#this job or if they find me unfit for the position i WILL be entering 7 week mindy netifee when it falls lockdown. because that is unbearabl

[pepprs]

2 back to back interviews for the job of all time in less than an hour moodboard

[calicough]

backbone – hazel callahan

— you helped rockbridge's divine pillar practice her receives.

volleyball player!hazel. libero!hazel. manager!reader. drabble!

it was around seven in the evening and you were all alone in the gymnasium, checking the inventory of the equipments that the players had helped you put away. coach and josie, the captain, would usually help you with the inventory but surprisingly, they both had to leave early because of their own personal reasons. nevertheless, this was your job as the manager of the rockbridge bottoms. the name was rather unfitting and contradicting as your team would always make it to the finals in tournaments whether it'd be regionals or nationals.

their practice game went well today and they've made a lot of progress in such a short amount of time ever since they lost the match against the huntington tigers a week ago. stella-rebecca had finally mastered a float serve. pj and josie successfully executed the quick attack that they were trying to imitate. sylvie had managed to break all of brittany's blocks much to her dismay, although brittany did multiple setter dumps which left sylvie dumbfounded. everyone was thriving today. well, except for one player.

you were about to leave the equipment room when the door suddenly flew open, revealing hazel on the other side, wearing the team's varsity jacket over her green shirt. you quickly clutched your clipboard to your chest, scared out of your wits. you never got used to the court at night as coach was always there to accompany you.

"sorry," she sheepishly smiled, scratching the back of her neck, towel draped over her shoulders. "i thought you went home already."

compared to the others, you and hazel rarely talked despite being in the same year. your conversations were limited to volleyball talk and her title as the divine pillar or the backbone of rockbridge falls didn't help when trying to converse with her. you just find her extremely intimidating especially on the court with her stoic face and sharp eyes, even though you've seen her fool around with the others countless of times.

"it's fine," you replied, releasing your hard grip on your clipboard. "i thought you went home already."

hazel entered the room and grabbed a ball from the ball cart. you're already finished with inventory so you didn't mind. as she was about to leave the room and into the court, she turned around and gestured the ball in her hand. "wanna help me practice?"

you didn't have anything planned tomorrow and you were not in a hurry so you shrugged and said, "why not?"

you stood on the other side of the net opposite from each other, bouncing the ball off the floor as you got ready to serve. hazel was known for her agility when it comes to receiving the opponent's ball especially in longer rallies, earning her the aforementioned nickname. but ever since that match against huntington, her receives in practice games were sloppy and delayed. you had an idea of what caused this but you didn't want to assume.

hazel was already in position with her jacket tossed to the side and the sleeves of her shirt rolled upwards, exposing her biceps. her knees were bent and her palms faced outwards. you bounced the ball at least five times before throwing it up in the air and hitting it towards her direction. her eyes and her body followed the ball's movement. as the ball descended, she lunged forward with her arms positioned away from her body, properly receiving the ball with her forearms.

"nice!" you exclaimed as you grabbed another ball from the cart that hazel helped you pulled out, doing another serve. this time, she was a second late and the ball bounced off her wrist. she made a sound of annoyance and only shook her head with a smile when she sensed that you were about to ask if she was okay.

"i'm fine. let's do it again!"

you nodded and grabbed another ball. she successfully retrieved this serve and the other two that followed until the fourth serve, in which she completely missed. she did a loud 'tsk!' sound out of frustration, wiggling her fingers and bending her knees as she readied herself for the next ball.

"again!"

your palm was sore from hitting the ball again and again. her usual bright blue eyes were much duller and more exhausted compared to the team's training earlier in the evening. hazel was still not satisfied with her receives, torturing herself mentally and physically. you've lost count how many times she dove or rolled to retrieve the ball. her whole body must've been hurting right now.

"hazel," you called out, concern evident in your voice as she went back to position again. "let's take a water break."

"no, i'm fine," she shook her head but suddenly made her way to you with worry in her eyes. "unless you want to take a break? we can definitely take a break." you just nodded and gave her a reassuring smile when she looked at you apologetically.

as you both sat down by the wall and drank your waters, you turned your head at her. her hair was disheveled, sticking to her sweaty skin. there were bruises all over her arms and legs, and a small cut on her right knee. you took a deep breath and asked, "are you alright?"

hazel was surprised and turned to you with wide eyes, gulping as she did so. "you seem... out of it lately," you continued. "is everything alright?"

hazel shook her head and let out a small chuckle. "no no, i'm fine... it's just..." she trailed off, her eyes looking at the floor as she sighed deeply. she then turned to you with sorrow in her eyes. "i can't help but blame myself for what happened during that game."

you knew what she was referring to. it was the last set and huntington was taking the lead with fifteen points while rockbridge was behind by one point. everyone was tired and their stamina was running out. "focus guys! you can do this!" you remembered cheering while silently praying for another deuce during an intense rally. but sometimes, things don't always go in everyone's favor; in hazel's favor.

"i could've gotten that ball," hazel groaned and sighed deeply, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes. "if only i moved fast enough... we could've won that game..."

"hey, it's okay," you reassured, putting your hand on her knee and patting it as an attempt to comfort her. hazel's eyes fluttered open and looked into yours. "look, i was also bummed that we didn't win," you paused, trying to find the right words to say as she waited in anticipation. "but it pains me to see you and the other players blame yourselves for something that you can't control. especially when you've played and dived for, like, every set. pretty sure your bodies felt really heavy to move."

hazel nodded as her unnoticeably tense shoulders relaxed. "yeah... i felt like a boulder."

the both of you giggled as you gave her knee one last pat before retracting it. "the good news is, we have more upcoming tournaments so..." you trailed off and playfully smiled at hazel.

"yeah, i'll give them hell," hazel laughed and mocked you with the line that you'd always say before games. "hey!" you laughed as well and crossed your arms, pretending to be offended.

after your laughter died down, hazel stood up and offered you a hand, pulling you up to your feet. "thank you, by the way." you both made your way to court to gather all of the used balls.

"no worries," you replied as you placed the balls back in the ball cart.

"hey," she called out. "after we're done here... do you wanna get some snacks?"

"i'd like that."

waaaaaaa i hope you guys enjoyed this one! and thank you to the people who voted on my poll abt hazel's vball position hehe,, + i apologize if there are any inconsistencies or if there's anything worng with how i described vball,, i only based it on my high school experience with volleyball and haikyuu T_T

[spencers-renaissance]

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly

Summary: After Spencer fails his firearm recertification, the FBI believes some hand-to-hand combat and self-defence training is in order, and who better to administer it than the BAU's very own, Derek Morgan? Everything goes swimmingly until Derek decides to simulate an attack from above, and Spencer's thrust into the throes of a horrific flashback.

Tags: hurt/comfort, past abuse, platonic cuddling, angst with a happy ending, friendship or pre-slash, crying, panic attacks, flashbacks, episode: s01e06 LDSK, protectiveness TW: !!Discussions of Underage Rape/Non-Con including Molestation and Incestuous Sexual Abuse!!

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid (Platonic or Pre-Slash)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

It’s a dreary day in late October when he fails his recertification test. Later, he’ll look back on this moment with a strange mixture of thankfulness and stone-cold dread, but in the moment all he can feel is the burning of his cheeks and the festering humiliation sat heavy in his chest.

Hotch is kind about it, because Hotch is kind about everything.

“Do you know what happened, Reid?” he asks with a complete absence of judgement, and it’s clear from everything about his body language and tone that he isn’t angry and he isn’t being critical, but Spencer feels his defences rising regardless.

He shakes his head and shrinks back in his seat, avoiding Hotch’s eyes.

“Did anyone do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”

His eyes snap up to meet Hotch’s and he shifts to sit a bit more upright as he shakes his head with more vehemence this time. Sure, he didn’t particularly like the evaluator, but only because he seemed unimpressed with Spencer from the moment he laid eyes on him, acting as though evaluating someone who was doomed to fail was a waste of time.

Spencer can’t exactly blame him.

Hotch sighs. “Listen, Spencer,” he says gently, “I know you can handle yourself in the field and I know you can handle a gun just fine, but you know how many requirements were overlooked for you to join the unit in the first place, and you also know that your position in the BAU has been controversial with a few of the higher-ups. So, here’s the plan. I’m going to be your evaluator for your next recertification in two weeks, and in the meantime, I want you to do some hand-to-hand training with Derek to improve and consolidate your field and self-defence skills.”

Realistically, he knows that this is the best he could’ve hoped for, and he knows how hard Hotch and Gideon fight his corner when he’s questioned by everyone from witnesses to local PDs to the director of the bureau himself.

That does not mean he has to be happy about this.

He acquiesces because he has to. “Okay,” he says quietly, hoping he doesn’t sound as defeated as he feels.

“Reid,” Hotch says, redirecting his attention from the spot on the carpet he’s staring at. He waits for Spencer to look at him before smiling slightly and looking at him with a raw kind of earnest he knows is privileged to witness. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

It’s Spencer’s turn to smile, brightening up from his miserable disposition slightly. “I do.”

⭑⭑⭑

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says cheerfully, slamming his locker closed just as Spencer enters the FBI gym. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

Spencer sighs, opening the locker next to Derek’s and putting his messenger bag inside before opening the grocery bag he’d brought his gym clothes in. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says drily as he pulls out his clothes and heads towards one of the two private changing cubicles.

He hears Derek chuckle to himself before he calls back to him as he opens the door to the gym. “I’m gonna set up, you come through when you’re ready.”

Spencer procrastinates for as long as he can, making sure his shoes are tied perfectly and the bows are even sizes, folding all his work clothes as neatly as possible and placing them carefully back into the grocery bag, but before long, there’s nothing more he can do and he has to face the music. He inhales deeply, steeling himself for the next hour, before putting his bag in his locker (closing it with much less force than Derek did earlier) and walking into the gym.

It’s a fairly big hall that’s usually used for academy recruits, large scale demonstrations, and the various sports teams that have cropped up in different divisions of the FBI. Spencer knows that Derek currently plays basketball for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime team, the department that the BAU is part of.

Right now, though, Derek has them set up in a tucked-away corner, both hard and soft mats laid out on the ground surrounded by various equipment Spencer couldn’t hope to identify correctly.

“You took your time,” Derek says when Spencer approaches him, eyebrows raised and an obvious note of amusement in his voice. “But now you’re here, let’s get started.”

They begin with a short conditioning exercise that Derek says is supposed to ‘get the blood pumping’ but in actuality has Spencer panting like a dog and soaked with sweat within minutes. Maybe those higher-ups have something of a point. He knew he was unfit, but this is just embarrassing.

“Okay, now with the warm-up out of the way—”

“That was a warm-up?”

Derek doubles over with his laughter and Spencer can’t help but join in, despite how out of breath and red in the face he might be.

“It’s supposed to be, Spence, but maybe I over-estimated things a little,” he concedes once their giggles have died out. “Alright, alright, let’s move on to some basic self-defence moves. I know you probably already know most of these, but this is supposed to be a refresher, yeah? And to remind you that you can hold your own in the field, whether you pass your recertification or not.”

Spencer winces. “I don’t know, Derek, I mean I did fail every single physical aspect of the academy examination.”

“See, that’s what I mean, pretty boy,” Derek says, standing up from the mat and helping Spencer up, too. “You’re in your own head, and when you’re out in the field, you have enough enemies without making your own mind one as well. You know this stuff, Spence, I’m just here to remind you of that.”

“Alright,” he nods, holding in his sigh. He doesn’t mean to be negative, he just can’t help the way he’s feeling. The last week has been rough.

“Okay, so let’s go through front-facing attacks first,” Derek says. “What’s the first move you can do to protect yourself in that situation?”

“Elbow shield,” Spencer replies, holding out his arm and blocking Derek from coming any closer with his forearm acting as a barrier that Derek presses his chest against.

“Exactly, and what can you do to inflict damage in that position?”

Spencer responds by sliding his forearm up to Derek’s neck and applying light pressure, not wanting to actually hurt him.

“You got it. Okay, now what if I manage to grab you and pull you closer, what’s your move?”

He keeps his forearm locked to keep Derek from advancing too close, but this time he grabs his bicep with both hands and uses his core to bring him closer before he raises his shin and mimes kicking him in the groin.

“See, you know this stuff,” Derek says brightly. “The only note I have is to just remember to keep your thumbs in line with the rest of your fingers, not wrapping under my arm.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. The thumb is easily broken, although the most common injury associated with a broken thumb is actually damage to the larger bone of your hand, the metacarpal.”

Derek chuckles. “Exactly.”

Funnily enough, Spencer actually finds himself having fun as they walk through some other basic defensive movements as well as the best way to use tactical punches to overpower or debilitate an unsub or attacker. They frequently burst into peals of laughter, as can be expected when two close individuals find themselves having to do semi-serious work together, and before he knows it, forty-five minutes have flown by.

“Okay, I want to end with some more up close and personal attacks and the best way to stave them off, alright?” Derek says as he puts away the boxing gloves and pads.

Immediately, Spencer feels a small glimmer of nerves and anticipation for how this might make him feel, but he brushes it off. He knows he’s safe with Derek, and the whole point of the exercise is to defend himself. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Let’s start with an attacker coming at you from behind,” Derek decides, coming up behind him. “I’m going to cover your mouth, and you’re going to use your skills and knowledge to remove me, alright?”

Spencer nods, hoping Derek doesn’t read the hesitancy in it, and he supposes that he doesn’t because soon enough a large palm is tightly covering the lower half of his face.

For a brief moment, he isn’t a twenty-five-year-old agent training with one of his closest friends in the gym in the basement of the FBI Headquarters, but a scared and lonely ten-year-old in his childhood bedroom, trying to fight the persistent, evil man on top of him, wondering why his dad would do this to him—

He snaps himself out of it by opening his eyes and forcing himself to take in the surroundings, and before long instinct takes over and he’s gripping at Derek’s wrist and using his core and bodyweight to bend forward and free himself from the restrictive hold.

“Good job, Reid!” Derek says encouragingly, and there’s no evidence on his face when he turns around that he noticed any sort of hesitation or deliberation, so he suspects that his flashback really was only for a second, no matter how everlasting and all-consuming it felt in the moment.

He manages a shaky smile, and invites his next method of torture. “What’s next?”

“Okay, what if I was to grab your t-shirt and immediately start punching you?” Derek asks, immediately miming doing exactly like that.

Fighting the instinct to go into protective mode, he instead turns around elbow first and uses his other hand to mime punching Derek while his knee goes up to attack his groin.

“Perfect! That’s the spirit, kid. No unsub’s ever gonna get the best of you.”

Spencer blushes a little at the praise, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet his eye, but inside he’s beyond pleased, both with the encouragement from Derek and his own self-confidence he can feel flooding back. Maybe he really does have a handle on the more physical side of things. Maybe he isn’t just good for his brain.

“Alright, let’s finish off with some on the ground stuff, okay?” Derek says, sitting down on the mat and inviting Spencer to join him with a pat on the space beside him.

He hesitates a little, and this time Derek notices, his face softening.

“Listen, I know this one is a bit more uncomfortable than the others, but we’re almost done, right? Let’s just get a few moves consolidated and then you can go and have a shower and head home to relax.”

Spencer nods finally and joins him, laying on his back as Derek instructs. The vulnerability of the position has him feeling deeply uncomfortable, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s safe with Derek, but he forces himself to lie still. If nothing else, he doesn’t want to reveal this very personal and private detail of his childhood to his best friend. He just needs to keep reminding himself that he’s safe.

“Right, let’s practice the pinned wrist escape, okay?”

Before he knows what’s happening, before he can process the words and prepare him for what’s about to happen, Derek’s straddling him and resting his full weight over his hips and his wrists are wrapped in a tight grip, pinned to the mat above his head.

It’s so sudden and the sensations so overwhelming that he can’t help the immediate fear response that’s triggered, because he’s not in the FBI gym with Derek anymore, he’s somewhere else entirely.

“No, please,” he begs, voice strangled by a sudden, all-consuming dry sob that heaves his chest, “please don’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please, dad, don’t—”

His sobs suddenly overtake his words and he’s left crying pathetically on the floor, too trapped in the memory to notice that the pressure’s been removed from his hips and he’s free to move his arms, too consumed by the physical and emotional anguish that came with the abuse to hear Derek’s desperate, heart-broken pleas from beside him, begging him to come back to himself.

“Spencer!”

A voice finally manages to break through the fog of panic, and he slowly regains consciousness, the white hot glaze of fear and crippling memory fading incrementally until he can see the high beams of the gym ceiling, until he can hear Derek’s gentle, soothing words beside him.

“It’s alright, pretty boy, I’m here, you’re safe,” Derek tells him gently, although Spencer can hear the urgency in his voice, even in his scared and overwhelmed state.

He covers his face with his hands as his desperate, heaving sobs transform into wet, humiliated cries.

“Hey, hey, Spence,” Derek murmurs beside him, “is it alright if I touch you?”

He considers shaking his head, but really, he wants some comfort right now, no matter how much he’ll hate himself for embarrassing himself further later. He’s glad he does though because Derek very carefully and very slowly lifts him up until he’s wrapped up in a comforting hug, his face buried in a strong chest. He’s not sure he’s ever felt safer than in this exact moment.

“You’re alright, pretty boy, I got you.”

Spencer continues to cry, the overwhelm of having a flashback that intense still wracking his body, but eventually, he starts to calm down, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles as he collapses, boneless against Derek’s body.

“Here, why don’t you have this granola bar and some water,” Derek suggests gently when his tears have dried up, reaching over to the edge of the mat where he was clearly hiding some post-exercise rewards.

Spencer accepts them tiredly, not moving from his position slumped against Derek’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks him once he’s sipped his way through half the bottle and the granola bar is gone.

As much as he’d like to get things off his chest, as much as he trusts Derek, he just— can’t. So he shakes his head and pulls himself into a sitting upright position, although he still doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Okay,” Derek says softly. “I’m gonna drive you home. Come on.”

Spencer numbly walks through the locker room and the halls of the FBI with Derek guiding him until they reach his car, and the motion of climbing in brings a little bit more awareness back to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers as Derek starts the engine and drives them out of the parking garage.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy. No thanks needed.”

They don’t speak on the journey home, and Spencer contents himself with looking out the window at the passing scenery until they enter the city and trees transform into tower blocks. His mind drifts, but he’s just grateful that it doesn’t keep circling back to the flashback, having somewhat successfully resealed those memories like he always does, pushing them down and smothering them with as much good as he can collect in people and memories and things.

The silence between them prevails until Derek steps into his apartment behind him, closing the front door and helping Spencer out of his jacket before hanging his own coat up on a hook and steering Spencer towards the sofa. “You are going to sit here,” he orders, picking up one of Penelope’s hand-knitted blankets from its position neatly folded over the arm of the sofa, “while I get some tea and something to eat. Fancy anything in particular?”

Spencer remembers the satsumas and macaroons Penelope brought over the other day and tells Derek as such, following the other man with his eyes until he disappears into the kitchen and he’s left alone with his hazy thoughts for a couple of minutes.

They pass in a blur, though, and before he can blink, Derek is pressing a mug of warm chamomile tea into his hands and placing a small plate of a satsuma and a couple of macaroons on the coffee table.

The weight of Derek sitting down on the sofa next to him, and the grounding feeling of his palm wrapped around his ankle, has his hazy mind clearing until he’s in a much more present and aware headspace, enough so that Derek clearly notices it.

“You feeling a bit more like yourself?”

Spencer nods, and offers a small smile, trying to ignore the curls of humiliation and self-loathing working their way up his throat. Thoughts he hasn’t had in years are bursting at the seams Spencer had sewn tightly around them, brought up by physical memory alone, and he’s trying to hold them back, but somewhere in the back of his head, there’s his dad again, whispering dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, di—

“Hey, Spence,” he hears, and he snaps his head up, his dad’s voice shutting up and making room for Derek’s — Derek’s soft and gentle reassurances, his promises that he’s here and he’s safe and everything will be okay. “You got a bit lost in your head again there, kid. You alright?”

Spencer sighs tiredly, and a tear runs down his face unbidden. He’s not crying exactly, just— leaking. Leaking in the way a tap that hasn’t been turned on for years does when it finally experiences a much overdue release of pressure. Leaking in the way Spencer Reid does when he has a flashback to the sexual abuse he experienced as a child for the first time in two and a half years.

“Spencer,” Derek says, and something in his voice catches his attention, something serious, something earnest. He looks over at him. “Spencer, I know what you’re going through.”

His cheeks pale and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears because those words, that means— surely not, right? How could Derek— how could he—

“It happened to me, too.”

And there’s the confirmation. There are the five words that have him breaking down again, tears splashing into hot chamomile tea and onto cold, cold hands, sobs wracking his sore and tired shoulders. No one should have to go through what he did, no one. Especially not— God, especially not—

“Hey, Spencer, listen to me,” Derek says urgently scooting closer on the sofa until he can lift Spencer’s chin up with his hands and raise his head until their eyes are locked on one another and he can bear witness to the pain and the openness and the concern swimming in his dark brown irises. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re safe. Don’t cry, pretty boy, everything’s gonna be just fine, I promise.”

He pauses to give Spencer a little time to catch his breath, but after a couple of minutes he speaks up again. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Spencer knows it will break his heart to hear. He doesn’t want to listen to a story in which Derek Morgan was the victim and not the hero, not his hero, but part of him knows that he needs to hear it; needs to know that he wasn’t and isn’t alone. And he can’t help but wonder whether maybe Derek needs to say it. Whether he also needs to tell someone what happened and have them empathise completely, have them say “I understand, I know what you’re going through” and have them mean it.

So he nods.

“His name was Carl Buford,” Derek says, resting the hand not clutching Spencer’s ankle on his knee, “and he was my football coach. A hero of the community. After my dad died, I got in a little trouble on the streets, right, and as a result, I got a record. Eventually, that record was expunged, and I learned that Buford had done it. I was confused, obviously, but he told me I had potential, that I was special, that I was going places and he was gonna help me get there.

