#tw: canon violence

[sortofanobsession]

Of Hunters, Gods, and Hooded Vigilantes (Moon Knight/TVA Hunter Reader)

Author's Note: I have been sitting on this one since (and a few other loki ri) since Loki ended. @selfryed suggested I post it . Hopefully it doesn't disappoint. I know not everyone likes Reader Inserts. But you all know how much I love Moon Knight crossovers. I'll write those boys into anything. Suggest away if you wish. Unbeta'd and Posted on mobile so please forgive any errors.

Sylvie, B-15, Casey, and OB pop up but no Loki or Mobius in this one. Sorry guys. Random letter and number combos for non important hunters.

Content warning: canon typical violence, some swearing, mentions of death, crying,

You track the rogue variant that had been messing with time, not quite as dangerous as He Who Remains. But somehow this guy had an artifact that he couldn't be allowed to keep. B-15 had sent a team that consisted of you and two other hunters.

It turns into more of a scuffle than expected. Hunter L-24 was calling for backup as you gave chase. You hated the fact you weren't in your actual armor. You had been trying to blend in. But you regret that now with the cut on your temple, dangerously close to your eye, and probably bruised rib. It hurt but that's the job. And you had the guy in the ropes until… until you didn't. Time was iffy with what this guy had taken and one second you were running through a side road through the highly populated area, but thankfully sparsely-filled street in what you knew of consisted of public housing. Next, you are cut off from your team in an alley. A manic laugh has you turn on your heels. You had really hoped you wouldn't have to use the pruning stick. This was supposed to be easier. Your hands move as if on their own with practiced movement of charging the weapon.

“Listen, buddy,” you said with false confidence to hide your unease. “We tried doing this the nice way, but you’ve forced my hand.”

“You still think you have the upper hand,” the man laughed, pulling a pistol. Oh that was not good. Those weren't even allowed in this country, you knew that. You hear the click of the weapon. But out of nowhere, the gun is knocked out of his hand by a metallic object. You lunge towards the weapon. And you can't reach it, but you do the next best thing. You pruned it. It disappears. Let the Void Lokis or Alioth have it. You turn towards the scuffle behind you, expecting to see your team. You are surprised to see a masked figure easily taking down the variant. You watch as the figure knocks the guy out.

“Uh…thanks,” you say as the vigilante turns to you as you power down your weapon.

You can feel eyes on you as you go over and pick up the artifact. The masked figure hasn't said a word. Just watching you. The wind kicks up as you place a pair of cuffs on the variant.

You grab your tempad and report in. “Variant secured, B-15,” you say. You look back and the hooded hero is gone. You hear the sound of rushed boot falls as your teammates meet you. You pick up the curved blade that had saved your life. You admire it as a timedoor appears.

None of you noticed Moon Knight in the shadows watching you.

— ◍☾ —

Marc couldn't believe what he was seeing. You were supposed to be dead. Everyone had said you were dead. It had torn him up not knowing what happened to you. What you went through. He always wondered if you suffered. If you had missed him. If he could have saved you if he hadn't left. But he had pushed that pain away and forced himself to move on. But that pain tended to pop up at random moments. He did not expect it to come up now. And it had Marc pulling back and letting Jake take over. But he kept watching. You looked so young. Like he remembered. Like time had barely touched you. How was that possible? Then again, they hadn't really aged much since Khonshu. But you weren't an avatar. He would have known or the bird would have.

And any doubt Marc had was gone when he heard your voice again. It was one he still heard in his dreams. One he couldn't forget. But Jake was wise enough to be cautious. If something seemed impossible and too good to be true, it probably was. So Jake removed them from the situation.

The next time Moon Knight was better prepared. There were too many questions they needed answered. So he started by seeing if you were you in the simplest way first. He called your name. And something in Marc shifted when you reacted by turning towards them. But his heart aches when you look at him and ask if they knew you. Even more so when you said you didn't even know you. And that was enough.

— ◍☾ —

The next time you are in that part of the timeline after you spent a few days working with the others at the TVA. You were in Eastern Europe tracking down a secondary artifact that was created alongside the one you collected in London. The same group of rogues. The same branch. Your ribs still ache from the last time. You were in full gear this time with a larger team. But you weren’t the only one with increased numbers. The variant had friends with the new artifact you were pursuing. Mid-fight again, out of the night drops the figure you now knew was called the Moon Knight. You hadn't read the hero’s file but you knew where he got his powers now. What you hadn't expected was what the caped hero did next.

He called your name. Well, not your name. It was what had been your name before you were taken from the timeline. You knew it was your name, but it didn't really feel like yours. Most everyone just called you by your hunter designation.

“You know me?” You ask because when you had skimmed your file to make an informed decision on staying at the TVA you think you would have noticed if it had mentioned a hooded hero with the power of a literal god. Then you laugh at your own statement. “I don't even really know me.” And before you know it you feel arms around you and with speed you couldn't even comprehend you find yourself somewhere else. You stumble back as you look at your new surroundings.

“What…what did you do that for?” You reach for your weapon.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Moon Knight says, his mask disappearing to reveal a face. One that seems oddly familiar, but you didn't know for sure.

“Then why did you take me from my team?” You glare.

“I just want to talk,” he says.

You say nothing as you reach for where your tempad is secured.

“Don't you remember me?” he says. The whole suit vanishing now. He stands in front of you in jeans and a henley.

“I'm sorry,” you tell him but for some reason there are tears in your eyes. You don't know why but the look on the man's face breaks your heart. “I’m not…I'm not who you are looking for. I'm…I'm just a hunter.”

“But you are, you answered to her name, you're-” He's cut off as a slight woosh and shimmer of a timedoor appears. Moon Knight’s suit is back and he moves between you and the door. You actually find it rather amusing. As if he was protecting you. Too bad he is protecting you from your team. Your friends. Your work.

The timedoor opens and you are stunned to see Sylvie walks out in the god's fully armed glory.

“Sylvie,” you say in shock. Last you knew she had returned to her fast food life.

“B-15 called,” Sylvie states. And that tracks.

“How long?” You ask wondering how long had actually passed at the TVA if Sylvie was called in.

“Long enough,” Sylvie says and you sigh.

“Who the hell are you?” Moon Knight snaps at Sylvie.

“She already said who I was. I'm Sylvie. And you took my friend here against her will and I hoped that avian god of yours would know better. Stupid bird,” she spits as she summons her sword.

“What the-”

“He didn't mean it, Sylvie. He's confused he-”

“You defend this broken puppet?” Sylvie asks in amusement. And Moon Knight clearly didn't like that because you notice a slight shift in his stance and suit as a fight breaks out. And it's an interesting fight.

“Your bird god is weak, his hold is pitiful,” The silver tongued variant snides, “To need a human puppet.”

“Avatar,” Moon Knight corrects.

“Same thing, a human shield to hide behind,” Sylvie grins.

You gasp as Sylvie gets close enough to put a hand against Moon Knight's chest. And she sees it.

You hear a deep growl and Sylvie is shoved back. “Stay the fuck out of my head!” Moon Knight snaps.

You expect Sylvie to return to the fight but instead she appears next to you.

“Now, now, lover boy, no one is going to hurt anyone.”

“Speak for yourself,” he hisses.

“Your anger is misplaced, puppet,” she says before looking at you. “He does know you, knew you, the timeline you.”

“What?” You look between the female god and the hero. You see the masked hero’s shoulders go tense.

“I can show you,” Sylvie grins.

“Wait, hang on-” Moon Knight says, his mask dropping.

Sylvie takes your lack of a refusal an answer, her hand touches your temple.

You gasp as your mind is flooded with images. A history you didn't remember. It brings tears to your eyes and steals the breath from your lungs.

Moon Knight shouts your name again as you stumble back against the wall.

You’re overwhelmed. You hear shouting and the recognizable sound of Sylvie’s laugh.

“I did you a favor,” the female god of mischief says, her focus back on the unmasked man.

“No one asked you to,” a voice you now recognized as a version of one you knew lifetimes ago. You knew his name.

“Marc,” you don't even realize you say it out loud. You really did know him. His head snaps to look at you as you say it.

“You're welcome,” Sylvie says before she and the timedoor vanish. Marc curses Sylvie as he moves beside you in an instant.

“You're okay,” he says, his eyes full of an emotion you can't pinpoint. “We’ve got you.”

“Marc?” you say again, needing confirmation. Your hand raises but is hesitant to touch.

“Do you remember me now?” he asks, a slightly hopeful look on his face. His gloved hand grips yours.

“I…I do,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he says. “Good.” The suit drops away. His hand squeezes yours and he leads you into a building. An apartment building you realize. You follow him into a studio apartment with a large fish tank drawing your attention. Two goldfish swimming around. You approach it with amusement. You almost forgot that people really do keep pets. Pets aren’t really a thing at the TVA. No time. Not really.

You hear Marc moving around behind you, then his voice, hushed as if talking to someone. But when you glance at him through your periphery he doesn't seem to be talking to you.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls over to you, but his accent is different. You look at him with amusement. All your years, centuries, eons maybe, of hunter training has you fully turning to observe him. You had seen him change in flashes as Sylvie showed you what she deemed important. Conversations with mirrors. Changes. Shifts. He was like a variant with variants of his own in his mind. This is what she had meant by him having a broken mind.

“You're not Marc, are you?”

The man looks momentarily stricken. And you wonder if you should have phrased that differently. “Sorry, that sounded accusatory.” You carefully remove your helmet and move to set it on a nearby table. Your weapon too. “Sylvie didn't show me everything, so I…I don't know your name.”

“Steven,” he says without hesitation, now knowing that you aren't too afraid. Knowing that him fronting hadn't ruined things.

“Okay,” you nod. You activate your tempad and send a message to B-15 that you were okay and that if they needed you to just let you know. You contemplated leaving it with your weapon and helmet but you were still unsure what to expect. So you kept it secured in its spot.

“What do you remember?” Steven asks.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit. “But honestly, it's more like watching an old movie with some of it. It doesn't feel real.”

“I know the feeling,” his voice is kind and there is a sympathetic look on his face.

“I'm sure you do,” you nod.

“You're not afraid?” He asks.

“I mean, I have spent an unknown number of years, maybe millennia, lifetimes, as a hunter. No name, just a letter and a number. Reporting to superiors that worked for a lie. Made to believe I was always like this.” You say. “It's more jarring than anything to have real memories again. To think I had childhood. A real life.”

You sense a shift and his old, more familiar accent is back.

“What happened to you?” He asks.

“It's a very long story,” you say. “What's the last thing you remember of me?”

“While I was gone. You vanished, they said you ran away, but that was bullshit. You would have told me. Left a letter. Something. Then I come back to missing persons posters all over the city. But it's Chicago. No one was confident they'd find you. I couldn't find you. They wrote you off as dead when no traces of you were found anywhere. It was like there was nothing to find.”

