#AND THE METRO IS GOING BACKWARDS TOO

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ star¡ reader && loser¡rafe cameron

I'LL DO LITERALLY ANYTHING SHE WANTS.

Rafe’s been plotting for weeks.

It started the first time he saw you at the skate park, sitting on the grassy edge with your book, legs tucked to your chest, sipping from a pastel pink drink. You weren’t even watching the ramps or paying attention to the noise or the boys showing off. But Rafe saw you. And that was enough. He’s been trying to figure out how to talk to you ever since. But every time he gets close, he forgets how to function. His brain short-circuits. His vocabulary vanishes. He ends up doing a kickflip too close or trying to land a rail just to get your attention, and it never works. You don’t even flinch. You just keep reading.

The house party is already buzzing when you arrive, porch lights glowing, music thumping through the walls, kids spilling into the yard with red cups and wild stories. The air smells like beer and weed and expensive cologne, and somewhere inside, Rafe Cameron is practically vibrating. He's dragging Topper by the sleeve through the living room, weaving past tipsy girls and dudes in snapbacks, eyes darting like he's on a mission. Because he is. He saw your name on the party list days ago and has been spiralling ever since. Plotting. Rehearsing. Sweating through his shirt just imagining it.

❝Okay, okay—dude, listen,❞ Rafe says, practically bouncing in his sneakers. ❝Go up to her. Say I’m a...fucking’ DJ or something. Say I opened for Metro Boomin. Say I got invited to Coachella.❞ Topper gives him a flat look. ❝You got banned from Coachella.❞ ❝Details, bro. She doesn’t need to know that. Just say I’m, like, mysterious. Say I was a child prodigy.❞ ❝You dropped out sophomore year.❞ Rafe grabs his shoulders. ❝Bro. I am BEGGING you. Please. Just tell her I think she’s really pretty and cool and I’d, like...literally do anything. Like, anything she wants. I’ll get into astrology. I’ll stop vaping. I’ll buy her one of those pink Hydro Flasks.❞

Topper rolls his eyes but trudges toward you, muttering under his breath. Rafe ducks behind a support beam near the kitchen, peeking out like a cartoon villain. He’s so obvious it’s painful. You’re posted up near the drink table, sipping something too sweet and too strong, already clocking Rafe from across the room. Hoodie half-on, backwards hat crooked, knee bandaged from a failed skate trick, Monster can sticking out of his hoodie pocket. He’s nervously adjusting his chains and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt like it's betraying his confidence. His eyes are big and bright and locked entirely on you.

The music’s loud bass thudding through the floor, coloured lights flickering against glittered walls, everything tasting like cheap vodka and summer sweat. You’re pressed near the kitchen doorway, plastic cup in hand, when Topper appears out of nowhere. He looks like he’s been sent on a mission he didn’t sign up for – conflicted, mildly annoyed, and mildly amused. ❝Okay, so, weird one,❞ he starts, scratching his neck. ❝My buddy over there—you know, the one pacing behind that fake palm tree like a Sims character? Yeah, him—he, uh, thinks you’re cute. Like, really cute. And sweet. Like, ‘makes-my-stomach-hurt’ sweet.❞

You blink, thrown off. ❝Rafe?❞ Topper nods and sighs, then continues, clearly reciting. ❝He says he’s a professional skater. That’s a lie. He says he’s chill. That’s another lie. But he’s, uh… enthusiastic. He’s been planning this for—❞ He pauses, glances over his shoulder at Rafe, who is actively doing the opposite of playing it cool. He’s bouncing. Literally bouncing in place. Hat askew, hoodie half-off, knuckles bruised from something stupid. He looks like a boy who got told Santa was real again.

❝—for weeks, actually. You, uh, waved at him once.❞ ❝Once?❞ ❝on the beach because he was staring the whole time, and you probably thought it would make him go away. He wrote, like, a marriage monologue about it. I’ve read it. It’s concerning. But endearing, I guess.❞ You glance past Topper again. Rafe spots you looking and trips over his own foot trying to look casual. It doesn’t work. He straightens his hoodie, then messes with his hair like it’ll fix the fact that he’s practically vibrating with hope. You glance past Topper. He is beaming now. Like, full teeth, twitchy grin, bouncing on his heels like a golden retriever who just spotted a tennis ball.

His outfit is chaos—black hoodie with safety pins holding a tear together, cargo pants with grass stains, rings clinking against the can he crushes nervously in one hand. He’s stuffed gym muscle and a chaotic heart into a boy-shaped blender and hit purée. And somehow, it works. Topper rubs the bridge of his nose. ❝Anyway. He begged me to talk to you. Said, and I quote, he’d do ‘literally anything’ if you just gave him a chance. Like, he was making deals with the universe on the way over here. It was dramatic.❞

You purse your lips, trying not to smile too obviously, your gaze flicking between Topper and Rafe. ❝But he’s not coming over here himself?❞ ❝If he did, he’d combust.❞ You glance back toward Rafe, and he’s still behind that fake tree, eyes wide, mouth moving frantically like he’s asking, ❝Is it working?!❞ It’s… kind of cute. Ridiculous, but cute. The way he’s fidgeting, nervously adjusting his hat, trying to stay cool but failing spectacularly. Your smile softens.

❝Tell him… yeah, okay. Tell him yes.❞ Topper nods. Topper groans and trudges back through the crowd. ❝She said, Yeah, Rafe.❞ Rafe jumps. A full-body, feet-off-the-ground, giddy little leap like he can’t help it. Then he claps Topper on the back with so much force he nearly knocks the boy over. He mouths a stunned little ❝She said yes?!❞ and Topper just nods, already over it.

Rafe beams. Practically explodes. He tries to fix his hat, fails, then flattens his palms over his shirt like it’ll calm his heart down. It doesn’t. He leans back against the wall, grinning into the air like the world just shifted beneath his feet. You catch yourself giggling, shaking your head. You’re still a little confused—he’s so tall and serious-looking from afar, but seeing him all flustered like that? It’s throwing you off in the best way. Maybe it’s not what you expected, but it’s sweet.

Topper, now on his way back toward you, pauses and holds out Rafe's phone. ❝He forgot to get your number. I’ll put it in.❞ You blink, amused. ❝He sent you to get that too?❞ ❝Yep. I hate it here.❞

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : umm hey angels . . . do we like. this one’s probably not smut, i just can’t see it that way. it feels a little different for me but loser!rafe still begs, don’t worry. hope it does okay even if it’s soft instead of filthy lol

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner @delicatelyquiet @rafeysbrat @amelialovesrafe

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[ddejavvu]

could you write something rlly fluffy where spencer comes home from a case with a broken nose and it’s bleeding a bunch so reader helps him to clean it up and stuff

You're not sure how Spencer managed to take the train for thirty minutes without anyone noticing the blood caked onto his skin from his nose, but you think he may have aggravated it on the way. There's a stream trailing down his upper lip and it dips into the gap between the two, disappearing as he licks it away while standing on the front step.

"Spencer," You breathe, and perhaps you're not very good in a crisis, because you stand there like a statue watching him bleed.

"It's just a broken nose," His voice is nasally, stunted and awkward, "Can I... come in?"

"Sorry! Sorry," You stumble backwards, "Oh, Spencer, you broke your nose? What happened?"

"I got punched," He admits, letting his satchel fall from his shoulder and onto the floor, "And I busted it again getting off of the metro because- well, I was trying to text you that I was coming home, but you know it's hard for me to text on my phone, and I- I ran into a pole."

Somehow, the pole frightens you more than the unsub. Sure, Spencer's job is risky, but if he can't win a fight against a lamppost...

"Okay, uh- come in, don't- try not to bleed on the carpet? But it's okay if you do, I'll google how to get blood out of it."

"That gets you on a watchlist," Spencer groans through the pain in his nose, and when you stiffen, looking back at him, he acquiesces, "I'm kidding."

Now's not the time for jokes, but Spencer's bleeding profusely, so you'll let him have it.

You go through several washcloths that will never again be the color they were, and your table suffers splotches of red each time you swap one out for another. But Spencer's nose finally stops bleeding, and you pull a strand of hair out of his eyes that's been matted to his skin.

"You need a shower." You note, eyeing the blood that's trailed far enough to disappear under his shirt collar, "Do you need help?"

He's been spending too much time around Morgan, because his brows raise.

"Not like that." Your heart rate is still elevated, so you can't even think about sex right now, "Just- is it gonna hurt if you scrub it?"

"I won't scrub it." He promises, "I'll just wash the blood off. And then I'll get an ice pack for it."

"Okay. Be careful," You fret, but it turns teasing as you remember the pole he'd run face-first into, "Try to keep the rest of your blood to yourself. That showerhead fights back."

[crsssie]

pop rocks and green tea

word count: 20k

warnings: depictions of violence, 2x15 warnings (torture, drugging, spencer dies for a second, religious trauma), ANGST, hurt/comfort

summary: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." (Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights, Chapter 9)

there's very little in the world that will not make sense to doctor reid once he finds interest in it. most things come easy as they go, rubik's cube solved forwards and backwards — upside down and right side up, questions of physics and doctorate dissertations coming in triplets the same way that the notation rings in an empty performance hall with a musician.

in his life, to understand is power, and power is protection against those that have once hurt him. no harm in the present, he understands. not from them. not ever again. the only harm in the present is from the unsub and the unknown.

the absence of light still scares him. he tries not to think too much about that.

knowledge is power. wisdom is efficiency.

to profile someone is to understand them.

to profile you should be to understand you.

yet, beady eyes and charming smiles, you cause the rational to burn irrational — the known to become unknown. there is always something you know that he doesn't.

no, not simple facts of life or statistics that could save your life.

the void of your eyes is always too dark under the sun — the absence of light.

the shine of your hair is always too dim under the light — the absence of life.

you can do the one thing he can not, and he does not envy it. no. he does not crave to understand or to contain it. there is no dark need creeping up around his throat begging him to cage you and sing for him only.

it is simple curiosity.

charming as knowledge, preening with the night sky.

he fears you just as much as he must know you.

and well, doctor reid is never one to back down from nonsense that he must make of sense.

somewhere when he was a child, he thinks he has met you. your face is far too fresh in his mind to be more than just a passing face, but far too familiar to be someone who he no longer remembers. perhaps you are a face seen in dreams — dreams that on occasion give him deja vu, but it never quite matters. it doesn't quite matter, actually. he's truly not much better off knowing just who you are. perhaps a fond memory or a lost face in his past is plenty fine on its own. he simply hopes he will never encounter you in his line of work — even if it seems that he will some day. people in his dreams are never quite the best. people in his dreams are part of his past and always circle back to his future.

but the dreams of you come in strange flashes — a grin with too much teeth, a laugh with too little air. a song with too many keys. a voice that carries a little too much — a voice that sings too many notes. there is something that doctor reid should know about you in his dreams, so he tries talking to you, but there is no voice ever.

all there ever is is a nice cup of coffee at a local coffee shop — and an image of you frowning at him.

he wonders if he should seek counselling for such a matter, but it is much preferred to the sound of screams in his nightmares that jolt him awake and the constant watch for voices that have plagued his family. he worries that he will hear them too one day. that the voices will eat at his mind and ruin him. the same way they had ruined the man on the train — the same way it had eaten so many of the unsubs that he knew.

to be in your mind is never too much a good thing, but is it really a sin to listen?

you manifest the differently in his reality as you do in his dream.

you passed him on your way to morning work — stumbling up the stairs to the metro, phone tucked to your belt the same way that morgan has it, briefcase overfilled. its a cliché in the same way that he's a nerd who looks the same as ever.

a student internship in the BAU. you didn't ask. he didn't either.

hotch mumbles to gideon about how you shouldn't be here considering clearance, and when you are asked, you do not know. you tell them in pure honesty that you had been sent here because of your post-graduate dissertation. a paper on reading people. a paper on just about everything that the BAU did. too much brainpower at such a young age. you should not be in the department, but hotch isn't given much time to complain before everyone is called out and you are left.

with me. spencer finds himself saying to you.

you tag along, dissertation handed to doctor reid as he tells gideon, and you fiddle with your fingers — three rings on your left, and four rings on your right. berkeley then stanford then harvard. your resume shows too much yet too little. degrees in humanities until your doctorates where you had changed to psychology. an intrigue in the art of lying and manipulation. the psychology of acting and the need to control everything. perhaps it is a strange subject to be let into the fbi for, but no one on the plane comments on it.

a killer. a man who calls and kills.

a man who kills in the name of god.

god.

a strange word, truly. reid doesn't believe in anything the same way gideon does, and while the way you recite verses from revelation feels like there is truth in your faith, the grimace on your face after indicates anything but. is that the truth? or do you lie the same way your dissertation writes? do you use the art of manipulation to get what you need? what you want?

what does he want?

you don't have a goal, doctor reid.

scary words to be told by someone who was his age when he joined the bau. do you have one? you don't seem to either. he tries snapping back at you, really, but it doesn't work how it is supposed to. how are you supposed to react? someone your age should snap into an argument. argue back with him. someone his age should know better than to snap back. but when you only give him a half-shrug and grin when he argues back. it almost feels as though he's the one who never grew up.

perhaps it is jealousy. he had first started out when he was your age yet he didn't slot in nearly as nicely as you do. it almost feels like you've become one with the team. an entity with a lack of shape. a non-newtonian fluid that slots in the cracks that the team is yet to be missing. an adhesive that somehow sticks the team better than the rest of it does. someone who slips through the cracks to reveal the lack of continuity. the team should work well already, so why then do you reveal the worst when you let go? perhaps you are here to prove your dissertation and not to help.

do you wield a gun? why do you hold on to one?

your fingers wrap around the grip and you stare at the unsub from behind him. reid begs you to slow down, but you aren't fast enough — not enough survival in the bau, a case requiring too much agility that you have not yet developed. training could do nothing for it, so when the unsub catches wind of you, it goes without saying that the intern lives even if he passes. perhaps you were doing it on purpose. perhaps those dark eyes of yours with too much pupil and too little iris. the sound of you yelling his name rattles through the night, and he is gone.

will he dream of you when you are right there? or will his dreams come to haunt him?

when he wakes it is a dark room. you are in the back, tied and half awake, and he is on the chair, fully clothed, stuck staring into the eyes of an angel of some sort. raphael. the angel's name is raphael but he's not even congruent with modern teachings, your mouth earning you a snap of the gun in russian roulette. you fear not even death, eyes glimmering and mouth uncontrollable as you dive into the history of the book of enoch and tobit, spitting out scripture upon scripture of archangels that do not include raphael. you earn a second shot and a third as you drive the unsub mad, your eyes in equal desperation as he finally lands on the fifth, turning around and aiming it at reid as you hold your breath and bite your tongue finally.