“And so we started spending more time together. At first, it was just one-on-one football training and some run of the mill mentoring, and I finally felt like I had a real father figure again, someone who I could look up to and talk to and trust. Until one day when he took me up to his cabin. He gave me Helgeson wine to intoxicate me, and then convinced me to go skinny-dipping in a lake with him but when we came back to the cabin, he started— he started rubbing up against me. It eventually spiralled into… molestation and rape. He used to say "You better man up, boy, look up to the sky" when I would cry out for him to stop, or later — when some shameful part of me had accepted it — when I would wince in pain or he could sense I didn’t want to be there.

“And that went on for years until I guess I outgrew his preference and he— I mean— I guess, I guess he must have moved on.”

Spencer wants to be sick, and he’s pretty sure Derek feels the same, so all he can do is lean forward and wrap Derek in the tightest hug he can manage while they cry together.

“Did you ever tell anyone?” Spencer asks after a little time has passed.

Derek nods. “When it started affecting my football career in college, I started seeing a therapist, and I’ve really gotten to a place now where I’ve come to terms with it. As much as I’m ever going to be able to anyway. Half of that therapy was me grieving for the childhood I lost, expressing the anger I felt towards Buford in a healthy way, and then accepting that there isn’t anything I can do to undo the pain except work my ass off at the BAU putting guys like him behind bars since I lost my chance with him.”

Spencer nods. “I’m sorry he isn’t in prison.”

Derek shrugs his shoulders a little, pulling out of the hug. “I keep tabs on him. If I ever so much as catch a whiff of him hurting one of the boys at the centre I’ll be on him in no time. Just… waiting for the evidence, I guess.”

Spencer takes the hand resting on top of his knee and squeezes it, a show of solidarity his tongue can’t manage.

They sit in silence for long, comfortable minutes before Spencer finally feels like sharing. He knows that Derek isn’t expecting anything: if he never wanted to explain, he knows Derek would understand completely, but something about knowing he’ll understand like no one else can, that he can share and feel safe in doing so has his own story rolling off his tongue like it never has before.

“It was my dad,” Spencer says quietly, a confession he’s always been too ashamed to make. “The first time it happened was the night of my sixth birthday. He said that the day was his own celebration, because he’d waited so long and he was finally going to get his prize. He raped me. It wasn’t like that every time, sometimes he’d stop at… touching or— or fellatio, sometimes he’d come into my room and stand over me, getting off on how scared I was anticipating the act that never came.

“He left when I was ten, not far away from my eleventh birthday, and a big part of me always wondered whether the main reason he left was that I wasn’t in his preferential age group anymore. But when I was thirteen, I bumped into him in a hotel in California of all places, and even though I was bigger and stronger and nowhere near as vulnerable, he still got the best of me, he still weaseled his way into my room and took advantage of me again. After that time I carried pepper spray everywhere I went until the FBI issued me a gun. I swore I’d never let it happen again.”

Derek looks desperately sad when he finally meets his eyes again, and before he knows it he’s being wrapped in another hug, and they’re both in pieces again. However painful these memories are, though, the release of them is more cathartic than anything Spencer’s ever experienced; crying together with another survivor over everything they lost, the people that stole their childhoods and abused them for years on end, their younger, scared selves, desperate for someone to save them.

It hurts Spencer’s heart, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer than right in this moment.

“Is this the first time you’ve talked about this, Spence?” Derek asks eventually, with his cheek resting on the top of Spencer’s head.

“Yes,” he admits, another tear dripping onto the hands curled anxiously in his lap.

Derek pulls away and looks him in the eye, cupping his face gently and brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m proud of you.”

As broken and unseemly and ripped open and torn apart as he feels right now, as exposed as this entire ordeal has made him feel, for the first time, he thinks he agrees with Derek.

His trust was destroyed by the person supposed to protect him, and he’s carried the trauma of being sexually abused as a young child around with him for the last two decades, and still, he’s here. He’s brave enough to share himself with Derek, and he’s strong enough to cry and grieve and ache for the scared six-year-old boy he wishes he could go back in time and save.

Right now, in the early evening light of the flat and the safe and supportive arms of his best friend, he’s proud of himself, too. And that feels really damn good to finally say.

Please practice self-care after reading this, especially if you are also a survivor. RAINN Rape Crisis UK International Help for Survivors

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (taglist form)

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (26) - [CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

They filed into the courtroom one by one, a nervous band of shaking hands and uncertain faces. Kara wanted, once again, to sit with Y/N, but she had to satisfy herself with a kiss, and tucking a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, before Lena ushered Kara off to sit in their previous seats.

It had been hell, sitting through Y/N’s testimony, especially knowing that Schott probably was turning a deaf ear to everything the young woman was saying. Kara didn’t know how that was exactly possible; there was nothing in what Y/N told that should lead anyone to believe she’d had a happy life with James Olsen. Kara had wanted to run up to the table and take Y/N in her arms, telling her that everything would be okay. And she wanted to punch Iris West.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Kara muttered to her.

Lena slipped an arm around Kara and squeezed her close. “Breathe, little one,” she whispered, and Kara didn’t object to the term of endearment. “You need to be strong for her, because if you’re not, who else is going to be?”

“I have to think about myself too, you know,” Kara said with a sigh. The talk she’d have to have with her bosses was looming ever-present in her mind, even as she tried to shove it away and concentrate on Y/N.

Not like my Miss Kara.

They were words that simultaneously thrilled her, and damned her. Kara knew that morally and legally she hadn’t done anything wrong; her bosses couldn’t keep her away from Y/N. But ethically… ethically she’d broken every rule in the book. Don’t get involved with a client. Don’t give a client preferential treatment. Don’t fall in love with a client.

Alex’s knowing face had told Kara that she knew what was in store for her, and Kara couldn’t help but absurdly wonder if she’d called her bosses to be there. There wasn’t any reason for them to be there, they usually never expressed interest in court cases involving clients.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Lena said when Kara voiced her fears. “I think Alex learned her lesson about not being upfront with you.”

“And I’m not telling you to not care for yourself,” Lena added. “You ought to know me better than that. Your first priority is to yourself. But don’t get so lost in it that you forget Y/N, too.”

“And you know me bet—“ Kara trailed off as the door opened and she and the others stood up as Judge Schott entered.

“Be seated,” he said. “Mr. Olsen, remain standing, please.”

His smile to James filled Kara with dread as she sat down and Lena took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kara looked at Y/N, who sat there stone-faced, as if she knew what was to come, and was steeling herself for the inevitability.

“I’m going to get right to the point,” Judge Schott said smoothly. “Mr. Olsen, I find you not guilty of the charge of neglect.”

Kara growled low in her throat and Lena’s hand tightened around hers.

“I find that you provided Y/N with food, shelter, and the discipline that should be given to a submissive. Since you did not have a contract outlining rules and the consequences for breaking those rules, as well as the establishment of a safe word, it is the judgment of this court that you cannot be held responsible for going beyond acceptable punishment.”

Iris West-Allen looked startled at Judge Schott’s words, a fact that gave Kara no small amount of satisfaction. The man’s own lawyer hadn’t even believed in him. Alex glanced over at Kara, a combined expression of regret and triumph on her face. Kara knew she’d want to start phase two of bringing down Schott as soon as possible, but Kara felt tired, so impossibly tired.

And she only had eyes for Y/N.

“While the court finds you not guilty of the charges of neglect, the court does find that you did not obtain a contract, including the use of a safe word, at the beginning of your relationship with Y/N, as is required by law.”

“Slap on the wrist,” Kara muttered, and Lena shushed her.

“The court therefore sentences you to one month of probation as well as one month of Dominant education classes. Before you enter a claim with another submissive you will be required to submit proof that you attended these classes, is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” James Olsen replied; Kara found it curious that instead of looking relieved, Olsen seemed more… sad than anything.

Good, Kara thought. Maybe his conscience was finally catching up to him.

“Do you have any questions?” the judge was asking Y/N, though by his tone it was obvious any question she could ask would be considered stupid, and a waste of time.

“Do I- do I have to go back with him?” Y/N asked softly.

Kara nearly retched; it was only Lena’s hand still gripping hers that kept her from doing so. She hadn’t even entertained that possibility. Y/N had left James; there had been no thought in Kara’s mind about her having to return to him, or even still being bound to him. But Judge Schott had insisted on calling her Hastings-Olsen…

Oh god. What if—

“Do you want to be with him?”

This time, Y/N’s voice was strong, solid.

“Not if he were the last Dominant on earth.”

Kara smirked; next to her, Lena chuckled.

“You’ve taught her well.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s all Y/N,” she said proudly. “I’ve had nothing to do with that.”

“I think you have, more than you know.”

Maybe, she thought to herself, but the judge was speaking again.

“If you don’t want to be with him—“

“But I want to be with her,” James interrupted. He leaned forward, his hands splayed open on the table.

For a moment, Kara realized, the roles had changed. James was the one reaching out in supplication, and this time Y/N had the upper hand. This time, it was Y/N who had the power over James Olsen.

“I love you, and I’m sorry,” he insisted. “Things will be different, you’ll see. I know how to do things better now, you have to come home.”

There was a pause that seemed, to Kara, to go on forever before Y/N answered.

“I will go home, but not with you.” She looked at the judge. “I don’t want to be with him.”

A second pause; Kara and everyone else jumped at the sound of the gavel. When had that appeared?

“The claim is dissolved, and court is adjourned.”

The room emptied out quickly; Lena had gone off to console Sam, who seemed to be muttering swear words under her breath while glaring at the door through which Schott had made his hasty exit. Lucy’s job was done so she felt no need to linger around after a simple touch on Y/N’s shoulder and an apologetic smile. Alex allowed Maggie to wrap her arms around her, and the two women stopped in front of Kara.

“We’ll talk later?” Alex asked quietly.

Kara nodded, her gaze focused on the girl sat at the table in the front of the room.

“We’ll talk later.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You’ll call me. Alex?" She stopped and turned back.

Kara smiled. “Love you.”

She winked. “Love you too.”

Kara turned back around, watching her in the silence of the almost empty room. Watched as Y/N took a breath in, out, fingers flexing against the laminate wood of the table. What thoughts were warring with themselves in her mind? Kara wondered. She wondered if it was the same thought that kept running through Kara’s own mind.

Y/N was free.

Free. To enjoy personal rights or liberty, as a person who is not in slavery. Pertaining to or reserved for those who enjoy personal liberty.

To make free; set at liberty; release from bondage or imprisonment.

Schott may not have given them what they really wanted – James in prison, but he’d given Y/N exactly what she needed, had needed ever since she was a sixteen year old, terrified submissive.

A voice. A decision. A choice.

The claim is dissolved.

Kara sat in her chair and watched Y/N. In, out, hands flat on the table. Lips parted, eyes ahead.

“It’s not my fault.”

The battle was raging. Kara nodded.

“It’s not.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I-I’m free.”

Kara stood up and moved to the front of the room, to the table, positioning herself on it in front of Y/N.

“You’re free.”

Y/N looked at her, then wrapped her arms around Kara’s waist and rested her head on Kara’s lap.

“I can do whatever I want.”

Kara stroked her fingers through Y/N’s hair. It was always so soft, she thought.

“You can do whatever you want.”

Y/N let out a shuddering sigh, and Kara hunched forward slightly, covering Y/N as best she could in a hug and kissing the top of her head. She sat back up, her hand in the girl’s hair.

“What do you think you want?” Kara asked.

Y/N was quiet, and Kara felt a little worried about what Y/N’s answer might be. Perhaps she’d say she wanted time. Her own apartment. Which would be nice, really, Kara knew that Y/N was probably ready to leave Nia’s, leave Mt. Overland House behind. It would be absurd to think that Y/N would want to move in with Kara; it was absurd to think that that would even be a good idea at this point.

But what if she said she wanted to see other people? Maybe she wanted to try to submit to someone else, someone who wasn’t Kara. Maybe she didn’t want to submit at all.

But it would be her choice, Kara knew. Her choice, and she’d stand by whatever Y/N decided. Because she was free.

“A cheeseburger.”

Kara tilted her head. “What?”

“A cheeseburger, Miss Kara,” Y/N said, lifting her own head and smiling at Kara a little, her eyes sparkling with tears. Happy tears. “I’m starving.”

“Then you should get a cheeseburger,” Kara said with a laugh, her fears a little relieved. “You certainly deserve one.”

“Why didn’t he believe me?” Y/N asked, and Kara knew the opposing side of the battle was making its move.

“I told the truth…”

“I know,” Kara soothed, pulling Y/N up from her lap and cupping her cheek. “I am so proud of you. But we knew how this was most likely to turn out, Y/N. Judge Schott clearly had his mind made up before you even spoke.”

“I just thought if he heard me, if he listened—“

“He didn’t want to listen, little one.” Kara leaned forward and gently kissed Y/N’s lips. “But that doesn’t mean that you weren’t right, that this was your fault. None of this is your fault, and you know that now.”

Y/N stared at her for a long moment, and Kara was glad to see a new resolve appear in her eyes, and Kara was pretty sure she knew which side had won the battle.

“I know it wasn’t my fault.”

Kara smiled and kissed Y/N’s forehead. “Let’s go get that cheeseburger, shall we?” She had her own resolve, to put the impending meeting with her bosses out of her mind, at least for now.

He was waiting for her as Kara walked out holding Y/N’s hand. The surprise in his eyes told Kara that James hadn’t expected her to be there as well; had he expected to ambush Y/N in an empty hallway? Y/N’s hand tightened in hers.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you.” He flicked his gaze to Kara. “Alone.”

Kara opened her mouth, but Y/N beat her to it. “That’s not happening.” She couldn’t help but smirk.

“We need to talk. I want to talk to you now.”

His hand was around Y/N’s arm, and Kara sprang into action, pulling Y/N behind her and positioning herself in front of James.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes never leaving James’s face.

“I’m fine, Miss Kara.”

“Good.” She addressed James. “You’re going to leave her alone.”

“Says who?” he snorted.

“Says me.”

Kara smiled at Y/N’s words, and nodded. “You’re going to leave her alone. Your claim is dissolved. You had a good thing and you cruelly, brutally mistreated one of the most beautiful things you could have ever been given.”

“I didn’t know what I—“

“You’re right. You didn’t know, and you still don’t. You don’t know that women are no longer required to accept mediocrity when they deserve superiority.” He looked confused, but Kara didn’t bother to stop to explain.

“You are the poorest excuse for a dominant I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and I am so sorry that Y/N ever had to suffer under your stupidity. But I’m also glad.”

Kara reached behind her and grasped Y/N’s hand again, pulling the girl forward so that they were standing close.

“I’m glad because now she knows what she should have had, and what she still can have. So no, you’re not going to talk to her, and no, she’s not going back to you, and yes, you’re going to leave her alone.”

She stepped so that she was so close to James she could feel his breath on her; it didn’t matter that he could easily crush her. Protecting Y/N made her feel ten feet tall.

“Because if you don’t, I will make your life a living hell, James Olsen.”

For the rest of her life Kara would consider it a personal triumph when James Olsen walked away with a glare, and Y/N threw back her head, laughing, as she picked Kara up and spun her around in a hug.

Two days later, triumph was the last thing on her mind when Kara was sat in the boardroom at SETS, facing down Bamford and Truelove. It was awkward, Kara thought, knowing that she would have to justify her actions to someone named Truelove. She would have thought he’d understand, but his stony expression as they both stared at her told her that she wouldn’t be that lucky. Of course.

“Are you Miss Hastings’s mistress?”

Apparently there weren’t even going to be forced, meaningless pleasantries; just jumping straight to the point. “No,” Kara answered.

“But she refers to you as Miss Kara.”

“That’s what you heard,” Kara said wearily. “And that’s why we’re here.”

“Kara.” Mr. Bamford folded his hands together and leaned forward against the table, regarding her with something that was between father and executioner. “We’re here because based on Miss Hastings’s comments during the hearing, it’s clear that you overstepped your boundaries as an employee of the Society for the Ethical Treatment of Submissives.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Kara insisted, though she knew in the end it wouldn’t matter.

“Is she submitting to you?” Truelove asked, and Kara sighed inwardly.

It was well-known, Alex had told her when she’d started at SETS, that Truelove’s aim was to become Bamford’s right hand man, and it didn’t matter who he railroaded to get to that point.

“Yes.”

“Are you making a claim on her?”

Kara glanced out the window. “I don’t know.”

“So you picked a patient at Mt. Overland House, ingratiated yourself into her life without regard to her recovery or treatment, and coerced her into submitting to you, but you don’t know if you’re making a claim on her?”

Kara slapped her hands on the table and stood up, beginning to pace around the room.

“From day one my only thought has been for Y/N’s well-being,” she said. “I didn’t pick her as if she was at a trade auction, I did not pick her as if she were a target for some… nefarious plan of domination. Things just… happened.”

“And they’re not supposed to,” Bamford said, a measure of kindness in his voice. “Sit down, Kara.”

She sat, still on edge, her foot tapping nervously.

“You’ve been trained,” Bamford said. “You’ve been trained, and you’re an excellent worker. You truly do have your clients’ best interests at heart, but I don’t think you can deny that you skirted your responsibilities to pursue a relationship with Miss Hastings.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Kara said, and narrowed her eyes when Truelove laughed out loud.

“Stop it,” Bamford admonished him, and Kara refrained from sticking her tongue out. Bamford regarded her and shook his head.

“Legally, you didn’t. Morally, you didn’t. You can’t help who you fall in love with, Kara. The heart wants what it wants.”

Kara managed a smile as his words sank in. The heart wants what it wants.

“But we cannot have an employee who is in love with a client.”

“She’s not a client anymore, the claim has been dissolved and she’ll be leaving Nia’s house on the Mt. Overland grounds.”

“To move in with you?” Truelove asked; Kara didn’t answer.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that all of this happened while she was still a client. Didn’t you at any time think that perhaps you shouldn’t be dominating her?”

Kara shook her head. “We all know why I’m here, and we all know what you’ve already decided, so why don’t you save me some precious time and just tell me.”

Bamford sighed and looked at her. “We will give you two weeks to submit your resignation. If we don’t have the paperwork in hand when two weeks are up, you’ll be terminated.”

“So quit or be fired,” Kara translated, her hands beginning to tremble. She hadn’t actually thought it would be that bad. “Can I not just be transferred to another department?”

“So you can case for your next claim?”

“Truelove, go make yourself useful,” Bamford said. “Get me a coffee.”

He waited until his coworker had left with a huff, and then shook his head at Kara. “If he wasn’t my nephew,” he sighed, and Kara giggled a little.

“We can’t transfer you to another department,” Bamford said, sounding regretful. “Kara, I would if I could but you’ve compromised the good work we’re trying to do here. Who is going to take submissives’ rights seriously if counselors, advocates, workers start falling in love with them and getting into relationships? You’re a liability.”

He laid his hand on Kara’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Kara stood up and moved towards the door, then paused to glance back at her boss. “You’ll have my resignation in a couple of days.”

“I’ll probably look for another job in a few days,” Kara said to her fathers, later as she was curled up on their couch in a pair of her old pajamas and indulging in a pint of ice cream.

Her fathers exchanged a look. “What about New York?” Randy asked carefully.

“What about it?”

“Kara,” David admonished softly.

“Now you can go to New York.”

“I don’t want to go to New York.”

“That’s crap, young lady, and you know it.”

Kara winced, and Randy wrapped his arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s my fault you’re still here.”

“Dad—“

“Hush while your elders are speaking, Kara Zor-El.” Kara rolled her eyes but fell silent. “It’s my fault that you’re still here. I should never have let you use my illness as an excuse not to chase your dreams. But you’re still young, you still have plenty of time, and now you have the opportunity. You’d be a fool not to take it.”

“Then I’m a fool,” Kara muttered, concentrating on the ice cream.

“What are you so afraid of, Sophie?” David asked, and she shrugged. “I know Y/N would want to go with you.”

“Y/N needs to make her own decisions about that.”

“You’re right, but is it her decision if you don’t even give her the opportunity to make it?”

“Do you love her?”

Kara just looked at him. She had thought it was obvious, but putting it into words, that was a whole different matter.

“Do you want to make a claim on her?”

“I don’t know, Daddy.”

Wasn’t this what she wanted? Kara thought. Everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place. Y/N was free to make up her own mind, and Kara was reasonably certain if she offered Y/N a collar, Y/N would accept it. Though it wouldn’t be a collar she’d offer, Kara knew. Maybe a necklace. A delicate chain with a dainty lock. Silver, and a gold star on. Or perhaps just a simple ribbon with a charm…  Maybe white. Green? And what would the ceremony be like? Would they even have a ceremony? Well, of course they would. They’d have the chance to stand there in front of everyone – well, Kara would stand, Y/N would kneel. And Kara would make her claim, pledging her love for always. Y/N would answer that she would be Kara’s girl, Kara’s little one, as long as they live. What would she wear, Kara wondered. But it wouldn’t matter to her; Y/N could wear anything and she’d still be the prettiest girl Kara had ever met.

She was smiling, and the look her fathers were giving each other now told Kara that yes, she really was obvious. Kara sighed.

It was what she wanted, more than anything. But an offer was just that, an offer. And as “reasonably certain” as she was about Y/N’s answer, an offer could be turned down. A heart open with love could be broken. And though she called Y/N hers, though Y/N was her little one, it was in words only. There was no contract, no signatures, no rules or safe words on paper. At least not officially. Ultimately the decision would be Y/N’s, and Kara knew that a decision wasn’t always “yes.”

And New York… New York could mean too many things that were too uncertain. New York could mean success and happiness, or New York could mean endless auditions, one rejection after another, a career working as a waitress instead of on Broadway. A high-rise apartment in a great part of town, or a dumpy studio with bars on the window. And if she couldn’t provide for Y/N, what would she do then? Y/N deserved better than having to support Kara because she couldn’t be successful. She wanted more than anything to believe that New York would be the beginning of a magical new life for herself and Y/N, but Y/N had already had her hopes and dreams shattered once before; Kara didn’t know that she was willing to risk doing that to her again.

“You should at least talk to her,” her daddy said. “It’s not fair to Y/N for you to just shut her out of this decision. Of course it’s yours to go to New York or not, but to not ask Y/N for her input… It would seem to me that you’d be telling her all her hard work after James was for nothing.”

That wasn’t what Kara wanted to do, at all. Y/N had worked so hard, she was so strong now, probably the strongest person Kara knew. And the last thing she wanted to do was send a message to Y/N that Kara, who had believed in her more than anyone, thought she was too weak to share in Kara’s concerns, Kara’s dreams, Kara’s life.