“They wouldn't have, still won't,” you say sadly.

“What?” He frowns. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means I read my file, well, skimmed it. My nexus event was before that point. But the sacred timeline me. The me you knew, I'm sorry Marc but she’s gone.”

“But you're right here,” he states.

“Like I told you, I'm not actually her. I'm…from a different point in time. Before you left. Before…”

“What do you mean a different point in time? How is that possible?”

“Because the people I work for, the place I was, it's like a city outside of time.”

“How can anything exist outside of time?”

“How can a man fly and survive death?” You ask. “The details are complicated and honestly, I understand it less now than I thought I did before. We exist to protect time from those who tamper with it.”

“So you can time travel?” He asks.

“Yes, but,” you know you need to draw the line in the sand now. “But whatever you are thinking, please don't.” And he studies you. You look so tired. And sad. Very sad.

“It's not as easy as you would think. Changing time has horrible consequences. The things I've done. The people I sent to that monster. I thought what I was doing was right. That I was protecting the timeline. Preventing something terrible. Turns out. We were the terrible ones. All those branches. All those people. Feed to Alioth.” You were crying now. It was the first time you ever let yourself think about the all devouring monster you had sent so many to face.

“Oh darling,” you hear the British accent back. “You didn't know. We’ve all done things we regret. Especially us,” he glances at the reflextion of Marc. “You didn't know what you were doing, you said so-”

“You don't get it,” you tell him. You dug out the engraved token and placed it on the table. A coin, a momento Dox had given you once as a reward after a partially difficult mission. It looked like a souvenir coin. Embossed edges. You ran your fingers over the seal and motto.

“For all time. Always,” you repeat the motto you had molded your life to follow. The atrocities you helped orchestrate. “Anything any of you have done in your life is a fraction of what I was part of. I shouldn't be here. I don’t deserve to have this.” You grab your weapon and open a timedoor, you rush though. The door closes behind you.

Steven walks over and picks up the helmet you left behind and the coin you had placed on the table. Time Variance Authority. He looked at the others in their reflections. They all agree. They were determined to find out everything they can about time, especially time travel.

— ◍☾ —

Marc was angry. That woman just showed up, literally out of nowhere, and then nearly ruined everything. First she fights them. Then she gets in their mind, and Jake had violently objected to that. Having Khonshu in their head was bad enough. And it was already crowded with three of them in there already. But the real line was crossed when the woman that you considered a friend showed you the painful history you guys had. You had been so mad at him for leaving. Your tears were like ice picks in their heart. And he just got more angry with himself as you broke down over what you had been through. Everything he couldn't save you from. He didn't know what a nexus was but if it was anything like the turning point in their life, namely slowly dying in the desert until Khonshu stepped in, it couldn’t have been pleasant. So Steven takes over to let Marc process while someone tries to help you. The British alter had tried to comfort you but it hadn't worked. You explain a bit more and then like a switch flips, you panic. And you leave. Marc pulls further away to brood. They can't let this be the end.

— ◍☾ —

Time passes and your heart hurts less but you cannot forget them. You are helping look through pages of readings you were still not the best at analyzing. You were a hunter, not an analyst. But with fewer people now that many had left to live in the timeline, you had offered to help. To stay busy. You looked up from the file as Casey hurried towards you.

“We have a problem,” he says.

“Let me grab my gear,” you say.

“No need, no time anyway,” he says as he opens a timedoor. You follow him into the main monitoring bay. And the monitor is tracking a branch growing dangerously fast.

“I thought we didn't prune branches anymore,” you say.

“This isn't your normal branch,” OB says.

“Then I should get my gear, where's the team,” you look at B-15.

“You’ll be fine,” OB says as he opens a timedoor. You make sure your tempad is in its place. “Hold on, a solo mission but i-”

“Only you can handle this one,” OB says and guides you to the door. “You'll do great.” A gentle push and you are through the door. There is a large open tunnel before you.

“Oh, Loki, what did I get into this time,” you mutter looking up at the sky. “You'd probably enjoy this mess.” A woman walks towards you in the tunnel. You had seen pictures of her when you had been at Marc’s.

“I'm Lilah, come with me,” she says. You look at her outfit.

“You’re an avatar, right?”

“I am, and a friend of Marc and Steven,” she says.

“Are they okay?” You ask.

“Why don't you see for yourself.”

You follow her until you are in a giant temple. Statues and hieroglyphics surround you. You see Marc in front of a number of people on a dais.

Your footsteps are louder than you would want them as all attention turns to you.

Marc's eyes go wide for a moment and he calls your name. But before you can answer him. You are greeted by name by the woman in the middle.

She introduced herself as the goddess Isis. And you do your best to bury your nerves and act appropriately. You lower your gaze out of respect.

“At least this one knows respect,” a man says. He is scolded by another.

You are made to kneel beside Marc.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“You did this? You made the branch?” You whisper. You can't believe it.

“You must be curious why you are here,” Isis states. You lower your head again and stare at the floor. She seemed to be expecting an answer.

“I…was sent to the timeline by my superiors, they said that I was the only one.”

“Your companions are not wrong, but it was more we believed it was only fair you had a say in your fate.”

“My fate, your grace?” You cringed. The only god you knew was Loki, and he hasn't made you act in servitude.

The goddess hums in amusement. “Spector here cares very dearly for you it would seem. Even willing to travel forbidden planes to find you again.” You look over at Marc but he is starting a hole in the floor.

“Why?” you ask him.

“You left, and we didn't want to lose you again,” he admits.

“Osiris, Thoth and Horus are not pleased with your meddling, Spector,” the goddess says. “Be glad it is me before you and not my beloved.” She grins. “The passage of time is not yours to hold, Marc Spector, Khonshu knows better.”

“He wanted no part of it,” Marc admitted.

“The only reason you are not facing harsher penalties for your actions is because you have honestly done worse. And your heart was in the right place. Love makes fools of most mortals.” The goddess grins. “But you step outside your station, Marc Spector, once more and your punishment will not be so lenient.”

She dismissed everyone.

You turn to find Lilah is gone.

“I'm sorry,” the recognizable voice of Steven says. “I am so sorry. I didn't know they would care so much. It wasn't like we moved the stars again. Not that noticeable.”

You turn to look at him. “I told you guys that messing with time is dangerous. Then what do you do, you go and mess with time. Have you lost your mind?!”

“Well, by typical diagnostic specifications, technically we did a long time ago, when I came into existence,” Steven notes.

“Steven!” You shout. “You can't just change reality because you missed me. That’s not-”

His expression changes. His tone and accent too. “And you can? Do you have any idea what it was like to have you show up years after being told you were dead and then you just leave. Gone to somewhere we couldn’t follow. And you thought we would just let you go? A heart can only break so many times. We failed last time. We weren't going to fail again, not when we could actually-”

You silence him with a kiss.

“Take me home,” you tell him when you separate for air. They don't have to be told twice.

— ◍☾ —

Marc hadn't thought he could have happiness like this again. Even after he had found you again. The three of them had agreed that having you in their life was important, but he couldn't have anticipated having you literally in their bed.

You snuggle closer and bury your face in the warmth of his neck. Whining at being woken. So abruptly. You feel the laugh from the body beneath you as he turns off the alarm.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Marc says.

You grumble incoherently as you try to bury yourself in his warmth.

“You keep squirming like that, sweetheart and we are going to have a problem.” You giggle. “I'm serious, baby.” He moves the hair off your face so he can see you. “Donna will kill Steven if he's late again.”

You weigh your options. You shift your weight again earning a groan from Marc. “I could just use a timedoor and get him there on time.”

“Lo siento, mi amor,” Jake says as he takes over. “But you always say we shouldn't mess with time.”

You groan but don't stop him as he gets out of bed. You settle for stealing his pillow.

You yelp at the playful swat to your sheet covered behind. His hand rubs the now stinging skin through the sheet as Jake laughs. You glare at him but the face that greets you is one far too soft to be Jake Lockley.

“We’ll make it up to you, darling,” Steven says as he leans in and kisses your forehead. You pull him in for a proper kiss.

“Do we have time for pancakes?” You ask against his lips. And how could he say no to that?

You let him go and he looks at you like you hung the moon. Extra funny considering the lunar deity they serve. “We can make time for pancakes,” he assures you.

“You still want to watch that movie tonight?” Steven asks from the kitchen as you get dressed. You didn't have much other than your uniform so you had really just stolen a shirt that was far too big on you, his clean boxers, and a pair of socks so your feet wouldn't get cold on the hard floors.

You laugh as you remember you had stumbled upon one of Brad Wolfe’s schlocky films on a streaming service.

“Gods yes,” you laugh again. “X-5 was such a prick. Mobius said I have to watch them. They are hilarious, and they aren't supposed to be.”

“Are they scary?” Steven asks and you know in some reflection Marc or Jake is probably rolling their eyes, or laughing. You couldn't be sure.

“I'm sure Jakey will take over if it's too scary,” you wrap your arms around him as he cooks. He scoffs slightly but grins as you kiss his shoulder. “We've both fought worse than whatever monster Brad deals with in this one.” You grin. “Besides, we could take ‘em.”

“I'm sure we could, love,” Steven grins.

[hekxate]

first blood

(how i choose to believe loki presented, for the first time)

[kokoasci]

back in my evangelion phase

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods. 

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met. 

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too. 

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?" 

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.) 

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him. 

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles. 

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious. 

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad. 

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter. 

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know. 

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind.  Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back. 

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.) 

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted. 

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears. 

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved. 

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again. 

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home. 

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird. 

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever. 

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing." 

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin. 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is." 

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.) 

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind. 

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back. 

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

[incorrectbatfam]

I headcannon that this shotgun^ Jason randomly took home is the very same one Alfred uses all the time.

I also wanted to share Jason with a 12 gauge double barrel shotgun lol.

the 80s comics are killing me with how little Jason we got. It was like 10ish issues post crisis.

In a different continuity it went a little more like this:

[eclecticmiasma]

I kept thinking what if Chilchuck or Laios had been kidnapped by the monster! reader, how the reader saw them hurt or mistook them for chicks and saved them from being killed by another monster.. Now the reader monster is taking care of him in his nest/house, as if they were his own chicks (reader is a gentle monster who doesn't want anyone getting hurt or dying), and the reader being a sentient monster where she knows the dungeons are dangerous...

Note: the reader's appearance is similar to that of a human but with some animal characteristics, thus confusing the adventurers, who may think that she is a human cursed by the mad wizard and thus has the monster part... But the reader is a cool and conscious monster

Large brained thoughts, honestly! Perhaps reader could be the ghost of a creature that lost its young and uses shape-shifting to lure dungeoneers and other monsters to her nest as replacements? I would imagine that she would become extremely protective of her targets especially once they have been tricked into becoming one of her offspring. We don't see any examples of monsters being benevolent per se, but there is a benevolence/kindness to reader's selfish desires.