"Psalm 31:9. I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me"

he pulls the trigger and you watch, eyes trained as spencer lets out a breath in relief.

he mouthes at you to keep it shut while you fiddle at the restraints, staring as the unsub knocks spencer back out, barrel of the gun jammed into the side of your head as you're next.

you wonder if you'll see spencer again in your dreams.

doctor reid, with formality.

when he rouses again, it is to the smell of smoke and fire, and your eyes are staring at the door. spencer does not speak. he's learned that it is most likely best for you not to, but you open your mouth again.

exodus 20:7. you shall not misuse the name of the lord your god, for the lord will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses His name. you spit out verses like they've been beat into you. like you know something that spencer can not read in between the lines. he knows the footnotes and cross-references. he knows every verse in the bible if he really willed for it, yet you feel like a disobedient child, thrashing and choking up the ten commandments, you shall not murder stinging on your mouth as the whip comes down on your foot. It is as though you know this feeling.

spencer winces and tries to open his mouth, but you leave no space. you can not stone me. for you are not sinless and clean. john 8:7 and 9. they kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" at this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. it is scripture upon scripture until the sole of your foot has become bruised, and the man tires, only then is your foot restored and you are given your body once more.

"1 Corinthians 14:34. The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be in submission, as the Law also says. If there is anything they desire to learn, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church." he spits back at you, and you laugh.

Acts 2:17. And it shall be in the last days, says God, that I will pour out of my spirit upon all flesh and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy.

spencer can not bear to see the abuse you suffer, and when you laugh and laugh, cursed as the man tells you to be quiet, you spit that he has no authority. he is not your husband. he is not your father. he is not your brother in christ, for no brother in christ is a murderer, you curse.

"And you are not sinless, woman."

the lord spake unto moses saying, "speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord " and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy" spencer finally gets a word in, and your neck snaps over to stare at him, almost as though he were not speak in the conversation.

spencer gets beat, and you are unsurprised when the man leaves and leaves a reddened sole that near matches yours.

he is no charles. you mumble, bruise on your foot as you mumble quietly. for we are all slaves of god.

perhaps in some way he still is.

no. you mumble. for we are made in his image, and in his image we are made. male and female.

spencer can not offer you words of comfort, your eyes glazing over as you stare up at the wood of the ceiling, eyes closed as you are gone.

when the man returns, spencer asks for his name while you heave, heart racing and body flushed. you are not sick, no, but perhaps your body is struggling under the stress. an offhanded comment he had once documented from his dream reminds him that you do not do well under stressful situations. a body that shuts down and decides it is no longer worth it.

tobias is his name, and you cry and beg to not be injected, whimpering and shaking, squeaming in his hold as he straps you down to give you the injection. it is the first time that spencer has seen you in tears since meeting you. you had not cried at the abuse nor at the kidnapping, but you squirm and cry at the needle being forced into you, half of the dose forced into you as you cry and cough, body eventually going soft, and when tobias sees spencer's foot, he knows he's next.

you manage to force out a clean out of your lips with glassy eyes as you focus on him, eyes wounded and hurt as you beg tobias to let you sit closer to spencer. stronger in two, you cry. would he not offer even the mercy of letting the two of you pass as one? was it a sin to love someone?

he moves you after arguing with his father, and you manage a weak limp before you are at reid's feet, glassy eyes and slow blinking in your system as your body resists the drug.

reid is delirious. he is weak. father is leaving again. there is no way to stop it, and he has to live it out, and his mind is gone. he is out. he knows he is. he is stuck in a memory, and he does not know where he is anymore. he was somewhere. he was doing something. he was... something. where is he? he must be somewhere important. he is barely conscious when the sound of a beating rattles through the room, and he is stuck staring as you are dragged by the hair and a camera is set before you both.

nothing outside of a beating. you mumble. the drug will numb yours.

you stare into the camera through heavy eyelids, and you watch as reid struggles to focus.

"Choose one to die. I'll let you choose one to live."

you cough as you feel your skin crawl, and you know it'll come to a point where the two of you will not return. you will claw and force your way back like you have learned to, but the doctor next to you will not. it will force through his bones and pure will not be enough. he will never be the same after this, and in such a way perhaps it is your fault for not pulling the trigger in the field. it matters not if you're only an intern. if you pass then you pass. the doctor has to live.

Spencer Reid has to live.

"Can you really see inside men's minds? See these vermin? Choose one to die. I'll let you choose one to live."

"No."

"I thought you wanted to be some kind of savior."

"You're a sadist and a psychotic break. You won't stop killing. Your word's not true." You mumble. Again. You can do this. Just like the first time. Just like the second. You are better than this.

"The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved."

"I won't get choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher." You cough.

"Can you really see into my mind, girl? Can you see I'm not a liar?! Choose one to die, and save a life. Otherwise, they're all dead." He pulls you up by the collar, and you clench your fists.

"All right, I'll choose who lives." Spencer mumbles. "Stop hurting her."

"They're all the same."

"Far right screen." He mumbles.

You go limp against Spencer's leg as you're dropped, and when the door clicks behind you and the silence meets you, you're blinking and heaving, crack from your wrist alerting Spencer as you stumble and hop on over, one wrist free as you turn on the camera, mumbling under your breath to the team as you slur half your words and cry about a cabin in the woods, mumbling about drugs and how you're sorry you didn't stop Reid from going into the cornfield and how you'll accept any form of punishment going your way. You're slurring half your words and praying the team understands. Maybe the red of the camera hasn't turned on at all.

you look strange like this, spencer thinks. there's so much fragility that he can't help but assume that this is really how you are. perhaps all of the acting you had written on had only revealed that you are no better than anyone else when it came to abuse. he will be gone until late night, if he is not wrong. three bodies at once is not something to be done quick. perhaps tobias does not want to kill still, but it matters no longer. he feels it too. the drug in his system has done something.

by the way you're crying, he almost wants to console you.

kid.

doctor reid.

do you have the strength to tell me a story?

i'll tell you a dream I once had.

anything to get my mind off of the drug.

i dreamt once, a long time ago, that i would become famous. fame that would act in musicals and sing on a grand stage all for me. my mother's dream was for me to become someone's pretty and compliant wife. but i dreamt of velvet curtains and pine wood floors and a crowd that would applaud whenever i finished my show. 

and now?

and then i dreamt of books. pages and pages of books. research that would engulf my life, days and nights in ranges of literature.

and now?

i dream... i dream of survival. i dream that we make it out alive.

the two of you watch the murder of the first on the camera.

"Reid, if you're watching, you're not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting god to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you."

you blink lifelessly, tears slipping and dissociating out of a fear, body going limp when you slack back next to reid, and he stares at the screen as he spaces out. gone. he's back in the middle of nowhere, memories stuck on replay as he knows he should break out to find you, and it isn't until you're crying and begging not for a second dose, bawling that wakes spencer up when you're squeaming and gasping for him to put the needle and drug away, voice raspy and breaking as he forces the needle into you, reid stuck watching, unable to tear his eyes away from it as half of the drug is pushed into your system and your bawling turns into quiet sobbing, sobbing turning into half-sniffles until you're gone completely.

reid squirms with the injection into his system, and he slouches down and passes out next to you.

It's night when you wake first, eyes dead and pupils small as you feel Spencer rouse next to you. You're shaky. The second dose should have been enough to cause you to go into shock and nearly die, but the seizures have long grown to be things of the past and god-forbid this be your first rodeo because as soon as the screen flashes with a message about a virus, you're widening your eyes and bracing yourself for another beating. If the drugs can't help you, then god help you with the beating.

"No. No! They're trying to silence my message!" Tobias— Charles yells.

i can't control what they do. i'm not with them. i'm with you. Spencer whimpers.

"Really?" He laughs, and you watch as he turns on the video from earlier from Gideon. You should hurt him, truly. You should bite the bullet and just risk death because it doesn't matter unless—

"Do you think you can defy me?"

I don't know what he's talking about.

"You're a liar!" He raises a brow at your raised sleeve, and you flinch as he forces the fabric up on your arms before checking Spencer's. "You're pitiful! Just like my son. This ends now. Confess your sins. Confess!"

i haven't done anything. tobias, help me.

You watch in horror, yelling as you watch the man beat him up.

"he can't help you. he's weak."

tobias.

"Confess your sins."

help.

"It's the devil vacating your body."

You scream, forcing over to Spencer as you break your wrist out again uncomfortably to do CPR, mumbling quiet sorrys to him as you press your lips to his to force the air back into his system, numbness in your wrist no longer mattering to you as Spencer coughs back to life, and you don't care if the barrel of the gun is pressed to your head as Spencer is forced to watch.

"You revived him. How many members in your team?"

"Seven." You whisper, voice breaking. You aren't one of them. Not technically.

"The 7 angels who had the 7 trumpets prepared themselves to sound" Tobias mumbles to himself, and you lock eyes with Spencer who's still on the ground.

"Choose one to die."

You're gaping and swallowing air like a fish, and you whisper quietly.

"I don't know their names." Your voice breaks. "I don— I don't know their names. I'm not— not one of them."

you're crying again, and it really makes reid wonder if anything you do is real at all.

"Aaron Hotchner." Spencer exhales. "Him first. Genesis 23:4. "Let him not deceive himself "and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense."

"For god's will."

You're on the ground mumbling to yourself, crying and coughing, your wrist starting to turn purple, and Spencer glances at the way you hold it up to him with a sad smile, laughing almost pitifully.

you dislocated your wrist.

"Yeah." You laugh, humming quietly as you look almost fond. "Fun stuff. I'll pop it back when we're saved."

you?

"Yeah." You hum, resting your head on his thigh as you help the chair back up. "He didn't notice."

too focused on me. what about your wrist?

"I can do it myself." You hum, leaning on his thigh. "I'll get scolded, but it'll be better than this."

Spencer doesn't say anything else, and when Tobias returns and you're both offered water, you're unsurprised that he still doesn't notice that your wrist has been broken free, but when another shot is injected to Spencer you're begging the poor man to leave him alone, a dose returned to you as you fight the depressants in your system with a furrow of your brow and with the last bit of strength, you pop your wrist back into place, without too much of a thought as to do anything else, and you go in for the kill, screaming and shrieking as you steal the gun from his pocket and pull the trigger between his brows, sobbing and wailing as the blood pools underneath you and steal the key to let Spencer out.

He's too sluggish to move comprehensibly, and you hear Tobias' voice behind you, your fingers smoothing over his wound, your discolored wrist dark against the glow of the room as you weep, hands stained with blood that isn't yours and an internship ruined all thanks to your foolish choices, and when Spencer drags himself over to hold you, you're sniffling and coughing into his arms, apologizing for the blood on your hands and the drugs in his system.

You force his hand out of the man's pocket, needle in hand as you take out the last of the drug and force it into the leaves, the sound of the rest of the BAU approaching as you squeeze the needle in your hand and throw it as far away from Reid as possible. You can't let him lose himself too. You can't let him do it. His future is too bright and yours has always been a clawing upward that you've grown used to.

Your hand finds his instinctively, squeezing for comfort.

spencer feels your hand in his vaguely, and he tries to make a sound of complaint when he sees you dump the rest of the drugs, but it doesn't come out. the sound of the bau hobbling on over and the sound of your cry and begging doesn't register to him. it barely does. he's truly past it, and when gideon brings him in and you hobble behind him with a stretch of your back, it almost feels as though the narcotics were a part of your daily life. he does not understand you. he fears he never really will, and perhaps the closest you will ever get to being honest with him is when you started crying over the shots in your system.

"Kid."

you shake your head and tell him you'll be fine. just run a detox kit on the two of you and you'll teach spencer the rest.