But Kara could handle being fired. She could handle living in Lima for the rest of her life. What she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle, was a rejection from Y/N.

“The sky’s the limit, Kara,” her dad said quietly, squeezing her close. “The sky’s the limit, and Y/N can share that with you.”

She started to answer, but the vibrating of her cell phone distracted her. Kara glanced at it; Y/N’s smiling face stared up at her as it had for the past ten times she had called since Kara had left the SETS building.

Kara picked up her phone.

“Hi, little one. I think we should talk.”

[kiefbowl]

Hi, im 23 and my boyfriend is 44. We've been together for just over a year and have been good together, we have open communication and mutual respect. I guess I'm just wondering, in your opinion, because I respect you and value your thought processes, if its still wrong or predatory? I love him very much, he seems to love me too. Am I being naive?

Thank you for the appreciation. I’d like to put a caveat up front that I can’t know what your relationship looks like, and the only one who knows what it’s like and how healthy it is is you. Additionally, a relationship can have healthy qualities and unhealthy qualities, and good people can have a bad relationship. Healthy parts doesn’t mean the whole is good. 

No, I don’t think you’re being naive. I don’t think there’s any value judgement to attach to a 23 year old entering a relationship with a 44 year old. It does make my eyebrows raise. I find it extremely difficult to believe a 44 year old and a 23 year old have a healthy, mutually beneficial relationship. I don’t think it’s impossible for large age gaps to exist in a healthy relationships necessarily, but when it happens with someone in their 20s, that rings alarm bells to me. Your 20s are still formative years, and it can be hard to see that while you’re living them. There’s a lot of growth you’re going to do before you turn 30. Your career probably hasn’t really taken root yet, your earning potential is going to (probably) increase (maybe even very drastically at some point), you probably don’t really own a lot of stuff and the stuff you own is most likely not all that important to you or of good quality, you’re still young enough to be under your parents insurance, your credit is likely not that great (not that it’s bad, but age of credit lines is a big factor in your credit score), among other admin things that might not seem that big of a deal but do help you form an identity. When I was 23, my responsibility as a consumer was nonexistent because I was poor, at points unemployed, at points living at home...it’s only in the past few years I could start challenging myself to live up to my values and a sense of character that’s important to me as a consumer because I can move around the world more freely. It comes with money, but also career position. So that’s one aspect of being 23...

The other aspect of being 23 is you are very, very, very young, and even without a lot of money it can be very fun to be very, very, very young. It can be a lot of fun being older, too. I’m not old, by any means, but from this point in my life looking forward I’m much more excited to get older than I was at 23. At 23 I dreaded it because it felt like I was running out of time to be young. You get older and you learn to accept it and you realize how much in your life can change in a short time and you realize there’s wisdom, position, and status to gain in each decade of your life. Obviously, not every one is fortunate and not everyone is going to have increasing good fortune as they age, but regardless of what you make or do, you learn and grow as you get older, and I think it’s easier to appreciate as your enter your 30s. So don’t worry about getting older, but let me tell you 23 is FUN. 

23 was also the worst year of my life. I couldn’t afford chicken nuggets. But my friends and I were also working a crummy starbucks job that gave me almost no responsibility. I would wake up at 11, smoke weed and eat cereal, watch netflix, walk to work, work 2:30 - 11, then go out to a bar with my friends and eat cheap wings until 2 am, go home and play with my cat and go to bed literally whenever in an apartment with no furniture to take care of. I’d be off on a random weekday and grab another random friend who was off to go on day trip in their shitty car to Milwaukee for the hell of it, or go take a long walk on the beach listening to music all day, or go downtown and go to a museum on a discount day because no one was there, or ride my bike in the summer sun to nowhere in particular in the middle of the day because people were at work, and then come back home and do fuck all. Then I’d do it all again, plus steal croissants from work and drink endless coffee all day. And it didn’t matter, I could wake up the next day energized. Yes, I was stressed out, and I didn’t always appreciate the joy that can be found in that life because of it also sucked ass, but the energy and fortitude you have as a young 20 something is a beautiful thing to live through. I wouldn’t go back to that life now having the space I’ve made myself in the world, but I love thinking back to it and I’m glad it happened. I had to work really really hard to carve my little place in the world (and I’m not done yet!!), but there was a moment right before I hit the pavement to make that happen where my life felt endless, fresh, uninhibited, palpable. 23 has a different freedom than 30 for me. Money allows me to move in the world freely at 30, time allowed me to move in the world freely at 23. At 23, you can do dumb things, party, hang out, be lazy, be reckless, make quick decisions, change your mind...and it’s good, not bad. It’s learning, and it’s fun. It’s celebration, and it gives you hard lessons worth learning.

A relationship is a lot of responsibility, and it can take the place of some of that youthful freedom. That’s not always a bad thing, love can be very fulfilling. When you’re strapped for cash, it can also be financially helpful. Two 20-somethings joining forces can get each other on their feet to be independent at a time it’s a struggle to do it alone. You’re in the same boat, you have the same struggle. But a 44 year old isn’t experiencing life the same way you are. And believe me, 44 year olds know that. A litmus test to to your bf’s intentions might be how he talks about that fact. Does it ever come up? Does he speak about it freely? Does he laud it over you or do you share experiences with each other like companions?

This isn’t the only factor to consider when trying to figure out if your bf is “predatory” in your words. Who your boyfriend may be and his intentions aren’t the only thing to consider when you want to figure out if you should be in a relationship with him. Who YOU are is equally important. I don’t know a 23 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. I don’t know a 24 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. I don’t know a 25 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. Maybe that’s true for every year, but the differences between my life one year to the next between 20 - 26 were striking. I walked out on two jobs when I had nothing in my bank account simply because “fuck this”....this year I was terrified to lose my job because what about my retirement fund. I work for “the man” now when 6 years ago I caused a mass walk out at work. I’m probably not going to have a radically different life next year. That wasn’t true of my early 20s. The switch from “my life is a mess but it can be anything” to “next year I should start a will and keep care of my assets” happens quicker than you think. Is he letting you live that life right now? Is he encouraging it? Believe me, you can be a mess at any age (and it can be a fun mess, too), and you aren’t old at 30 or even 40 or honestly even 50, you’re just not as tided to things in your 20s. Is he clipping your wings to be kept, or is he letting you fly recklessly into the sun just so you can see how far is too far? You just can’t get 23 back. It’s a lot harder to crash and burn and then pop back up without a scratch after your 20s. Does he want to crash and burn with you? Will he even let you without him? Does he know if you go out into the world young and messy you might learn a lesson or two that makes won’t make him appealing to you anymore? Is his love coming from a place where he wants you to thrive by your own mistakes? Is he excited to watch you walk out the door to take on a new day blind but fearless, just so you can come home and tell him the adventure you took and how it changed you? Or does he find that childish, exhausting, unfitting? Does he want to see you grow into “his” adulthood? Does he need you to fit into his established life more than he wants to live and work beside your unestablished life? I couldn’t even date someone younger with your age difference. They would be 8. But would I tell an 8 year old not to learn to ride a bike because I can just give them a ride in my car, or would I tell them it’s worth learning even though I know they’re going to scratch their knees up? If I loved an 8 year old, I know to see them thrive they have to scratch their knees up a little and I can’t get in the way of it, or they might not learn to ride their bike to take long rides in the summer sun. 

[anakin-danvers]

powerful

gif credit to owner

Obi-Wan Kenobi x fem!reader

Request: “YOU HIT ONE HUNDRED CONGRATS YOU BEAUTIFUL HUMAN i hope you feel loved and appreciated bc you are!! so very much!! anywaysss can i pls request obi-wan x fem reader and he tells her "you are so fucking powerful” ??” as requested by @corellians-only

Description: After a moment of vulnerability, Obi-Wan reminds you of your strength.

Word count: ~2.5k

Warnings: some angst, language, self-conscious/unappreciated feeling reader, crying, fluff buffet

A/N: a part of my 100 follower celebration! 🥳 thank you Cristina for the request!! 🥰 I hope you all like it! 💞💞

Tags: @acnini @roseofalderaan @ohhellokenobi @goldenkenobi @snips-n-skyguy0501 @cherieboba @catsnkooks @sacred-things @corellians-only @nobie @rishi-moon @obirain @highlycommendable​

join my taglist!

——

The hot tears flow down your cheeks. Weak, weak, you’re so weak. The thought replays in your head once, twice, multiple times. You bite the inside of your cheek, your attempt at controlling your emotions falling short. 

It’s moments like these where you wish you could just leave. Where to, you aren’t sure; all you know is you don’t want to be here, not right now. Your hand comes up to wipe the wetness at your face away, a sense of dread setting within you for reacting the way you did. 

It’s not that big of a deal, just ignore it. 

You wish you could. But for whatever reason, you can’t. It affects you more than you’d ever admit, and each time you can’t help but replay the same words in your head: weak, weak, weak. 

This is not a rare occurrence, and that’s part of what makes you feel so powerless. It seems every time you have a confrontation, your eyes open the faucets of tears. It makes you feel small, so utterly small. 

It’s no different this time. You work in Coruscant’s Senate Executive Building, part of the security division. You’re under the section that organizes the various Senate Guards, determining shifts, layouts, and other such business. You usually love your job, feeling as if you’re doing your part in keeping the peace across the galaxy. However, there are times that you feel unfit for the job, just like today. 

You mishandled a few of the schedules for the week, giving the guard units who usually cover each other the same day off. As a result, there was no one to guard one of the main landing hangars. Thankfully, no mishaps happened, but when your supervisor found out you were the one responsible, he gave you the sermon that caused your break. 

After he had reminded you for the umpteenth time just how dangerous your mistake had been, he dismissed you for the day. The walls of his office did nothing to stop your colleagues from hearing  every word, so you waited until you were out of their deep stares to let the tears flow freely. 

Now you’re headed—actually, you don’t know where you’re headed. You’re walking around the corridors of the building mindlessly, not exactly wanting to go home to be alone with your thoughts. It’s only until you hear a soft voice behind you that you realize which corridor you had walked into. 

At the voice’s second call, you turn around, the worried face of Senator Padmé Amidala looking back at you. 

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You bite the inside of your cheek again, the question causing the somewhat controlled tears to jump back to the corners of your eyes, ready to be released onto your face. Padmé’s face softens, and she approaches you to take a hold of your hand. 

“Here, let’s go somewhere else,” she says, leading you to her office. 

You want to protest, not wanting to be a burden for Padmé, but you can’t find the strength to say anything without breaking down again. When the two of you enter her office, you feel some of the weight on your shoulders lessen thanks to being away from the public eye. She let’s go of your hand, and walks to the couches. She takes a seat, and you stand there for a second, contemplating whether you should sit down or just excuse yourself.

“Please, Y/N, take a seat.”

You oblige, taking a seat on the couch next to her. Padmé and you are friends, your friendship developing thanks to your position. You see each other often in the building, and would often greet one another; one day in particular, your greeting had become more of an actual conversation, and you two soon wound up having tea together at least once a week. The scent of your favorite tea takes you out of your thoughts, and you look over to see Padmé already serving you a cup. She hands it over to you, a soft and comforting smile on her face. 

“Now, do you want to talk about how you’re doing?”  

You take a sip before answering. “It’s nothing really, Senator Amidala. I’ve...I’ve just had a long day.”

A frown etches itself onto her features. She knows you’re keeping the details from her, but she won’t insist. “Well, if it helps, we can talk about other things, to keep your mind off of work. And please, you know you don’t have to be formal with me.”

You nod, not having realized you’d let the formal title slip. “Yes, that’d be nice. Tell me, how has your senator business been?”

With the question, Padmé begins a rundown on all the things she’s been working on since your last meeting. She talks about the recent blockade attempt by the Trade Federation, as well as some of the issues the Loyalist Committee have been discussing. It helps clear your mind, as she had suggested, and you’re thankful for it. 

You go up to wipe the corner of your eye to rid of the crusty feeling left by your dried tears. You‘re smiling, the usual smile you have whenever you’re with Padmé. She’s telling you about a rather amusing experience she recently had at a senator dinner when there’s a quick knock on the door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me get that,” Padmé says, patting your hand before getting up to open the door. 

When she does open it, the unmistakable dark robes of Anakin Skywalker catch your eye. You see he makes a move to step in, a wide smile on his face. At the sight of you, however, he stops, a surprised look replacing his smile as he speaks to Padmé in a hushed tone. 

Placing your cup down, you stand and make your way over to the door. You plan to give them some space, knowing they’d both appreciate it. You’ve suspected for some time now that there is something going on between the Jedi and your friend, something more than a work relationship or a friendship even.  

You stand near Padmé, close enough for her to notice you but far enough as to not listen in to their conversation. She turns to look at you, Anakin giving you a small smile as he looks at you as well. 

“I should get going, Padmé. I have some things to do before going home tonight. Thank you for the talk.”

“There’s nothing to thank, Y/N. You know I always enjoy our time together.”

You hug her as a goodbye, telling Anakin goodbye as well before leaving the office. You’re a few doors down from Padmé’s office when you hear the soft sound of her door closing, the two having gone inside. 

In reality, you have nothing to do before going home. Leftovers from yesterday will serve for dinner, and you’d gone to get your weekly groceries and supplies a couple days back. No, nothing to do but get started on some work for tomorrow, maybe go to bed a little earlier...

You almost question whether you’re already asleep when you see the personification of your favorite dreams before you. 

“Obi-Wan.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, cerulean eyes locking with yours. He smiles at you, a smile that can take away any worry from your mind. You approach him, your feet seemingly leading you to him on their own. It’s until you’re standing before him that you’re suddenly shy. 

“Y/N, lovely seeing you.” 

Your heart leaps. You’re at a loss for words, and you beg the stars to let you say something. Thankfully, they compromise with you by promoting him to speak. 

“I just arrived with Anakin. I needed to talk with Senator Organa about something, and Anakin said he had some business here as well, though he wouldn’t say what exactly...” he trails off, his voice thoughtful. 

You contemplate telling him that he’s with Padmé, but know you can’t do that. They don’t need anyone else on their tail. 

“Well, I’m sure Anakin knows what he needs to do.”

Obi-Wan nods at your words. “I suppose he does.” The thoughtful expression he held changes to one at ease. “And where are you headed, if I may ask? Maybe I can walk with you.”

It’s the way your heartbeat is thumping at your chest that lets you know this is reality and not indeed a dream. You rush to answer, not wanting to lose your ability to speak once again. 

“I’m headed home, actually. I...I finished early for the day.” Not a lie, but not the entire truth. 

“If I may?” He extends his arm, and you take it, tingling sensations present at the touch. 

Due to your job, you’ve worked with Obi-Wan on different occasions. Like with Padmé, you developed a friendship with the Jedi, one that you’ve come to deeply appreciate. Only, unlike your relationship with Padmé, you have feelings for Obi-Wan, more than the usual feelings one has for friends, even close friends. 

“How was your day? I heard there was a mix up with some guards. I hope that didn’t cause you any problems?”

Your heart sinks at his words. Of course he had heard about that. Just like he’s worked with you before, he’s worked with your department countless times. In fact, he’s currently on an assignment in collaboration with your department, the one he had probably come to discuss with Senator Organa. 

You don’t realize you’ve tightened your grip on Obi-Wan’s arm until he puts his other hand on top of your own. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, worry etched onto his face. 

“Y/N, my dear, is something wrong?”

“I...” The pounding of your heart fills your ears, and you close your eyes while taking a deep breath to try to control it. “I’m okay. I just...I was the one responsible for that mistake.”

Before you know it, the tears have returned to your face. Obi-Wan stops walking when he realizes, taking a soft hold of your arms. You wipe away at your face, embarrassment making you want to run and hide. 

“There, there, it’s okay.” Obi-Wan’s hands, his warm, sturdy hands, rub your arms, the feeling alleviating the pounding of your head. “It was an honest mistake. No one is exempt from making one of those every once in a while.”

You shake your head, all the feelings you’ve cooped up for days now, feelings not even relating to today’s events, come crashing down all at once. 

“I—I know that. It’s not even that which gets me so upset. I just feel so utterly weak,” you say in between your tear induced hiccups. 

“Weak? Darling, you’re not weak.”

“I am, Obi. I’ve been keeping these feelings bottled up inside of me, and I let them get the best of me. They’re the reason I made that stupid mistake, and they’re the reason I broke down after the talk I was given.”

You cover your face with your hands. It’s an attempt to stop the sobs from escaping your mouth, an attempt to hide from Obi-Wan’s searching look, an attempt to just disappear.

The feeling of being pulled into Obi-Wan’s chest is what makes you finally move your hands from your face. When you do, you’re met by his neck, and without any hesitation, you bury your face into it, your arms wrapping around him. He holds you there for what seems like hours, though is most likely just a minute. His hands rub up and down your back, each stroke acting like another hammer into the walls you’d eradicated. 

“It’s been a rough few days.” Your voice is muffled, but Obi-Wan hears you nonetheless. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You’re about to say no, afraid of facing it all. But when his fingers come up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear, the final hammer to your wall causes it to crumble. 

“Yes.”

At your response, he pulls you back, making sure to still keep you close. His hands stay on your arms, keeping you physically and emotionally steady. 

“I’ve been having some problems with my family. It’s...it’s nothing big really. I just haven’t felt very appreciated by them. You know how they can be.”

He nods at your words. You’ve talked to him about them before, and he’s met them on two occasions. 

“I just feel like they don’t see everything I’m doing sometimes. And it really hurts me, because I feel like they expect more and I don’t know if I can give that to them. I—I don’t want you to think they’re horrible people; I love them, very much so, but they do have their faults, as everyone, I suppose.“

“I would never think that,” Obi-Wan says, and at his words, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You’re hesitant about sharing your family troubles with others, especially Obi-Wan. You don’t want him to view them in a bad light, especially because of how important he and they are to you. 

“And I guess that’s been clouding my mind a lot. So when that happened today, I just, I guess I broke. It made me feel like I can’t even do that right, the one thing I pride myself in being good at. And to make matters worse, it made me feel so vulnerable, so weak, how easily I can break.”

“Don’t...” Obi-Wan sighs. “Please don’t think of yourself like that. Y/N, you are so fucking powerful, so strong, so resilient. You are the kindest, most caring being I know. You work so hard, and do it with purpose. I need you to realize that.” His eyes are locked onto your own, light cerulean orbs searching for any reaction from you. 

Your head is spinning. Obi-Wan’s words take a minute to process. When you finally muster the words to speak, he’s still looking at you with the same intensity. 

“Thank you.” 

It’s simple. A thank you. But it’s exactly what sums up everything that you feel as a result of his words. A thank you for reminding you just how powerful you are. 

One of his hands slides down your arm to take a hold of your hand, leaving a blazing  trail at its touch. Holding onto your fingers, he brings your knuckles up to his lips. He kisses them tenderly, leaving you breathless. 

“There’s nothing to thank, my darling.”

Before you let the moment pass, you bring your other hand to hold his. With both of your hands holding onto his own, it’s your turn to kiss his knuckles. Your lips connect with the warm skin, and when you move back, your lips are tingling. 

If Obi-Wan is surprised by your actions, he doesn’t show it. He simply smiles, the smile that you love so much. You smile in return, hoping that you can convey to him just how thankful you are for this, for him.

He does know, for when you see him again the next day, he takes no time to greet you with another kiss on your hand, his lips lingering longer than before, seemingly spelling out the word itself: powerful. 

[dainarps]

Suddenly Husbands

Palm fronds tickled Leilani’s legs and ankles as he danced with some of the other children, adults nearby playing out rhythms on drums, small ukuleles and wooden flutes. Lelani had been practicing traditional dance among his people since he was a child — not that he wasn’t a child now. He was young, only thirteen, on the cusp of puberty and grasping desperately for adulthood.

The next week would be one of his first tests. His parents, Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, would be sailing away to one of their sister kingdoms to work on trade negotiations, and Leilani was going to be left to lead with the aid of the elders — all friendly, kind elves who had helped him grow, each teaching him different aspects of his culture to round him into a great chief. Their people had grown in the ancient days from men living in grass huts with no rulers or leaders, to a sophisticated kingdom, with many cities and townships, with buildings made of earth and stone, hidden in and among the trees of the rainforest and creeping out of the cliffs to the rocky shoreline below. His elders had taught him to respect the old traditions, the arts, their native language and practices, as well as embracing the new. He learned the common language of the land, learned diplomacy, and even spent time attending meetings with the children of other leaders — though, he mostly found this boring. He wanted to be a leader, loved and adored by all, without any of the hard stuff.

Deep, loud horns resonated across the region, and anyone out in the square looked toward the shore. The chief and chieftess were readying to leave.

Leilani was among the many people running through the crowd, his bare feet calloused enough not to get cut on the cutout stone roads, and skilled enough not to slip when jumping over the streams that broke through the city and cascaded down into the ocean below.

The stairs down to the pier were crowded, leaving Leilani with no choice but to jump. A few people on the ledge shouted as Leilani pushed off from the edge of the cliff and threw himself into the air. Rangi put her hand to her face in exasperation, and Kupe grinned, watching as his boy clumsily grabbed hold of a palm tree, slid down its branches and tumbled onto the deck of the boat, hitting it so hard that the crew winced. “You know, my little flower, one day you are going to break a bone and we are not going to let the healers take care of you, just to punish you for your recklessness,” Rangi said.

Leilani grinned and stood up, hardly caring about his bumps and bruises. “But I had to say bye, and nobody was going to let me down here!”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe while we’re away? And take good care of your people,” she replied, and Leilani nodded.

Kupe ruffled his dark hair, knocking it out of the small bun that had been tying some of it back out of his face.

“Don’t let the elders boss you around. You’re a young man now! Listen to their advice, but trust your instincts!”

“What if my instincts say everyone should celebrate the whole week, with food and music, and not go back to working until you get back?” Kupe grinned. “Well, if that’s what your instincts say. But your mother and I know you know better than that.”

Leilani nodded. He had to do a good job or he was sure that his parents would never let him rule, even after they died. They’d come back as ghosts and insist that the elders take care of everything. Leilani knew he could be a strong ruler — a good ruler — he just needed a chance to learn.

“We won’t be long — just a week. We’ll see you soon.”