I think reader would appear very different to Laios and Chilchuck, and their reactions would be completely 180 degrees. Some slight anime spoilers ahead! SFW, canon typical violence.

Laios

Reader appears to Laios in a form that's nearly identical to her original. She has thick claws and black, wet eyes. Her teeth are sharp but framed by soft human lips and her ashen hair is silken and braided like a Northern maiden. She might have a long scaly tale and feathers on her abdomen and thighs because, due to Falin's current condition, it's a form that Laios finds subconsciously comforting.

She lures Laios while the others are asleep. A monster that he's never seen before is too intriguing to pass up- the party is safe enough where they are. Just a peak, a chance to learn-

Before he knows it, Laios is somewhere wholly unfamiliar. The thick dungeon bricks lining the walls slowly give way to moss and grass. The air is warm and smells like petrichor.

Despite a small, nagging anxiety, he presses further. The creature smiles as she leads him farther into the jungle atmosphere, a smile so sparkling and human that is makes Laios blush.

Before long, he's walked right into reader's nest. It's a cozy hovel carved into the base of a tree. Laios is delighted to find smaller monsters of all sizes in a daze, lounging around on the thatched flooring. As he steps inside, he feels a veil of calm close around him and vaguely realizes that its why the monsters aren't hostile towards each other.

Laios succumbs, at first. He lets reader take him into her arms, drag her long claws through his hair and sing a tune that numbs his mind into a pleasant mush.

Reader feeds him, gives him her milk (a high he'll never reach again until the day he dies), lays out the comfiest spot for her newest treasure and goes on her way to find the next target.

Genuinely, if Laios wasn't on a quest this would be his life for eternity. His own mother wasn't very loving, so a meld of monsters and mothers is more than a guy could ever ask for.

It could be hours, it could be days, but eventually Laios begins to remember that this isn't where he's meant to be. He sees a monster that reminds him of Falin, and all at once knows he reluctantly has to return to reality.

Once reader realizes Laios is gone, only killing her will end her crusade to get him back. While the others simply see a deranged monster, Laios sees a terrified mother desperate to drag him back to the safety of her home. Laios hesitates before killing her, too torn apart by the tears in her eyes. Marcille has to take the final blow.

Senshi and Laios briefly consider cooking the inhuman parts of reader into a sort of beef stroganoff as tribute, but Chilchuck's screeching reminder that they are not to eat humanoids leaves them to bury her instead.

Chilchuck

Is just off the heels of grumbling about being treated like a child when he spots what looks to be a small figure huddled in the darkness.

He calls out to the others but doesn't hear a response, only the soft whimpers of whoever has managed to get themselves into this state.

Chilchuck is much more on guard than Laios would ever be. He immediately assumes that it could be a trap or an illusion, so he calls to the figure from afar.

She answers, desperation coloring her tone as she sobs, relieved that someone has come across her.

"Th-they're dead, I don't know where they are but they're dead and I..."

As Chilchuck gingerly steps towards her, he realizes that what he sees is another half-foot. A small archer that's bloodied and bruised. Something about her reminds him immediately of his wife.

All logic leaves Chilchuck as he finishes approaching her, asking what's wrong and tearing off a piece of his sleeve to prepare to bandage the deepest of her wounds. When he goes to wrap the material around her forearm he stares in confusion. The wounds are gone.

He doesn't even have time to react before reader cups his small face in her. "You're lonely," She says, a matter of fact. The half-foot can't deny it, "It's time you stop doing these dangerous things. The only end for a half-foot in the dungeon is in the mouth of a monster. Let me take care of you."

Her words are like honey, her touch even moreso. Feeling the touch of a woman isn't a luxury Chilchuck had been afforded in many moons. But even in the fog of reader's touch, Chilchuck feels that something is off. Her hands are too cold, eyes too deep and dark- almost like black pools of liquid.

The sharp tips of her teeth set him off, and he knows he has to get away. She's no different than a mimic, he tells himself. Even if part of him desperately wants exactly what she has to offer.

Chilchuck mimes as if he is going to fall into her allure, cupping his hands over her own and giving her the most smitten look he can muster. All before kneeing her in the face and dashing at speeds only half-foots can muster to get away.

Reader chases him desperately, form filling the room as she wails in sorrow. "Can't you see they're using you? You're going to end up as bait. You're going to die down here, you'll never see your family again!" Chilchuck mentally bats away at each assertion even as they hook into his skin.

The others finally come running, proximity close enough to hear the commotion at last. With a few well-placed blasts and a slice to the throat via Kensuke, reader is felled and left for good. Even in death, she seems to be in mourning.

Chilchuck doesn't sleep well for weeks.

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide darker content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[bigassmoonchild]

Maple Syrup Masterlist

THIS SERIES IS COMPLETED

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Total Parts: 17

Total Word Count: ~43.3k

Summary: A mission that was supposed to be easy doesn't go your way, but when does it ever when the 141 is involved? Aphrodisiacs that were incredibly powerful were used on yourself and Simon, and with one accident it took over your lives. Now, you need to figure out how to go about life as a newly mated Omega in a world made for Alphas.

Content Tags: Smut, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Fuck or Die, Heat, Rut, Angst, Knotting, PIV Sex, Biting, Hurt/No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Typical Violence, Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Kinda Pregnancy Loss, Teasing, Use of Pet-Names, Simon is shit at talking and emotions, He figures it out tho, Dropping of the L word, Near Death, Pregnancy, Vomiting, Task Force 141 is a Pack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I just wanted to make sure anyone who needed (or wanted) to have a one-stop shop for the Maple Syrup series (and drabbles pertaining to it) can have it. Please send me asks! Masterlist under the Cut!

🧼 = smut, 🧸 = angst, 💞 = fluff

Main Storyline:

Part 1: Maple Syrup 🧼

Part 2: The Aftermath 🧸

Part 3: Alpha, Please 🧼💞

Part 4: Feral 💞

Part 5: The Hearing 🧸

Part 6: Talk 🧸

Part 7: Lost and Found 🧸 💞

Part 8: Hot and Cold 🧼 🧸

Part 9: Hoops 🧸

Part 10: Thirteen 🧸

Part 11: Tags 🧸

Part 12: Ghost 🧸

Part 13: Tea 🧸💞🧼

Part 14: Meetings 🧸💞

Part 15: Tears 🧸💞

Part 16: Nothing 🧸

Part 17: Happy 💞🧸

Drabbles, Oneshots, Side-Stories:

Simons Rut 🧼

Headcannons 💞🧸🧼

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 8

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Jealousy, poor communication, arguing, poor decision making, violence, kidnapping, gun violence, murder, death. Summary: Upset with Javier and determined to do things your own way, the tension in the apartment propels you into a situation no one could have predicted. Notes: High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. Please be advised that this chapter does contain multiple instances of gun use and gun violence. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Because he asked you to keep an eye out, you don’t leave the apartment that day. Cooking in silence and sitting down with your notepad is the most you can manage for daily activity but it’s better than nothing. When you’re able to leave tonight you’ll be out there with fire in your heart.

Elisa hears you moving around in the kitchen, but when she comes out, you are already back in your bedroom. Unsure of why she feels a chill in the air, and wanting to apologize if she’s overstepping.

Chi-Chi hears her coming before you do, shifting over from her place on the bed to face the door when footsteps sound. “It’s not worth it, girl,” you murmur to the large dog. Even if you do appreciate the sentiment.

Biting her lip, Elisa reaches out to knock on the door before she pulls her hand back. Uncertain if she is imagining the frostiness. Or if it’s any of her business.

Can you keep an eye on her for me? Javier’s words ring in your head and almost make you so frustrated you decide to ignore the knock altogether, but you promised. You promised, and he’s…he is more to you than you are to him.

After a long moment of deliberation, you pat Chi-Chi’s back and get up.

She hears you move around and takes a step back from the doorway so she isn’t right in your face. Smiling politely when you open the door.

“Hi.” What else are you supposed to say to the woman unknowingly fucking your soulmate?

“Hi.” She is kind of stuck now and she gestures towards the kitchen. “I, uh, I didn’t know if you had anything in there that I shouldn’t touch?”

“No. Groceries are for everyone.” Everyone is really just two of you and one very spoiled dog, but you’re not about to get into semantics with her. All you’ll say, to keep further guilt at bay, is what’s necessary. “I promised Javier we would stay inside today. The only time I’ll leave is to walk the dog and even then I’ll stay right outside the windows.”

“Okay.” She nods, wondering when you two talked, but that’s not her business. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“You surprised me last night.” It comes out of your mouth unbidden, blurted out into the tense silence between you almost like sick. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

“I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and looks down the hallway uncomfortably. “It was sudden. I had to be taken somewhere safe and Connie suggested Javier. Since he works with Steve.”

“You know Connie and Steve?” That is news to you — Javier has never once offered for you to spend time with his partner and his wife, although you know their names from the embassy and stories. Then again, why would he offer?

She nods. “I worked with Connie at the clinic.” She admits. “That’s how we met.”

"That explains the scrubs." She's dressed in what must be her own clothes today. Presumably they were either washed and dried here in the apartment, or she hadn't been wearing them long enough yesterday for anything to get dirty.

“Yeah.” She looks down at her clothes and chuckles. “I didn’t have time to get anything.” She admits. “Connie said she would get me something to wear so I don’t have to just wear this.”

"She sounds like a nice woman." As opposed to you – even if this woman wouldn't be swimming in your clothes, you still wouldn't offer. Purely out of bitter jealousy.

“She is.” There’s something brittle in your tone and Elisa decides it’s best to end the conversation. “I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you are doing.” She offers. “Uh, thanks for the information.”

"Help yourself to something to eat." There just isn't much else to say to her. If you let yourself say whatever pops into your head you might end up yelling and there's just no point in that. It's not her fault that you went and developed feelings for your soulmate. It's not her fault that you let your heart get in the way. "Javier usually works late, but he'll probably come back sooner since you're here."

“I doubt it.” She snorts and shrugs. “He’s not one to really be tied down, is he? He’s nice enough, but he’s not really a homebody, right?” She’s sure that plenty of women have paraded in and out of here.

"Not really." Not that you are, either. You wouldn't go so far as to claim that. But you wonder if she's fishing for reassurance, and can't stomach the idea of Javier deciding that she is worth coming home to instead of you. He might, though. He really might. "I'm sure once he finds the right person, that's all it will take."

She shrugs, knowing that it won’t be her. “Hopefully I’ll only be in your way for a few days.” She tells you.

"It will be whatever it will be." It isn't your call, after all. Whatever she's really doing here and whatever she is to Javier? Those things are between them. You're just his roommate. And that has never stung more than it does right now.

“That’s a nice outlook.” She licks her lips and wipes her hands on her pants. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat.”