"Detox?"

detox.

you sit in the same ambulance as spencer because you refuse to be separated, and you let the drip run through your system. you have the medics flush everything out of both your systems, and while you think you're going insane the first 24 hours, both of you are booked into a treatment facility before you're out in a jiffy. you assure the workers that your relapse won't happen considering you no longer have access to these drugs, and you visit reid every day just in case you do somehow think of it.

i don't get it. i need it. i know i don't but—

its just the drugs talking. we can do a reward system or just give it some time. you'll forget soon.

when you return to the office first, you're offered a job by hotch. it almost feels ironic for you to accept a job that nearly killed you on the first day because of a misfiled paper, but you accept it anyway.

"Reid needs you."

you know. he needs them too.

you continue to visit him every day after work, telling him about the cases you had been reading and the work that had become new, and he lets you fiddle with his hands to calm the both of you. a germaphobe. he never should have let that needle touch him, yet he couldn't argue. neither of you really could. you couldn't either. the two of you are clean from everything else but the drug, and it's appalling that you had recovered so fast. he wonders just how much of you you had been honest about in the fbi profiling when you had first been introduced to the team. he's certain hotch must know more about you, but whether or not the drugs had been part of your past is only for hotch to know.

you seem shattered.

spencer notes the lack of rings on your fingers now.

when the two of you are back in the office, you toss him a teabag instead of the coffee, and he raises a brow at you.

skitterish. he's anxious, and he's sure maybe it has to do with the withdrawals, but you hold your hand out for him to squeeze. there's something, maybe. he isn't that peeved by you when you end up sanitizing your hands before holding it out for his, and he squeezes in increments as the two of you sort through the following cases. your hand becomes an extension of his in a way, and while hotch doesn't understand why you're required to be by him at all times, he understands to some degree that perhaps you know better than everyone else in the team how to deal with it.

it'll be good for him.

"I doubt it will."

it helped me.

you start to understand doctor reid to some degree, you think. there's something so strange about him willingly holding hands with you. perhaps a blood bond had been formed when the two of you had been drugged by the same needle. he learns to hold hands with you longer, and when it's awful, he squeezes and asks you if you have sugar or something else to get his mind off of the drug. the withdrawal is bad, he thinks you know that much. the sugar in his system helps him calm a little. sometimes its tea, sometimes its sugar. sometimes its just squeezing your hand until he calms a little more.

sometimes it's holding headphones over his head while he tunes out the noise, and sometimes it's his hand looking for yours instinctively. when the noise is too much and he slams the window closed, you have headphones popped over his ears as he maps everything out, frustration evident on his face as you squeeze at his hand from the chair, blinking at the map.

not particularly bright, but particularly good at both reading and acting. you'd never go off script. not once. you're truly only good for interrogation at this point in time, and perhaps observation, but you tag along with him and emily to the shelter. when reid's being rude you just slap your hand over his mouth and apologize to the poor woman, dragging him off to look around while you hand the case over to emily.

you're not my babysitter.

trust me, until you know how to handle yourself, i am.

you apologize to emily and smack reid when he tries to argue back, and when reid tries smartassing with you, you just tell him to shut up with a hand over his mouth — something you know he despises.

emily, you've barely known me—

you slam a hand around his mouth, eye twitching. forgive him, trauma response.

you let emily do most of the talking when you head back, forcing a slice of gum into reid's mouth as you wave him off with a flick of the wrist, brow raised as you glance back at the case files.

spencer wonders what the discomfort with your dismissal is, but he takes your hand back up again because you can't deny him for too long. you know how skittish it is to be off the drugs, and it's an awful handful of days. on occasion it lasts into weeks, and you squeeze spencer's hand back when you need it too. always better with a friend. you can keep telling yourself that, truly.

you need it sometimes too, staring quietly from the confines of the room as you're told that the unsub died in the line of fire, thumb brushing against the back of spencer's hand as you let out a huff, mumbling quietly case after case until you grow numb to it like the rest of them. new face. you grow to become someone that isn't a new face, and when reid's begging you for the drugs in his system, you're holding him back, mumbling as he groans into his hands about not having anything to kick in his system.

you hand him a cup of tea and pop rocks, dumping it onto your tongue with the opening of your mouth on the plane as you kick your feet back. a new case. not a day of boredom in your new world.

it's case after case and running after running, pinching reid to get him to shut up when he says something mean, apology stumbling past your lips almost as though he were some troublesome child you were taking care of for the time being. and when he finally frees himself of you to grab a drink with his friend, he's snapping his phone off at emily's calls, panic on his face when you show up at the very bar a handful of hours later, waving hello to his friend before sliding down on reid's lap.

i'm not done talking to him.

you're on the job. you mumble back to him, letting his hand wander. drunken man, you think. too handsy.

His friend lets out a laugh as you start chatting with him, and you swat at Reid's hands each time they trail too close to your pelvis, squeezing it at one point when he raises a brow at you.

what?

"You're getting too handsy." You hold his wrists together as you set his drink down, and you crack a smile as his friend when he laughs. "Hm?"

"He seems real fond of you."

"Trauma bonded." You hum. "You see it too, huh?"

"Not sure where he got it."

"Sure wasn't from me." You let go of Spencer's hands, and he brushes the exposed skin of your upper thigh absentmindedly, humming quietly. "I threw out the last two before we were taken."

"He seems quite affectionate."

"No. Not quite." You hum, hand held over Spencer's as you click on your phone. "I doubt he knows it."

"He couldn't know even if you died."

"Perhaps I'll be gone by the time he realizes it." You tilt your head as Spencer blinks at you, and you hum, laughing as you rest your forehead on his.

"I hope he doesn't. For his sake."

i'm still sober, you know.

i know. you laugh.

stop excluding me.

we're not.

you're unsurprised the case is by a woman, and you're even more unsurprised when she's carried off after barely harming the final victim. you stare blankly and let gideon talk to the both of you, and you laugh airily, telling gideon it wasn't that deep for you, but reid would need some time. you catch the look in gideon's eyes, but you don't comment on it. it's alright. you'll stick with reid. you're close enough for you to grab him every morning anyway.

"Kid."

"Hm?"

"You ask for help when you need it, all right?"

"Alright."

spencer doesn't say anything until gideon is walking off, and his hand finds yours out of habit, mumbling quietly to you about how all you were was an actor, but you don't comment on it, laughing instead.

and when the open mic calls for someone to join him to sing, you hobble up without a second thought, a drunken curl on your lips, mouth open as you sing, and spencer thinks back to when you had cried with a quiet voice that you dreamed of things once a long time ago. a dream that would break you and ruin you to pieces. it seemed to matter enough to you at the time, but it really should not matter. especially not when you're spinning and spinning on the stage and swinging to the beat. you suit the stage the same way he suited books. a dream that you could both never truly pursue the way you wanted to.

even if you did, it would only end horribly now that you are where you are.

spencer brings you down from the stage, swallowing a grimace at your sweaty hands but taking them anyway, eyes trailed on you as you giggle at him. a gentle glow of everything yet nothing. he wants to understand, maybe. he can't, though. he doesn't.

you knock out on the jet on the couch in the back on spencer's shoulder, and he finds himself brushing the back of your hand as he stares out the window. if anyone notices, no one says a thing. cut a little slack for the poor boy, huh. cut a little slack for the youngest ones. ignore the held hands and brushing of fingers. ignore your caging in in order to grab something from an upper shelf. ignore that boy genius gets his iq slashed in half whenever you blink at him with eyes bigger than usual and ignore that whenever you brush past him his voice stutters and his ears go slightly red.

ignore it all for the sake of the boy.

he tries rationalizing it. it's unsurprising for him to be calming down when holding hands. a study by harvard revealed that the pressure of holding hands stimulates the pressure-sensitive pacinian corpuscles in the hand, which send signals to the vagus nerve that conducts signals to the hypothalamus, which then lowers the heart rate and blood pressure and contributes to the neurological management of stress responses. it's that simple. truly. it's just a biological response. he's just having a biological response. he's completely having a biological response.

lots happens for a reason, and lots happens for no reason. spencer tries not to think too much about the smell of your shampoo that he memorizes or how you have a slightly different shade of lipstick that he tries not to point out. small, minor changes. the same way you show up at the metro station seven minutes earlier to be able to catch the same cart as him or the coffee you always have in your hand at the station. he tries not to notice but he unfortunately does, and he truly just plays it off as a normality.

he notices when jj changes lipstick.

"JJ! New lip?"

well, apparently not.

but he tries to convince himself that its transference. it has to be. there's really no reason for him to have a racing heart and strange levels of dopamine rush to his head whenever you squeeze by him in between cases. its simply because he's gotten used to holding your hand when fidgety and the fact that you had saved him when he nearly died. it's really all that is. it shouldn't be more than that. he isn't allowed more than that anyway.

he's just stressed now that gideon's gone and someone new is in the team. he's just upset that gideon left the same way his father did and he's clinging onto you who presented yourself so nicely to him after the two going missing and considering that you both had the whole drug exchange, he finds that perhaps it's just easy to cling to you. it's so easy to just rely on you when you're so vulnerable to him.

he finds his hand in yours under the table in the jet, your eyes closed and knocked out against the window whenever.

it could also be a fear response from him. the chemicals are the same, so it would only make sense that he— oh, who was he kidding. it couldn't be fear. he wasn't scared of you. it wasn't as if you were the one whose mind short-circuted whenever he walked by or handed him an overly sweetened cup of coffee with the exact amount of sugar needed for some reason. you're not the one whose heart lurches whenever he's handed a pack of pop rocks he's sure that you'd like to have instead of him. it's hard not to remember things about you.

it's hard not to just love you when you're so easy to.

you make it too easy for him.

pack of gum held out to him to chew on, telling him that it helps with concetration despite having no true proof for it. you tell him it helps you so it might help him. you don't think too much, and neither does he really when you're holding his chest down and pressing your forehead to his when he wakes from a nightmare, breathing and racing heart rattling in his ears as he matches his breathing to yours on the jet, amused look from everyone as he flushes red and tries to bury the embarassment.

"Nothing to be embarassed abOW—." You hum, jolting as the plane jumps, yelping as Spencer holds a hand to steady you.

"Sitting on the jet floor is kind of nasty, doctor." Morgan raises a brow at you, and you blink up at him.

"Let's hope the clean up crew we hire actually do their jobs, then." You thank Spence as you squeeze between him and Rossi. "At least my pants are dark."

The case is simple, really. Find the one who kidnapped the boy and return him to his parents. One had already passed, so the team tries to speed the process up, and you're put with Morgan and Reid to stay overnight at the home to camp out, so when you're jolted awake by Reid having a panic attack and crying your name, you've got your hands in his hair and he's breathing into your shoulder while Morgan apologizes to the family.

scary. scary, scary, scary. he isn't used to the fear that rattles through his system, and he lives the same dream again and again. dead boy behind the washer. dead boy behind the washer in the basement. step down the basement and be unable to save the boy. haunt his life and stare quietly at the still legs of the boy while his dad watches.

relive a nightmare that he was both part and not part of.

the boy is safe, found in his arms when they sweep the house, and you squeeze spencer's arm gently, eyes relieved as he closes his, boy's forehead pressed to his as the two of you make it out of the house, your phone ringing through to hotch to tell him that you have the boy. the blanket and swaddle in her arms wasn't a child, it was just items. in a way, it was saddening, your eyes weary as you stared at the arrested woman, hand finding reid's to squeeze and let go of.

you alright?

i'll be fine... you?

i'll cross that bridge when i get there.

you're unsurprised when he requests a handful of days to stay back, and you find yourself with him on the couch of his hotel with morgan and rossi, watching a match as you tear open another bag of chips.

"You're not supposed to be here."

you flash him a grin, shrugging as you offer a chip, shaking his head as the three of your forcibly inject yourselves into an investigation that he insists on keeping to himself.

it's a lot to dig through. it's a lot, and when spencer finds himself deeper and deeper down the investigation, rattling his mother and thinking its his father, he finds himself squeezing your hand under the table while you all profile, shoulders sunk back with a weariness that you don't like seeing, trying his best to wrap up the case.

he gets through it anyway, hand finding yours as you squeeze and finish up the case, and you hum quietly as he closes his eyes finally on the plane, mumbling quietly to himself as he thanks you for quiet support. hands finding his in times of fear, acting both as a calming agent when you touch him and a stimulant when you don't. to be everything yet simultaneously nothing. a paradox and an oxymoron.

but the truth is spencer knows why he's this way. he knows why he acts this way, but he has a little moment or two in which he doesn't believe it. he really refuses to. he understands it because he's read textbook cases, and he knows as a matter of fact that he isn't feeling this way because he's scared of you. he knows, but it doesn't stop him from pretending he doesn't anyway. because having you all vulnerable to him and not knowing how you feel about him is enough of a risk as is.

not to mention that he isn't allowed to be fraternizing with his coworkers.

but it doesn't stop him from caring. it doesn't stop him from slipping you breakfast on the metro on the way to work, and neither does it stop you from handing him a doughnut after your lunch break. it stops neither of you from ripping open a pack of pop rocks while listening to the new cases or him from handing you a cup of tea. it stops nothing because there's nothing to be stopping. he understands that much, at least.

but it's fine to care for one another.

it's fine, and there's no reason not to, so when morgan's calling you about how spencer's locked himself in the lab with anthrax, you're terrified. you're there with hotch, pinching your fingertips between your knuckles, biting and letting go of your tongue as the military sets up a grey zone between the houses and you're on the phone after hotch hangs up with reid.