Leilani exchanged quick hugs and kisses with his parents, then ran off the ship, finally allowing it to leave. He, and the many residents of their city, watched the ship go until its sail was a dot on the horizon, before returning to their day-to-day lives. Leilani, however, returned to the palace, where the elders were waiting for him. He was acting king, and there was much to be done.

By day three, he was bored of it. He had begged his parents to let him do this, and he was regretting it. He missed playing with his friends and dancing and painting. He missed having time to have fun. He was shuffled around from meeting to meeting, guided through talks with locals, reviewing laws. The elders praised him for his work, but by the time he returned to the palace he was often too exhausted to do much but eat and sleep. Funny how he could play all day, but doing this sort of stuff taxed him so much that he wanted nothing to do with it.

On day seven, the day his parents were to return, he couldn’t have been happier. He waited to hear the horns all afternoon, signaling the sight of their ship on the horizon, but they never came. They never came on the eighth or the ninth day, either. By day ten, Leilani was worried, and so were the elders. They made a call to the local priestess, asking her to scry on the matter, to find them and determine if they were in need of assistance.

No matter how hard she worked, she could not link to their souls. None of the priests or priestesses could — not even the strongest in their kingdom, not even with a drop of Leilani’s blood added into the water to guide them.

They were left with only one conclusion. The chief and chieftess — his parents — were dead.

Once the words were said out loud, Leilani felt as if he was drowning. He was drowning under the weight of their death, under his responsibilities, the things the elders were saying and suggesting. What was he supposed to do now? How was it possible that he was the chief? He was just a kid. He hadn’t finished his classes. He had no idea how to rule.

His father had told him to trust his gut…which was why he promptly vomited on the floor, after which he began sobbing.

The elders ushered the priests and priestesses away, while another took him back to his room. He was given time to mourn and grieve, the elders handling the rule, but Leilani knew he couldn’t do this forever. He’d wanted this responsibility for so long, and he didn’t want his parents, in their death, to be disappointed in him. So, fourteen days after their disappearance, Leilani emerged from his room. He wore his ceremonial clothes — loose-fitting pants with a silken shirt, decorated with golden flowers across it. Today would be his first day as chief…and there was a lot to be done.

An investigatory team was put together to discover what happened to the chief and chieftess, to learn if there were any potential outside threats they needed to worry about. Their kingdom was peaceful under this bloodline, and the people were ready to protect the family and its lands. Then, Leilani pulled out a book of spells, which he used to contact their allies and inform them of the situation. The elders knew that right now, more than ever, they needed protection. They needed to strengthen their bonds with one of the bigger kingdoms. They were small, but an important port for their allies. If word got out that the country was being ruled by a child, it was likely that outsiders may come and stage a coup. The elders wanted him to continue to rule, however, which presented a problem. If the elders took over, it would look like they had been the ones to instigate the former chief and chieftess’s deaths.

“Then marriage,” Leilani suggested. The elders seemed confused. “If I wed someone from a bigger country, our two kingdoms will be united — a joint kingdom ruled by someone of age, someone with more experience.” Leilani played a fool, but he knew what the issues were and he knew what they had to do. This was their only option. He had to share custody through marriage.

The elders looked for someone that he could one day have children with, once he became old enough, but any of the female suitors were younger, making them unfit for this plan. in fact, the only single person over 18 was a young man named Shi Shu of Ban Zhi Ze, the sky kingdom, and his council seemed very eager to pair him off.

Leilani accepted without hesitation.

He had never been to Ban Zhi Ze before, but he had heard people speak of its wonders, of how the city had long sunny days due to its position in the sky, how it was built on floating rocks, held up by ancient magic. Its people and buildings were said to be beautiful, but visiting was rare, given the semi-complicated nature of entering the city. Someone up there had to be informed that someone on the ground was trying to enter.

Leilani and the people of Pali Kai made sure to make their arrival heard. Though Leilani hadn’t been much in the mood for celebrating — it had hardly been two months since the sudden death of his parents — it was an exciting day for the kingdom. He was getting married, and the people of Pali Kai and Ban Zhi Ze would be united. They marched in a caravan, singing and playing instruments, and as they arrived at the entrance to the floating city, stairs unfurled to greet them, spiraling down from the clouds.

Leilani stared upwards and adjusted his clothes, fixing his shirt and realigning his flower crown on his head. Today, he’d be meeting his husband, and tomorrow they would be wed. Leilani knew that this would drastically change how he envisioned his life, but it needed to be done. His people came first and his heart second.

The stairs were long, but his people kept the mood up the whole time, singing despite the air getting thinner and the effort of the stairs on their lungs. He wasn’t normally anxious, but this was a big moment. His first public appearance as chief.

As they finally reached the top of the stairs, the group leading the caravan slammed hard on their drums, commanding silence from the caravan as well as the people at Ban Zhi Ze’s entrance. “People of Ban Zhi Ze! The people of Pali Kai thank you for your kindness in welcoming us into your home. Our alliance has been strong for many years, and we pray to the gods that it will be strong for many more!” One of the elders called out, his statement punctuated at the end with a few firm beats on the drums. “May I now present to you the reason for our travels, the leader and blood chief of our kingdom, son of the late Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, Chief Leilani!” The crowd parted, revealing where Leilani was hidden among them, his small stature easily obscured by the taller members of his kingdom.

He raised his hand, signaling he would like to speak and silencing the raucous cheers from his people. “I would like to personally thank the people of Ban Zhi Ze for their kindness during this tumultuous time and…” Crap, he’d been practicing this over and over in his head the whole trip here. What was the last part of his statement? What was he supposed to say? “And, uh…I hope I can win Shi Shu’s heart over, and that…you all take advantage of this new bond to…take some fun beach trips? Sorry, I had this whole thing memorized, and I forgot,” Leilani said, rubbing the back of his neck while one of the elders slapped a hand to his face. “Anyway! At Pali Kai, something like this is cause for celebration, so I hope you all will be celebrating with me!” A party would be a fun distraction from the tumbling spiral his life had taken, anyway.

[leviathanswingman]

killing me softly, chapter 8: heavenly delirium

Lucifer awoke to the barely noticeable scent of honey and smoke. Encased in this calming aroma, he took in a deep breath and let out a sleepy sigh. His body felt warm in that certain kind of way where the warmth started from the pit of his stomach and spread out to every cell of his body.

What heavenly delirium.

As he adjusted his position lazily, he felt something light, yet fluffy tickle the tip of his nose. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes a smidgen and was greeted by the sight of tan skin pressed against his cheek.

To his own surprise, this didn't alarm him whatsoever. Instead, Lucifer felt at home, encased in a calamity he hadn't felt in a long time. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure if he'd ever felt anything quite like this before.

Bit by bit, he began to regain his senses and memories started coming back to him; fraction after fraction flashing behind his eyes like the ending credits of a movie.

Last night, he'd had the most intense hanahaki attack he'd experienced up to this point, right in front of Lord Diavolo. And despite that, Diavolo had stayed and helped him, had held him through the worst wave of it.

Scratch that. As Lucifer raised his head he realized Diavolo was still holding him, supporting him. Cradling him, he corrected himself as he felt his cheeks warm up a bit.

The unexpected warmth and serenity he was currently feeling after all those stressful days were the only thing holding him back from completely recoiling and setting an appropriate distance between the two of them again.

He'd never known how sacred it could feel to be completely enraptured by another person.

So, still caught up in the afterglow, Lucifer allowed himself a moment of selfishness and blatantly stared at Diavolo's sleeping form that was ever so close to him.

Diavolo was still fast asleep, his hair now messy with parts of it sticking up in strange angles, other parts covering his eyes.

For a moment, Lucifer just stayed like that, lying on his side, watching the slow rise and fall of Diavolo's chest. On Diavolo's face was a content expression.

Eventually, Lucifer found himself staring into space, eyes focussed on nothing particular, lost in thought again.

Right. He shouldn't forget himself, he should know his place. The devil himself knew how insolent Lucifer had acted these past few days.

Diavolo had helped him due to the nature of their relationship and contract. Obviously, he needed his right hand man, so it simply had come natural to him to help out in such a dire situation and there was nothing wrong with that.

Suddenly, Lucifer felt a now familiar sharp pain in his chest and fidgeted a bit to alleviate the stinging.

There it was again. Of course, it had never left to begin with, had only stayed dormant to strike in the most unfitting situations. At this point, Diavolo played such an important part in Lucifer's life, there was no way of simply forgetting all the moments they'd shared ever since his fall from heaven. From Lucifer's reluctant obedience to an eventual camaraderie to an unwavering devotion. After centuries of growth and gained trust between the two of them, there was no way for it to just disappear as if none of it had mattered to begin with.

Like your brothers, you're a fool after all, Lucifer found himself thinking as he still lay in bed, his and Diavolo's legs entangled.

This couldn't be healthy for him. Still, something made him freeze in place and refused to let him walk away as if nothing had ever happened.

Lucifer fidgeted a bit more as another sharp pain ran through his lungs, and he could feel another petal make its way up his throat; bloody and wet.

Diavolo was still dead asleep. Contrary to popular belief, he was an incredibly heavy sleeper. Once he'd fallen asleep, it was almost impossible to get him to wake up again. On several occasions  Lucifer had had to team up with Barbatos and multiple other servants to pull their demon prince out of his bed. Afterwards, he'd always been in the foulest of moods.

Now, upon sensing movement, Diavolo instinctively tightened his grip on Lucifer, pulling him flush against his chest. They were so  close, Lucifer could feel soft breaths tingling on his skin and the steady thump thump thumping of Diavolo's heart.

Still, no matter how much he longed for it, Lucifer wasn't meant to be held by these arms. These arms were destined to hold greatness, after all, the devildom's future rested on Diavolo's back.

Just like Atlas had been carrying the world on his shoulders, so Diavolo now carried the devildom on his broad back.

To bring the devildom even further, it would be in his best interest to marry out of political and territorial advantages, this had always been an unspoken truth, which was precisely why Lucifer had always taken a step back when it had been about Lord Diavolo.

In their nature, demons were inherently possessive. If he ever were to allow himself and Diavolo to get even closer Lucifer didn't think he could ever find it within himself to let go again.

He wasn't one to share, not in life and most definitely not in love. What was his was his only.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and once again, Lucifer became too aware of what exactly the situation he was in must look like to an outsider.

After a tumultuous night, him and Diavolo had fallen asleep, Lucifer holding onto Diavolo as if the demon lord was his own lifeline.

To him, the situation was nothing more than that, pure in its intentions, but what it would look like to the visitor waiting patiently for permission to enter, he couldn't fathom.

Then, the door opened. Lucifer had two choices: he could either hide his face in the crook of Diavolo's neck, hoping to stay anonymous or he could face the visitor, bold and unapologetic.

“Lord Diavolo?” the voice rang through the room, accompanied by the creaking of the door.

Out of instinct, Lucifer lifted his head.

Barbatos, holding a candelabra, stopped in his tracks, observed the scene right in front of him.

He had entered Lord Diavolo's chambers to wake him up since they still had much to discuss about the upcoming party.

Yet as he entered the room after precisely two knocks, as usual, expecting to find his lord dormant, stubbornly asleep, he was in for a surprise.

Barbatos scanned the room and laid his eyes on an unusual sight. Lord Diavolo was sleeping in his bed alright, but unexpectedly, he was joined by another person.

The other person in question was none other than Lucifer himself. Diavolo and Lucifer were tangled up with each other, Lord Diavolo holding onto Lucifer for dear life, holding tightly onto his right hand man. Lucifer himself had his hands hooked in Diavolo's hair, lazily combing through the messy locks. It looked too intimate for Barbatos to be here.

He was about to leave as he caught Lucifer's eye. So he was awake after all.

“ Oh, well this is unexpected,” Barbatos said, fixing Lucifer with his gaze.

There was an undeniable red tint to Lucifer's cheeks as he stared back at Barbatos.

Lucifer scoffed and Diavolo pulled him even closer. “Is there anything you wanted?” Lucifer asked, reluctantly embarrassed.

“I just came here to wake up Lord Diavolo, but seeing the situation you're in I don't think there's much need for that,” Barbatos answered smoothly. “If I didn't know better I'd thought you'd finally told him the truth.”

“Stop fooling around. We both know I could never do that. I would never tamper with his success like that.”

Barbatos simply stared at them for a moment. Diavolo, fast asleep, holding onto Lucifer as tightly as he could; Lucifer propping himself up on one arm, still in Diavolo's arms.

“You're tiresome. How come you're usually so smart, yet as soon as Lord Diavolo enters the picture you drop any kind of rationality? How do you not see it?” Barbatos asked, holding eye contact with Lucifer.

“I don't know what you could possibly be referring to. We both know Lord Diavolo will eventually have to get married for political reasons. I'm not enough of a masochist to get what I want to just have it torn away from me moments later. Staying his loyal subject is the only option with no repercussions,” Lucifer growled, not caring about keeping his voice down. Here was no way Diavolo would wake up this easily.

Barbatos fixed the two figures on the bed with an icy gaze.

“And how has that been working out for you? I'm as much Lord Diavolo's loyal servant as you are, yet I can't recall having shared a bed with him like you are at the moment. I don't think there was a clause concerning sleeping together in a way only lovers would do in my contract.” Barbatos cleared his throat and turned away, facing the door. “ I need you to do your job and help with preparations for the party. I know he,” he waved in Diavolo's direction, “ wouldn't care. If it was up to him he'd want to keep you in here forever, but I can't handle all of the workload by myself.”

Diavolo's hand suddenly clenched around the fabric of Lucifer's shirt.

Was he possibly awake?

Lucifer's eyes darted upwards for a moment, but Diavolo still seemed to be sleeping like a baby.

Lucifer let out a deep breath and felt a petal flutter past his lips, landing on Diavolo's face. The demon prince scrunched up his nose in irritation for a second.

Barbatos opened the door and without turning around he said, “that's certainly a new one. Get back to work, Lucifer. Oh, and when Lord Diavolo awakes tell him to come see me. That's all.” With that, he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

Barbatos was one man that shouldn't be underestimated.

Concerned by Barbatos' last comment, Lucifer quietly glanced down at the petal that was now resting on Diavolo's cheek. It wasn't one of the white rose petals Lucifer had gotten used to. Resting on Diavolo's cheek was the petal of a blue rose.

The petals had changed. This couldn't mean much good. Only in the worst cases of hanahaki a person would end up developing different flowers for one specific person.

Quickly, Lucifer slid his hand across the bed, searching for his DDD, quite sure that he'd left it somewhere on the bed. As soon as he found it he googled the meaning of blue rose petals.

According to the internet, the represented the impossible or the unattainable.

Lucifer snorted due to the irony of his whole situation. It couldn't get any worse than this.

Then, he looked back at Diavolo's sleeping form and was met with golden eyes mustering him seriously.

How long had he been awake for?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7,��Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

*nsfw chapter

taglist: @el-does-photography

[heresathreebee]

Garrote part 2

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez X Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Word Count: 1591 words

Warning(s): Rated teen (until like chapter 6?). Language, more mentions of human trafficking. Previous Masterlist Next

AN: I got excited and I couldn’t wait to post this tomorrow. The OC finally appears here. (Diego looks like he’s trying to incite a three way and/or sexy shenanigans in this photo)

@1zashreena1 @nicke0115 @mental-bycatch

Diego didn't like Agent Healy. He didn't like anything about this scenario or the way the man just knew about the baby or where to find them. Alicia and Diego were some of the biggest criminals in North America and nobody was supposed to know they were even on this side of the border. There was no doubt in Diego’s mind that Alicia blamed him for it. But regardless of fault, Healy did know, and for that, the man had Alicia's confidence (if even by a frayed thread) and his instructions were easy to follow. 

Healy hadn't given him a name nor a description, so Diego, with nothing but an address and a time, walked into a convenience store at 6 in the afternoon. She'll know you, was Healy's only explanation. Diego deeply regretted this already. 

The bell on the door rang twice and as his eyes swept across the floor, it was mostly empty. The employee behind the counter barely looked up at him. There was an old drunk woman leaning over the beers and a younger woman in deep contemplation over which trail mix she wanted. 

Feeling out of his element, he wandered through the snack section, glancing over to the young woman again. She was kind of cute. Straight hair pulled into a high ponytail and glasses perched at the end of her nose. He was going to say something (he didn't know what) when she looked up angrily and tossed the bags in her hands back onto the rack. 

"When are you going to get vegan options in this store," she yelled at the employee. 

The employee's exhausted eyes lifted from inspecting her fingernails and she pointed lazily, "next to the beer. It's only drinks, sorry." 

The young woman looked nervously at the swaying drunk woman standing guard of the path, then caught Diego's staring and disappeared as quickly as possible. The sour gummy worms Diego had in his hand returned swiftly to the shelf in a calmer imitation of the fit the other customer had thrown not seconds before. He grabbed a case of beer and twizzlers before heading for the counter. He felt foolish– he didn't know what to do or who he was meeting or even what the next step would be. The employee looked over him seeming to sense his disgruntlement. 

"Just this?," she asked. He nodded, watching her try to scan the items, fail, sigh in annoyance, and then manually enter their item codes to the register. He took a second to admire the radius of her curls. The black hair turned a caramel color at the ends and he imagined her hair tie holding on for dear life to contain the thick mass. Should it snap, the poof would be magnificent. 

"OK, $7.23." 

"That's it?" He gave her his card and ID but looking over his items, he decided to take it back. He was overpaying for this garbage. He noticed her stiffen as she spotted the name on his card. 

"You're Diego Jimenez?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes…?" 

He didn't like the way her shoulders slumped suddenly. Women didn't react like that– scratch that– no one reacted that way to him. Fear or arousal, but never… resignation? She looked like she was mourning something. Finishing the sale, she gave him back his cards and grasped his wrist to keep him from leaving. This shocked him– nobody was stupid enough to lay hands on a guy like him. 

"I'm Jazmine." As if he couldn't read the name on her tag, but then she continued, "I'm your new girlfriend." 

"What?" 

"Just"- the bell of the door chimed behind him– "play along," she whispered. 

"Bella!" An overly joyful white man walked over to the counter with a bright, familiar smile. "Mi primadonna. So lovely to see you again." 

Jazmine chuckled in that 'I get paid to do this' sort of way. "Well, you know I'm always working!" 

"Of course, of course," he replied, fishing for his wallet. He wore a suit– not expensive enough to be tailored but it wasn't overly unfitting– and his hair was beginning to thin at the top. Jazmine reappeared from the store's office with a bag of prepared items in it seemingly just for this guy. Upon noticing her, he gasped in surprise and pouted his lip like a young girl reacting to getting a present from her first boyfriend. "You hold the key to heart, and every time I see your face it makes my day just a little brighter." 

Jazmine bowed her head to hide behind her bangs (were they bangs? They were textured and fell over her forehead short of her eyes). "No need to thank me, I always enjoy your visits." 

If Diego wasn't so confused, he might have noticed her lying through her teeth. At the present, he was distracted when this cheery, overly doting man looked down to find Jazmine's hand touching the wrist of this stranger. Something dark flashed in his eyes. 

"Who's this?" 

Jazmine hopped over the counter, planting herself directly in Diego's personal space, and caressed his arm. "This is my boyfriend Diego. Diego, say hi." Diego looked between him and her. "This is Jeremy. Jeremy Haagen– the guy I've been telling you about." 

"Oh," Diego managed. Go with it. "Hi. Nice to finally meet you." 

Jeremy Haagen's jaw ticked but he reclaimed his smile, albeit with a chip on the shoulder. He spoke to Jazmine, not Diego. "It's nice to know I am on your mind even when I'm not around. I think I'll be going– I've got an early day tomorrow. Goodnight, Miss. Mann. And, uh, it was nice to meet you as well, Di-e-go." 

He disappeared quickly into the rapidly growing cover of night. Jazmine was practically giddy. She lay backward across the counter top like a happy cat and stretched so a sliver of her belly showed. "I've never had him leave so quickly. I should have thought of this months ago!" 

Diego hummed resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. To satisfy his lust or his annoyance, he couldn't say which. He watched her roll back into a sitting position and meet his eyes, now a little sheepish. 

"I guess I've probably got some explaining to do… I can't do it right here, right now, it's probably best if we wait til we're somewhere less public..." 

~

His phone showed it was 9:45 pm in bold font, indicating it had been hours since the strange incident. Jazmine Mann was indeed the woman he was supposed to work with– a specimen he never expected to tangle with. The good news was that she knew a little of Healy's scheme– and the better news was that she wasn't overly fond of the man either. 

The terrible, terrible, awful news was that her shift didn't end for fifteen more minutes, and her replacement was always late to their shift. Jazmine watched over the store, stocked shelves that looked virtually OCD with how untouched and organized they were, and finally she escorted the drunken Chinese woman out the back door and across the street, then returned and immediately went back to cleaning. Diego was beyond bored. His soul had left his body and was back at his penthouse suite getting sucked off by that vegan yoga instructor from earlier. He was nearly asleep when his head hit the window and woke him up with a growl. 

"Can we fucking go?," he snapped. "Fuck your job. Nobody's been in here for hours." 

Jazmine sighed, unperturbed by his lack of etiquette. Her hand drummed on her thigh until she shrugged. "OK. I have to lock up first, then we can go over to my place and talk about things." 

Diego grunted and pushed off of the counter opting for a smoke to calm him. He made it a point not to watch her work because watching her was like watching molasses on a hot summer sundae. It didn't mean he didn't notice whenever her shadow passed by, or when the lights behind him finally went out. He was lighting a second cigarette when at last, she locked the front door. She had traded the dull red work vest for a jean jacket, allowing the music band logo of her shirt to show proudly. They walked seven goddamn blocks through city streets to get to her apartment and even with his gun tucked into his pants he had never felt more unsafe. 

"So what did Healy tell you?" She secured every lock on her door and sat down without offering anything to drink. So she didn't get many visitors-- alright then, he wouldn't put out his third cigarette. 

Diego cleared her coffee table none too gently and sat facing her. "A whole lot of bullshit. Said he's trying to dismantle and trafficking ring and that you were going to need some help getting the job set up." 