"Okay." Considering this conversation has gone on far longer than you prefer, that is perfectly fine with you. "Just..." You may not like this woman, or the fact of her being here, but you're not cruel. "Don't eat what's in the white plastic container. That's Chi-Chi's food. You wouldn't like it very much."

She laughs, waving her hand appreciatively as she turns to walk down the hall. “Thanks!” She calls back.

“Sure.” You murmur at her back, thudding the door shut behind her, wishing you could have just ignored her existence altogether.

There’s something there. Elisa mulls it over as she goes through the cabinets and figures out something to eat. She just doesn’t know exactly what.

******

Chi-Chi is the first to sound the alarm when the front door opens in the late afternoon, though her barking turns to happy howls and a vibrant wagging of her tail when she sees Javier walk through the door instead of an intruder. The alert had brought you out of your bedroom though – with a paperweight in your hand to lob at any intruder who might dare to invade your space.

Instead, the sight of your soulmate makes your stomach turn. "You're home early."

Javi turns when he hears you, seeing the expression on your face and the paperweight in your hand. “Yeah.” He turns back to the door and locks it securely before looking back at you again. “Steve sent me home. Figured you’d babysat enough.”

"Good." Normally having some extra time in the apartment together would be cause for a homemade dinner and maybe even a movie, but you're loathe to suggest spending time together tonight. It simply isn't even worth considering. Instead, you shift the paperweight in your hands and your own weight from foot to foot. "I'll get ready and go work, then." You huff quietly, mostly at yourself. "Shift change."

“I don’t think you should go out tonight.” Javi has thought about how to approach it all day and he knows you won’t be happy about it. “But, if you have to go, let me send on of the SearchBloc with you.” It seemed like a good compromise, and since he couldn’t leave Elisa home alone, it was better than not having anyone with you. “Trujillo said he wouldn’t mind.”

While he isn't necessarily wrong to be concerned about safety in most of the city, the way your hackles raise at something you would otherwise consider a kind gesture is just...it is so indicative of your stubborn nature as much as your current heartache. "I don't need a babysitter," you tell him unilaterally. "That's apparently a service I provide, not something I need. Besides, I never even told you where I'm going tonight. For all you know I'm interviewing the ambassador in her ridiculous mansion."

He doesn’t know what burr is up your ass and he says as much. “Why are you being fucking difficult?” He hisses, narrowing his eyes at you in annoyance.

"Me?" That earns him a deep eye roll. "You're the one begging for favors and then trying to hinder my work with an asshole in a uniform. Do you know how hard it is to do my job with a cop standing over my shoulder? No one will talk to me."

“He can be discreet.” Javi tells you, knowing that the younger man would wear regular clothes if he told him too. “I would go myself, but-“ he gestures down the hall towards his room where Elisa most likely is.

"What makes you think I would bring you with me, either?" The paperweight in your hand thunks on the nearest flat surface with determination. "All of a sudden you give a shit what happens to me?"

He frowns at your venom, the bile that he hears. “What the hell is your problem?” He demands, getting pissed and glaring at you.

The truth of it is far too cutting, and the heat blasting in your fury keeps you from holding your tongue. "You." You spit back at him, before stalking down the hall and back into your room. There is goddamn work to do and you can't go out into Bogotá at night with tear streaks down your face looking like a mopey schlub. You have to get yourself the fuck together, and you definitely can't do that around Javier.

Javi stares after you, jumping slightly when you slam the door shut and blows out a frustrated sigh. You two had been getting along and now you had come back from your night out with an attitude that was almost worst than the one you had when you first met him. “Fuck.” He hisses under his breath.

"Javi?" Elisa is standing in the doorway of his room, having heard the commotion and stayed well out of harm's way.

“Hey.” He frowns, knowing that she had to have heard and he doesn’t have one damn clue on how to explain that. “Connie gave a bag of clothes to Steve.” He tells her, motioning to the bag he had dropped by the door.

"Thank you." The coast seems to be clear, and she comes out into the living room to retrieve the bag – but also you say hello. "Your roommate is..." She frowns, considering what words to use. "It seems safe to guess that she dislikes me."

“She was rude to you?” He frowns even more, sure you would have at least taken to her and interviewed her. You always ask about anyone involved in the case against Escobar and now you seem practically apathetic towards the best witness he has.

"No." Elisa shakes her head. Once she has picked up the duffel bag from the door, she leans into his side and presses a kiss to his cheek. "But being overly polite is sometimes worse and has more tension than anything else. We only spoke this morning."

He grunts and shakes his head. “She is being stubborn about something.” He doesn’t understand it, but you are a grown ass woman.

"I'm sorry if my being here has caused tension," she offers, not really sure what else to say.

“It’s not you.” He assures her, although he has no proof of that. But this isn’t her fault, no matter what. “Have you had dinner?”

"Not yet." Truth be told, she was waiting for him. For a touch of comfort and companionship. Fresh clothes, a good meal, and Javi will take care of all of those needs.

“Okay.” He nods. “I can order something to be delivered.” He orders with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Ah." She nods in understanding. "It's her cooking in the refrigerator. Not yours."

“Yeah.” He admits with a grin. “I can make you some eggs and toast. That’s about it. Or slap a sandwich together.”

"There is nothing wrong with a sandwich." Far be it from her to turn her nose up at any kind of food, really. She isn't a fussy or picky kind of woman. "What did your ambassador say?"

"It's going to take a day or so to get clearance," Javi admits. "But with the attack on the Palace, they want to get you to a safe location. One where you can't be touched by Escobar." He doesn't mention that the military is demanding to know who she is and interrogate her.

“I wish I could go back for some of my things,” Elisa admits, but she knows it isn’t possible. The target on her back is too large and too clear. “But thank you. When it is finally safe to come home again I might to thank you for that, as well.”

He knows what she means by thanking him and his cock twitches in his jeans, even as he is glancing down the hallway towards your room. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

"Or perhaps when your roommate leaves." Elisa shrugs, not wanting to get into the complications of it. She will not be here for long and it is not her life. "You wanted dinner, I think?"

Grateful that the other woman in his life isn’t trying to argue with him, he nods. “Do you have something specific you want?” He offers, pulling out the take out menus.

"No, I'm flexible." She pauses, smirking at that, and catches Javi's eye to have him smirking, too. They had tested that fact very well yesterday.

He almost comments, but you open the door to the bedroom and come marching out. Javi looks down at the menus and grabs the one off the top. The Indian restaurant. “How about here?”

"Sure." She really doesn't mind much and it's clear that the tension in the apartment extends to him and doesn't simply emanate from you.

"I'm leaving." Wearing slightly more revealing clothing that you normally would and checking the purse you have stashed your notebook and a pen into along with your essentials, you breeze straight past them without looking around. "I might stay with Inez tonight." There are no more courtesies than that, no other explanations about where you're going or what you expect to do. Things that you might have told him if you weren't so pissed at yourself for expecting him to simply intuit the change in your feelings.

“Okay.” Javi frowns, wishing you would stop and talk to him, or at least take him up on his offer of Trujillo, but you just walk out the door. The silence lingers for a moment and Javi clears his throat. “Pour us a drink while I order, hm?”

"Sure." Elisa nods again and moves to the bar cart that Javi keeps in his living room. She has a feeling that he will need more than one, but that is up to him. "Whiskey?"

“Yeah.” He answers, picking up the receiver from the hook in the kitchen and dialing the restaurant. He doesn’t know what exactly to do, but he can only handle one problem at the time right now.

******

The night is oppressively hot and sticky, not yet cool enough to have brought the temperature down in the city and the warmth of so many people swirling through the busy streets as people go about their evening plans. Powered by frustration as much as anything else, you make your way through the streets on foot to catch a cab to your old neighborhood.

The cab driver asks if that is where you really want to go, shaking his head and sighing when you say yes and starts to drive cautiously towards the area of town that has grown increasingly violent.

The man you’re going to interview was displaced by the raid on the club just like you and Inez, with a similar situation of a landlord evicting their tenants and selling the property to get away from sicarios invading the neighborhood. He has promised a full interview with both him and his brother as anonymous sources, and suggested a semi-public place to meet. There are dangers, of course, there always are, but if you’re normally stubborn about things…Right now you’re downright blind to them.

The small café is around the corner from the old building the club used to be housed in. Rundown, one of the widows is boarded up from being shot out just two days ago. The waitress gives you a nervous look when you walk in the door.

“I’m meeting some friends,” you tell her politely, trying not to fidget in the clothes you picked for tonight. They’re not really not revealing but they’re more fashionable than you normally choose so you feel a bit like you’re on display. “Could I have a coffee please?”

“Sure.” She motions towards the empty tables, the seating area empty besides you. She can tell you are American and that makes her even more uncomfortable.

Convincing yourself that the tension in the air is you projecting your own emotions on the place, you sit and sip your coffee with one eye on the door. Everything is fine. You’re just upset and it’s making you prickly.

The cook in the back slips outside, unobserved by you and the waitress taps nervously on the counter as she waits for something to happen.

Five minutes click by. Then ten. Your coffee wasn’t the best but you know you’re a snob about it so you don’t say anything to the anxious-looking waitress. It isn’t until the door open again and a short man with thick, dark hair walks in wearing the promised blue linen shirt and denim jacket that you show any interest in anything whatsoever.

His eyes find you in the corner with your back to the kitchen and he plasters a smile on his face as he walks over to you. Saying your name for confirmation, to make sure that it’s you. As though there is anyone else in this seedy little café to be confused for.

“Is your brother not able to join us?” Enrique has turned up alone with a cigarette behind his ear and a friendly smile. “Join me. Have a seat.”

“He will be here.” Enrique promises, smirking slightly as he pulls out a chair and flops down into it opposite you. “Had to do something first.” He looks around and notices that you don’t seem to have anyone with you. “You came alone?”

“The nature of what we have to talk about is relatively private.” Hence the cafe — deserted aside from its employees, although you were bolstered to see the large window through to the kitchen, ensuring more than just the waitress for witnesses.

He nods and plucks the cigarette out from behind his ear and produces a lighter from a pocket of his jacket. “Figured you would have that DEA agent with you.” He comments as he blows out the first puff of smoke.

“…What DEA agent?” You hadn’t said a word about Javier in your phone call with this man, and suddenly the tense air in the cafe goes from thick to oppressive. All it takes is an instant and you’re wondering if you can get to the door before the man twice your height can block the way.

“The one who has been passing the word that the American woman journalist looking for an apartment is under his protection.” He continues conversationally and points at you with the cigarette between his fingers. “That is you, no?”

You’re going to fucking kill him. You’re going to tear Javier Peña a new asshole the second you get home tomorrow. He blew your fucking credibility that bastard! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You manage to lie without stammering or sounding fearful. For that, you will reward yourself later. With rum. “I have a place and I certainly don’t work with the DEA.”