You call him after, upper lip bitten as you listen to the line ring and start.

"Spencer." You mumble, voice breaking as you get him on the phone line, Morgan's hand on your shoulder as you bite back tears. "Are you okay? Breathing?"

i'm fine.

"Please don't do this again. We'll get you fixed up and then we can go back to before." You mumble, chewing your bottom lip as you lock eyes with him through the glass. "Tell us more about the lab. Please. I need to hear you ramble or else my brain's gonna keep reminding me that—"

"Dr. Nichols is a former military scientist, which means he's most likely secretive and most likely a little paranoid. He would have protected the cure, and probably would have hidden it from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something you would not suspect." Reid starts, and you rest the phone between your chin and shoulder, scribbling down notes on your copy of the file.

"He has breathing problems, right? How about an inhaler?" You mumble. "I had Garcia pull medical records."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You mumble. "Is the doctor inside with you?"

"Yeah. I'll have her look." Spencer mumbles. my head's a little dizzy.

i know, spence. hold on for us, please. You nod at Morgan as he leaves, and you squeeze your palms, eyes focused on the way Spencer looks out the window back at you. He nods at you as he steps out, and you follow him in the decontamination chamber, facing the other side as he strips to be cleaned from top to bottom.

He suffers, though, and you're stuck sitting in the ambulance as he's rushed to the hospital and the samples are processed, one sigh in relief for when hotch tells you the suspect's been detained, and another sigh in relief for when spencer's given the cure. you stay by his side when morgan comes to visit, and you flip through one of your more recent books, chin on the side of his bed as morgan hands you a cup of jello.

"'s he alright?"

"Cured." You hum, peeling open the jello to eat at it, shifting from the bed audible as you look to the side.

having jello without me?

"Maybe." You bite down on the spoon, raising a brow.

i want a bite.

You laugh, shaking your head at him. when you're healed, spence.

but it's so easy. it's painfully easy, even. you make it so easy for him to wonder what you're up to.  it's so easy. too easy.

he ponders over it on some days, and when you find the dog tags to hand to morgan with a grimace, he spots the slight grimace and slanted eyes that you hide away after you go back to searching. he understands it all, he supposes. he did not at one point. it is much easier to know who you are when standing face to face with you as opposed to the spots and dreams that filled the cracks between the visions of you.

he keeps a hand on your lower back and leans his head on yours as the two of you head back on the jet, quiet circles drawn into your skin. you lean back, visibly sunken and drained, squeezing his hand on the way back to your apartments, humming quietly and pressing your cheek to his before you both make it back to your rooms. this is so easy. loving and trusting you is so easy.

but the universe always finds different ways to prove you both wrong.

four hours of sleep is nowhere near enough, and when you split a cup of coffee with reid as you both sit at the homicide, your eyes struggling to stay awake as one twitches, you think you're going to go insane. hotch is missing, there's a serial killer loose for a surgeon's son, and you've flipped through so many files with reid that you're starting to hear shit. you're sure your hallucinating when emily tells you both that hotch is in the hospital for a stab wound from foyet or someone, and you're blinking at spencer as you run through the profile with the father. he should remember. it should come easy.

it comes with difficulty, you suppose, but when you're walking out with the doctor and get tackled by reid, you're staring at his bleeding leg as he stares at the unsub. in a way you probably could have avoided this, but you wince as spencer shoots at the unsub, your own jacket coming off to stop the bleeding from his leg. he tells you and the rest of the team to go find emily and hotch, but you stay back after they leave, lifting him with ease as he sputters, face impossibly red.

when did you even—

don't worry about it. you laugh, humming. you'll be fine.

you hear a faint whistle that you assume is from morgan, and you're off to the hospital with spencer.

you take another jello cup to share with spencer after he gets the bullet removed, and you listen to jj as the doctor tells reid he'll be fine as long as he stays on crutches. you help him into it the first time, and you end up bringing him home. you end up half-moving in to take care of him for the few weeks, cooking and cleaning and huffing as you have to drive through the streets of dc, but it comes naturally to you too. you find that caring for spencer is so painfully easy that you're a little embarrassed.

you most certainly don't say much when garcia gives you a wiggle of her brow and the two of you wiggle your fingers for a cookie from her tin.

"These are for Hotch."

You feign hurt, holding your hand over your chest. "That's evil."

"I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies." Spencer huffs. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."

"It's cookies, not cake. He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to." You pout at the cookies as Spencer offers you a lollipop.

"I think maybe we should." Spencer frowns.

"I don't roll that way." Garcia swats your hand as you reach for the tin again.

"I've been thinking about it? The entire time I've known hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink."

You pause to think, blinking slowly. "Holy shit."

"I know. It's weird." Garcia scrunches her nose.

"Classic alpha male behavior."

"Do you think he stared down foyet?" You mumble.

"Maybe. If it would save his life."

"Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?"

"I have no idea. Is he ok?"

"I wouldn't be, but... I'm a blinker." Spencer sighs, and you pat his thigh, getting up.

JJ comes in shortly and you're both whisked off to another case, sitting in the station, your hands moving the pins around as Spencer speaks around the whole case, telling you what to write on the board and what to leave out. You think you're fine with this. He sorts out his thoughts by explaining everything to you, and when the case is wrapped up, you fake a gasp in offense when you catch him counting his cards, replacing a card of your own and winning the game to get back at him.

he lets you.

he call you a cheat later when you're walking back to the apartment, pulling out the card that you had replaced in your hand as you pretend not to know what he's talking about. he snaps his fingers as the card disappears and you find it in your belt, and you blink at him with wide eyes that spencer thinks he can get used to. he'd prefer it if anything. to surprise you for the rest of the days as you both head to work together.

you learn to tone down the character in the way you dress, but you don't say too much when garcia's flown in for the newest case involving choking and internet culture, your quiet glancing at the screen making you pause. it's all a game to get a rush of dopamine to your head, but you don't say too much. you never really do. you fiddle with your ring and glance at the bruises on the boy's neck, staring quietly as morgan tackles him.

Reid and morgan have no luck getting to him, so hotch is forced to pull them out.

Hotch suggests Penelope, but you decide that it's slightly easier for it to be you. You fit the profile, and while Penny would be much more comfortable in some way, you had the decoration on you to prove something. You don't remember the last time you ever had the heart to wear your rings. No. You do. You just don't like to think about it.

You open the door, humming as you tilt your head. "You ever done drugs?"

"Someone get her out of there." Hotch groans.

"Because tbh when I was crashing out back when my family passed away I really considered just—" you make a click sound with your tongue, drawing a line past your throat with your thumb as you tilt your head, sitting down slowly. "But the drugs gave the high that came with it, so I thought I could just... keep doing them. Tried choking myself too. It was fine until it wasn't enough."

The kid shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "No way."

"I don't recommend it, though. The drugs. The road of recovery is rough." You sigh dramatically. "You overdo it and suddenly you're regretting your choice, crying in paralysis about how you might actually want to live — also, by the way, the flush that comes with getting everything out of your system is a whole different level of hell. I thought i was going to die from that alone. Always hoped maybe there was something to live for. I miss my parents, but it's something you learn to live with. I think it does get better. Do you miss your mom? Ugh, mine used to make me such good lunches. Sometimes when kids bully you for having a bad lunch that means it's really good. Okay, that's off topic, omg, so sorry. Love the whole goth vibe. Where do you shop from? I don't know. I feel like Hot Topic doesn't hit as hard as it used to. I know the choker's from there, though. Figured I'd ask since, well. Y'know. By the way, love the nails."

You flash the painted nails — black. Done fresh while you were waiting for Reid and Morgan to crack him.

"You a cop?"

"Oh, heavens no." You lower your voice. "I actually find the worst part of my job to be working with the cops, but don't tell my superior. I'm an agent. FBI."

"You?"

"Yeah! Can you believe it? It's like the FBI is just letting anyone in these days." You laugh. "Nice earring too. I love the one earring look."

"Thank you. Got it on eBay. Supposed to be johnny d's from that one movie."

"Sick!" You gasp. "I got all of my rings from a thrift."

You show the boy as he observes, and you watch as his gaze lingers on one of them.

"Isn't that one nice? Apparently it was from a movie set. Found it on ebay."

"Yeah. Sick."

"Oh, by the way. My friend outside, Penny, was trying to break into your laptop and it's actually shocking how good you are at that kind of stuff. The firewall? The anonymizing service? uber cool. And the e-shredder? I gotta know where you're getting this stuff. You're like a cyber genius."

The kid shifts in his seat, and everyone watches as he actually speaks up. "The anonymizing service was from some guy online."

"I know! That one site, right? The one that looks totes sketch but's actually legit? I use it too. On my personal, though. Ugh, I got hacked once back in college and it took ten years off my lifespan to try to fix my laptop."

"No way."

"Got it immediately after. It was awful." You sigh. "I make one mistake and there goes like decades worth of games pirated— oopsies I wasn't supposed to say that with so many cops around."

The boy laughs, and the door clicks behind you.

"Oh, there's my boss. Say hi to Hotch. Isn't he a little scary? Did the boy's dad ask for him?"

"He's lawyering him up."

"I see."

"Was this an interview?"

"Not quite, as you didn't really give anything out." You give him a handshake, nodding as you glance at the earring he slipped you.

"She's not your friend. She was trying to trick you." His dad grumbles.

"That's all made up, sir. I told your son some stuff I could get re-evaluated over." You hold both your hands up, catching Christopher's wrist before he leaves, holding the earring up.

"You sure you wanna give this to me?"

"I think you deserve it. Wear it at work for me?"

You laugh, cheeks warm as you hum. "I will."

You watch as they leave, smile dropping when you know they won't turn back.

"Hotch, but I need a car to tail them in quiet." You mumble. "That boy's being manipulated."

"And you know this because?"

You stare at the door, quiet, finger brushing the earring. "I just know."

"Munchausen by proxy." Reid mumbles. "That's how the mom died too, isn't it?"

"Password's his mom's full name. He misses her." You call, taking the jacket on the chair. "Penny, text me his— actually, no. Send half to the home address. I wanna visit the mother's grave. Send me the church address? Or the..." You lock eyes with Spencer, and he nods.

"Cemetery. Hotch, do you mind if—"

"Stay." Hotch stops you, holding his hand out. "Morgan, Emily, Church. We'll check the house. Stay here. You've done enough."

You huff, staring at the earring. "Will I get to see him?"

"We'll bring them both in."

"Okay." You mumble.

They bring the boy in to you, and you are given one chance. A small promise to write to him, and offer him an item of equal exchange. You're not supposed to, you understand, but you slide one of the rings off of your fingers, holding out the metal to the boy's palm as you hold onto the earring.

"You want it back?"

"No. You can keep that one."

You nod. "Hope I read it right."

"You did. How did you know?"

"You kept glancing at it when we talked." You laugh. "I had a friend who used to stare a lot at things they wanted. I stare a lot too."

The flight back is quiet, you think. A lot of silence, and you twist at the rings on your finger, hand strangely lighter without one of them.

do you have time on friday?

hm?

Spencer mumbles, quiet as he sits next to you. friday.

why?

new place opened up two blocks down.

alright.

spencer spends the most time in between the books, watching as you look through old donated journals and diaries, peering into people's lives that was once private to them. in a sense you don't seem to care that there's a need for privacy, and neither do you really care when you tell spencer you don't mind your diaries being donated when you pass away. you even tell him that he can read through them when you pass.

but you wander around too. spencer takes you around to the jewelry that's been donated, old with age, pretty little gems and dazzling rust with purple. you insist that there's nothing that catches your eyes, mentioning that the loss of that one ring was symbolic that you had made a difference in someone's life even if it was small.

but there's a pair of old wedding rings that you find your gaze lingering back onto at the new place. it's old, yes, and there's hundred of years worth of items here, but the wedding rings catch your gaze again and again, and at one point you pick it up to bring it around with you while spencer looks at the books.

spencer notes it down, yes. he found that you started carrying a box around with you somewhere into the fifteen minute mark, and you refuse to show him what you had picked up, but from the looks of it, it's most likely something that could really only hold jewelry. A ring box, most likely.

what are you holding?

oh, um, rings. you open the box to show him, and he blinks.

huh. real gold.

and the silver?

it isn't tarnished, so i'd assume some kind of gold. possibly white. he holds his hand out for the rings, and you find yourself giving them to him. they're pretty.

you nod, taking them back from him.

did you know world war two popularized men from the west wearing their wedding rings? prior to that, most men would either not have a ring or not wear it. they started wearing them to remind themselves of their wives and kids at home. oh, and according to a plethora of sources, the most popular wedding ring material is yellow gold. spencer hums, watching as you put the box back down.

well, that makes sense.

he takes a second glance at the box, noting down something as the two of you walk off.

You find the exact box with a ring missing the next day on your desk at work.