Jazmine bobbed her head. "OK. Healy let me be in charge of the details, but since the set up was already in affect, he's just taking advantage of an opportunity." She said the word opportunity while making air quote gestures with her hands. "That guy you met– he's the target. He's been coming into my store for the better part of a season and making unsutble passes at me almost every day. Healy says he runs most of the human trafficking around these parts– specifically the underage scene... and he left it at that so as not to compromise the integrity of my 'character.'

"I guess you and I are going to be a team." Jazmine leaned so she had his full attention. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend while I draw him out so Healy can snag him. Understand?" 

"Not really." 

"Good, we're on the same page then," she joked with a note of sincerity.

[jason-the-mommas-boy]

hello darling Narrator!! okay idc if this is a request or something for the book but,,, Jason helping his s/o with their hair/makeup,,, he’s so precious and would be so gentle when working with hair?? he might not be the best at it but he’s number one in my heart

aa!! anon, im so sorry that this took so long but I just really loved this idea and I also mixed it with one of the february prompts I had planned so that’s the main reason it took this long aaa…I hope you enjoy it though!! also bonus points for anyone who knows what the book I reference is at the end)

Jason Voorhees braids his S/O’s hair (and more)

Prompt / Summary - Sleepover!!! /  nails prompt from the 2020 February prompt list made by @ / hiddendreamer67 (yes ill be doing all of them eventually!!) 

Word Count: 6.7k

Jason can’t remember much about his childhood after all these years.

Yes, of course, he remembers his mommy, the bullies that tortured him at the camp, and the overwhelming feeling of water running down into his lungs. But the small details have completely dropped from his memory as his decaying body grew older. Though, as soon as you entered into his life and he accepted that fact, the small stuff you did would irk the forgotten things. 

You taking his measurements for example. You were going to get him a new shirt as a surprise once you learned that he absolutely adored turtlenecks, but you needed to make sure it would fit on the giant man! Jason didn’t question it, if he had to be honest, you had done weirder things. Much to his surprise, this little action had reminded him back to when he was just a kid, his mommy doing the same exact thing! She’d take his measurements, and leave a kiss on his forehead for behaving so well afterwards.

These memories often left him feeling happier. It was something positive that he could take away from when he was a child as most things were very negative. But it also meant that you just kept putting a positive impact on his life! You were such an angel in his eyes. 

A few days ago, he had another one of these moments. It was late in the evening when you arrived at Jason’s cabin, a little bit of (messy) makeup adorning your face. You had a big meeting at your job that day and felt like it was important to look better than usual so you wouldn’t leave an okay or worse impression. 

You’re a little dumbfounded when your boyfriend opens the door to let you in, he freezes up, and goes blank. He’s never seen you in makeup before! And??? If he didn’t already have a dead heart, it would have stopped beating at that very moment! You were so pretty already and now you’re even more pretty??? Oh, RIP this poor man. It seems like every other day you were giving him an entirely new reason to love you. 

But it also reminded him of when he was younger. His mommy would let him put makeup on her face if he wished to do so after a particularly long day at camp. He’d grab a washcloth and clean her face before placing a lot of makeup on her. He thought his mommy looked just lovely with it and it would always destress him or calm him down. 

“Jason?” Your voice called out, pulling him away from the trance you had put him in.

Right, you were still outside the cabin, waiting for him. He let you inside, taking a step to the side. A warm fire was already ready when you stepped in, the warmth inviting you to sit and relax. But even before you even thought about taking a seat on that couch, Jason stopped you and made sure you were paying attention to him for the minute. He made the heart shape with his hands and then he gestured towards your face.

It took a moment before you realized what he was trying to say. With a smile, you looked up to him. “Aww! Do you like my makeup?” 

He nodded, happy that his message came across. 

He made another notion quickly afterwards, pointing to your lips. He wasn’t sure how else to express what he wanted to do! Being mute could be extremely difficult sometimes. 

You tilted your head, giving him a confused look. “Err, wha?” 

Uh, okay. This time he tried to hold an imaginary brush up to your face and made a few strokes, as if he were painting on a canvas. Was that any better? He wasn’t exactly sure. 

Silence. Then you blink a few times, having stared at his fingers with a skeptical face. 

“You would like to do my makeup?” 

Jason nodded again, this time much more excited. He’s already shown that he just loved brushing your hair, which made sense. He didn’t have any hair of his own and probably found the action itself soothing. So it’s really no surprise to you that he’d like to do your makeup as well! Honestly, your boyfriend just loved doing stuff for you. 

You pat his arm as an idea popped into your head! “Jason! Why don’t we just have a sleepover? You can do my makeup and hair and I’ll do your nails! How’s that sound to my special boy?” 

Oh! Sure! 

You didn’t have any of your makeup with you, though. You were more than sure that Jason didn’t either. Yeah, he took everything he could find from the dead campers, but it was pretty unlikely the people here would pack lipstick in their supplies.

It seemed like Jason was having the same thoughts as you. He was also a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to do your makeup tonight, but he was still just as happy to have you here, in his home, and hopefully, be in his arms soon. 

You bite your lip. “Don’t worry I’ll bring everything we need, okay?” You got an understanding nod in response. Okay, cool! 

Oh, but a sleepover??? The masked killer can’t remember if he ever had a sleepover before. Probably not. He never recalled having any friends back at camp besides his mommy, but she was always busy with her job as the cook most of the time. 

You’ve also never stayed the night before! There were so many new experiences you were providing him! 

“Is this weekend okay with you? That way I can come by early perrrhaps? I don’t want you to put makeup on me just to take it off before we sleep.” 

He shook his head as if to say, Oh, absolutely not, there could be campers out there to hurt you-

You bit your lip and tugged at his sleeve. “Pleeease? Take a few hours off that routine for me? I’m sure there’ll be no teenagers running about.” 

Oh, what was he thinking? He couldn’t say no to you. As long as you were spending all that time with him, it was okay. More time spent with you, the better, he guessed. With a nod, he pressed his mask against your forehead, mocking a kiss.

With the plan made, all there was needed to do was wait on Jason’s part. Which he already continuously struggled with on a daily basis. Yes, he had patience for the kill, but he did not have patience to wait for you! 

Well, Jason assumed that if you were going to stay the night, you would most likely want a warm place to sleep. While he had his own bedroom, it was extremely cold, no thanks to the giant hole in the roof. He also found that the tunnels underneath were also unfit, as they were cramped and filled with rats. He didn’t know your opinion on the rodents but he didn’t want to give you a scare. He considered moving the fireplace for a moment, but then realized it would be chilly in the main room instead! Were you fine with sleeping on the couch (with himself by your side)? 

The next few days would pass by, agonizingly slow in Jason’s opinion, but he wouldn’t complain. You still visited at night to hang out with him! To cuddle on the couch and let you talk about your day. He just loved having you in his arms (or be in your arms!) and just being able to enjoy your company as much as you enjoyed his. He was just too excited for his own good sometimes. 

As much as time mocked the poor boy, it also went by terrifyingly fast. The weekend was already here! The sun found itself sitting at the horizon just as Jason was making his way around the woods, reminiscing on the events of the past few nights with you. He needed to make sure there were definitely no campers at or around the camp. He just wants to enjoy his first sleepover with you and not have any disruptions! Only when he was sure that the area was free of intruders, he made his way back to his home. 

A step in and he’s already on his way to get stuff out for the sleepover. He places a stack of firewood near the fireplace, enough to last the whole night to keep you all nice and warm. Well, he thinks it’s enough, but knowing Jason, he probably overstocked.. He doesn’t have the best sense of time unfortunately. To play it safe, he also had a couple of blankets sitting on the couch so that you would not freeze to death in the middle of the night, especially since he didn’t provide any body heat. Oh, and pillows, of course. Your comfort was his top priority. 

Did you need food? You never really ate when you visited before…maybe you would at least need something to eat in the morning. But if you were to even mention being hungry before then, he would leap at the opportunity to do something for you. His chest always seemed to get fuzzy when you praised him and he genuinely liked that feeling. It was a drive to do more things for you, though he would have done anything for you even if he didn’t. Your happiness was the goal that he set to achieve every time you step foot on his grounds. 

Just as he sets extra pillows down on the couch, he hears the ring of the bells chime in a familiar pattern from down below. Loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough for no one else to pick up on it unless they were paying attention. It was your way of communicating that you were almost to the cabin for a visit. 

Oh, he was excited. There was no use in hiding that. He just loved it whenever you came by, no matter if it was almost a nightly basis. It was the idea that you were sleeping over that really excited him. There was the aspect of being able to do your makeup and hair as well. The detail that you wanted to take care of his nails didn’t slip by him either, but he wasn’t sure on what that really meant. 

He lifts his hands up so they’re in his eye view, turning them so he could look at his fingernails. Was there something wrong with his nails? He didn’t think so, maybe they were just too long? Jason wasn’t really that caught up in how much self-care was deemed acceptable in society, he just didn’t care, but maybe he should be taking care of himself better. He did have a significant other to impress now. 

He shrugs the thought off, leaning down on one knee to toss some logs into the fireplace. The lack of self cleanliness didn’t seem to bother you from what he could tell. Yeah, he had the decency to let you wash his clothes every now and then or stand out in the rain in attempt to wash off the dirt and blood on his jacket and jeans (much to your dismay), but he didn’t do much other than that. 

With newspaper and wood in the fireplace, it was set for a fire, to which he eagerly started. He has no need to stay warm, he didn’t get sick or anything alike, and didn’t even mind the cold, but the heat that the fire provided was a reminder of you. Not just because he only set the fire just for you when you were about to arrive, but also because it reminded him of your warmth, the body heat that you radiated. You were just so warm compared to him, which was no surprise as he was a walking corpse and you were a living human being. 

The fire itself finally roars to life, flames intertwining with one another as he stands back up. A smile found itself on his lips, it was genuinely a funny thought that you were perfectly okay with dating someone that was like a zombie, even as going far as cuddling and kissing him. He was a murderer too but you seemed to be okay with this fact too after a while. It was understood that he wanted to be left alone on his land and wanted no guests, with you as the odd exception to this rule. You weren’t afraid of who he was, not even slightly disgusted, and with this fact, his undead heart overflowed with emotion in his chest. 

Jason was unknowingly poking at the fire with a stick, struck with this sense of boredom while still being excited for your arrival. He didn’t know how to explain it, maybe it was just a side effect of impatience when something he was waiting for was so close. He runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to understand this new emotion to the best of his abilities. This wasn’t the first time that you, whether you meant it or not, caused him to feel something entirely new. 

It seems like all you did was provide new. New emotions, experiences, memories, desires, and a lot of many other things he couldn’t put his finger on. It was all new to him, as most of his years were spent feeling anger and remorse, killing anyone who dared to step on the campgrounds. He wasn’t the way he was now though, only shaped by the world, your kindness and childhood memories he would find along the way. He’d been a blank slate with a few morals already set in place, a curious young boy eager to learn given the opportunity. 

A gentle knock kicks him out from his thinking, dragging his attention away from the fire to the door. 

You were here!

Dropping his poking stick, he scrambles to the door to open it. With a motion, the door was opened and boom, you were there! The ever-so adorable you was standing at his doorstep, a backpack scooped up in your arms, and a smile on your face. You were practically a beam of sunshine in his dark little corner of the world at this very moment. 

“Hey!” You greet, moving the bag in your arms so you could wave at the masked killer of Camp Blood. 

He waves back before plucking the backpack from you with ease and moving aside so you could enter. You were a guest in his home and Jason was not going to allow you to do any physical labor, even if it wasn’t a big deal for you. The bag itself wasn’t even that heavy, and probably felt like a feather in Jason’s hand, but your boyfriend didn’t care.

You roll your eyes playfully and walk inside, making sure to close the door behind you as well. “Why, thank you, Jason.” 

The way he perks up at your praise does not go unnoticed, the smile behind his hockey mask completely evident. He nods in response, shrugging in the process as to say that it wasn’t a big deal.

A gentle hand sets on your shoulder as he leads you to the couch, to where the warm fire and blankets were. He was no stranger to the cold outside, even if it was early enough for the sun to be out. You oblige (there was no use in fighting with your boyfriend on this, was there?) and set yourself on the old cushions. 

You take a folded blanket off the stack of squares and smile, more to yourself. Jason didn’t need to go out of his way to find his stash of blankets, as experience reminds you that he had to go searching for one for a little bit the first time you complained that you were cold. Maybe it really did get that chilly at night here. 

Unfolding the blanket as the gentle giant beside you took his own seat, you sit up and place a kiss on the lower part of Jason’s hockey mask. “Mmm, thank you.” And, to make sure he understood, you rest the blanket on both of your laps. 

It seems that no matter how many times you show him physical affection, he’ll never really get used to it. It’s alien to him no matter what, as it always got him to freeze up and take a few moments to unwind the growing flustered feelings. Even if the kiss wasn’t directly skin-to-skin contact, the act itself always made the poor boy feel overwhelmed if he wasn’t prepared for it or the one initiating the affection first. 

With a slow nod, Jason leans down to return the favor with a mock kiss on the forehead. His mask wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to feel, the fiberglass was always cold to the touch. This was more than likely due to the body heat your boyfriend seems to never produce. It was also a bit rough, with all the cuts from the use over the years. 

The masked killer sitting by your side gently taps your shoulder with two fingers to gain your attention before it could drift away, lifting your backpack into his lap and tilting his head as if to say What is this for? 

You giggle, finding his curiosity cute. “It’s my things for the sleepover.” 

He tilts his head the other way. Surely you did not have that much makeup just lying around. 

“It isn’t just the stuff I said I would bring silly.” 

Oh?

Taking the bag from his grasp, you pull the longest zipper open to reveal clothes and a few toiletries. You grab a shirt as an example to show him. “I brought things like pajamas to wear tonight and clothes to change into tomorrow. My toothbrush, toothpaste, lotion, and all that stuff.” 

Ah. So there was more to taking care of yourself than just keeping your clothes clean. Jason nods, understanding. Of course you would bring other things to make sure you kept clean. 

You place the piece of clothing back into the backpack and reach further in to locate and pull out a hairbrush. You eye the object for a moment before looking back up to your expectant boyfriend. “You wanted to brush my hair, right?” 

He nods again with a child-like glee in his eyes, he just adored brushing your hair. 

Instead of simply handing the brush over, you point to his hands. “You know the drill, Silly. Your hands must be clean before you can touch my hair.” 

With a glance towards where you had pointed, Jason realizes that his hands are grimey and covered in dirt. While it was true that his hands weren’t dirty enough to leave marks on anything, it still would be the best route to clean his hands before touching your hair. He didn’t want to ruin your pretty hair! 

The cabin he resided in no longer had running water as the years passed by, and while Jason could do many things, he didn’t know how to make the sink work again. To make up for that, he keeps water bottles he’s stolen from campers and the few you got him in his (no longer working) fridge. He really didn’t need water, his body didn’t require it to function properly, and only really kept the water to wash his hands and other things if he needed to. 

So, he was stuck washing his hands awkwardly in the sink that didn’t work with some soap bar he found most of the time. And that’s what he’s planning to do as he pushed the blanket off his lap to the side and stood up. Well, before you tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. 

When he looks down to you, you smile and tilt your head, an action Jason would have done if he had a question. “Can I wash your hands? I need to scrub those nails.” You pause, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “For the nail polish and stuff.” Another awkward pause, was he waiting for something? “Just uh, fill a bowl with water and bring it over here with the soap, okay?” 

The masked killer stood there for a moment before nodding, agreeing to your request. He leans down to pat your head and continues to make his way toward the decaying kitchen to grab what he needed. He could practically feel his heart flutter in his chest, almost questioning if it would leap out and start running all over the place. One of his favorite things in the world was having your tiny hands in his. It didn’t matter if your hands were actually tiny compared to another normal human’s, they were tiny in his hands! It genuinely made him feel like his heart was melting. 

Wait. Did he have any bowls in the cabin? He should, right? It seems like such a silly question to ask himself, but he never really looked into the kitchen. He didn’t need food or water and he was perfectly okay with using his mother’s machete as a murder weapon, so there was no use in searching the kitchen for stuff he simply didn’t need. And when did he ever recall the use of a bowl? 

He takes a step into the kitchen, somewhat hesitant and suddenly feeling lost in his own home. The bowls would be in the cabinet if his memory served him right. With one swift movement, he finds himself standing at multiple cabinets connected to the wall. Pulling at the tiny knob, there’s a relief flooding through him when he does find the bowls sitting there right in front of him. 

They were a little dusty and a little cracked from age, but that’s okay. He eyes them and picks out one that looks like it was the least likely to spill anything. They weren’t very big, probably couldn’t even fit one of his hands in it, but it was better than having to head down into the tunnels and go scavenge for some doggy dish.

Satisfied, he closes the cabinet and grabs the other two items he needs to be able to complete his little quest and sit back down with you. 

His little feet stomps were enough to tell you that Jason was walking back and by the time you were going to turn your head around to greet him again, he was sitting back down on the couch. Ah, right. Mister long legs. 

You lend your hand out, a way of asking for the bowl that he had in his grasp, to which he complied. “Thank you again.” You smile at him, gently squeezing his hand before taking the bowl, which was holding the water bottle and an unopened bar of soap. 

You move the objects out of the dish, quickly filling it with the water instead with the help of Jason steadying the bowl in his hands so it wouldn’t spill over. You balance it in a safe spot between the two of you, getting the man before you to wet his hands as you take the bar of soap out of the box. 

Wetting the soap just after Jason moves himself out of your way, you gesture for him to give you one of his hands and set to gently scrubbing at his palm. He was perfectly capable of washing his own hands, but it was going to be easier if it was you picking at the dirt in his nails. Also, his hands were nice, there was no denying that. 

You look up, making an attempt to keep the silence sitting in the air at bay. “Have you ever had your nails painted before?” 

He shakes his head. An obvious answer to you now when you consider that the poor boy didn’t have any friends when he was younger. 

Feeling a bit of guilt boil in your gut, you bite your lip and try to keep the conversation positive in case any unwanted memories found their way to Jason. “Well, I don’t have many colors to choose from, but you’re free to choose what you want. We can do different colors if you’d like.” 

Jason nods to this, the proposal more than agreeable. Honestly, he was just happy to have an excuse to feel your fingers on his. It left the tips of his ears feeling tingly, a very pleasant buzz that probably would have left a blush on his cheeks. 

“Just, uh, don’t touch anything after I paint your nails! They’re gonna need to dry off.” It was a reminder that needed to be set. If someone hadn’t told you to not go touch crazy when you were younger, nail polish would have gotten on everything. But Jason gives another nod, understanding.

Okay, next hand. You pat his other arm as you let go of the one you just finished scrubbing the dirt and grime off of. And with that, you start your work. 

“How would you like to put my hair up this time? Braids? Ponytail? Bun?” You grab his attention with a smile and wait for his answer. 

It takes him a moment before he raises his recently cleaned hand up with one index finger up, indicating the first option you listed. “Braids, huh?” 

He nods, confirming his answer to you. 

“Okay!” You squeeze his hand, giggling somewhat. The first time he tried to put your hair up in braids was a little more than just messy, but it was fun for you both in the process and in the end result. 

The water in the bowl was a little more than dirty by the time you give back Jason’s hand, leaving both of them cleaner than before. You drop the bar of soap back into its box and set it and the dish on the floor to move it out of the way. 

Jason is wondering if he should wipe his hands off on his dirty pants or not, and settles for very carefully drying them off on his shirt. He didn’t want to erase the effort you put into scrubbing his palms but he also didn’t want to make your hair wet. You offer him your hairbrush for him to take, and with nothing in the way between you two, you scoot in closer to his lap and turn around. 

It only takes a few moments until you feel a very light trace of fingers running around your hairline. At this point, it feels like you are never going to get used to how gentle your boyfriend is around you when you know how much strength he can put out at will. It draws a shudder out of you as he drags his fingers through your hair and you easily relax into his touch. 

It didn’t matter if your hair was a mess, greasy, tangled up, or just plain gross, Jason loved it. For someone to trust him enough to be able to be this close and touch something such as their hair without a care in the world reminds him of what he so dearly needed. Human contact, bonding, something he very much lacked in his childhood with others around his age. Sure, there were other activities, but brushing your hair was his favorite. There was something so satisfying about it to him. Was it the brushing out the tangles, playing with something so soft with his fingers as he styles it to his liking, or just having you so close to him that he could straddle you in his grasp and smell you? It was a mix of all of them, he guesses. 

And with a silent breath, Jason runs the brush through your hair. 

There weren’t many tangles, he finds out. Which, in his book, was good. He didn’t know if you had a sensitive scalp or not, and the last thing he wanted was to see you in tears because he pulled at a tangle too harshly. You always seemed to be fine when he brushed your hair, but he could never be too sure. 

Otherwise, he was enjoying himself, especially when he finally brushes out all the little tangles, leaving him to brush your hair mindlessly. You didn’t complain about this, it felt nice to feel the brush move gently around your scalp with no real intention. This was nice.

Jason sets the brush down on his thigh and moves his fingers back through your hair, relishing in how nice it was. He separates it into three parts, trying to make them all equal as best as he could. If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t the best at braiding. His hands were awkwardly too large in some instances and the braid itself was always too loose to hold for very long. He liked doing it though, practice makes perfect after all. 

He starts the braiding process, feeling a little lost as he did so. It felt a little confusing just because he’d forget which part to move, even if it was making itself clear as day to him. 

He leans down to rest his chin on your head once he gets close to finishing the braid. It was a little out of nowhere for you, but it was enjoyable nevertheless. He moves a free hand to run down to your arm from your shoulder, patting at your skin along the way with two fingers. Was he trying to grab your attention? 

Just in case, you turn your head to the best of your abilities without disrupting his little resting spot on your scalp. “Hm?” 

He tugs at the bottom of your braid with care, inferring something, to which he hopes that you’ll get what he was trying to say. 

Oh, oh! 

“You need a scrunchie, don’t you?” You ask, and feel Jason tap his fingers again in response. 

That was a yes by your standards, so you stretch out your leg to fetch your backpack by the straps with your foot. There was no necessary reason to get up and leave your boyfriend’s gentle grasp when he was getting himself comfortable. You lean forward just a tiny bit to grab the bag once you could reach for it and pull it into your chest. It wasn’t long before you found your tiny bag of scrunchies sitting amongst your clothes, and you take one out for the gentle giant behind you to take. 