“Yes, you do.” He smiles, a thin stretch of his lips that has lost the charm from earlier. “Someone wants to meet you.”

The front door is probably no more than twelve feet away. The door to the kitchen is only five or six, but you would have to wind through the whole thing blindly to find the exit, and potentially give this stranger the opportunity of pick up a weapon. The front door is the cleanest choice. You remember the way to the nearest busy neighborhood center from here and at this time of day you can blend into the crowds making their way into bars and clubs. That will give you enough time to duck into a bathroom and get another cab.

In the split second it takes you to make all of these plans, you wrap your wrist in the chain of your purse under the table and move your feet as subtly as you possibly can. Using the bottom of the booth to push off like a runner in the Olympics, you sprint for the door.

Only to find the way blocked as soon as you reach the frame.

Grabbing your arms, his ‘brother’ grins as you as he holds you. “You don’t want to leave, do you?” He tsks and Enrique laughs. “Pablo would be so disappointed.”

Pablo.

“I can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know.” That, at least, is true. Your job is only to gather information and report. The information that he is putting out into the world. Him and his sicarios — the misery and mayhem that they reap.

“He can be the one who decides that.” You are turned from the door, a gun in Enrique’s hand now. Pointed at you. “Let’s go. Out the back.”

You don’t need to glance at the bar to know the waitress is gone, and you don’t need to even think twice to know that you are not going home or to Inez’s tonight. In fact, you’re probably not going home ever again. If you’re lucky, they’ll just kill you outright is all you can think, with the imagine of Helena’s nearly comatose body in your head.

One foot in front of the other, you are marched through the abandoned coffee shop and out through the kitchen, where the only employee pays you no mind whatsoever and another man is sitting in the driver’s seat of a car. The puddle of white fabric in the dirt might be an apron, you can’t tell.

“The trunk.” The motion of the gun guides you to the back of the car and he smirks when you try to push back against the man behind you. “Don’t make it harder. He said we had to get you to him, not what condition you had to be in.”

“There’s no reason for him to waste so much effort on me,” you repeat, annoyed when your own not inconsiderable strength does nothing to help you.

Both men chuckle and your hands are bound behind your back. “It’s no effort at all.” Enrique taunts. “You came like a lamb to the slaughter.”

It's insulting how true that assessment is, and even more insulting when the two men shove you into the trunk of the car and slam it shut while laughing to each other in Spanish, as if you don't understand them perfectly. The slamming doors rock the car, and the movement of the two large men settling into seats shifts you back and forth even more, but it doesn't matter.

Your hands have been duct taped so thoroughly that even your fingers are bunched together and your eyes aren't adjusting to the darkness of the trunk like you expected them to. Trying to compensate for your lost and muddled senses makes paying attention to the car's twists and turns very difficult, and even though you know this neighborhood you lose track of the route you've driven after about ten minutes.

That would be bad enough on its own, but then the driving doesn't stop. Deep potholes jolt you violently hour after hour until you've managed to bite your lip and tongue bloody from the way the car bounces and your head has hit the top or bottom of the trunk just hard enough that you're wondering if you might have a slight concussion from it.

But hour after hour, it never stops and the car never slows.

It’s only when you’ve completely lost track of what time it is, and fell asleep a few times that the car stars to slow down. Creeping along for a few minutes before finally stopping. Arriving at your destination.

The stopping is what wakes you, as cars open and close and the vehicle jostles multiple times. Voices raise outside the trunk, muffled but audible. When the key turns in the lock and the trunk is flung open, your intention to throw yourself off the floor of the thing and lash out with feet if nothing else, is abruptly squashed by the fist that comes down on your cheek. You see the outside world just long enough to know that it's near sunrise when a cloth bag is put over your head and you're manhandled out of the trunk back onto your feet.

Two different pairs of hands grab at you. Shoving you along and when you struggle, one of them punches you in the stomach and makes you double over, gasping for air. “Move, bitch!” It’s not Enrique’s voice this time, but the tone is evil. The voice of a man who has no sympathy in his entire body for anyone.

It feels like they intentionally trip you on a short flight of stairs, pulling you up again by your armpits when you stumble and fall, landing on stone not just once or twice but three times. From the way your shins sting and ache, you've got a few cuts and will have throbbing muscles in no longer than an hour from now. If you even make it another hour. The possibility that you won't is unnervingly real.

“Sit her down.” The voice comes from your left, the order in Spanish and there is the slight sound of a disappointed sigh. “What have I told you about kidnapping women?” The voice says. “You treat them with respect.”

"American pig." Sneers one of the other voices that you don't recognize. If you can figure out who it is later on – and if your mouth is ever untaped – you'll spit right in his eye.

“But a valuable one.” There’s the sound of footsteps and the scrapping of a chair as one is dragged closer to where you are standing. “Remove the bag.”

The fabric is ripped from your head, definitely taking some hair with it, and suddenly you become sharply aware that you're facing east. Sunrise is blinding you so badly that you have to flinch away and let your eyes adjust. Which means it's almost a full minute of standing there before you realize that Pablo Escobar is the figure outlined by the rising run.

Your full, government name is said, leaving no doubt that the biggest drug lord in Colombia knows who you are. They had gone through your purse on the way here, but that’s not the point. “Please, sit.” Pablo offers, motioning to the chair in front of you.

For the rest of your life, regardless of how long that is, you're going to be proud of yourself for not immediately pissing yourself in fear at the sight of him. He's nothing special. Not really. A mid-height chubby man with curly hair and an unfortunate mustache. He looks very...disarmingly...normal. But this ruthless murderer is not to be underestimated.

So you sit.

“Ah.” Pablo smiles, the gesture meant to be disarming and charming. “And they say Americans are stubborn.” The men around him chuckle but he keeps his eyes on you. “Forgive our manners.” He tells you, not really meaning it. “I’m afraid that it has become harder to talk to the people I need to now.”

The irony does not escape you, and you shoot him a look that says I can't talk to anyone at all right now while momentarily slipping your grip on the fact that this situation is deadly serious. Thankfully, the man laughs and waves one hand, which one of his armed flunkies takes as a direction to come over and rip the duct tape off of your mouth.

Pablo watches as you hiss in pain and move your jaw around. “There. Now we can talk.” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “What is your connection to the DEA?”

"I have none." That hasn't stopped being true – or mostly true – just because they drove you out of the city and out to what looks like one of Pablo's mansions.

“Then why was a DEA agent saying he as protecting you?” He snaps his fingers at one of this men. “What was the asshole’s name?”

"Peña." Supplies Enrique. Or, the man who told you that his name was Enrique.

Fucking hell. Why did soulmate have to be such a meddler?

"I don't know why he said that," you answer honestly. Mostly because it doesn't make any fucking sense to you but also because you really don't know his logic.

“Is he fucking you?” Pablo drags his eyes up and down your body. You aren’t bad, but you are thicker than he likes. Tata would like you though.

"No." To date, Javier Peña has never even hugged you or any much physical contact with you at all. Which is what makes his claims of protection so aggravating. It's like it's a performance on his part.

“And you are a journalist?” He asks, tilting his head as he wonders why the DEA agent is interested in protecting someone that he isn’t fucking.

"Yes." If he knows your name and he knows who Javier is, then he already knows that. There's no point is denying it when he basically catfished you with a phony story for your column.

He takes another drag off his cigarette and slowly exhales the smoke. Considering his options and then nodding. “You will interview me.” He decides, smirking slightly at his genius idea.

"Excuse me?" The idea of it takes you so off guard that you just stare at him for a moment, but he looks so fucking pleased with himself and is already motioning around to his men and issuing rapid fire orders. Someone is to bring him a chair. Someone else a drink. A third person is sent to fetch his breakfast. Still another is waved inside to check on Tata. You're fairly certain he didn't even hear your confusion over his own self-satisfaction, but you manage to cut through the noise of movement with your second thought. "I'll need my hands for that. To take notes."

“Bring a notepad and a pencil!” Pablo shouts after the men, cursing when he realizes that no one else is here to cut you loose. “You try to run and I will put a bullet in your head.” He tells you casually as he pulls out his gun and shows it to you. “Then I will have my men in America kill your family. Understand?”

Your family. The thought of Escobar sending goons to carry out hits on your mother and your brothers terrifies you far more than anything he could do to you, and you nod once. "I understand."

“Good.” He gives you that charming smile again, but his eyes are watchful, calculating. “Then you will write the story and tell the real truth about what is happening here.”

It's an odd and sickening guarantee. You will live long enough to write your article. To carry his words to the world. Whether or not they let you live longer is up in the air and highly improbable – but if you can drag this out a little you might be able to figure out how to survive. Attempting an escape seems like a surefire way to get his sicarios sent after your family, and you aren't willing to take the chance he may not be bluffing about having that ability.

The men return, another chair and a table being brought in. Notepad with several sharpened pencils are slapped down on it. One cold coke in a glass bottle, obviously not for you, and then a bottle of water that might be for you are also added.

You're careful not to look anywhere but at your hands in front of you, somehow convinced that making eye contact with any of these people will end in violence. On Escobar's orders your legs are tightly tied to the chair and the tape is cut from your hands. There is no way you're going anywhere, but at least you can flex your fingers and feel the blood flow return to them.

"Where do you want to be begin?" Pablo asks curiously before he turns in his own seat and berates one of his sicarios for not bringing an ashtray to the table.

"Well..." Reaching for the notepad and a pencil with tentative hands, you flip open to the first page and instinctively date the top line. Swallowing is a dry and hazy endeavor but you manage to remind yourself to breathe. "Let's start with your full name and where we are." The more corroborating information that you can get, the better. Maybe after the article is done and Escobar inevitably has you shot, the work will still help convict him somehow.

"Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria." He announces his name dramatically and with a slight hint of theatrical flair. He is vain enough to know that most people, even Americans, recognize his name. What he craves is respectability. "We are in—" He tilts his head and smirks slightly at the attempt to get information from him on your location. "Colombia."

"You don't have to give me the longitude and latitude." You're not dumb enough to think wherever you are actually has an address. "But...in general. Are we at your home? A safe house? The home of a business associate?"

His brows furrow in anger, his jaw tightening. "In hiding." He spits, sneering at the mere thought of the indignity. "Because of your fucking DEA."

"That must be very hard for you." The top of the page is marked out with the date and the name of your subject, and from there your pencil flies across the pages. Taking down direct quotes from both Escobar and you – questions and answers exactly as they're said. Your training is kicking in despite the fear. Writing in shorthand ensures that you can actually get everything down without having to pause in the conversation and ruin the flow. "To have to hide with your family when you are also working to be a community leader?" He did run for office, after all. You aren't leading him fruitlessly.

"Why does America care about me?" Pablo demands. "I am a businessman." He stresses, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray and shaking his head. "I care about Colombia. But you are here, for me. Your DEA is here, for me." He shrugs. "Why do you care?"