"Hey. Everyone's already in the room. Ready?"

you look up at spencer, yellow glistening on his finger as you glance back down at the box.

aren't you supposed to get down on one knee?

do you want me to?

you shake your head, sliding the ring down your finger, joining the rest of them at the round table.

you hide your hands the entirety of the time that you cover the case with the team, fingers fiddling with the ring as you run through everything with hotch. he sends you to the police station with spencer, and you find yourself back in the back and forth back and forth of it all. it's so easy to fall into a pattern with him.

it's so easy to fall into a rhythm with you. it's so easy to show affection and exist around you.

it's so easy to share a look with you and split a room, arm wrapped around your waist and nose pressed into your shoulder, groggy twilight on both of your faces as the two of you squint and you find penelope in your arms, cooing quietly at her as you rub the blood from her hands. it's easy to get lost while in the job, you think. she's strong. you have to repeat it so that she believes you.

spencer settles next to you on the couch, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as you knock out on his shoulder while fiddling with your ring.

neither of you are conscious enough for this.

and it carries the same in every other case. in every other case, the two of you are wrapped up on the plane, his hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder, device in your hand, newspaper in his. a cup of tea brewed to eerie precision on your side, a bag of opened candy on his. a sweet tooth that gnaws at his cheek — a need for peace that eats at your brain.

you listen to reid talk. everything — the numbers, the facts, the stats. everything reads like an audiobook or encyclopedia, and you tilt your head slightly when spencer hands you a photo of the women, and you start drawing lines over the plastic. reid notices it before you do, but you have the facial symmetry crafted before he does, picture stuck up on the glass board as you have lunch, watching spencer snatch it up and thank you for it.

you don't do much for the rest of the time, straw pressed to your lips as you drink, staying on call with penelope as you click through your device. it's those damn phones should be a quote on your feed. The only thing helping you at the moment to kill the boredom of when you're not on the field. hotch is still hesitant to use you at times.

and it's not that he doubts your capabilities.

you're put on the field, hand finding the victim's as she asks you why she wasn't just killed, and you swallow back words and let reid tell her that it was only about power and control, your own words comforting her when you tell her that it fades. it doesn't mean that it will leave, but you will learn to step over it. you promise it to her.

you find time during the drive back to run your hand through his hair as he drives, pinching at the way his curls coil around his head, hum on your lips as you call him pretty. so pretty.

you don't miss the way his cheeks tinge pink as he catches the reflection of white on your finger.

but the unsub gets away and morgan snaps, but you understand that to some degree. you're sure that you'd be in the same situation, and when jj's berating him on an emergency line, you're understanding, gun in hand when you finally find the girl, and you think for a moment that there really isn't much of a space for you.

reid sees it too, the way you let go of your gun, staring as morgan heads into the house and everyone wires him. you understand it well.

reid would say that you've always slotted nicely. you've always fit between the cracks, and when the cracks would fit each other, you would slide away until they would click, and you would be stuck staring on the side. you're just a strangely fluid person in a sense.

but it's a little much to ask of you to fill in for jj's position. it's not for you.

yet you find that garcia tries anyway, and when you're finally called out for the metal band on your finger on the plane, you're staring at everyone and blinking.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Vintique on third." You hum. "Loved them, but didn't want to splurge, but they so magically appeared on my desk at work the next day. Speaking of rings, though. Why have a married couple have sex before stabbing them? What the hell?"

"You know, the stabbing of the wives is almost certainly piqueristic. The unsub gets sexual gratification from penetration with a knife. Most piquerists are impotent... men like Albert Fish, lain Scoular, Andrei Chikatilo... so for him, it could be a substitute for sex." Spencer hums. "The rings were really pretty. Pure gold. Well, not the white one since 18 karat white gold is only 75 percent pure gold."

Everyone's eyes find his ring finger, and Morgan gasps.

"My man!"

But the case isn't too strange. You tell Emily you can step in, dressed up nice as you take off the vest and opt for a purse, Spencer's eyes worried as you tell him you'll be fine, tapping the ring on his finger. You lie your way through the unsub while fiddling with your ring, tapping through to let Morgan and Hotch tackle the man to the ground, only going quiet when the barrel of a gun finds itself on your stomach. you think you hear Spencer yell something in the background, but you pull the trigger in your purse, letting someone pull you away as you exhale and ask if the unsub will live.

are you okay?

i'm fine. you hum, hand finding his as you run your finger over his ring.

He runs the hand to your cheek, coolness of the metal making you close your eyes as you hum.

"You'll protect me, won't you? As my husband?"

"Of course."

Spencer tries to ignore the way that he likes the way you call him your husband. Yours. It rings nicely in his mind — like a child receiving praise. He can practically feel the neurotransmitters in his brain enforcing his behavior to be good to you. to be good for you. it makes him a little nauseous, but he refuses to fight it too much.

It's only logical that he likes hearing good words.

but you never miss the opportunity to tease him anyway, tugging on his sleeve to avoid his hand, name on your lips sweet as he blinks and swallows when a pretty girl passes him, quirk of your lip upward when he tries to make up an excuse, a wave of your pretty hand shutting down his entire brain. it's a little concerning to him — furrow of his brows and a pout on his lips when he realizes what you're doing.

we're together. he pouts.

"I know we are." You hum, bumping him with your hip as you circle around to Hotch.

"Town meeting in the church. I want us all there."

"Got it."

you're not too sure what to make of the blonde girl, and you're unpleasantly surprised at her attitude once admitted into the BAU. you stay civil with her, but never anything beyond that. you don't have much to say when spencer gets sassed at by her, raise of your brow and she shuts her mouth.

I'm used to it, you know?

it isn't about you.

he furrows his brows, and you press your hand to his forehead.

but you find that you understand something else. spencer reid has no protection against pretty girls, and it doesn't matter who he stares at for a second too much, you always find yourself fiddling with your ring and looking to the other side. you understand the biological need to do so, yes, but it doesn't sting any less.

but nothing changes.

spencer still finds himself next to you at most times, pink finding yours under the table on the plane, tilt of his head and lick of his upper lip whenever you beam at him, gold on his ring finger glistening and never rusted. it's honestly incredible that the two of you never give away anything about each other or come even remotely close to having to explain the rings. reid sympathizes with the men, and you hold the women in your arms.

it almost feels like it was made for this.

the charade you both play almost feels real. it's real only when on the field, and when the two of you return to your apartments side by side, it's all fake again. he can spend nights with your forehead pressed to his in the comfort of his couch while you try to help with his migraines, and he can sit back as you take care of him with your life, but he'll never quite get to hear those three words break past your lips. you'll never say it because you feel like you don't have to, and he'll never say it because he'll never be able to read your emotions the same way you read his so he can never quite confirm that you love him the same way he does.

does he really love you? does it really matter? the cat remains unknown until the box is opened — your relationship remains neutral until someone grows cold. you don't know if spencer really did love you at all. it certainly eats at you and chews you from the inside out. you don't know if his moment of realization had just been of realization or of boredom. an overanalyzation of the stars in his supernova. a breaking of his universe because you were too close. he wonders it too, the lack of light present in everywhere you walk. someone who would swallow his universe alive until all that was left was dark matter.

a blank stare and a pinch of your own skin always seemed to do the trick. but you've always got a handful to work with when he was around, his migraines have grown worse as you bring him to doctors, pout on your face and gentle stare on his as he sits through brain scans. you have him drink tea and take care of everything that you can to help him. you're wonderful. you bring the best of the best for him. a wife's affection, really.

the first migraine causes you a near heart attack when he knocks a man in the back of his head, and when the first doctor tells him to consider something psychosomatic and he storms out, you're stuck chasing after him. you'll find him a better doctor. you'll get him the best of the best, and the best of the best do you find after a painfully long period of bad migraines and drinking your tea instead of his coffee. you're just so wonderful.

emily passes away and comes back and all you're stuck with is taking care of spencer, lowering his caffeine intake, quiet running of your thumb under the bags of his eyes, a gentle frown on his face when he struggles with her loss. you struggle in your own way, but you've never been a priority in the team, so no one points out who you are or what you're there for. you're only there when people need you. you aren't required.

you forgive emily quicker than spencer because you understand.

but spencer's migraines are better. slightly better. he meets a new doctor who actually looks into the symptoms thanks to your annoyed pushes, and sometime along the way, you're given the right to his medical records the same way he's allowed yours, and then it all really just goes downhill for you from there. you know the way that spencer scrolls through his phone for payphones to call with the researcher — same look on his face when you had actually looked him in the eye the first time ever.

it's his fault, really.

it's transference, he knows. the doctor taking care of him is just transference, and he knows you catch the way his calls linger for longer than they're supposed to and the slight flashes of pain at first when he doesn't go to bed, but you get used to it. fluid to fill the cracks. you'll fill not only his, but also everyone else's cracks. he feels not enough for you. he fears he turns into something that isn't himself. fill the cracks that he knows you can with something that is not either of you. you should no longer be filling the cracks for him. he should do something for you.

he understands his reasoning is flawed in that way, but he knows not to deal with it. perhaps he does not want to seem weak before you.

but it doesn't stop him from sobbing into your arms, quiet digging of his nails into your biceps on nights that are too silent, gasping into your shoulder when you run your hand down his back. it doesn't stop either of you from playing your part, acting like you all have it under control. acting like it's completely fine — the way you just shatter and break is completely fine. the way he contemplates the drug long gone in his system as you teach him how to cope with the loss.

and you trust him so much. you trust him painfully much, and it almost makes him feel undeserving. even with a hand on your lower back and a kind gentle hum on his lips, grimace on his face as you stare at death upon dead, he finds that he doesn't want you to see the same gruesome life that he does. it's unfair to you. not that you cannot handle it — just that he wonders maybe you could avoid it. even if you had signed up for training and ended up in the department.

but there's a visible shift in your dynamic with spencer. you can take him to all the doctors you want and let him cry his heart out, complain and throw a fit that you'd like for him to be reviewed by someone else, but no one will be as good as maeve. you can fuss and cry at home, but he won't ever understand the sense that you just know. you can feel him slipping. slipping through the cracks and through your fingers, and you think there's so much that you don't want to touch, but you can't decide that.

you don't get to decide to take away something good for spencer just because it's something bad for you.

he'll analyze and profile you. you know that. he'll notice that you no longer seem to care, smile not as bright, water bottles replaced with thermos and thermos of tea until the flavor is too far gone to be able to still taste the tea. he'll notice the way you never discard of the tea, but he won't comment on it. he'll never comment on it again, because as soon as work is over or it's sunday, he's rushing off to call maeve, and you're stuck in the office, staring and scratching at your phone, eyes weary and tired, visible signs of age sliding between the fine lines of your portrait, and at one point, maybe you'll find something that you care about again.

it hurts more to be like that, you think.

to love and then be betrayed.

but you still want him so bad. so. painfully bad.

it's unfair how attached you've grown to someone you thought would be your forever only to end up as another piece of your life. how could you ever? was it unfair of you to hope that someone who tasted even a fragment of what you endured prior to it all to understand you even just a little bit? does it not matter to them at all? you're sure it doesn't. spencer's never one to dwell on his heart more than he has to.

Now, all he dwells over is Maeve.

those three words. "I love you."

you watched him freeze up from the car, body paused in the seat when you noticed the lack of gold on his fingers, and you think there's something that clicked in your mind when you did. it's an announcement of affection that you wish spencer would push away, but he doesn't. it doesn't surprise you. it should, but it doesn't. it almost feels like it was perfectly expected of him to act that way. to just accept that someone loves him the same way you do.

it couldn't be the same way you do since they've never met, but you're sure spencer loves her the same way.

you press your tea to your lips, bag of pop rocks left on the round table as everyone files in, a brow raised when spencer enters last, strangely giddy, beaming at you when he sits down with his own mug of tea.

call went good?

yeah. we're meeting up soon.

fun.

if he notices the lack of enthusiasm in your voice, then he doesn't comment on it, taking the bag of pop rocks to down as everyone files in.

"3 days ago, Bruce Phillips was found dead with his blond hair dyed black."

You think you tune almost everything out for the most part. You go through the case, sort through it all, blink and watch as Spencer seems to be as focused as ever. He's meeting up with her in a couple of days. You'll be fine, you suppose. It'll be fine. Everything is supposed to be fine, and when you're getting forcibly sentenced to rest by Hotch, you think it's fine. You'll be fine.

You'll work through the case and look back at all the puppets as you lower the two humans from the strings, and you wonder what you would look like put up on the stage. There is a fear that settles uncomfortably in your stomach, you think. That somehow on that stage it could have been you. You don't know how the victims will survive it, and when you step into the elevator in the dark of night with the rest of the team, you barely go through anything.

"Where's Reid?"

"He said he had something important to do."

You blink quietly at your reflection in the metal, closing your eyes.

"He's seeing the girl he's in love with."

"WHAT."

"Wait, wait, wait. Babygirl, isn't he in love with you?"

"Apparently not." You chew on your inner cheek. "I need a drink."

"Well, you're welcome at mine." Rossi mumbles. "Scotch."

"Vodka."

"You'll learn."

You huff. "Fine."