The object leaves your hand pretty quickly, and you feel Jason sit back up to wrap it at the end of your braid to finish the look. The braid itself feels like it would fall apart at any moment, but gosh, did it feel nice to have such big hands playing around in your hair. 

You flip yourself around so you are facing Jason again, placing the bag in your lap as you opened up another zipper. You reveal its contents to him, showing him the makeup supplies that you brought. “You wanted to do my makeup, right?” 

He nods, a huff coming out from him as he brings a hand up to fix a few stray hairs near your face. With that, you can’t hide the faint blush on your cheeks. It was so unfair that this monster of a man didn’t even have to try that hard to make you a little flustered, and it was even more unfair that he usually never meant to do so!

“I already cleaned my face before I got here so…you can do whatever with what I have!” You take out a small tube of lipstick. “I don’t have many colors or a lot of anything, is that alright?” 

Of course it was! He gives another nod and digs his fingers into the pouch, peering into what items he could see. 

“Okay! Just don’t poke my eye out.” You joke, dropping the lipstick back to where you had grabbed it. A smile pulls at your lips as you hear a noise erupt from him while his shoulders give a light shake, a voiceless laugh sounding from him. 

It was only really funny to him because he would never hurt you, he knows that he has to be very gentle with humans, or, well, you. Any other human he doesn’t care if he hurts or not as long as their injury or death was justified, but if you got hurt, he doesn’t know what he would do with himself. He nods to what you say anyways, shrugging his shoulders to convey that he won’t, he doesn’t have a reason to. 

Jason pulls out a cylinder tube from your backpack, something comically small in his grasp. He uncaps it to better recognize what it was. It produced a wand with some black fuzz at the end. He was familiar with the use of it, but the name was escaping his tongue. 

You, on the other hand, knew that what he was holding was a tiny bottle of mascara. If you remember correctly, it was a sample size you had gotten from a store not even a month ago. 

He makes a tilting motion of his head and then points to you with his index finger, he wants you to do the same thing. You comprehend this and do so and close. your eyes. 

His hands are shaky and unsure, the mascara wand shaking a little bit as he applied it to your eyelashes. He had to be careful! Jason definitely did not want to accidentally rub mascara onto your skin and if he knew any better, makeup was not easy to take off. He made a few strokes before pulling away, the absence of his presence near your face told you he was finished and sitting back. 

You flutter your eyes a bit, giving your boyfriend a playful look. “Am I looking good so far?” 

Jason nods, his chest a little warmer. You always looked nice in his opinion. Even if you were trying to push against him in the rain for him to get back inside, you still somehow managed to be the most beautiful thing he’s laid his eyes on. It was just very frustrating that he didn’t know how to express that without a voice. 

“Why thank you.” 

He shrugs and puts the tiny tube of makeup back into the pouch. Amongst his search for something else to use, he found a few lipsticks, all which were varying in color and shades. He could easily name what these were, as it was his favorite thing to play around with when he was younger. 

Jason takes his time in putting up each one near your face, testing to see which one best complimented your skin color. After a moment, he seems to be happy with his second option and continues to place the rest of the cosmetics back to where they previously sat. He gestures for you to sit up and he cups your chin with his expected gentleness. 

He’s careful and considerably more steady when he applies the lipstick, obviously more confident with this item of makeup. He tries to not put on too much and not smudge any of it, but the key word is tries. His big hands are the cause of his mistake, accidentally smudging some of the color off your lips when he was pulling back and has to fight the urge to try to wipe it away

A giggle escapes you, essentially grabbing his attention away from the accident to you. It was a sign to convey that it was alright, things happen. 

The item is put back where it belongs in your bag, packing the hairbrush too, and he was a little unsure of what else to do. He didn’t have much experience in the makeup department, and within the awkwardness of his confusion, you speak up. “Are you done?” 

He’s contemplating on how to answer, still unsure himself. Jason takes a quick glance at you, a little flutter in his stomach making itself known, and nods. He almost captured the way you had looked a few days ago and he enjoys that. 

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, giving him a smile. 

Despite his mistake still prominent, you still look really pretty! He forms a little heart with his hands to tell you his thoughts, his lips forming a smile behind the mask. 

You reach up to squeeze his wrist and give a half-suppressed laugh. “Awwe, always the gentleman.” Pride fills his chest and he pats your arm before pushing the backpack back towards you. 

You scavenge through the bag’s pouch and pull out a few bottles of nail polish, one that is filled with a clear liquid while the others are of different colors. You present the ones with color to Jason in your palms, offering them to him. “Pick a color!” 

Your masked boyfriend hesitates, viewing his options before plucking one of the bottles from your grasp. 

“Yellow? Okay.” You nod, putting the rest of the colors back in their little pouch and moving your backpack to the floor. You pause, tapping the yellow nail polish. “Yellow’s your favorite color, huh?”

It was obvious, kind of. He had shown you a lot of attention in thanks when you had given him a yellow turtleneck sweater not too long ago. His bedroom had a lot of yellow knickknacks and his tiny garden he started with you were mostly filled with yellow flowers.

With no surprise, Jason nods. He made it no secret, he very much enjoys the color. If anything, it was a reminder of you to have when you’re gone. Yellow is a very vibrant color that he associates with happiness and he considers you his little patch of sunshine! You definitely made his life way better the moment you walked into it and stood your ground. It only made sense, right?

You give a dip of your head and gesture for him to give you his hands. “Before we can paint your nails, we have to put on this clear coat so it lasts longer. Is that okay?”

He confirms his consent and you hunch over, starting to administer the clear coat onto his nails with the small brush. Nail polish is colder than what the masked killer assumed and shudders out of surprise. You take the yellow nail polish and start applying it to every other fingernail, cleaning up any mistakes you make with your sleeve. Jason was staying very still as you worked, not even flexing his fingers like you would have in an impatient hurry. It’s appreciated that’s for sure. 

The varnish is quick to dry just as you finish applying the pink, though still wet enough to be easily ruined. You put the color off to the side and sit up, giving Jason a better view at the nails you had painted so far. “Do you like?” 

Yellow looks nice on him, Jason thinks. He likes it and he has to bite back on the desire to hug you to better show you his appreciation, but finds an alternative. Jason leans down and presses his hockey mask against your forehead. This was nice. 

You sit up and plant a kiss against his cheek in return, leaving a lipstick kiss mark in the spot. You can’t tell if Jason acknowledges this fact, but it just makes him look so much softer and cuter. Now, if he were wearing his sweater you got him, he’d be the definition of adorable.

You speak up and tug at your backpack, “I, uh, have a book in my backpack if you want me to read it to you…? You told me that your mom used to read stories to you so I thought you’d like me to read to you?” 

He was this close to hugging you right now, oh gosh. You were so attentive to what he was always trying to say in actions. He nods his head excitedly, watching you peak through your bag one last time for the evening to pull out a black book. 

“Get comfy.” You tease, adjusting your position to turn around and sit in his lap. He follows your instructions, hunching down to rest his head on your shoulders to not only see the cover better, but to nuzzle into your cheek. 

You lick your lips and open the book. “The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do…“ 

[fandom-necromancer]

1024. Part 6

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [part1]   [part2]   [part3]   [part4]   [part5]

Gavin just stared at the Captain waiting for an explanation that didn’t come. ‘What the phck do you mean?’, he asked as silence stretched. ‘What? Did you really think I would hand one of the best of my men over just like this?’ ‘Well, you just did’, Allen commented and it helped Gavin immensely knowing he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t exactly pleased by the decision. Nines was well liked throughout the whole precinct, even if he was accompanied by him most of the time. ‘No, I just got clear evidence Cyberlife transgressed against nearly every law that was set in place after the revolution, while we did the right thing without provoking anyone. Connor, do you still have your connections to Markus? This office has a surveillance cam. It would be a shame if the footage should get into the hands of New Jericho.’ ‘That would cause an uproar, Captain’, Hank reminded him. ‘Do you really want that kind of attention on you?’ ‘I want exactly that, Lieutenant’, Fowler answered. ‘And I have a statement ready for when it happens. Cyberlife told me to hand over Nines many times before, becoming more and more aggressive with their requests. I will make clear with the loophole in place there was nothing I could do. Add me fearing for the safety of my men and women because Cyberlife sent thugs from the street and they will be on our side.’ ‘I will make sure the footage reaches New Jericho as well as instructions what to do with it’, Connor declared grinning.

The Captain nodded. ‘Allen? Sixty? I need a raid planned. Cyberlife tower. I expect the authorities will respond by allowing us to retrieve any android inside the tower. But I doubt Cyberlife will set them free so easily.’ ‘I will get on it immediately, Sir’, Allen said, eager to get to work. ‘And what should I do?’, Gavin asked. ‘Reed, I know this is difficult for you. Hell, I saw how difficult was. I want to thank you that you trusted me. I need you to stay put first and foremost.’ ‘Captain, you can’t expect me to sit on my ass and do nothing while everyone works on getting Nines back!’ Fowler sighed. ‘Gavin, I wasn’t finished. I believe yours is the most important role. I need you to establish contact with Nines. Explain the situation and find out where he is held captive. What they do to him. If they do anything to him. Maybe, depending on the freedom he is granted, he could help us with reconnaissance. He could find other androids, prepare them, inform us about eventual resistance. Keep him company will help him too, without doubt.’ Gavin swallowed. ‘I will get on it!’

‘Alright then’, Fowler sighed. ‘Let’s hope the plan works then. Good luck. You are dismissed.’

-

It seemed like the plan would work. New Jericho had addressed the issue of deviants that were unprotected by the laws in place and used Nines’ as an example for the injustice done by Cyberlife who used the situation to still keep its position of power. Markus had pushed his own agenda with it too, emphasizing Cyberlife was just pretending to have only the best in mind when “helping” the androids in their care. The homes they sold them were run down and unfit for humans to live in, the jobs were assigned only on basis of what an android was designed to be, disregarding personal wishes entirely. The broadcast reached Detroit as intended. And now Gavin had to push through a crowd of people waving banners through the air and shouting their demands to stop Cyberlife. The same protestors rallied through the streets towards the Cyberlife tower and a few even went as far to camp there with help of the androids of New Jericho who helped them stand their ground and supply them. It wasn’t long until Fowler’s superiors urged him to take action and announce their planned operations. Warrants were granted near immediately and with Allen having worked out his plan already, briefing his team regularly and even training the exact situations they would find themselves in, they were ready to head out.

That left Gavin to bear the good news to Nines. Connor had helped him set up a secured connection to the android network that spanned the whole town. His phone was now acting as an android communication component, which earned the man curious looks when he was walking through the streets and met androids. But it helped gaining access through several floors of concrete and steel. No normal mobile network would be able to get through there, but the android network did. The precinct’s IT, Connor and Sixty needed three days to hack Cyberlife’s barriers but managed to grant Gavin access.

The man had been about to send the first desperate message through, but instead text popped up on his screen. >Gavin! How >Why are you an android? The Detective had explained the situation to him, excused himself for taking this long and was relieved to hear he could call the android. Nines was held in his old lab, Gavin learned. He had been taken there and sent to stasis. As Nines was a superior model, he could override these orders and found himself alone in the lab with a physically locked door he couldn’t break. He had sat there the full three days with nothing but his thoughts and an environment that didn’t bring up the best of memories. After Gavin had told him this was a private connection only between them, the android had opened up more. He had told him he missed Gavin. That he missed the cats and seeing new things. That he was scared. That he didn’t know whether they would come to do anything or if they left him alone. Gavin had listened to his android, had tried to comfort him to his best abilities and tried hard not to cry openly in the bullpen. He hadn’t always succeeded at that. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to overlook it.

Now, as the day of the raid drew nearer, Gavin couldn’t keep his excitement at bay. Nines?< >Gavin! We are getting you out soon, don’t you worry!< Hold on just for a little while longer! We are on it.<

He couldn’t have been more relieved when Nines called him and that special excitement was back in his voice.

-

‘Gavin, you got the signal?’, Allen shouted at Gavin jogging behind him. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then go, Wilson, Daryl, go with him! Hank said we may get problems soon.’ Gavin nodded, looking out for the people the SWAT-Captain had assigned to him. Once they had caught up, he followed the map on his mobile phone, constantly updated with more positions of androids Nines had been able to reach. Time was running short.

The Cyberlife-employees had tried to keep the police from entering despite the warrant and had only backed down when Connor had read them the extensive list of consequences. Thankfully, while they were at it, Allen had disregarded security and made a run for it. The man had never been one to wait long. That might just be their ticket to a successful mission without any casualties, as Nines had shortly after updated Gavin about a program in the network that would deactivate the server room’s air conditioning. Now they were running hot and in a matter of minutes they would have a full blown fire down there: Cyberlife burning their evidence and likely the bottom labs too. Sixty was already on it trying to locate the virus in Cyberlife’s systems and stop it, but Gavin’s only thought was Nines – held captive only a few floors above the soon to come inferno.

The android had managed to locate others like him. Mostly it were deviants recalled before the revolution that had underwent testing that would be deemed illegal. Of course, that was something the company would like to keep secret. Well, not if Gavin had something to say about that. He slid down a flight of stairs, as Allen’s team would need the elevator. Years of living in crappy apartment buildings without a working elevator had prepared him for this and the added importance made him gain some distance even on the trained SWAT-members.

He ended up in a long hallway with metal doors to either side, little round reinforced windows in them. Gavin knew every android in here deserved to be rescued, but hell if he was being biased, he had done far worse than that in the past. He was just far too personally invested. Once he found the door, Nines signal blinked behind, he pounded against it. He sighed and his knees nearly gave way underneath him, as his android’s face appeared behind it. ‘Nines! Nines, I’m here! We’ll get you out of here.’ He turned and threw his phone towards who he thought was Wilson. ‘Get the others out, quick!’ He got back to the door and punched in the code the security guy Allen had pinned to a wall had given them as the universal key. The oversized looking latch drew back and Gavin pulled at the same time as Nines pushed. The next second the human pressed himself into the fabric of Nines’ shirt, the faint smell of new plastic a welcome memory. The android hugged him back with a crushing force.

They stood there for a moment, forgetting the world around them, until it reminded them of their presence by the two SWAT shouting at the androids to get up fast or open more doors. ‘We should help them’, Nines commented. ‘I don’t care.’ ‘I do.’ ‘Alright then, lets go.’ They had only managed to get another door open before Sixty contacted them that the fire wouldn’t be stopped soon and they tried to keep it confined to the server rooms. A few moments later the SWAT team joined them in getting all androids outside. Gavin didn’t know who pulled who outside, the only thing that mattered was that he held Nines hand as they ran back up, leading the following androids out.

Once outside, Gavin couldn’t care less about the rest of the force arguing with angry Cyberlife personnel and taking care of the situation. And no one seemed to reproach him of it. He was standing outside in front of the Cyberlife tower, the cold not bothering him the slightest, because he had his android. He could hold Nines close again and he had him back. Not only him but hundreds of androids like him, who were already gathered by New Jericho to check on them and help them to safety. He just stood there, breathing and holding Nines as if he refused to ever let go again. Maybe he did.

It was the android who broke the silence between them: ‘You know, Gavin, I think I enjoyed our first kiss.’ ‘I didn’t’, Gavin murmured. ‘What? Why?’ ‘The whole phcking android-gang over there saw it. And the circumstances were entirely wrong.’ ‘Would you like to try again then?’ Gavin chuckled through the few tears that had left his eyes in relief and looked up. Nines let go of him to brush them away gently.

‘I would love to.’

[cutie1365]

The Family We Choose 1/3

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Mini-Series

Word Count: 1.5k

Request: made by @agentmalfoy24601, I don't want to spoil the ending so I won’t post the actual request here but I’ve decided to turn it into a three part mini-series. It’s all written so I’ll get a solid update schedule for it, maybe one every other day or so.

A/N: Please let me know what you think and what you think will happen in the next parts!

Masterlist in bio. Taglist in the reblogs. MUST COMMENT/REBLOG TO STAY ON.

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“Alright miss?” Your seemingly intimidating interviewer asked with a raised brow.

“Carter.” You answered with a smile.

“Miss Carter, just some routine questions here to begin if you don’t mind.” You nodded and he continued.

“Your age?” He asked, pen in hand to jot down your responses.

“Twenty-six.” You answered.

“Education?”

“Oxford.” You answered, and you could tell he was impressed as he wrote that bit down.

“Parents?” He was really speeding through this wasn’t he. Must be in a rush, or he never really wanted to interview new assistants in the first place.  

“Orphan.” You answered with a somber smile.

“My condolences.” He apologized, although in this job the less family, the better, he thought.

“Of course this isn’t a normal job so a normal job interview would be unfitting. I’m going to ask you some questions to understand your capabilities of thinking outside the box and how quickly you can devise and apply ideas.” He explained, adjusting his position in his plush, black, leather seat.

“So you want to see if I’m clever or not?” You smirked.

“More or less.” He nodded.

“Mr. Holmes, I have an IQ of 170, I hardly think your little brain teasers will be necessary.” You spoke with a cocky smile.

“They weren’t brain teasers...” Sherlock said slightly offended and flustered. He mentally cursing John for telling him that would be a good idea for the interview.

“Of course they weren’t.” You laughed slightly, seeing his reaction to your previous words. “You know your best bet to see if I really am clever or useful would be to take me on a case.”

“Well I don't have anything on right now.” He lied, steepling his hands and examining you.

“Oh come on Sherlock, we both know that’s not true.” You raised a brow to him with a smirk, clearly he was testing you.

“Do we?” He asked, wondering how you knew and wanting you to lay it all out for him.

“Despite the fact that you’re a terrible liar, there are clear signs that you are in the middle of a case. You’ve attempted to clear them away before our little interview but I can still tell. You had papers and pictures tacked above the couch, you removed them in a hurry, ripping one away leaving the tack and remnants of paper.” You pointed above the couch behind you without turning around, meaning you either noticed them when you walked in or saw them through the mirror opposite you. “The couch cushions still are deeply indented in the middle, the last thing that happened to it was you standing on it moments before I arrived. Two computers are opened on your desk, you were doing research, and a lot of it. You keep glancing at your watch, you can’t wait for this interview to be over so you can get back to your case. You actually never wanted to do these interviews in the first place, you’d much rather keep your usual companion. I can be like him if you’d like- pointing out the obvious and constantly being baffled by your conclusions and amazed when you lay it out quite plainly for him.”

“Did my brother send you?” He asked through squinted suspicious eyes.

“No...” You said, curious as to who this brother was. You made a note of that for later.

“How come I've never heard of you before?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, clearly ruling you out as any sort of threat.

“Because I'm nobody.” You shake your head.

“Hmm.” Sherlock looked you over, there was something about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on, “Fine, one case.”

And the rest was history...

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You’d worked with Sherlock on dozens of cases now, to the point where he suggested you move into 221C to make work easier. Purely out of convenience you thought, but truthfully Sherlock enjoyed having you around. You were different, like him. You understood things like he did. You saw the world like he did: one giant puzzle waiting to be solved.

You agreed to move in downstairs, but you didn’t want to step on any toes with Sherlock and John’s relationship. Just because John started a new job at the hospital and was the reason for your recent employment with Sherlock, you didn’t want him to think you were his replacement in every sense of the word.

You suggested to Sherlock that he take John out, a guys night, so that he didn’t feel left out of all the cases the two of you had recently solved. He agreed it was probably a good idea, and remembered there was a new play showing: Terror By Night. A classic murder mystery that for him would probably be quite dull, but might remind John of the good ‘ol days.

Unbeknownst to you, Sherlock purchased three tickets.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked you with a raised brow, as you were making a cup of tea in the kitchen, clearly not dressed to be going out.

“Go where?” You gave him a confused look.

“Terror By Night, remember.” He stated as if it was clear as day.

“I thought that was just going to be you and John, a guys night?” You furrowed your brows.

“If I have to suffer through this, then you do too.” He smirked.

“It doesn’t sound like I have a choice.” You laughed.

“Please come, I’d... I’d like you to be there.” Sherlock muttered nervously. Your jaw dropped open slightly before answering. Was this Sherlock’s way of... flirting?

“Oh, ok. Um, yeah I guess I can go throw something on.” You nodded, looking down at your sweatpants and Oxford tee.

You made your way downstairs to throw on a nicer outfit and slap on a little bit of makeup.

Sherlock was waiting patiently for you, he stood when you entered the room with a nervous smile. You returned it, grabbing your coat off the rack and letting him know you were ready to go.

“John’s going to meet us there, he got held up at work.” Sherlock informed you after giving the cabbie directions to the theatre on the Strand.

Once you arrived at the theatre you saw John standing outside and waved to him.

“So what’s all this about?” John laughed, motioning to the title poster and Sherlock picking up the tickets.

“I just work here.” You shrugged, earning a laugh from John.

“How’s that going by the way?” John asked.

“Oh, you know, never a dull moment.” You smiled, as Sherlock approached the two of you, tickets in hand.

Once you took your seats, each of you on opposite sides of Sherlock, you began to look around the small theatre, examining it.

“You know, if you had told me I was going to be third wheeling I could have brought Sarah.” You heard John whisper to Sherlock, your cheeks turning bright red. So your suspicion from earlier had been confirmed. You didn’t think Sherlock went in for that sort of thing, you never saw him as the relationship type. He’s the definition of the ‘married to his work’ type.

As the play went on, in a very Agatha Christie whodunit fashion, you found yourself enjoying it. You had predicted the ending not too far into the play, but what happened next, none of you could have expected.

In the play the Detective gathered everyone to reveal the murderer, as he explained how the son murdered Lady Margaret Chaplette, in a fit of rage he struck the Detective with his prop crutch. Only it wasn’t a prop. As he struck him across the head, the blow killed him instantly. Your eyes grew wide and you turned to Sherlock as you both immediately realized this was not part of the play, and everyone in the theatre had just witnessed a real murder.

You and Sherlock immediately jumped up, following John who checked the vitals of the actor and confirmed his death. Sherlock gently picked up the prop crutch that was supposed to be made of rubber as you’d observed during the first act, only to find it was aluminum.

“Someone must have switched it during the interval.” Sherlock turned to you and you nodded.

“We need to shut this place down, no one leaves. The murderer is most likely still here.” You explained, Sherlock rushed off to the front of the house.