"Your business has made it all the way to America." Calling it a business makes your skin crawl, but following his proverbial scent and the thread of the narrative he wants you to tell for him matters. "We are always interested to know about the people who bring their business to our country."

"Then ask me what you want to know." He offers.

The situation is so loaded from every angle that you almost don't know where to start. The drugs, the smuggling, the international reach of his enormous illicit business dealings. His family. His public image. You might be the only American reporter to ever get to sit down with the world's most infamous drug lord and squandering that opportunity is basically a waste of the end of your life – since you really are sure you won't make it out of this place alive.

"Start at the beginning," you offer, starting a new line in the notebook you've been given. It's a miracle that your hand isn't shaking too badly to write, but you're not going to question it. "When you started this business, what did you hope to achieve?"

“Support my family.” Pablo tilts his head, surprised by the question. “My mamá had this couch. Worn, broken.” He snorts. “It was a piece of shit. I wanted to buy her a new couch. To buy her things she sacrificed having raising me.”

“With a worldwide business, would you say that you have now achieved that goal?” The longer you can keep him talking, you decide, the better. The more he will feel you have become sympathetic to him. The more likely he is to perceive you as friendly and slip on something. Something seemingly insignificant that can be used against him somehow. You have to try. You have to try.

“Perhaps.” Pablo shrugs slightly. “Visions change. Goals broaden.” He crushes out the cigarette and picks up the Coke bottle to twist the lid off the drink to take a swallow.

“You have goals for more than just your family now?” He must, considering her ran for office, but you’re willing to pick up any thread he gives you.

“I want to be involved in politics.” Pablo admits, his expression tight. “I would be good at it.”

“Tell me what happened,” you prompt. Just breathe. Keep him talking. You’ll find the angle eventually and some tidbits along the way. “In your own words.”

Pablo starts to weave a tale of honorable intentions derailed by jealousy and a corrupt system that would not let him come to power. Finishing his coke during the long-winded story as you write notes.

If you had been asked what you expected to hear, this would be something close to it. A man who saw himself as a savior being thwarted at every turn, his good intentions stagnated time and time again. He truly must have no idea how bloviated with arrogance he sounds. How self-absorbed and self-righteous. How delusional.

The article he wants you to write and the one that you’ll print if you ever survive this horror show are two very different beasts.

“We should have a recorder.” Pablo frowns as he thinks of it, snapping his fingers at the man that is guarding the door.

Anything he wants is available to him at the snap of two fingers from either a man who looks terrified to misstep, or a man who looks smugly confident of his own self-importance. The juxtaposition is stark, but the ones who do the scurrying and fetching are the terrified ones.

“Thank you.” Even in your own anxieties and fears, somewhere in your mind you’re convinced that good manners might buy you a little more time. “This will be very helpful.”

“I would hate for the story to be misquoted.” Pablo muses, although his brow arches up. “Smoke?” He offers, holding out the pack as he waits for the machine to be brought in.

The idea of accepting anything from this absolute insect of a human being is repulsive and you almost can't even stomach it. But there is a solid chance that if you don't take the offering he'll be offended, and that could end in your end. More plainly put? You're not going to take the chance that Escobar will be so mad you rejected his 'gift' that he kills you for it. So you say yes and manage to even sound grateful through the strain of a dry throat and however many hours you were jostling around in that car.

He shakes out a cigarette for you to take and even pulls out his own zippo to light it. Flicking the striker even as he growls to the other man about what is taking so fucking long with the recorder.

For the first time in all of this, the thought in your head is wondering what Javier would think if he could see this now – and not in an angry and cursing sort of way. Just in the way where you are absolutely bewildered with every new moment of this.

And then suddenly, as Escobar is cursing out his men for taking too long, you know exactly what you're going to do. The chances of your surviving this are low. Infinitesimally low. And the notebook that you're writing in is entirely in shorthand. Unless one of Escobar's henchmen has studied to be a secretary at an American college, they're not going to be able to read your notes. Maybe that was folly, maybe it was just ingrained habit.

Either way, it is going to let you fill this notebook full. Two articles – one that Escobar will approve of and one that tells the entire truth of your kidnapping and everything you witness while in this compound.

So even though you won't make it out, there is at least a chance that the truth will survive you.

Waiting makes Pablo Escobar angry. He’s not a man who enjoys waiting for things. Especially when it appears to make him lose face in front of an American Journalist. Picking up the water bottle, he hurls it at the other man in the room. “Hurry the fuck up!”

A man skitters into view a minute later with a tape recorder in his hands, begging forgiveness and practically tripping over his own two feet to place the recorder on the table. A split second before it is fully set down, you realize with horror that there is no cassette tape inside.

It takes him two seconds, two bone chilling- heart stopping seconds. The fierce glare on his face is cruel, almost demonic. Pablo pulls out his gun as the man starts to back up, holding his hands in front of him. “Boss- boss, please-“ Escobar doesn’t give mercy, pulling the trigger three times and shooting the man down right in front of you.

Your heart stops. Breath catching in your lungs and blood running cold in your veins. And then your stomach lurches, revolting on you, and the only saving grace of the moment as you fall forward and dry heave in your seat is that there is nothing left in your stomach to actually empty out.

Pablo watches you retch as he puts his gun away. “He was disappointing.” He explains casually, not mentioning that the man had fucked up numerous times before.

Another man appears moments later with a new bottle of cold water to replace the broken one, and a fresh tape. He unwraps it from its plastic and plunks it down beside the machine without sparing you even a glance, but you don't care. You can't even process anything else. You had managed to make it this far in life without seeing anyone die, let alone be murdered in cold blood. But you can't say that anymore.

"I hope," you manage, feeling your throat croak and ache. "For everyone's sake, that no one else disappoints you."

Your pencil flies automatically, like some kind of ingrained reflex or biological imperative that operates entirely outside of your personal horror at the situation. It helps ground you, reminding you of the unyielding truth of this moment: that these horrors are, at their core, so deeply and terribly human. When you can breathe another steady breath, you reach for the tape recorder to hit the record and play buttons. “Let’s continue,” you manage, knowing how shaky your voice will sound on that tape.

“Perhaps I should start again?” Pablo asks, watching dispassionately as another couple of his men come into the room to drag out the body.

“For the record.” Speaking as clearly as you can into the tape recorder, you state your name — No use in pretending he doesn’t know it, he’s said it before. Even your middle name. — and the date. “Interview conducted in private at subject’s request.” It’s pure professionalism. Every single step meant to ensure that he believes you are taking him seriously. “The first part of this interview was taken by shorthand notes by the reporter.” Polite. Always polite. Looking back up at him and somehow managing not to flinch, you motion to the recorder. “Please state your name for the tape, as you have already done for my notes, and anything you would like to repeat. Then we will continue.”

He goes through the major points again, sending you a pleased smile when he comes back to the point where you had left off. “Now. We will talk business.” He nods.

“What kind of business would you like to talk?” He’s in the driver’s seat of this interview, after all. You’re just holding on for dear life.

“The kind that brought you to Colombia to write about me.” He smirks and picks up another cigarette.

******

It is a whole twenty-four hours after you are supposed to arrive at her apartment that Inez decides to call. She would have sooner but – as you always say – life happens and she just assumed that you had decided to go home again despite being annoyed with your Javier. Now that she is finally able to pick up the phone and call your apartment, she's wondering how you are feeling after your interview. If you got anything worth while out of the brothers who had contacted you.

Javi had been expecting a phone call from Steve, staying with Elisa today since you had decided not to come home. So when the phone rings in the apartment, he picks it up. “What have you learned?” He asks immediately.

"Um...hello?" Inez's voice fills with a frown. "Is this Javier?"

A woman’s voice. Javi rolls his eyes slightly as he tries not to sigh. He feels like he’s in a version of hell concerning the opposite sex. “Yes?” He asks, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Who is this?”

“My name is Inez.” In an instant she understands why you’re constantly so annoyed with this guy. He’s snappy and huffy on the phone, which means he probably doesn’t have much better manners in person. But the warm depth of his voice is nice. “I was calling for your roommate,” she tells him, adding your name in case he doesn’t remember who mentioning her to him in the past.

Javi pauses, frowning and his brow furrowing together. “You’re the bartender from where she used to live?” He asks, prompting her to confirm. “She’s not home. I guess she hasn’t made it back from your place.” He twists his head to look at the clock on the wall. “I’ll let her know when she gets in.” He doesn’t even want to unpack why it was so easy to say ‘home’ where you are concerned.

“She didn’t come home last night?” Inez’s voice is immediately tense.

“She….said she was staying at your place.” Javi’s gut curls, the warning bells starting to ring in the back of his mind. “What time did she leave?” You were angry enough that you might have gone to a bar and went home with someone, or went to the brothel. So the panic starting to creep into his veins could be completely unwarranted.

“She…never came over.” The sickening feeling of panic in her chest tightens and makes her stomach flip.

“What the fuck do you mean she never came over?” Javi growls, gripping the receiver tight in his fist.

“I figured she went home after the interview!” Inez defends, startled by his tone. “I was calling to check on her!”

“She hasn’t been back.” Javi breaks off in a string of curses. “Give me your number, I’ll call you back.”

Quickly rattling off a string of numbers, Inez takes no offense when he slams down the receiver afterward without saying goodbye. She’s shaken and fearful, left sitting on her couch wondering what the fuck happened, and wondering if she should call Vanessa.

As soon as Javi slams down the phone, he is picking it up again, calling Vanessa. Trying to ignore the way his fingers shake as he punches the buttons.

“Hello?” Vanessa’s voice is bright and cheery when she picks up her private line.

“Vanessa, please tell me that—” Javi says your name almost desperately, “came over and is still with you or Freckles? Or fuck, any of the girls?”

“What?” Vanessa frowns immediately. Javi never sounds scared or panicked unless there is a very good reason. And right now he sounds both. “No. I don’t think so? Hold on.” Freckles is there in the room with her, having just finished with a particularly irksome client. “You haven’t seen our girl lately, have you?” She asks over the receiver.

“No.” Freckles shakes her head, barely glancing up from her magazine. “Not for a little while now.” She tilts her chin at the phone. “Is that Javi?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa nods while her own frown forms and she readjusts the phone on her shoulder. “She’s not here, Javi.”

“Goddamnit.” Javi hisses, shoving a hand through his hair. “If she shows up, call me!” He demands before he is slamming the phone down so he can call Steve. You’re missing and there’s the small issue of the fact that you are his fucking soulmate.

The phone line rings twice before it’s picked up, making the world feel like it’s moving in slow motion around him. “Murphy.” His partner drawls on the other end by way of greeting.

“I’ve got a problem.” Javi spits out.

“So do we all, Peña.” Steve chuckles on his end of the call. “Something new, I take it?”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” Javi hisses and says your name. ��The journalist? The one that lives with me? She’s fucking missing.”