Maybe ranting to Rossi about your love life wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but you honestly couldn't give any less of a damn if Spencer was dragged through mud after all the stunts he had pulled on you. You grumble and pinch your brows, moping and throwing your head back over the sofa as you sit to sober up. Jesus christ, get a grip.

Rossi tells you that sometimes it's fine to let go.

"Yeah?" You fiddle with your ring, scotch long forgotten on the table.

"Sometimes the best remedy is just letting go."

"Thank you, wise italian man with three wives." You mumble. "I can't wait to be divorced in my twenties."

"You're still young, don't worry." Rossi hums, pressing his drink to his lips. "You want me to reccomend someone to you?"

You glance at the ring on your finger, humming. "It's fine."

you wonder sometimes why reid had gotten tired of you. was it tired? you don't know. he seems to have gotten tired of you. maybe it was just rude of you

maybe the lack of title was—

no. not quite. he's your husband. there was not a lack of title. there was a lack of papers. lack of hard evidence that you weren't playing around with each other in your youthen stupor. there was a lack of nothing. it was just spencer being stupid, you think. it was never your fault. you were more in tune with his smotions than he was, and he knew your mind better than anyone else.

he did not know his own heart, and you suppose it's your fault for ever thinking he would.

you think you're bitter towards how spencer treats you now comparably more than when he did prior to the arrival of maeve. but you're not mad at maeve. you couldn't really be. you and spencer never legalized your relationship, and it's not unheard of to be fascinated with something new — spencer was always fascinated with something new.

but it doesn't really make it hurt any less.

spencer meets maeve in the restaurant, and garcia tells you that apparently he had taken off his ring in the cctv footage. an empty finger to meet a girl that you felt replaced by. wow. what a way to ruin a girl's day.

not to mention how he carries around that beat up book that maeve had reccomended to him — still.

you find it ironic that he's moved on yet you still haven't. what is there to move on? did he owe you the courtesy of a break up if you were never really anything?

the one day you don't bother answering your door.

you spend your days at he shooting range, perfecting your marksmanship, and you wonder if this is the universe's strange way of telling you that you're just screwed. you find that it's hard to hide quiet sniffling and hot tears on your cheeks with frustration that you can't lash out. quiet anger that bubbles in the back of your throat when you start opting to go out on the field more than staying back to analyze — to use your degree since you wasted it all anyway, and hotch lets you.

you ignore the look of hurt on spencer's face when you request of it outright, desperation reeking off your skin, and you become so painfully distant that you wonder if spencer felt like you were supposed to just stick around and wait for him when he called maeve all day like that and expect you to stay around. he's not stupid. you're almost sick of the way that you've never been babied once since joining, and all everyone does is protect him in their own way.

it makes you bitter towards him, you think.

you're glad you're on the field rather than hidden in the police station with spencer. you don't think you could bear to face him or whatnot. it would be unfair for you.

you wonder if you should request to stay back when maeve's kidnapping case comes up, and you swallow slowly when spencer's mind shuts down, and maybe you're just cursed to be stuck as some kind of queen piece that has no purpose now that the player's gotten their pawn to upgrade into a queen. actually, maybe you're a pawn. maybe you're just the pawn that stayed desipte it all in the game of chess. you know as a matter of fact that you could never be as smart as maeve is — which is why you're not really bitter towards her. she doesn't know of your existence the same way that spencer didn't once mention you in… well, anything.

you spend most of the case working through it with everyone else, and you're the first to notice that maybe it's a female stalking maeve rather than a man. it's not a… well, it is a romantic stalker, probably. you don't really know. you're all for it, but less in the case where maybe maeve deserves a stalker and more in the okay well, good for her, love wins, or whatever. you're quite frankly too spent trying to figure out what's going on with the case to really care that it's a woman. you're trying not to throw up when spencer offers himself as collateral, and you're having the worst moment of your life when things happen.

spencer's so in love with her that you think perhaps you never really existed to him at all. nevermind that he's somehow got his ring on and that diane might freak out at the thought, but you don't know. you don't really understand it. spencer reid is in love with maeve donovan and you don't seem to matter at all in his eyes.

one thing leads to the next, and by some strange situation, everyone's on a rooftop of some kind and you're kind of staring at nothing in particular as you stare at the kidnapper. it's a woman, and you feel like you shouldn't be surprised, but you still are. you've read her unofficial paper before — as you did with maeve. when you first figured out who maeve was, you had done a quick read on her research. it was easy to read — her paper. you wonder just how obsessed diane has to be with maeve for her to be jumping her and kidnapping her to this extent. maybe maeve sought companionship with spencer.

you hold your gun up in the back with everyone else, and it's really spencer's call as whether or not to shoot, but there's an instability in the way that she's speaking and shaking, and you think maeve is going to make the wrong choice of words and accidentally tip off diane and then both of their brains are going to be blown out and you don't think that's a really good idea.

but you also don't really want blood on your hands.

is it such a sin for you to desire to not kill? is the blood of tobias hankel not enough?

is a bullet between the forehead not a testament of enough blood you've been stained with?

you stand behind spencer, gun in your hand as you blink and stare.

will the blood of maeve's life dirty your hands any more than everything already has?

There's a gun pressed to Maeve's head, and you have a clear shot to her assailant.

you want to be selfish. maybe. you want to just. you'd like to— you don't want the love of your life stolen from your hands and it tears you apart, but you don't even need to look when you know the answer. it doesn't matter if you love spencer, because you think you know something that they don't or whatever and he can try to de-escalate the situation all he wants. you think there's something that he knows that you don't. there's—

there's nothing.

what are you being so philosophical for? there is really only one answer.

You pull the trigger before Diane can.

The woman falls to the ground, probably dead. you don't know you don't really check. It's. You don't like the weight of a second life on your hands, collapsing into the cement of the rooftop immediately, too short of breath to watch spencer pull a fainted maeve into his arms, breathing growing erratic and mouth hanging open as someone catches you, the voice ringing in your ear as you stare at someone, tears burning at your cheeks and every emotion except for relief on your face, oh, oh, oh what is this — is this, is it , oh it's been such a long time you almost forgot this feeling, didn't you — you're sorry? what are you saying? You don't know anymore. what is going on? you can't— you can't breathe. what is this—

oh, there— there's—

the world turns black, and you wake up alone.

without your ring. alone. well, penelope's by your side when you're staring into the white, blinking slowly without a lifeline because once again there's an iv plugged into the back of your hand and you swear to god if you have to pull the trigger on a man one more time, you're going to kill yourself.

you don't even realize you're crying until Penelope is holding you.

"You'll be fine! You'll be fine!" Penelope holds you, and you stare at her, shaking your head.

"Penny. I wanna go home."

"I know, sweet girl. I know. You'll be there soon."

You laugh, grimacing at the way your body hurts.

"He said he'd protect me. Guess who lied."

"He can't lie for his life. You know that."

You sigh, letting your head sink into the pillow.

"What happened?"

"You passed out from a panic attack."

"Not from killing." you close your eyes. "Did the doctors give a diagnosis?"

"They can't. You don't have anyone to sign for you."

"Right. Security went up."

"He was angry, you know? That he couldn't sign for you." Penelope frowns. "He asked me if I could fake a certificate for you two."

"I feel like I should pretend to be surprised. Did he leave as soon as Maeve woke up? I know she passed out too." you sit yourself up, groaning as you roll your shoulders. "Where's the doctor? I want my diagnosis — and, Penny?"

"Yeah?"

you smile. "Alone."

"Alright... but um, don't be surprised if I hack, alright?"

"Of course." you nod.

You decide two things that night.

One, your hand is tired of holding the gun. You don't think you ever liked the feeling of it even after killing Tobias for killing Spencer. It's just not a weight that you can grow used to. You can't possibly bear to exist with it, you think. It's not a world that you belong in. It's not a world that you like existing in. You don't particularly enjoy the fact that you just had to shoot Maeve's stalker through the skull either. Two deaths too many.

Two. You no longer want to stay.

Penelope takes you home, but you're barely stepping foot in your apartment before you're calling a cab to go to the BAU office, and you wonder if everyone else has headed home. You think they did. Though, you really hope that Hotch is at least there so you can resign to his face. You don't think you're so adamant on leaving that you'd do it without seeing him one last time.

It's 11pm when you make your way to the office, resignation paper, badge, and gun in hand as you find Hotch's office.

The lights are still on, strangely enough, and when you glance at everyone's empty desks for the night, you think it was oddly good timing on your end to come in right after a case that had you passing out with no real victim. Spencer's probably visiting Maeve, and everyone else probably clocked out on time for once. How nice.

You knock before entering.

"Hotch."

He glances at you.

"They let you out already?"

"Urgent business. Also, it was just a panic attack. My vitals were all normal." You nod. "It won't happen again."

"You're supposed to be on break for a couple of days."

"That's the thing. There won't be a need for an eval or wait." You place down the gun, the badge with the box, and you stare at your ring for a second too long before speaking. "I'd like to leave."

"Is it because of the—"

"No." You shake your head, sliding your ring off. "No, no. It's not. I just. I think you know I never really wanted to be on the field like I have, and I'm nowhere mentally strong enough for that role. I'd like to quit before it kills me. I think we both know that I nearly died my first day on the job."

"Are you alright?" He motions for you to sit, and he steps over to shut his door.

"I'm fine." You nod. "I am. I really am."

"Did Reid—"

"Hotch, please" You mumble. "I just want to return to academia and studying instead of practice. There's so much instability in this job, and I can't do it anymore. I'm not strong like you are. I never was."

He stares at you, pinching his brows. "Where will you go?"

"I'll find somewhere." You smile. "I'll be happy there. I've saved up plenty from this job."

Hotch gives you a sad smile, you think. You understand.

"May I visit?"

"With Jack, if you must." You hum. "I'll be out tomorrow. Please tell Straus I'm sorry I didn't go to her."

"You don't need to."

"Yes, I know." You hum. "Do you think I could stay hidden for long?"

Hotch looks at the envelope.

"I think he will find you."

"I hope not."

He exhales. "Stay safe. I'm here if you need me."

"I will." You laugh. "Tell the rest of the team that I'm just recuperating at home? Tell them I don't want any visitors for a few days."

Hotch nods. "We'll miss you."

You linger at the door, looking back at Hotch, smile on your lips that doesn't reach your eyes.

"I'll miss you guys too."

Spencer sits in the other wing of the hospital.

"Are you sure you're okay? It couldn't have—"

"I'm fine." Maeve smiles. "Shouldn't you be checking with..?"

"She's strong. She'll survive." Spencer mumbles, fiddling with the gold on his finger. "She also took me off of her authorized lists. I had signed that she would be able to take care of my medical needs with her a while back, but I suppose that she took me off sometime ago without telling me. It was my fault."

"Your… ring." Maeve swallows. "I didn't know you wore one."

Spencer stares at it, twisting the band absentmindedly. "It's… a couple's band. Matches with hers… bought it at an antique store."

"Spencer, do you love her?"

"Wh- of course I do!" He pauses. "Of course I love her. Everyone does. It's just… she knows that."

"Are you sure? Have you told her?" Maeve mumbles. "I don't think you love me the same way you love her. I love you, Spencer."

"I do too—"

"No." Maeve stares out the window of the bed. "You love her. Think it over. You're smart. Sometimes feelings don't need to make sense."

Hotch doesn't have it in himself to tell Spencer— it's hard to break the news. it would be like breaking news that emily had passed away all over again, and it wouldn't be all that worth it. reid would have to find out on his own. he would. and when he does. when he does, he'll stop and stare, unbelieving in hotch's words with a desperation in his voice that they heard when maeve was at gunpoint, running a hand through his hair at news broken to him last and the box that had once carried your rings that truly has him staring and wondering if it was at all worth it.

"Why didn't you tell me." Spencer clenches his jaw, and Hotch stares. Just stares.

"She told me not to."

"So you didn't?"

"Reid, you would have stopped her from moving." Hotch places a box before him.

Spencer shakes.

"Hotch. You knew that I messed up, and you still—"

"Reid."