“Never a dull moment.” John muttered as you both stepped away from the body.

After a night of interrogating all of the cast members you’d discovered that it was ‘the Detective’ himself who had switched the props, causing his own death. He was trying to set up the son to injure him or break his arm so he could sue the theatre or make sure he got fired, after numerous stories of his misconduct and relationship with the director.

The man who played the son, an avid drunk, had had a bit too much to drink that night and when he swung the crutch, struck the detective in the head, unintentionally killing him.

“So our victim is also our murderer.” You nodded to Sherlock.

“I know, exciting right.” Sherlock said, a little too giddy for a crime scene.

“Well this isn’t exactly how I planned my night to go.” You laughed.

“Me either, but this is much better.” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

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Thank you for reading! There’s two more parts- what do you think will happen next?? Comment and let me know!

Taglist in the reblog.

Feedback is so important to writers, just a simple comment can make someone’s day. Thank you!

[space-australia-stories]

I always see posts about how awesome humans are in pretty much every way. But lately I've been wondering what would happen if an alien met someone, say, wheelchair bound, or missing a limb. How would aliens, or an alien captain for that matter, handle seeing one of these unstoppable humans that's been crippled, maybe even since birth? I bet it'd be a bit of a trip.

I’m sure an alien race wouldn’t be unfamiliar with birth defects or deformities. Oh, I just thought of something! It’s not really what you asked for but it’s neat, I think. (sorry this answer is so late, I hope you’re still here!)

Imagine some alien being born with a disability. In their society, any sort of disability or deformity renders you pretty much useless in the eyes of the government. Those born with disabilities or who acquire them usually work the worst of the worst jobs and are payed next to nothing. Keep reading to see a more in-depth story.

Aro was always considered the outsider. As a young hatchling, he was not allowed to attend school with his more abled peers. Instead, he learned with the other Rejects. Rejects of different age groups all shared one teacher, who had to split her time between all of them. As such, their education was severely lacking when compared to the more privileged children. He was barred from entering university when the time came because he was deemed unfit due to his disability.

He found his first prosthetic in a waste bin. It was broken and uncomfortable, but it allowed him to finally apply for a job in a factory as a sanitary worker. He worked long hours on his feet, and his wages were miserable. At the end of each day, his hips would hurt from the height difference between his real and prosthetic legs, and he had bruises and blisters where his prosthetic fit incorrectly against his skin. 

Aro’s biggest dream as a hatchling had been to become an engineer for the Federation, but given his disability, he was not allowed anywhere near the Space Center. He had always been interesting in tinkering and mechanics, and used his natural skills in those areas to repair his prosthetic, but once he started working, he was unable to pursue his passion. Aro had given up on that dream long ago, but when rumors started spreading through the factory that a group of Federation warships were coming to resupply on their planet, Aro couldn’t help the fantasies that flooded his mind. He dreamed of spending his days in a ship’s interior, unaware of the heat, where he would get to know and work with the mechanisms that made those beautiful ships run.

As the day of the resupply drew closer, Aro began to hear whispers of an all-Terran crew on one of the warships. The Terrans were highly regarded throughout the Federation as being practically unstoppable. They were amazing healers, and would run head-first into danger with no regard for their health. It was scary to think that nothing would slow them down. Aro had never met one before, but it was hard to imagine that such an intense race of creatures would have any place for a Reject like him. Upon hearing that a crew of them would be with the Federation warships, Aro became increasingly nervous about their visit. The ships would visit his factory for much needed parts, and Aro regretfully decided to take the day off. The Terrans would be disgusted to see a Reject like himself, and he wanted his planet to give them the best first impression as possible. He had wanted to see the warships, but, he did not want to shame his people.

On the day of the resupply, just as Aro was leaving the factory, he passed by a large group talking in hushed tones. They silenced when he approached, but not before he caught someone finish, “-captain is a Reject.”

This thought was met with disbelief and shock rippling through the crowd. Someone in the center spoke up. “A Terran? Not possible. They would not allow their reputation to be tarnished in that way.” He looked pointedly at Aro, who had slowed his walk so as hear the conversation better. At the other’s glance, Aro turned his eyes down and walked away, his mind swimming.

A Reject Terran? And a captain, no less. Aro could not believe his ears. Like his coworker said, the Terrans would never allow a Reject to hold such a highly respected position.

Lost in his thoughts, Aro must have made a wrong turn somewhere, and when he realized where he was, it was already too late. Somehow, he had ended up in the hangar, where the Federation warships were already docked. The hangar crew were already running around cleaning the ships and running maintenance checklists, preparing for their relaunch at the end of the day. Aro’s heart was beating in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t help himself from stepping further into the hangar. He had never seen a Federation ship up close before, and he was in awe of the beauty of the large warships in front of him.

No one seemed to notice him approach the closest one from the back. He reached up reverently to touch to cool metal of the thrusters. He did not notice when someone came up behind him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Aro jumped and yanked his hand away at hearing the choppy voice, obviously spoken through a translator.

Sure enough, when he turned around, there was a Terran with a translator wrapped in front of his mouth. He was sitting in a chair with large wheels. Was he tired? And why did the chair need wheels? Only then did Aro notice that the man was wearing a Federation captain’s uniform.

How does one act around a captain? Aro did not know. Should he bow, as is customary when speaking to an Elder? Hastily, he bent at the waste and lowered his eyes in submission. He cleared his throat and bunched his fists to keep his hands from shaking.

“S-sir, I apologize. I did not see you behind me.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and shifted his weight to conceal his crude prosthetic. The captain would be furious to find out a Reject was allowed near his ship. He spoke again without lifting his eyes. “The ship is beautiful, Sir,” he confirmed quietly, but meaning every world.

The captain chuckled, which surprised Aro enough that he looked up at the Terran. He had a warm smile on his face, but had not gotten up from his chair to return Aro’s bow. “There’s no need to bow, son,” he said, which caused Aro to cringe in embarrassment and stand up hesitantly.

“Your people are awfully fond of that,” the captain continued, “but a simple handshake will do.”

He extended his hand, and it was obvious that he intended for Aro to do the same. Aro was unfamiliar with Terran customs, and did not know what to do after that. Luckily, the captain completed the gesture by grasping Aro’s hand in his and jostling it firmly up and down once before letting go. He still did not stand from his chair. 

“What’s your name, son? Are you interested in the ship?” asked the captain.

Aro’s nerves were going haywire. He remembered what the others in the factory had said. The captain is a Reject. Could this be him?

“M-my name is Aro, Sir,” Aro stuttered.

It took a moment for the captain to respond while he waited for the translator to convert Aro’s words into the Terran language. Finally, he smiled. “Nice to meet you, Aro. My name is Captain Brewster, but most people just call me Brew.”

Aro caught a hint of the Terran language just seconds before the translator said them. It was more breathy and less harsh than his. It lacked the hard clicks and stops that made his language difficult for others to learn. In that moment, he desperately wished to know Terran.

The captain continued. “So how long have you worked here, Aro?”

“Three years, Sir.”

“Any interest in space travel?”

The question threw him off. Aro could not think of why Captain Brewster would ask something like that.

Luckily, the captain explained. “You seem to like my ship.”

“Y-yes, Sir. I do like engineering.” Aro looked away shyly.

Captain Brewster smiled again. “Would you like to see something? Follow me.”

Without waiting for an answer the captain started moving around the back side of his warship. Aro watched him grab the wheels of his chair and push down, which moved him forward. He followed slowly, attempting to hide his limp. Captain Brewster wheeled up and into the ship and Aro followed after the captain urged him that it was alright. The captain guided him to the side of the ship near the hatch switch. The metal wall in this area was etched with hundreds of markings in languages that Aro did not recognize.

“Whenever we fly to a new planet,” the captain explained, “I like to get a message from a planet native carved right here, so that every time we go out, I am reminded of all the people we’re fighting for.”

Aro nodded along, studying the scrawlings that covered nearly half the wall.

“Would you like to write something here?” the captain asked bluntly.

Aro startled back, and his eyes went wide. “S-sir, I could not. It would not be right,” he apologized.

The captain tilted his head in confusion. “Why not?”

Here it was. Aro would have to reveal his undesireable condition to the captain. He could not ignore a question from a Federation captain.

“I-I have a condition, Sir.” Aro’s voice got quieter as he spoke. “I was born with no right leg. I am a Reject. I am unfit to even be talking with you now. I apologize for disrespecting you so.” He bowed again in an attempt to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

“A Reject? Aro, I promise you, you are anything but disrespectful. Now stand up.”

Aro did as he was told, and found that Captain Brewster had moved his chair closer to him.

“If I am correct, a Reject is your peoples’ term for someone with a disability, yes?”

Aro only nodded. He could not find his voice.

“And this makes you less of a person than others?” Aro nodded, now terrified of where this was going.

To his surprise, the captain reached up and placed his hand on Aro’s shoulder. He looked into his eyes as he spoke next. “That’s bullsh*t. If that’s what your people think of guys like me, then you’re wrong.”

Realizing what he said, he added hastily, “I apologize, Aro.” He moved away from Aro and folded his hands in your lap. “I’ve worked hard to get to where I am today. I don’t like that people like me are denied from pursuing their dreams just because of a stupid disability. And people like you.” Captain Brewster was looking at Aro directly in the eyes, expecting a response.

Aro blinked, then asked hesitantly, “S-sir? If I may ask, a-are you a Reject?”

The captain nodded. “But I don’t like that word. It’s demeaning.”

Aro worried that he angered the captain, but he looked more sad than anything else.

“Aro, would you like to be an engineer?”

Aro was unprepared for the blunt question. He thought his dream was dead, but at the captains words, he knew he was still just as passionate as ever.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, more confidently than anything he said before.

Captain Brewster smiled knowingly. “Why don’t you write something here.” He gestured to the wall. “I’ll see what I can do.” The captain winked and wheeled away.

Aro stood in shock, not knowing what to do. After a moment, he heard the hangar crew shouting outside, and knew that the warships were preparing to leave. Pulling a screwdriver from a pocket in his pants, he scratched a short message into the wall and hurried out of the hangar, just in time to see this ships take off.

He spent many restless nights mulling over his strange conversation with Captain Brewster and thinking about what it might mean. Weeks passed and soon, Aro had all but forgotten the conversation. The captain was just being polite. He probably couldn’t wait to be away from Aro as soon as possible.

Then one day, after coming home from a particularly grueling day at work, Aro noticed a thick green envelope poking out of his mailbox. When he opened it, several papers and a photo fell out. The photo was of Aro’s message on Captain Brewster’s ship, which Aro found confusing. He set it aside to read the letter, and his heart rate increased the more he read.

TO ARO —- OF THE PLANET WINOA

We are pleased to announce your summons to the FEDERATION SPACE CENTER OF TERRA in preparation of your enrollment at the Intergalactic University’s College of Engineering. We have reviewed your profile, and find you to be a perfect candidate for the Intergalactic Trade Scholarship, which provides qualifying students from all over the universe with the opportunity to study their fields of passion, all expenses paid by the Federation. Included in this summons is a more in-depth description of the Intergalactic Trade Scholarship, as well as a ticket to Terra, for the date of MAY 13, 2576..

Sincerely,

Ursula Moody

Academic Advisor

IU College of Engineering

Aro looked again at the photo, and on the back, a short note was written sloppily in Aro’s own language. 

Aro, I pulled some strings and got you into IU! I could see the passion in your eyes, and I would have beat myself up if I didn’t help you out somehow. Call me at (123) 456-7890 when you get to Terra so we can meet up!

                                                      - Captain James “Brew” Brewster

P.S. I loved your note. “Mistakes are just happy accidents. Our meeting was no mistake, but it was happy nonetheless.” Very Bob Ross of you.

Aro did not know who this Bob Ross was, but he assumed it was a Terran compliment.

He could not believe it. His dream of becoming a Federation engineer was finally coming true, and he could not wait to start.

[undergroundkid]

Prologue: Once we pass the gate

You nervously gripped your purse, trying to take a deep breath. Well, it’s not like it’s your first job interview, right? You worked before. As a camp counselor when you were sixteen for example. Tough work with kids not so much younger than you.  And you handed out flyers for this new pizza place last summer. Small works for neighbours counted too? You looked at CV in your hands with furrowed brows. Well, you didn’t put such information there.. under what category would it belong? Experience? Volunteering?

CV was almost empty. Basic informations, address, phone number.. looking at this, someone could think you didn’t do anything last few years. Graduated high school, did two courses at city’s Job Center and that would be all. You were thinking about putting something about college, but your mother advised you against it. „Do you want them to see you gave up?”, she said. You didn’t give up, you just left, because college became living hell – no friends, no interesting lessons, only slow suffocation. Without future plans, you started to look for a job, but you became a victim of a obvious, old cycle: no experience, no job – no job, no experience. Until now. Building on the opposite side of the street looked fancy even outside. Big glass doors with golden knobs, four floors, red curtains in the windows. Cars parked outside were definitely one of the best and newest models. People came in and out all the time, making the street pretty busy. It started to get dark already, so the sign above main door suddenly came alive with a bright light: Shangri-La Hotel****.   Small voice at the back of your head suggested it’s time to come inside already. Yeah, of course. It’s cool. Your whole existence screamed it’s definetely not a place for someone like you, but you’re not gonna waste your chance for a decent work – why the heck they called you, anyway? For lolz, maybe? Surely not for your resume, so.. You crossed the road before your mind could register your movement. Squished between group of businessmen, you finally entered the place and barely could stop your jaw from dropping; it was a mistake. Golden chandeliers, deep brown wood, carpet in the richest red colour. And people around -  ladies in elegant furs, gentlemen with leather briefcases. - Excuse me, do you need help? You tore your eyes from gawking at surroundings to meet a friendly, smiley face; young man in dark blue uniform kindly bowed his head. - You look lost, young lady. Can I offer my service? - Ah, yes, sorry – you bowed automatically too, even if it wasn’t really necessary. He smiled again, not full teeth, but it reached his eyes, making him more charming. That was when you noticed his bellboy cap and name Yoonho written in pretty cursive on his ID. Of course there would be a freakin hotel porter. - I am looking for a reception’s manager – you informed him, going straight to the point of your obviously unfitting presence in luxurious hall:- I was supposed to have a job interview today, at 6 PM. He smiled widely this time and you couldn’t resist the urge to do the same. - Oh, I see! Please, come with me then! * You left the building on little shaky, but otherwise light legs. Looking around, you didn’t catch the person you were eagerly looking for, so you quickly fished the cellphone out of your purse and clicked the numer with signature heart at the end. - Hey, you were supposed to wait for me outside hotel? - Yeah, I know love – your boyfriend’s voice was a little muffled with street sounds in the background:- But there was a horrible car incident in the city centre and the traffic is endless . Sorry about that, I am just getting out of my district. Didn’t you hear? - Oh, not really – you murmured, poorly hiding your disappointment:- I just came out of interview and  was too nervous to watch any TV before.. - It happened about an hour ago, so it’s understandable – he sighed:- Some woman crashed her car on the main bridge. She was the only victim, but there were a lot of other vehicles included, so it’s a mess. - I see – you responded, crossing the road like earlier:- We won’t see each other tonight, then? - Oh no, no! We must meet!  I want to hear about your freshly new career. You got it, right? You giggled, even if deep down you felt some kind of irritation. „Without college, you must find a job” was a phrase you’re used to hear almost everyday. Still, it didn’t stop to irk you everytime you heard it. Of course, your loved ones only meant the best, you knew it. Parents lived in their own world, thinking that without futher education you won’t make it far, but your boyfriend was always supportive. Last months though, he became more forcible on the topic. He even suggested you were purposely avoiding any possibility of work during one of more heated arguments you two had, but he apologised afterwards. Couples fight after all, you reasoned – it was just a bump on the road. You started dating back in highschool, scoring all the firsts together – first sweetheart, first kiss, first I love you. Something as trival as work won’t tear you apart. It’s just this, work – you will make money somehow anyway, why is everybody so pushy about it? But maybe you’re just chilldish and they’re trying to take care of you. With bitter taste in your mouth, you will fulfill their wish of you getting stale position. Maybe that will make their nagging stop. Maybe that will make you happy it the end, too. - Yeah – you breathed with relief, the air from your lungs visible in the chilly evening:- 3 months of mandatory contract, then full time employment. The happy scream of your boyfriend from earphone could be easily heard by random strangers passing by; they gave you surprised looks, which made you shrug your shoulders in response. - Congratulations babe! I am so happy for you! You really tried to not think happy for me or happy for yourself? - I knew you could do it, you’re the smartest girl and somebody finally noticed – he continued, which made your heart flutter. You shouldn’t be so  hard on him, he was so lovely and caring as usual:- You’re totally gonna nail this. Isn’t that a perfect beginning? Look, maybe we’re going to be able to move out and rent a flat next year! As always when he mentioned living together, the butterflies tickled your whole body. It was a scary vision at first, leaving your parents, but now it only excited you; wall colours of your own choice, breakfasts together, bubble bath surprises, loud, explicit nights and silent, sweet mornings. Every girl’s dream. Alright, maybe you started to feel happiness about it all. And blooming hope for a better future, despite everyone insulting your choice of living. - We have to celebrate then! - Oh? – you chuckled, this time from the heart:- Should I buy wine or something? Champagne? - The plan may include those, but not only. Get your sweet ass here, we must dance as much as we can before your busy schedule begin. - Here? I thought only two of us, my place ..? - Tempting, I admit. But not today. Come on babe, it’s Friday night and you got your first real job! Let’s livin’ it up, we will become adults tomorrow! Or.. Monday if you allow, huh? You laughed at his antics, so opposing to his previous behaviour. It was refreshing and made you think you should start jobhunting with more confidence sooner. His positive attitude was infecting you too; so before you could think otherwise, you agreed to meet at your usual party spot. The stars shined brightly above you, even in this part of the town. Or maybe your free heart just made them look so – it didn’t matter. It was gonna be a long night and it was better for a stars to shine strong enough to witness it all.

thank you for reading

next chapter >

[citrinekay]

After Atlanta, Jim joins the Bureau. Holden and Jim get a lot closer. So close that Holden feels comfortable enough to confide things he's never told anyone else. Bill notices the close bond and feels out of sorts, wasn't HE Holden's partner? Bill jumps to the wrong conclusions. Things come to a head in a heated argument between Bill and Jim. Neither man sees Holden too consumed in their argument.

Who doesn’t love possessive, jealous Bill??? This was a fun, very clever prompt. Thanks for the ask! :)

When he and Nancy’s marriage started falling apart at the seams, Bill had spent a lot of time wishing for things to go back to the way they used to be. Before he was leaving every other day for road school - before he wanted to leave just to get away from the stifling silences. Before the difficulty of raising a child with special needs leveraged undue pressure on their relationship. Before she started drifting away from him, out of his reach. 

But everything changes in way one or another, and life is all about accepting those changes. He’s tried to teach himself that truth over and over. 

Over the next several months after Atlanta, Ted oversees the expansion of the unit. All too soon, Bill’s sequestered spot in the annex is overtaken by rookies and interns, a plethora of resources at their fingertips to aid in the fresh influx of investigations. 

Along with the new transcribers and equipment added to their arsenal is Jim Barney. Ted had been impressed with his role in the Atlanta case and the Hance and Piece interviews. A few pulled strings, and he’s a part of the team just like he should have been back when Gregg was hired. 

Bill should have been grateful for the extra help from someone who already has an idea what they’re doing. Ted’s plan to fast-track the study demands that they increase the speed of the interviews, and for that, they need team members who are willing and able. 

Instead, as he watches Holden and Jim’s professional relationship grow to one of mutual admiration and respect while he and Holden’s withers, he finds himself longing for the good old days again. Back when he and Holden were alive with the spark of this idea. Back when they were on the road together, alone, nothing but the radio and each other for company. Back when they talked to each other - not necessarily about matters of the heart, but about things that counted, and with unabashed honesty that was reserved for themselves and not anyone else. 

Maybe he’s just making the same goddamn mistakes over and over again. He thinks one night as he watches Jim and Holden leave together to get drinks after work. 

Part of him is screaming that he should confront Holden. He and Jim have gone on the last three interviews together. Was it so long ago that Bill was his partner? Was it so long ago that they spoke to each other outside of group discussion on interviews? He thinks about it long and hard every few days only to realize how childish it sounds. Holden can be friends with whoever he wants. 

Early one Monday morning, Bill enters the BSU to see Jim leaning against Holden’s desk. He nods when Bill approaches. 

“Morning, Bill.”

“Morning, Jim.”

Holden glances up from the dossier on his desk. “Hey, Bill. We’re all meeting in the conference room in fifteen.” 

“Okay.” Bill says. 

He knocks on Wendy’s door, and pokes his head in. “Good morning. Are we looking at the interviews out in San Quentin?” 

“Yes.” She says, looking up from her notebook. “Have you looked them over?”

“Some. I’ve had a busy weekend.” Bill says, “It was my weekend with Brian.” 

“Not a problem. I’m sure Holden and Jim are up to date.”

Bill clenches his jaw. “We’ve got a few days. I’ll get there.”

She gives him a terse nod, and a smile. 

Muttering a curse under his breath, Bill goes over into the annex to retrieve the dossiers from his desk. They have two interviews scheduled back to back in California, a trip worthy of dedicated research that he simply hadn’t found the time for this weekend. 

Once they’re assembled in the conference room, Wendy starts going over the details. 

Bill anxiously lights a cigarette while Jim and Holden offer their opinion on preliminary profiles of the two men. 

“I think Jim and I can handle this one.” Holden says, “Bill can hold down the fort here in Quantico for a few days. Right, Bill?”

Bill casts Holden a sharp glance through the cloud of smoke pouring from his mouth. The taste of nicotine sours in the back of his throat as their gazes connect, a silent tension elongating between them like an overstretched rubber band. 

Bill clears his throat, “I thought Jim had that consult for Galveston.” 

“I do.” Jim says, “I can handle both.”

“It’s okay. You shouldn’t have to when my desk is clear.” Bill says. 

Silence settles across the conference room for a moment, and Bill hears Wendy draw in a stiff breath. 

“Jim has done the research.” Holden says, finally. 

“So have I.”