“Shit.” Steve sits up in his seat, alarmed at Javi’s tone. “How long?” An American tourist going missing in Bogotá is bad enough — but one living with a DEA agent? That shit would be like catnip to sicarios.

“She left last night to go interview someone, I don’t know if she ever made it there.” Javi admits, blowing out a sigh. “I tried to get her to take Trujillo but she wouldn’t.”

“Where was the interview?” Steve asks, pulling out a notebook to start taking notes.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Javi should have asked Inez if she knew anything more, but he had been frazzled and not thinking. “I’m assuming her old neighborhood.”

“Shit.” More emphatic this time, Steve rubs His hand across his forehead and reaches to grab his jacket. This has officially become a situation. “Is there someone she would have told? Or does she keep notes somewhere in the apartment?”

“I don’t know.” Javi shakes his head. “She has a friend. Inez. She was supposed to meet her after and she had told me she was going to stay with her last night. Inez called me just a few minutes ago asking about her.” He rattles off the phone number. “Get her in to go over any fucking detail she can remember. I’m going to search her room.”

"Copy that." Steve hangs up without preamble and then immediately picks up his phone again. It's a whirl of activity as he drops his jacket, dials the number he wrote down – all the while wondering what it is about this woman that has his partner so knotted up as to actually sound scared on the phone.

Javi hangs up and immediately bolts down the hall to your bedroom. The panic he’s swallowing covers up any hesitation for imposing on your private space. He starts at the shelf closest to your door and starts searching methodically.

Things are fairly well organized in your room. The small closet is full of clothes with shoes lined up in a row on the floor and your suitcase stashed up on the top shelf. Two other, clearly empty bags are beside it and even though those bags are all empty, they're still the first things he goes through. The shoe box on the end of the shelf comes down with a clatter, revealing nothing more consequential than a collection of knick-knacks all tagged with the date and location of your purchase, and a name – small mementos of Colombia that are meant to be brought home with you later as gifts.

If he was trying to get a sense of you as a person, this would be a treasure trove of information. But none of this helps him find you. Not until he finds the matchbook for a small café. It’s one he swears that you’ve mentioned several times and there’s a good chance that you might have stopped by there or maybe even tried to set up your interview there as a neutral setting. It’s better than nothing and he shoves the matches in his pocket as he continues to search.

The small table at your bedside holds a leather notebook and a copy of Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, stacked one on top of the other beside the photo of your family and a half-drunk glass of water. Even the bureau on the wall opposite your bed is tidy, with a tray of makeup and other beauty products laid out carefully beside your small jewelry box.

Surrounded by your belongings, those things most intimate to you, Javi starts to panic. The fear started to set in, as he reaches for the hairbrush that you have lying on the dresser. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly picking it up and throwing it through the mirror, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t do this right now. Not when you could be in danger and every minute that passes without knowing where you are, that possibility increases one hundred fold.

"Javier?" Elisa's voice comes from the hallway, nervous and quiet but still loud enough for him to hear. "What happened?"

Turning his head where he was staring at your make up, he sees Elisa hovering in the doorway. “I’ve got to go.” Javi decides, unable to stay here and wait. Not when you might be in trouble. “Stay here. Lock the fucking door.” He tells her and pushes away from the dresser to get the backup gun out for her. “Shoot anyone who doesn’t belong if they come through that door.”

"Be safe." She says after a moment's pause. Whatever is going on, it is clearly dire and he is upset, so she simply takes the gun and bolts the door behind him when he bolts out of it like a rocket.

He had his cell phone and he’s immediately calling Steve back, rushing to his vehicle. “I’ve got a possible lead.” He tells him. “Café near the nightclub.”

"Address?" Steve stands and grabs his jacket, ripped his note page off of the pad he had been scribbling on while talking to Inez. "The bartender didn't know a location but had the names of the men she was meeting with. Might be pseudonyms but it's a start."

“Goddamnit.” Javi slams the door of the jeep and slaps the steering wheel. “I don’t fucking like this!” He hisses. “She needs to be found right now!”

Steve smothers a groan, hightailing it through the halls of the embassy on his way out the door. "I know she's a missing civilian but I always thought this woman pissed you off to no end. You're acting like the sky is falling."

Javi doesn’t have an answer for him right now. Growling down the line. “Hurry the fuck up.” He snarls before he ends the call and peels away from the curb.

******

The cafe is just as decrepit as he feared it would be, and while the block is deserted that could either be a good thing or a very bad one. The only person in sight is the woman in all black wearing a half apron smoking a cigarette by the front door, but that's a start.

Javi walks up to the woman and pulls out a pack of cigarettes to take one out. She seems like she’s someone who’s seen plenty. “Busy day?” The fact that he’s as calm as he is remains a surprising miracle, but he’s hoping he might get some information out of her casually.

She snorts, exhaling smoke from her last drag and waving her hand dismissively. “Never.”

Javi hums, flicking open his lighter and bringing the flame to the end of the cigarette. “How about last night?” He asks after the first puff, slipping the zippo into his pocket and watching her carefully.

“Never.” She repeats, but mostly in a bored way. Most of the men who come through here on business aren’t nearly this handsome, and she’s bored to tears. She doesn’t mind having a chat. Just as long as he doesn’t ask too many questions.

Javi pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks the ashes away from her. “Friend of mine told me about this place.” He lies. “Said she was coming here last night.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” She lies, just as easily. Though her lips flatten and she takes a longer drag from the cigarette to finish it faster. The only woman who came through last night was the one Esteban and Manuel came for.

“I’m sure she said this was the place.” He looks around the front again and then back at her. “American, curvy.”

The woman’s shoulders tense and her stomach revolts, and she quickly stubs out her cigarette. “No Americans.” She insists, as though she were stating a policy and not panicking. This man knows something.

She springs up from her perch on the stoop and Javi lunges forward, grabbing her arms and spinning her around to face the wall and yanking her arms behind her back. “Where is she?” He shouts.

“Who?!” The waitress cries out, shoulder pushed firm against the stone building. She’s been warned to keep her mouth shut enough times that she is going to play dumb with this Americano. The sicarios who own her apartment building have made it clear that her daughter’s life is at stake if she doesn’t. “I don’t know what you mean!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Javi hisses, pulling back slightly and pushing her up against the building harder. He pins her with his weight and reaches for the cuffs tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. “The journalist! She was here!”

The sound of car tires screeching to a halt only adds to the chaotic atmosphere, and Steve Murphy is jumping out of his car practically before it has come to a complete stop. “What the fuck is going on?” He demands, seeing Javi about ready to drag this woman off to prison. “You find something out?”

Steve’s talking in English, and this woman doesn’t seem to understand him. “She’s lying. She knows something!” Javi tells Steve as he slams her against the wall again. “Tell me!” He roars in Spanish at her and spins her around to see the fury in his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve hisses, pulling his partner back from the woman he has slammed against the wall. Javier’s managed to get the cuffs on her and she looks as confused and terrified as he does furious. “She told you she doesn’t know shit and you’re mad about it? Is that what’s going on here?”

“She’s fucking lying!” Javi growls as he pushes back, getting up in Steve’s face. Glaring at him before he turns back to the woman and switches back to Spanish. “I will kill you before the sicario’s can touch you.” He warns her. “She’s a DEA agent’s soulmate.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” The hammer of understanding lands swiftly on Steve’s brow, and he’s not proud of the extra two seconds it takes him to collect his jaw off the ground before he can step in to pry Peña’s hands off the woman. He knows the word for soulmate in Spanish. Connie had learned it and was starting to use it as a cute pet name. “I’m putting her in the fucking car and you’re going calm the fuck down!” He orders his partner, pointing one finger firmly in Javi’s direction as he shoves the suspect in the direction of his car.

Javi doesn’t want to let her go, but he doesn’t have much of a choice when Steve pushes him off again. Swiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a breath as he paces on the sidewalk.

In the time it takes Steve to wrestle the woman into the backseat of his car in her handcuffs and lock her in, Javi is prowling the sidewalk like a caged panther. “Your fucking soulmate?” Steve asks, the second he’s up on the pavement with his partner again. “That’s why you’ve lost your goddamn mind?”

“Don’t you even fucking lecture me.” Javi grabs Steve’s jacket and shakes him slightly. “You would tear Colombia apart if something happened to Connie.”

“Of course I would!” There is no doubt about that and Steve doesn’t even try to deny it for a moment. “But if you had told me who the fuck were we looking for we would have been out here straight a-fucking-way!”

Javi pauses, clarity breaking through his anger. He had never told Steve what you were - are - to him. That’s his fault. He lets go of him and frowns. “She needs to talk.” He tells him. “She was here, I know it.” He doesn’t know how he knows it, but it was the exactly type of place you would have set up an interview.

Steve searches his face, looking for signs of anything besides the obvious fear and concern, and when he comes up short he nods. “Okay.” He agrees, still standing between his partner and the car. “But after we interrogate her you’re telling me everything, got it? Otherwise I’m not gonna be any good to you on this search.”

“You won’t like it.” Javi promises, looking back at woman in the car. “I’m calling Carillo.”

“Let’s get the band back together.” Steve agrees. This just became about a hell of a lot more than a missing journalist.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe @cloudroomblog

[popcrackalackin]

evil yaoi panel edits

guys wheres the part in hsbc when dirk and john have an ULTIMATE bloody anime battle whilst also PASSIONATELY and HATEFULLY making out mid fight and then after they lick the blood off each other!!!!

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

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

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

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

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[flamet-draws]

Mechtober Day 1: The Starship Aurora

How The Aurora Was Won goes hard fr. Top tier Jonny moment.

[skaiind]

switching tactics

bonus under cut [sfw]:

[metamatronic]

Please PLEASE tell me we do get a reunion between Greed and Ling?? I'm sobbing just thinking about it!!

first / prev

the boys get to hug. as a treat.

also listen. we all know lan fan could easily take barry in a fight, but we’re suspending disbelief for content, alright?

[creative-clawmarks]

"I'm gonna miss you."

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

KO-FI

[newtabfics]

soft astarion getting sentimental during sex after a rough battle and ends up being extremely touchy and loving but he's totally "i don't like you. you're crazy. that's silly" still

"Not Like I Did Yesterday." Summary: Tav gets badly hurt which makes Astarion realize a few things suddenly. He can't quite explain it but in that moment, he knows it's her he needs. Takes place after Tiefling Party before Act 2 because I love the Underdark and is lightly inspired by the lyrics from "I Don't Love You" by MCR. Triggers for Canon Typical Violence. Some Angst. Frantic/Needy Smut. Spoilers for Astarion's story quest.

"Shit!" He hissed as his arrows ran out. "I'm empty!" He announced to the others as the monster closed in on him.

He tensed as he gripped his blade. He was ready to fight to his last breath if he had to.

