by asking what the hell they’re doing, Kusakabe’s absolutely unbothered and responds with “We’re talking about getting married.” And I love what comes after: “His dad didn’t say anything after that.”

In the Doukyuusei version of how this scene plays out, Sajou nearly succumbs to the extortion and pressure of his adult male role model. Harasen tries to convince Sajou that he and Kusakabe shouldn’t be together, and it works. His fears get the better of him and it’s only Kusakabe coming to his rescue that saves him. This time we see the reverse. An adult male role model is trying to break up his relationship, but this time Sajou isn’t a kid anymore, and when Sajou’s dad tries to break down Kusakabe’s resolve, and it starts to work, Sajou does for Kusakabe what Kusakabe did for him all those years ago: he saves him.

When you juxtapose the meaning behind these two parallel scenes — one where Sajou had to be rescued, and the other where Sajou not only saves himself, but Kusakabe as well — we see that the story has come full circle. Blanc needed to happen, because Sajou needed to move past his shame, to allow himself to be vulnerable and loved, in order to fully commit to Kusakabe.

Finally, finally! Yes, unfortunately we do have to witness them bone with Kusakabe’s hideously shaved head, but the chapter ends with them agreeing to get married, so there’s the silver lining.