"I loved her. I love her."

spencer loves you, loved you, is loving you, oh god forbid anyone tell him anything. he's in love with you and it was his fault for ever thinking that maybe you would have understood without him telling you. you understood his heart. you should have known that he loves you. but maybe knowing isn't enough. maybe he should have said it— no. he should have said it. he should have told you that he loves you the same way maeve had told him. you overthink as well. he knew that. he knows that.

but you do understand him. he's far too hurt to be able to chase you down after leaving the way you knew it hurt the most, so he settles with sitting in his flat and staring lifelessly at the books you had bought for him. you did not touch anything in his apartment. not your clothes, not your belongings. it was as though all you really cared to clear was the desk at work so someone new could join the team.

he settles with trying to see your apartment, blinking when someone new has moved in and he apologizes, mentioning that his friend had moved and didn't tell him — he supposes. he thinks. it's not the truth. you had just planned to leave him in the dark just like that. it was a deliberate chance to twist a blade into his stomach the same way he had twisted it into your heart. he wonders why you didn't just shatter him on purpose.

the new tenant hands him a letter that was left behind with his apartment number on it, and spencer realizes, he thinks. you had just wanted to stab him through the heart and carve a piece of him for yourself after he had left yours hollow and empty. you didn't quite do it, though. the letter hurts, yes, but in a way he felt deserving of it. you tell him at the end that the silver would look nice on maeve's finger.

he doesn't have the heart to open the box to find out if your ring is in it.

and suddenly, there's no interest in maeve at all — and spencer reflects on it in a way. he knows now. it was never really transference with you. it was transference with maeve. it was simply because he had gotten so caught up in making a new friend and calling her all the time that he had forgotten how he had gotten to that point in the first place. did he ever truly love maeve? surely it hurt to hear how she was the prettiest girl in the world to him when you were wearing a ring meant to match his.

how could he ever think of someone else in that light? when you were right there?

when the hurt fades, all he has left are his days in his flat where he traces through the books you had bought him. he traces your writing in the margins of your literature, and it reminds him of when he had to send his mother away all over again. he isn't allowed the joy of keeping someone by his side. not with his father, not with gideon, and now no longer with you. it didn't matter if you had been waiting. people grow tired of it immediately. people need air. you had forgotten that. spencer had forgotten that.

it was stupid of him to ever think of someone other than you.

spencer dreams of you sometimes. leaving without a reason, walking out of his life with most of your belongings packed from your place with the knowledge that you had just told hotch you were leaving, never to be seen again after you had been pushed to the hospital and he wasn't allowed to hear your diagnosis. disappearing from all his records, being denied access to how you were doing now. it wasn't witness protection, no. he would have known if it was. you had just chosen to disappear from his life forever on a random thursday afternoon. the same thursday he was supposed to tell you that he was wrong to ever make you misunderstand that he loved maeve more than you.

he hasn't taken his ring on his finger since finding out that you had just packed and left. he doesn't know why. he mourns you. perhaps he does, and perhaps he had been right such a long time ago when he was still somewhat young and fresh, ramble of how the feeling he was expressing was most likely his own cocktail of romance, but he had been slow. he knew, yet you had not waited. it was not worth it anymore, perhaps. he understands that. you learned to start moving at your own pace and claw your way to stability, and a government job that required you out on the field at all times was not worth the pay.

you could make comfortable money elsewhere.

he knew that much. your passion had never been quite to be out on the field saving people. your passion had always been in reading people and knowing people. in the smoothing of papers and fluids of ink. you had always loved something much different than he did. you always loved something that he had used as a tool to continue upward. he could deduce a million things about you and none of it would make sense because as soon as you flipped the page you would once again become blank and leave him wordless.

you belonged in ranges of books, not the shelves that hosted you on late nights when you did not want to sit alone in your apartment.

you belonged in rows and rows of scripture and poem and psalm that could not even begin to be described with mere pen and paper. it had to be parchment and quill — ink and letters delivered by carrier pigeons that no longer existed. you belonged in a world that he had long forgotten he was once part of. a world that he doubts he could ever step foot back in without something that affects him enough. he's not going to step back into it. not until there is a point in which he knows he can retire and calm down. his papers would never be the papers that you write. your papers would never be papers that reach his hands.

and then hotch leaves.

he wonders if he could ever step away from it all. a second life or death moment. a moment in which he was... alive, perhaps. he understands the tension between him and cat well. its just a shame you're no longer here to untangle his mind after a long day with your fingers carding through his hair. its a case you would have jumped on. a woman who was better than acting than anyone else. he feels like he lost something when he had met her. it was an encounter you would have listened to him ramble and told him what kind of a person she was, but you weren't there anymore. you hadn't been for a while, and when he's in prison, unable to reach out to you, he wonders if it was at all worth it.

you would not have let it happen.

hotch would not have let it happen.

he spends a lot of time wondering what you're doing. he wonders if you still make your tea with a thermometer so the green doesn't become bitter, insisting that tea made at home is better than one at a coffee shop — and he wonders if you still keep packs of pop rocks on you because you refuse to have food and substitute it with sugar so your blood sugar doesn't drop. he wonders if you still lounge in bed until the sun is halfway in the sky, only leaving for brunch in the mornings, and he wonders if you've made friends. perhaps you connected with past ones. he wonders if you're doing better now.

you have to be. for him. you have to be.

it comforts himself to know that at least one of you are doing better.

maeve is there when he's freed. he understands, yes, that he was… dumb to even… oh he doesn't try thinking too hard about it. he thanks her, yes, and it's not really her fault. his fault for taking off a ring that tied his heart to yours so he could try and pretend he didn't care. he wonders if she thinks any more badly of him. he doesn't think she does, but perhaps she's realized too that his heart wasn't ever really for her to begin with.

He glances at the ring he's kept safe for so long, lack of luster causing a frown on his face as Maeve glances at it too.

"You never really told me the truth, huh?"

"No." He mumbles. "I got caught up in your confession, I suppose."

"I see."

He pauses, staring at Maeve as she tilts her head.

"Did you tell her thank you for saving my life?"

"She left before I could."

"You should have been honest with me."

"She had never—"

"And yet you had a ring." She hums. "Did you pretend I was her? Because I told you I loved you?"

"I just… wanted her to tell me she loved me, I suppose." He blinks, suddenly quiet. Ah. So that was it. "So when you said it to me, I just—"

"You should tell her."

"I won't ever get to see her again."

"You should tell her you love her." Maeve hums. "She was waiting for you to say it first."

"I couldn't have—"

"Then maybe she was hoping for you to." She hums, pausing, smiling. "She's doing good. I met up with her last time she was here."

"She was here?" He hates the way his voice breaks.

Spencer understands you more now, he thinks. The time he spent thinking over his emotions and not his mind for once was strange. Isolation did a number to him. He understands himself better now. Maybe he just wanted you to be vulnerable with him first before he could even believe that you liked him even more than you did with others.

It was stupid, yes. It was painfully obvious to everyone that you liked him more than you did the average person, and it wasn't exactly something you bothered hiding. Perhaps you had just been waiting for him to say it first since he had treated you differently too. He knew it, but he just refused to admit it. He didn't need numbers or probability to prove that you loved him. He loved you just the same. The band around your fingers should have been proof of that.

It really shouldn't have been something he ever doubted even once.

So when he gets forced back into the swing of the thirty day sabbatical, his final thirty is a gift from the team.

A carefully picked location — per Garcia's request.

Garcia chose this one, which he finds interesting considering that he's never left too far for guest lecturing before, and Garcia had never shown even a remote amount of interest in his sabbaticals, but apparently the university had really wanted him to provide insight in the lecture, so he was requested by… someone… in the university. Spencer isn't too sure, but he trusts Garcia enough, so he's on a commercial flight to meet with the university.

"It'll be a good breath of air. Besides, when's the last time you had a proper vacation? Don't you dare try to come back before the thirty days are up. I will have prentiss kick your ass."

"Yes, Garcia." Spencer mumbles. "And you're sure this will be good for me?"

"Oh, I know it will be good for you. Thank me later."

It's strange he's somewhere he's seldom been, and the rain reminds him of Seattle, but not quite. The university wasn't really known for their curriculum on criminology, but the psychology program was apparently well respected. He respects it. The campus is gorgeous, and his guide takes him around and lets him know some local places he can visit.

The lecture goes nicely. He quotes books and literature, and he explains the case studies they've all done, analyzing behavior and explaining classic serial killers, but the students seems much more invested in his face than what he's teaching. Which he's grown used to, in a way. He could try and pretend he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't. At least not in that way.

He almost misses when Morgan would call him pretty boy to his face.

He stays behind to check out what they have, though. There's a small neighborhood a little bit southeast of the university quite a nice little street to wander on, and Spencer finds himself stopping to look around. The name reminds him of things you had said once. Quite mumble under your breath when you had passed Pike Place in Seattle about how you liked it better in…

He stops at a coffee shop, ordering a pastry and coffee (sweetened. of course.), and he leaves his last name. He doesn't know what compels it. Well, maybe so his name feels a little more common. He's older now, so his name's dated with him, naturally, but he still finds himself using his last name.

The lady is kind enough — as she can be. She writes his name down and asks if there's a design he'd like on his cappuccino. (He asks for a heart), and he finds himself at the end of the coffee shop, ripping open a pack of pop rocks to dip his tongue into. He started carrying them around ever since you left. The popping on his tongue reminds him that he's not as numb as he believes he is. There's a starbucks across, but his guide had insisted that he try the local place. Been around since forever and still hasn't closed. Apparently it has surprisingly good prices too.

"Green tea for Reid?"

Spencer turns around at his name, watching as you step past him to grab the drink.

The words come out before he can think.

"You're buying your tea now?"

You freeze up in place.

"Latte with vanilla for Reid?" The barista raises a brow.

"That's me." He takes it, staring down at you as you stay still. "Talk to me."

"I don't see what there is to talk about."

"You hide behind a false wall of bitterness mirroring how I hid behind science and logic to not need to face how stupidly in love with you I was." Spencer swallows. "We both know there's stuff to talk about."

You blink up at him, raising a brow.

"Did Penny send you?"

"She suggested the university, yes. But a professor had reached out—"

"Then there's no need to talk about it. You'll go back to your job in a few days—"

"Twenty five."

You raise a brow.

"Twenty-five days." He swallows. "I… went to jail, and as an exchange for taking me back, I have to take a sabbatical for thirty days every now and then."

"And you decided all thirty days here was the move?"

"Garcia did."

and when he senses the pause you want to slip from, he speaks again.

"I know you're bitter about how horribly I treated you when I was calling Maeve three times a week and almost always on a case, and no, I don't expect you to forgive me or anything, but I miss you. I really do miss you."

"Oh, look at that. Doctor Spencer Reid using pathos." You mumble, checking your watch.

Spencer catches the familiar glisten of your ring.

"Listen. You can act like you moved on and no longer care about me all you want, but I think you know deep down that you're still clinging onto bits of me that I left behind, and the ring and your name is no coincidence—"

"Doctor Spencer Reid." You glare. "I don't appreciate being profiled like that."

He stops, clenching his fist as he stares down at you.

"I'm no different."

Your eye finds the ring on his finger, and you sigh.

"I hope you have fun here, and if the universe wills, may we meet again."

"And if I force it?"

You stare up at him.

"I think I know—"

"I don't know, Doctor Reid. I might just have to kick you out for it."

There's no real malice in your words, Spencer finds. There never has been, and he's almost comforted to find that even after all this time, you're the same as ever. The constant of your existence and the growth of you as a person. You dress warmer now and there's not an ounce of unhappy exhaustion on your face, and it almost feels like it's alright. You're doing wonderful on your own, all without ever needing to rely on him.

But he's grown too, he supposes. Years ago, the stubble on his face would have bothered him. A breeding ground for germs that have more "if's" than letting it be. The scar on his thigh from a blade in prison, and then bullet wounds all over. Bruises that he would have never got back when you were still with the team. In a way he's grown after being away from you too, and maybe it would be better if you both just grew on your own, but it doesn't. He doesn't want it to be.

"Tomorrow at Four in AERL 210." You grumble, but Spencer finds the ghost of a smile on your face.

"I love you." He hums, eyes full of affection.

The way you turn back to frown playfully tells him everything he needs to know.

And the tension is gone, he thinks.

In a way maybe you're resentful of him, but he's found that time's changed him beyond recognition. He doubts you had expected him to look the way that he did. There's a mess in his hair and a unclean look that you had always joked about him growing into one day, and maybe it's a testament to how well you knew him emotionally. The same way he knew how your brain moved and operated and not your heart.

but that was what made the two of you work so well. to know the part of someone that they themselves did not know as well. It was a testament of some kind.

to be vulnerable enough with someone that they know you better than you do yourself.

he wonders how you ever found it in yourself to forgive him of his crime, but perhaps time has healed you — and he has no intention of undoing all of that healing. he'll leave you alone after the thirty days if that is what you wish for. he's not one to force himself upon you after all the harm he's done, after all. he's shattered beyond repair, and you were not quite there to fix him up this time. he owes a lot of his life to you, he supposes.

it also amuses him that somehow you had written letters to his mother as well, telling her how you've been. he didn't know why he didn't search there, but when he had visited her after jail, she had told him about some professor writing her letters about her works and how wonderful her son was. it warmed his heart, after all. maybe he didn't know it was you, but it only made sense that it would be. after all, there is something only you would do that no one else would. he doesn't deserve you, in many cases. but ultimately you are the one who gets to decide.

He arrives twenty minutes before lecture with a cup of green tea for you, and you hand Spencer a clicker and a pack of pop rocks before telling him to file through the slides. He listens, and you tell him he'll be lecturing since you'd rather wring his brain dry when you can spare teaching. It's an excuse, he knows, because you'd never do anything to harm him, but you might joke about it. He finishes the slides in three, and he asks if there's anything else he should talk about (you tell him no— and when the class files in, you have a hand on his shoulder and a look on your face that can really only mean one thing.

"Class, meet my husband."

Emily Brontë once wrote “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and we were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. He’s always, always in my mind; not as a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

and spencer knows, somewhere an english teacher is rolling in their grave crying that it was never meant to be taken in the context of romance — catherine and heathridge were raised siblings, after all. but he supposes that finding a love where your soul's at rest needs not to be forcibly romantic for everyone.

It just so happens that his was.