Then a stone struck the beast in the face, cutting its vulture-like face before hissing in her direction.

Astarion felt a coldness wash over him as the beast charged and swung.

The Hook Horror tossed Tav aside like a ragdoll. Her body was beaten and broken as she tried pushing herself up, squinting at the monster as it charged at her.

There was a roar that she couldn't quite make out.

She barely saw the flash of white before Astarion was on the creature.

"Oh shit," Shadowheart said, seeing Astarion losing it as he attacked the monster. "Tav!" She called out. "Get away from him!"

Tav shuddered as she pushed herself up slowly as the rest of the group eliminated the rest of the monsters. Astarion kept stabbing at the dead beast beneath him.

"Astarion," She called out to him, staggering.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Shadowheart barked out.

"Stop," Karlach said firmly. "She's got this."

The two watched as their leader staggered towards Astarion. She hobbled as her eyes focused on him.

He was plunging the blade down again. His back heaved as his soft growls could be heard.

He was losing himself.

Gotta help him, She thought to herself as her legs buckled. She collapsed into him as she hugged him tight from behind.

His arm froze in the air.

His breath came in broken shudders.

Her scent flooded him.

She's here…She's alive, He repeated as he lost its grip on the knife.

The metal clattered to the ground as he slumped in her hold, hands gripping her arms tight. Alive, he told himself again as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're okay," She whispered into his shoulder before her body went limp.

Astarion's eyes widened when Tav suddenly dropped to the ground beside him. "D-Darling?" He asked as he turned to her.

Shadowheart hurried over in that moment, focused on healing their leader. 

Tav was blinking hard, looking a bit dizzy. She was alive. "I'm okay," She mumbled.

"The hell you are!" Shadowheart snapped. "That was reckless! I don't care that he's an ally. When a vampire goes feral like that, don't fucking touch them!"

Tav grimaced and gave her a look. "I wasn't gonna let him lose his mind!" She defended.

Astarion could only watch as the two bickered while the cleric healed her. His heart thudded wildly as she looked annoyed by the woman's scolding. When her eyes met his, she smiled softly and crossed her eyes in mock irritation.

He couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped him as the action earned her another scolding.

Tav carefully got up with Shadowheart's help, stumbling forward. His arms were there to catch her, holding her upright as she sighed.

"You should carry her!" Karlach beamed. "Like a princess!"

Tav blushed as the vampire almost immediately complied and lifted her. She looked up at him and hummed. "Not gonna lie; this is new."

He studied her as his hands tightened on her. 

"Let's get back to camp," Shadowheart sighed. "You need rest."

She nodded in response as Astarion carried her the whole way.

The silence wasn't deafening but it was worrying for her. She watched him practically stare off into space as he carried her to safety.

As soon as they'd arrived at camp, Tav was hounded with questions of her well-being to the point she asked Astarion to set her down. He was hesitant to do so but when Halsin brought her his cushion to sit on, he amended.

He waited patiently, studying her.

She's alive.

It was like he needed to keep reminding himself of this.

His heart ached as he watched her be healed. Why did it irritate him to see Halsin healing her? That's what he's good for. For healing!

She was smiling at Wyll as he playfully messed with her hair. When did they get all friendly?

He knew she was good friends with him but what about him?

Tav blinked when Astarion suddenly stormed towards his tent. 

The sun had set when Astarion heard the tent flap move. His eyes, trained at the ceiling of his tent, slid over to Tav as she sat beside him, looking down at him. Her hair fell from the ponytail, messily framing her face as she looked down at him.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Hey."

"...hey." he raised himself to his elbows. "You alright? Everything still…fully functioning?"

Tav smiled at his awkward question. Nodding, she said, "Yeah. I'm okay."

A beat of silence passed between them before she slowly asked, "Are…you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Good. Great."

She watched his jaw clench as his fingers drummed on his knee nervously. The vampire was avoiding her eyes. Heart thudding in his chest as he tried to think of how to begin.

Should he apologize? Explain himself? Did he need to do something? 

He had to say something, for certain. 

He inhaled sharply as he tried to speak quickly.

"Astarion–"

"Darling, I–"

They stopped as their voices overlapped. Tav giggled softly as he looked away with a smile. Another pause settled before he finally took a deep breath.

"I don't know what happened. I saw you and…and I lost it," he sighed. "I've never blacked out like that. And…when you collapsed…"

Tav watched him for a moment before cupping his face. "Hey," she said gently. She turned his eyes to her.

His heart lurched up into his throat as he studied her features. She was alive, his mind whispered again.

"Darling," he finally breathed as he leaned in and kissed her.

It felt…different somehow, he realized as he laid her back into his bedding. Her fingers tangled into his hair like that first night. She was kissing him sweetly, just as greedy as him.

That's all this is, he tried to tell himself. It's only physical. She gives blood. He gives orgasms—a fair trade.

Except this wasn't an exchange.

Tav's hands cupped his face, pulling him closer and protecting him almost as he frantically shed her clothing.

His ruby eyes scanned over her body. He bent, licking and kissing at every bruise on her body from the fight. Every scratch or scar he could find was vulnerable to his mouth.

She gasped out breathless moans as she gripped his hair, scrambling helplessly to reach his belt.

"Not yet," he whispered against her stomach as he kissed down, pulling her trousers with him. "Need this."

Her cheeks went hot as she watched his kiss along her inner thigh. His teeth lightly nipped, fangs pressed gently near the artery.

Tav gulped and nodded her consent and he was diving in.

His tongue lavished desperately over her clit. His soft moan made her gasp as he suckled on the bud eagerly. 

"Still so fucking delicious," he groaned, tongue flicking gently.

"Fuck, Star," she gasped out, gripping the blanket beneath her. His hand was splaying over her stomach as fingers prodded at her entrance.

His body shuddered as he pressed himself against her leg. He bit his lip as he pumped and curled his fingers before adjusting to sit up. His eyes were trained on her face as he watched her writhing from his touch.

"That's it, Darling," He whispered encouragingly. His eyes darted to her hands gripping the blankets. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked.

Tav felt her body heat as his eyes flicked up to hers. They were full of challenge and desire. "I…"

She blushed when he pulled her hand into his hair, nuzzling her thigh gently. "You're supposed to be gripping it," He murmured before licking lazily at her folds. "Supposed to be clinging to me like before. Darling."

He sounded breathless and needy as he kissed up her body. He watched her melting under him as her hand slid from his hair and to his face. Then, she sat up and kissed him gently.

His hands trembled as he gripped her waist as she held his face to hers. "Star," She whispered against his lips before her hands scrambled to tug at his shirt as her cheeks went hotter. "Don't make me beg for you."

"Why not?" He asked. It had meant to be a taunt, but it sounded little more than a desperate whine. "You sound so pretty when you do."

Clothes were shed and tossed aside in the tent. She gasped as he pressed in. His hand threaded with hers, pinning it by her head. 

His ruby eyes kept watching her, taking her in.

Tav lay there, flushed and clutching his hand and bicep. She was whimpering for him. "S-Star, please."

"Fucking beautiful."

Every movement felt too intense, too desperate. Their breaths mingled as he kissed her. His free hand, once gripping her thigh greedily with every thrust, tangled into her hair.

His tongue slid along hers. His cock pressed into her, rubbing everywhere she needed it to. His hips refused to move away from her, keeping him deep inside.

Her eyes watered as he bent and kissed her neck. His face was pressed against her skin as his hand tugged lightly at her hair.

"Tav," He whispered, shaking now.

Too intense. Too much. 

Everything inside him screamed with confusion as he let himself get lost in her. Her sweet gasps in an attempt to keep quiet. Her scent. The sound of her heart pumping wildly.

She bit her lip when his tongue licked up along the vein and teeth pressed gently in the bruised bite marks from his last feeding. She braced…but nothing.

His teeth simply gripped at her as he whimpered softly into her ear, making her shiver. It was so unlike that first night. He was gasping softly now and then but his moans were like a symphony.

A practiced one.

"Shit, ah," He whispered against her skin. "Darli…Tav."

That did her in. Her back arched up and he held her tight to him, topping into the orgasm with her. His lips crushed against hers as he shuddered and clung to her.

Alive, His mind whispered before fading entirely in the fog of pleasure.

A long moment passed as the kiss grew gentler, bodies trembling still. Tav's eyes blinked up at him as she smiled affectionately to him.

"Did I scare you that bad?" She teased lightly.

His cheeks flushed a slight as he cleared his throat. "No?" His eyes darted from hers as she giggled, still high on the euphoria.

Her hand slid up to cup his face, pulling him close. "Admit you like me," She whispered to him.

Anxiety flickered through him as he smirked. "I'll never admit a damned thing to you," He said playfully as he watched her eyes flutter. "You need your rest. You took quite the beating today."

"Worth it," She hummed, smiling.

"How?" He asked as he pulled away carefully. He frowned as she curled into him. "Tav, my bedding isn't quite comfortable for you–"

"You are," she hummed, resting her head on his shoulder.

He blinked, watching her. "I'm comfortable?" He asked slowly.

His frown made her smile as she cuddled herself closer to him. She hummed softly in confirmation. "And worth it."

His heart stuttered again.

He's worth it. He's worth…her injuries.

Before he could respond, she was sound asleep against his shoulder.

He held her, idly drawing circles on her back and petting her hair to ensure she slept soundly. He could slip into his trance, reflect a bit but…

Looking down at her, he realized that would mean a bit of time from her. Time alone. The thought of slipping away in that moment filled him with a strange dread.

Instead, he lingered on his thoughts, holding her sleeping body to him as a comfort for himself.

It took a long while for him, cycling through his memories, his feelings, everything this woman made him feel.

Her japes.

Her taunts.

The way she rolled her eyes affectionately at his wise cracks about their companions.

The way she laughed at his jokes.

The way she listened to him.

The way she was.

She was alive.

And he wanted her.

Panic began to rise in his chest as he glanced down at her. She looked so peaceful. So blissfully unaware of his thoughts.

With a shaky breath, he decided to push this down. This was just a fluke. It had to be. It couldn't be anything else.

It was just a fluke.

[pastaxandria]

The Red Thread: Chapter 161

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: Chapter 161 of The Red Thread.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

With it came a sound, one only you seemed to hear. It was a sound you’d never forgotten, one you’d had the misfortune of hearing just once during a terrifying, panicked drive down a rural highway in Texas: a steadily building roar, one you could feel resonating inside your chest; the crackling pop and snap of dry trees and buildings catching light beneath a sudden rising heat and floating embers; the wild gusting of twisting winds heavy with smoke and charred ash that fell like flakes of snow onto cracked streets. The cavalry was coming, and oh, was that cavalry furious. Or: in which 5 muggers have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings for this chapter: blood, canon-typical violence, lil bit of implied gore, scary sexy grr grr feral devil

Read me on AO3 where you can find Matt currently beating the shit out of bad people