“Bill, it’s okay, really.” Jim says, his tone placating in a way that makes Bill’s teeth grind. “We understand that you have a lot going on right now with Brian-”

“Don’t bring my kid into this.” Bill interrupts, heat flaring hot in his chest before he can stop it. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“All due respect, but I think it does.”

“All due respect?” Bill echoes, acid seething into every word. “Let’s keep this professional, Jim. We’re talking about work, not family. And I’ve done the fucking research.”

“Bill, I think-” Wendy begins, her tone rushed as tension swells into the conference room, sapping oxygen from the air. 

“Wendy, it’s okay.” Jim says, holding up a hand. “Bill, I’m sorry if I hit a nerve. I was simply trying to say that-”

“No, I get what you’re trying to say.” Bill says, tossing the folder onto the table, and rising from his chair. “And I’m not distracted or unfit for this job anymore because of what’s going on with Brian. I am still as committed to our work as when Holden and I founded this department.”

“Well, that’s somewhat juvenile, don’t you think?” Jim asks, his cool tone wavering as frustration seeps into his expression. “I have put a lot of effort into getting this position, Bill. More than you or Holden will ever have to experience.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bill says, “Now this is about race?”

“Bill.” Wendy says, sternly. “I think this discussion has gone far enough.”

“Far enough? How about too far?” Jim says, casting Bill a hurt glare. 

Bill glances away, feeling a pang of regret. 

“I think it’s best if this decision is made by an unbiased third party.” Wendy says, “Myself. And I think it would be best if Jim and Holden took this one.”

“You’re shitting me right?” Bill asks, swinging a glare in her direction, “Holden and I have been doing this shit since the very beginning. These are important interviews. You don’t think that I - a senior member of this department - should be a part of this level of classification?”

“Yes. And you can be part of the discussion.” Wendy says, “When Jim and Holden get back.”

Bill turns to cast Holden glance, to see if at least one person is on his side in this disagreement. But Holden is already getting up out of his chair, and marching out of the conference room. The door swings shut behind him, rattling the length of windows that encompass the room. 

Silence blankets the room as a suffocating layer of tension builds in his absence. 

“Great.” Bill says, getting up to follow him. “Then I guess it’s settled.” 

~

That evening, Bill lingers at his desk, smoking a cigarette and skimming through the San Quentin interview files. If he hadn’t digested them before, he’s gorged on them now, stubbornly trying to prove a point to himself if not everyone else. 

I’m not licking my wounds. He thinks, taking a hard drag of his cigarette. Just doing my job. 

The annex is vacant except for him as he gets up from his desk for another cup of coffee. As he pours out the last dregs the interns had left behind, the door creaks open, casting yellow light from the hall across the shadowed bullpen. 

Bill turns to see Holden slipping inside, his hands tucked in his pockets. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Bill asks, managing an amiable tone. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Holden says, his voice carrying in a tentative whisper across the room. 

Bill draws in a deep breath. Ripping open a sugar packet, he asks, “About what?”

“You know.” Holden says, “Earlier, in the conference room.”

Bill tosses the empty packet in the trash, and focuses on stirring the sugar into the lukewarm cup of coffee. 

“So, you’re here to lecture me.”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I just think you should apologize to Jim.” Holden says, making his way past empty desks to join Bill by the coffee stand. 

Bill takes a sip of the coffee, wincing at the stale flavor. “That’s what you think, hm?”

“Yes.” Holden says, “This isn’t about him.”

Bill stares into the black depths of the coffee, trying to ignore the heat curling up his throat as Holden’s gaze lands heavily on his temple. 

Holden sighs, and turns to lean his hips against the table. “It’s about me.”

“You?” Bill scoffs. 

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

“Jealous. Now you’ve really got it wrong.”

The words have no more left his mouth than Bill looks up to see Holden gazing at him calmly, eviscerating honesty resting in the deep blue of his eyes. He glances away, fighting back the frustration rising in his chest. 

“Bill, the truth is, Jim and I have gotten to be close friends these last few months because I didn’t think we were anymore - not after Atlanta.”

“What?” Bill whispers, his throat thickening. 

“Look at you-” Holden says, motioning around the bullpen, “You’re over here in the annex by yourself, and have been since we got back from Vacaville. You didn’t tell me a thing about Brian until I forced you to. You shut me out.”

Bill lets out a feeble laugh, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Holden, I … I don’t know what to say. I never meant to- … for us to-”

“To not be friends anymore?” Holden whispers. 

Bill’s eyes creep open to see Holden staring at the floor, his arms folded defensively over his chest. 

“Is that what you think?” Bill asks. 

“I don’t know. It’s how I feel.” 

Bill swallows hard against the lump forming in the back of his throat. “That isn’t what I want.”

Holden lifts his chin to meet Bill’s gaze, his mouth twitching with a faint smile. “You want to get out of here? Get a drink?”

Bill lets out a relieved laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

Holden shoves away from the table, nodding eagerly towards the door. 

Discarding the cold coffee, Bill grabs his wallet and keys from his office, and follows Holden out of the annex. The hallway echoes with their footfalls as they walk in stride down toward the elevator. 

“I still think Jim and I should take San Quentin.” Holden says, softly. 

Bill feels the frustration in his chest melt away as they step onto the elevator. He casts Holden an affable smile. “That’s more than fair.”

[wereallsaloonaticshere]

Summary: Thompson moves back to America after Edward dies, and finds Eduardo, a bandit, mourning Juan’s death. 

Fandom: Eddsworld, Saloonatics  ~  Ships: TomEdd, Juardo (Eduardo x Juan)

Tw: Drugs, death, grief, implied overdose, cursing, tell me if i need to add any.

Word count: 3,478

He’d expected it to look the same, or roughly, as he had left it.

Yet as he entered the town, the one where he grew up and spent most of his adult years and loved with all his heart, he realized that he should have followed the train conductor’s warnings. 

The place stunk.

Not smelled bad stunk; that wouldn’t have been a change; but depressing stunk. Everything in the town, the shops, the bars, the homes. It all looked... dead.

It was a ghost town. All traces of life were stuck in place, people having likely fled due to the influx of criminals that would’ve occurred after Thompson left. 

He walked into his old favorite bar. The bar was named ‘A good place to start’, which Thompson had always found ironic, but especially now, when his world felt like it was caving in on itself. When it was ending.

Deciding he might as well try, he looked over the counter to see if there was any leftover alcohol. None. Which makes sense honestly, that was usually the first thing stolen, but Thompson just wishes something was there to ease his mind. Make him forget for a little while now, at whatever steep cost he’d have to pay later. 

Thompson slumped into his old bar stool, and held his head in his hands. He didn’t feel like spiraling into another pity party, yet he also didn’t want to move. 

But if he didn’t go anywhere, if he didn’t at least try to distract himself, then what was the point of moving back to America in the first place?

He forced himself out of the chair, and walked out. Wandering aimlessly, he waiting for something to pounce on him from the shadows, but nothing came.

Even the criminals had abandoned this place. 

After some time, he heard soft weeping. A deep voice, one that rang a distant bell that resided on the outskirts of his memory. 

Thompson was, by far, no stranger to crying. So he knew that, if he were crying in a place where he thought he was alone, he wouldn’t exactly want someone intruding. 

So, he tried to walk away, but instead tripped over his own feet and landed on the ground with a thud. Dust from the ground flew into his lungs, and he loudly coughed it out. 

The man he’d heard before was looking straight at him now, eyes wide with surprise and recognition. 

The man he saw was the bandit, Eduardo, if he remembered correctly, who had kidnapped the Prince many years ago. He was wearing a rumpled and dirty green shirt, with hideous, shadowed bags under his eyes. Not that Thompson had any ground to stand on in that department. Both men looked altogether disheveled. 

Eduardo shot up, looking ready to sprint away, but then he just stood there. Staring. 

“What?” Eduardo said, “Aren’t you gonna kill me to?”

Thompson stood up, raising his hands in front of him.

“Hey, I’m no killer.”

“But your friends are.” Eduardo shot back, eyes, already sunken in and red, welling up with tears, “All you cops are. Freaks.”

“Hey! That’s not-”

“If you’re not gonna kill me, at least leave me alone.” Eduardo sunk back down onto the earth, back slumped and head in his hands. 

Thompson walks over to Eduardo.

“Why are ya-”

“The fuck did I say before? Leave.” Eduardo growled, hands pulling on his hair.

“Fine.” Thompson walked away.

He walked until he found an abandoned hotel, not want to go back to his old house and see what the new people had done there. Prying open the doors, he figured the owners wouldn’t mind if he borrowed one of the rooms for a night or two. He takes the first one on the ground floor.

He gingerly takes a compass out of his pocket and places it onto the night stand next to him.

As he climbs into bed and curls the covers around him, pictures of Edward start to rattle around in his brain. 

This is always when things go downhill. Though, with the subtraction of alcohol, it might end with less of a headache and with no embarrassing stories you overhear from other people at work the day after. 

Edward was beautiful, and brilliant, and bold. He would take him up onto the balcony and they would snuggle under a big, soft blanket, looking up at the stars. One night when they did this, Thompson said something that’d been on his mind for some time. 

“Hey, Ed?”

“Yes, Thom?” Edward snuggled closer, and a slight chill went down Thompson’s back. 

“There...there are more stars ‘n your eyes than the whole sky.” Thompson fidgeted with the blanket, studying his own hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward’s face, bathed in moonlight and dusted with dazzling pink. His own cheeks got warmer. 

Edward raised his hand over his mouth, eyes betraying his smile. 

“Thompson...” The star-y eyed man giggled, “I hope you know that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me before.” He slowly wraps his arms around Thompson, petting his hair softly and cooing other praises into his ear.

Thompson flushed at the flattery, breath wavering. He allowed a small smile, hugging tightly. 

That was the night Thompson was sure he was never going to leave Edward for America, that he would stay with him until the end.

And in that way, he wasn’t lying. He did stay with him until the end. 

Edward and Thompson shared many tender moments, and had built a very unique relationship indeed. But it seemed it wasn’t enough, not for Edward.

He was erratic when they outlawed the original cola. He would sob into Thompson’s arms after waking up from a vivid nightmare, wondering how he would ever feel happy again. Thompson would pretend not to feel a little hurt at the implication that he wasn’t enough, but would swallow it down, not wanting to inadvertently hurt his partner’s feelings. Though that just led to more statements like that, so it probably would’ve been worth the trouble to just say something. 

He would keep Thompson up at night, just talking, saying he was unable to sleep yet exhausted. His superiors had tried to team Thompson up with someone else because of how badly Edward was suddenly doing on all his cases. Thompson refused. 

After weeks of being constantly tired, cold and hungry, the symptoms seemed to stop, suddenly. He was doing better again, oddly enough. 

“Thank God he didn’t go to therapy, like his superiors told him to,” Thompson overheard someone say, “it was probably just a rough patch.”

And it seemed like it was. Everything was better, suddenly. He was getting picked for the best cases, and his superiors were giving him small bonuses again. Sure, it was odd Edward would go to take smoke breaks alone every hour or so, but hey, that’s being a detective for you. It’s a stressful job. 

But soon he would wake up in the middle of the night again, getting chills and tremors even though he was always used to the cold before. Bags would appear under his eyes from waking up so often. 

Thompson begged him to go to a doctor, but Edward denied every time, until Thompson just quietly hoped from a distance.

“Why would I go to a doctor? So they can lock me up and prevent me from doing my job? Preposterous, Thomie. This city; all of England; needs me.” 

“If you say so...”

He didn’t know what to do. Edward was eventually taking so many short breaks he got suspended. Then fired. They of course still needed to pay rent and afford food so Thompson decided to keep working, which left Edward alone for long stretches of the day, and...

Thompson curled into fetal position, feeling a fatigue so strong he could hardly breathe without each one feeling like a sit up. He didn’t even have any tears left to cry. 

He didn’t want to relive the next parts, the ones that made him feel unfit to call himself human. 

Eventually, he fell asleep, staring blankly ahead.

~

Thompson didn’t take much back to America with him. The clothes on his back and enough food and money to help him survive the sea ride were the only things he originally planned on taking. 

Then, as he was trudging out the door, something caught his eye. 

A compass. 

Technically worth nothing, Thompson found it in a pile of mud. But it looked pretty to him, even from a distance, and when he picked it up, he saw intricate gold designs on it. He took it home to clean it. It was broken, however, but Thompson figured he could always get it fixed. 

When Edward found the thing drying on the dinner table, he asked Thompson what it was.

“It’s a compass.” Thompson said, smirking.

“Well, yes, I can see that. What is it doing here?” Edward asked, amused and intrigued. 

“I...I dunno. I found it ‘n I thought it looked nice. So I went and cleaned it up all spiffy for ya.” Thompson picked it up and held it out, “Here ya go.” 

Edward light up, and carefully held it, examining it in the light. 

“Thank you! This is lovely.” He kissed Thompson on the cheek, effectively burning the man’s face off. “I think it’s really symbolical how you found this in the mud but still saw enough beauty behind the hard exterior to clean it.”

“Right...the symbolism.” Thompson had never really been a symbolism ‘guy’. In his mind, if you had something to say, just say it. Don’t make everyone else feel stupid for not understanding how some vague dream or color-coded outfit tie into some bigger, overarching story line. 

“I think it fits you nicely!” Edward beamed, proud of himself.

“You think a dirty, broken compass ‘fits me’?” Thompson raised one eyebrow, leaning on the table with his elbow.

“Oh no! No no no no no.” Edward smiled nervously, waving his hands in front of him, “I simply meant that you finding the beauty in something others would consider trash is...well, quite sweet.”

“...Have others called ya trash before? ‘Cause I’ll beat ‘em for ya, if ya want.” 

Edward chuckled a little before he realized Thompson was dead serious.

“No no, it isn’t that, I just think it’s like your old town.” When Edward said that, Thompson felt a little nostalgic for his old life. Not that he’d trade Edward for anything, of course; he just liked the familiarity of the thought. “Your town seemed rotten with crime at first glance, but you stayed and helped it; why? Because you saw it’s good, and it’s beauty, and the potential it had with a little cleaning up!”

Thompson titled his head and squinted at the floor.

“I...think I understand?” 

“I’m glad I could help!” Edward smiled, and Thompson couldn’t help but reflect it. “I really do think it’s sweet, you know. It proves you notice the little things, and-”

“Alright, alright,” Thompson interrupted, blush furious at the praise, “that’s enough. Thanks, though. Sweet of ya ta interpret it that way.”

“You’re quite welcome!” He kissed him on the cheek again, and Thompson let himself smile dumbly, his eye fluttering shut. “But I think it could also mean you see...”

Thompson had stopped listening at that point, but watching Edward ramble on about things he didn’t know or care about...well, he enjoyed how happy it made him. 

Thompson figured he couldn’t leave the compass there to get taken and thrown away by the bank, he wouldn’t bare it. Even though his entire reasoning in leaving was so he could get away from everything that reminded him of his late...friend, he knew he wouldn’t feel right leaving this behind. So he put it in his pocket and left with it. 

Now it was on the nightstand. Or at least, it should’ve been.

When Thompson opened his eye and saw it missing, the nothing feeling was replaced by panic. 

Flinging the covers off him, he went to check under the bed, but before he could, he saw a flash of color out the window. It was dark green, with a small glint of gold. 

He flew through the doors and ran outside. 

“HEY!” He shouts at the moving figure, better recognizable now. It looks an awful lot like the crying man from before; Eduardo. Thompson sprints with all his might, a swirling inferno of energy replacing the usual dull spark. 

He doges houses and runs after Eduardo, further in the desert. Colors blur together, and soon Thompson has Eduardo pinned down, pressing his wide-eyed face into the dust. He pries the compass out of his hands. 

“Now.” Thompson’s voice was a quiet, tired growl. A warning through gritted teeth. “Why did you try and steal my compass?”

“I...” Eduardo shrinks into himself, eyes closing slowly now. He sighs. “I just wanted to finally leave.” 

Thompson blinks and shakes his head.

“Sure, bandit.” Eduardo tightens his lips. He hasn’t been called that in awhile. Or he just doesn’t like that word. “I’m gonna-” He instinctively reaches for where he usually puts his handcuffs. Of course, he turned them in when he quit. Old habits die hard.

“What are ya gonna do now?” Eduardo asks, “There’s no one else here to help you, and I could get out of this any time.”

“Then why haven’t ya?” Thompson asks, calling his bluff, and Eduardo simply frowns. “I knew it. Now why did ya steal my only...why did ya steal my compass?”

“That’s none of your business.” Eduardo snapped, eyes squeezing shut, “Now let me go.”

“How should I know ya won’t just try n’ kill me? Or something worse?” Thompson asked, tightening his grip. Eduardo grimaced. “Ya said somethin’ about finally bein’ able to leave. If there’s no one else here, why not do that a while ago? Who was stopping ya?” Thompson’s rage had turned to curiosity. Mixed with rage.

Eduardo tried to swallow, making his hair fall in front of his face to mask the expression. A few seconds pass, and Thompson considers asking again, because he wasn’t going to let this go, until he hears quiet sobs from the man. Thompson softens.

“I...” Thompson was never really good at comforting people. That was Edward’s job, mostly. If they were on a case with a grieving widow, Edward was the one to hold them. He would always know just what to say, even when he himself was at his worst. Remembering Edward’s worst moments puts tears into Thompson’s eye.

One time, just two hours after Edward got suspended for a week, Thompson was yelling at him for being so inconsiderate.

“I don’t even know how ya did this!” Thompson had thrown his arms into the air

“I-I don’t either! My job performance is fine-”

“It’s because ya keep taking breaks every 5 seconds! And ya never tell no one what you’re doing! It makes me wonder if ya ever even stopped using-”

“Shut-shut UP!” Edward shouted, then placed a hand over his mouth. Thompson instinctively took a step back. “I’m...I’m sorry, Thompson. Terribly sorry.”

“It’s...” Thompson rarely heard Edward raise his voice. But when he told him to shut up, there was legitimate fear in his voice. Edward clutched his arms, looking at the ground. He shivered. “fine. It happens sometimes.” 

“I’m terribly sorry.” Edward said, almost as if he was apologizing for something else, and walked quickly away. 

The look of regret in Edward’s eyes...Thompson knew he didn’t want to do what he was doing. But it was almost as if he had to. He wanted to stop, but didn’t know how.

Teardrops fell onto Eduardo’s neck. 

“Wha...” Eduardo said, “Are you...can you get off of me?”

“Sure.” Thompson sat next to Eduardo has he sat up. A short silence proceeded, a heavy and curious one.

“What am I doing?” Asked Eduardo, sighing to himself as he fumbles with his necklace. 

“I don’t know.” Thompson wiped the tears from his eye. There was an awkward tension in the air, and they both just wanted to fill it. So, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I just miss him so much. Edward, I mean.” He blushed slightly.

“Were you two...?” Eduardo cocked his head, eyebrows creased.

Thompson licked his lips. He looked the man over again, and saw that he didn’t have any weapons on him. Of course, he might be able to throw a few punches, but Thompson didn’t find himself caring too much about that. He figured if he had nothing left he cared to lose, why not risk all that remained?

“I loved him.” Thompson kept his eye open when he said this, wanting to see Eduardo’s reaction. He nor Edward had told a soul about their relationship, but he didn’t care all that much about his reputation now, and Edward didn’t exactly have a spotless one anymore. Also, Thompson doubted there was a thing Eduardo could say to hurt him that he hadn’t heard before; offhand in the streets, at church, in crude jokes. Eduardo could never hurt Thompson in a way that mattered, no one could anymore. In Thompson’s mind, that is.

Wide, deep brown eyes freeze and stare into Thompson’s icy blue one. After no signs of joking, Eduardo’s jaw goes slack. 

“I get it.” Eduardo said,  “I just...didn’t know there was another out there, I-I...” Long buried and hated tears soak his eyelashes, “I thought I was alone. For so long.”

“I know. ‘M sorry.” Thompson taps his fingers on the ground, not knowing if he should move to hug him, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to think.

“Years.” 

Thompson just waits, heart bleeding with familiarity.

“Juan died. A...I loved him.” Eduardo lets out a quick and harsh laugh, “Fuck, I still love him. I miss him so damn much.” He clenches his fists. His entire body is shaking. “I wish I had never called him any names, I wish I hadn’t waited so long to tell him, I wish he hadn’t been...” He buries his face into his hands.

“’M so sorry.” Thompson slowly wraps his arms around Eduardo, which the latter gladly accepts. They stay like that for awhile.

“And I feel like if I leave here...it’d be like abandoning him. I can’t do that, not again.” Thompson could tell it was like flood gates had been opened. The dam he had built to keep his emotions at bay were broken, and nothing would stand in the way of it’s cleansing destruction. “His smile, his clothes, his oh-so-angelic voice...what would I be if I forgot them? Who am I right now, without them?”

Thompson shut his eye tight, realizing that these were questions he had been avoiding answering himself. He felt hollow without Edward, and condolences from well meaning co-workers didn’t help fill that void at all. If he wasn’t already spending all his money on rent, he would’ve spiraled into alcoholism. He was determined to try and take a small part of the burden off this man’s back. No one deserved to feel like they had to cry alone. 

People didn’t understand why Thompson cared so much when Edward died.

People obviously expected grief; but they also expected him back at work by Tuesday. They were just friends, after all. Who mourns for years over their friend? 

Thompson could feel his heart being ripped out when he got pulled to the side one day at his lunch hour. 

“It’s Edward.” His Captain had said. The waters in Thompson stilled. 

“What is it?”

“We found him in an alley, a few miles north of here. I’m so sorry.” 

Thompson simply sat down, for a pressure as heavy as the world had just been set on his shoulders. The tears didn’t come until much later. 

Plaid in all black, he demanded time for mourning. In English etiquette, a widow was to mourn for her late husband for two years. But Thompson was no woman, and Edward and he never married. 

In English etiquette, he was to feel sad, but not too sad. That wasn’t normal. 

He was offered a week, but instead quit the job entirely. 

He lived off his savings, unable to get out of bed some days, clutching the pillow Edward used to sleep on, pretending it still smelled like him, even months after. 

No one deserved to cry alone.

Yet both of them had, too many times. 

For Eduardo had the same weight on his shoulders. But both of them together, finally with someone who understood them, after being dead alone for too long...

It was nice. 

And no one cried alone that night.