[chiefdirector]

Shooting | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Three Years Ago

Tim took a deep breath as he prepared himself. In reality he knew that he would be fine, he had participated in raids like this one dozens of times, but it didn't stop the nerves coming up. He shot a glance to the line of officers behind him, and then he looked back in front of him. This time, instead of facing the back of a leather jacket, he made eye contact with (Y/N).

You okay? She mouthed, as not to alert anyone in the vicinity of their location with the sound of conversation. 

Yes. Tim replied, nodding alongside his silent confirmation.

I love you.

I love you too.

Within less than a moment's notice, the senior officer on site gave the visual go ahead for the raid to start. Tim followed closely behind his wife as they, alongside Metro and a SWAT team, rushed forward to ambush the residents in the house.

From the streets, the house seemed like any other in its neighbourhood. The exterior walls were neat and tidy, the garden was something to be proud of, not a flaw in sight. The property seemed as if it had come straight from a Home-Owners Association’s dream. The inside was of a similar manner, it was modern, clean, and bright. It was pristine, except from the methamphetamine laboratory in the back half of the residence. 

The cartel that used the residence as a home base clearly had no clue of the raid happening until the moment they penetrated the doors of the property. Pretty quickly the quiet and serene neighbourhood was filled with the sounds of glass smashing and bullets being fired. Tim fluidly moved through the house, keeping his six covered as he tried to locate the boss’s wife who was supposedly here. 

The boss was out of town on business, leaving only his partner to run the business in his absence. It gave Sargent Grey and his cohort the perfect time to try to shut down the operation. 

“Lopez,” Tim whispered to the officer next to him. Once her eyes were on him, he gestured to the door at the end of the corridor. Lopez moved forward to position herself to open the door and counted down from three with one hand, the other still clutching her weapon. 

They burst through the door, guns held high as they entered the office. The office was the only room in the house that wasn't immaculate. Papers were strung across the desk, with nearly twice as much spread messily across the floor. The drawers in the cabinet behind the desk looked as if hastily opened with little regard to what was inside. The lamp in the far corner was smashed to pieces; it was mostly covered by a small woman standing in front of it.

She stood tall and proud. Her face was like stone, and her eyes were cold. Recognition instantly crossed Tim and Angela’s faces: the wife. She was not what they were expecting. Reports had described her as timid and mild, someone who would be easy to get to cooperate with their case.

“LAPD. Drop the gun!” Tim said, keeping his gun held high, holding his aim at the wife’s shoulder.

The woman kept her weapon held high. 

“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Lopez said, taking a small step closer to the woman. “Just drop the gun and we can resolve this nicely.”

“And if I don't?” The woman scoffed. 

Lopez took another couple of steps,getting closer as she spoke. “Let's not go down the road. It’ll be easier if you cooperate ma’am.”

Quickly, the woman turned to face Lopez, her gun aimed at her face. Before she had time to pull her trigger, Tim shot a single round into her shoulder. The woman ricocheted backwards, the gun dropping from her grasp as she fell. Blood spilled from her shoulder running down her dress turning the material from white to crimson. She hit the ground heavily as her eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness. Lopez moved quickly to remove the gun from reach before getting down to the woman’s side. She motioned for Tim to join her.

As Angela started to put pressure on the bullet wound, Tim reached for his radio. “I need an additional RA Unit for a woman, mid-thirties, with a gunshot wound. Unconscious but breathing.” He placed the radio back on his belt before kneeling down next to Angela. “You alright?”

“Yeah I’m good,” She stopped talking for a moment, listening to the sounds around them in the rest of the property. “It sounds like it’s quieting down. We better wait here though.”

Tim stood up. “You're right. Do you think there is anything to help stop the bleeding… First aid kit maybe?”

At his question, Tim heard a familiar chuckle coming from the door. Even though he recognised the voice, he still turned suddenly and took his gun out again, his mind and body still on the defensive. 

“This place was a meth lab and you think they cared enough about health and safety for a first aid kit?” (Y/N) walked into the office, looking around at the carnage that had taken place here. “This is going to be a headache to sort through in evidence later.”

“(Y/N), why are you here? Are you okay?” Tim moved towards his wife, eyes looking frantically up and down to check her for any injuries. She looked fine, except for a little graze on her forehead but that wasn’t anything that Tim couldn't take care of later. He stopped himself though, clocking how frantic his words sounded. Remedying that, he took a deep breath and continued. “Has everyone else been taken-”

“Hey, hey hey.” Lopez interrupted, bringing the Bradfords’ attention to her. “She’s awake again.”

Tim nodded, moving towards the door, somewhat satisfied to know that (Y/N) was okay. “That’s good, you two wait here, I’m going to see if the RA Unit is here yet.”

(Y/N) hummed in agreement as her husband left. She spared a glance his way before drawing her attention to Angela and the bleeding lady. “Ma’am? Ma’am.” She said, squatting down to her side. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Regina.” The woman spat.

“Right Regina, you’re under arrest. You will be taken to the hospital before being processed.” Angela said, still maintaining pressure on Regina’s shoulder even though she squirmed underneath her.

Regina gritted her teeth, (Y/N) couldn't tell if it was in pain or anger. The bleeding woman cried out as she turned her head to fully focus on (Y/N). “He will pay for this. You all will. He doesn't know what he has done. He shot me and my husband will make him pay.”

Part Four | Part Six

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424

Tags are open :)

[buthowboutno]

HELLO I'm new to asking things here but I've a small,,, tiiny question that idk if anyone's asked before or not but

What happened at metro tower between sweets and Leo? And, I suppose, with everyone else there, if anyone (like April) recognized Sweets

Because Donnie didn't, Raph and Mikey didn't say anything,,,

Leo and April are the only two that basically said "oh! You're the kid that almost died while we saved the world" so Idk I kind of was curious on, I guess

Like other than, obviously, Leo saving sweets but I guess how he found them? Because I know it's stated somewhere Sweets locked themselves in their moms office but idk

You don't gotta answer this at all (especially if it's a stupid question 💀💀) I just I got myself curious ig

this ask prompted me to write a whole ass snippet about what happened. i blame you. /aff

(snippet under the cut)

If it had been up to Splinter, Leo wouldn’t even be five feet away from his cot in the med bay, much less searching through the remains of Metro Tower. Mikey was still out of commission and Drax was doing some weird mystic ritual on Donnie to help with his head.

If it had been up to Leo, Raph would be in the med bay instead of digging through rubble by his side. April tagged along as well, but she was a floor below looking for… something.  

Leo might have been too ticked off about April and Raph bulldozing his plan to listen beyond every fifth word of their justification.

(Didn’t they know that this was Leo’s—?)

(After all that, they still trust—?)

They hadn’t found any survivors since the first day of searching, when Donnie passed out after manifesting a mystic slide for a group of harried interns that were stuck on the third floor. Mikey’s hands had cramped up so bad after guiding the lone barista out from their cupboard on the second floor that he was still having trouble holding a fork.

Leo wasn’t even sure why he insisted on coming back, to be honest. After four days trapped in this building, there was a good chance that any stragglers would have died of dehydration by now. Donnie’s scans, at least, didn’t show anyone in the building that they didn’t get out already.

Leo just… had this feeling. He couldn’t explain it.

Raph jumped up and tapped the big red ‘5’ hanging from the ceiling before the stairwell, startling Leo out of his thoughts. Under his massive hands, the sign crumbled off of the wall.

“Uh, whoops?” Raph said, looking sheepish as he turned towards Leo.

Leo snorted, “Property destruction. Nice.”

“That was… not my fault,” Raph said, his face screwed up as he stepped towards the stairs, “This whole buildin’ is— "

The floor creaked dangerously beneath Raph’s feet, prompting him to stumble backwards out of the stairwell. Leo took a few tentative steps forward, noting the slight shift in the floor but otherwise no other changes beneath his feet.

“Falling apart,” Leo finished, jumping up and down for good measure. No change, but Leo didn’t like the cracks slowly making their way up the walls.

“Maybe it's time to head back?” Raph suggested gently, taking another scared step backwards when the floor started creaking again, “Raph is getting a little geeked out.”

Leo nodded, taking a step towards Raph before he was struck with this urgent feeling in his chest. Like he had left something behind.

“I’m gonna take a quick look around,” Leo said, stepping back into the stairwell, “You’d better go back down and grab April.”

“Leo–”

“I’ll portal out if the building starts falling down, scouts honor,” Leo said before ducking up the stairs. Raph’s responding groan told Leo that Raph wasn’t going to march up there and grab him. Probably more due to the fact that the stairs would give out underneath him, but Leo would take what he could get.

(Leo was going to be majorly cussed out about this stunt when he got back.)

(Worth it.)

(At least, he hoped it was.)

The sixth floor of Metro Tower, surprise surprise, was functionally identical to floors two through five. The building was mostly leased out to a bunch of different companies doing Spirits knows what in their copy and paste cubicles. 

(They didn’t find any survivors above floor twelve. Leo tried not to think about it.)

Leo raided a few of the fancier looking offices, sending various pieces of tech back to Donnie’s lab through mini-portals. Bribery, maybe, but mostly practice. Leo’s portals had felt off since the–

…Yeah. He needed the practice.

Leo heard a muffled shout from down the hallway, immediately pulling out his second katana and running quietly towards the noise.

Leo noticed the kid first. They had dustpans duct taped to their chest and back like some budget LARPer. They held a yardstick out with a broken pair of scissors haphazardly attached to the end, trembling like Mikey after a fourth cup of coffee. A Kraang zombie shuffled towards them, its face half-melted at this point. 

Why was it still–?

Leo needed to tell the others about this. Donnie was positive that everyone who got infected would’ve been released after they closed the portal to Kraang Prime. This was– this wasn’t a good sign.

The kid shouted at the zombie like they were trying to scare off a bear and tossed a stapler at its head. Decent shot, but ultimately useless. The stapler landed on the zombie’s head and was slowly absorbed into the Kraang viscera protruding from its skull. 

The kid yelped, moment of bravery apparently lost, and ran in Leo’s direction.

Leo recognised that face. It was just a passing photo, something Casey swiped past while stammering about nerd shit like the ‘space-time continuum.’

(Donnie’s influence, no doubt. Leo may have been Casey’s sensei, but Donnie tended to infect people with his intelligence.)

This kid was younger than the photos, though. Their hair was cut short just above their ears, and the dark circles under their eyes told Leo that they hadn’t been getting much in the way of water or sleep since the invasion started.

That half second of thought cost Leo his chance to take down the zombie before it lunged at them.

The kid, thankfully, heard the zombie before it had the chance to grab them and whirled around with their makeshift spear. Their jab landed solidly in the zombie’s chest, but that still didn’t stop it. The zombie's neck craned out in a truly unnatural manner and bit the kid’s hand while it was still holding their spear. The kid let out a painful shriek that rattled inside of Leo’s skull.

That finally spurred Leo into action, sprinting on the front pads of his feet and slashing the zombie clean into three pieces. The body hit the ground without so much as a tentacle reaching out in protest.

The kid fell to the floor, eyes open with fear as they held out their left hand. The mutagen had already started spreading, past their second knuckle already, but it was moving slower than when–

Leo should’ve thought a little harder before he let his reflexes take over. In a second, he sliced off the kid’s pinky and ring finger before the mutagen had a chance to reach their palm. 

They screamed out in pain, immediately clutching their left hand to their chest and staring up at Leo with wide, terrified eyes. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leo tried, “I’m here to help.”

Their face was quickly turning white from the blood loss, but the look on their face made Leo think that they’d still try to stab him if he came any closer.

He’d probably deserve it, to be honest, but the kid needed a hospital above anything else. Leo reached down and grabbed the kid before they could fight back. He quickly sliced a portal through the wall and walked out onto the sidewalk in front of Metro Tower. With two more twirls of his katana, April and Raph were standing right next to him.

Leo tried not to think about the ache in his chest after opening up those portals. He pushed the pain out of the back of his mind as he focused on putting pressure on the kid's hand.

“What the–?”

“Med kit, now,” Leo demanded, not even looking at Raph. The kid was trying to wriggle out of Leo’s grasp, but the blood loss was obviously starting to get to them.

Raph wordlessly took the kit from his belt and handed it over. April was standing behind him in shock, hands twitching as if she was trying to figure out what to do.

“Fucking… wizard,” the kid stammered, now clutching onto Leo instead of fighting him, “My g-goddamn hand.”

“You’re welcome, pal,” Leo said flatly. He dumped the travel bottle of rubbing alcohol on their hand haphazardly before wrapping it up as tightly as he could.

“Eat my ass, Dr. Strange,” the kid muttered before looking up at Leo with a sudden and unusual clarity, “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

“Wh– no, wait!” Leo protested before the kid slumped fully into his arms.

That must’ve rattled April out of whatever funk she was in. She reached into the med kit and grabbed one of the instant cold packs, harshly squeezing and then shaking it to activate it.

“They’re going into shock,” she said, leaning down to apply the pack to the back of the kid’s neck, “Leo, can you portal–?”

The moment April touched the kid, Leo was sent into the mindscape. It wasn’t the same as a normal ninja mindmeld; typically, Leo was still able to see through the eyes of his physical body while it happened. This was like his entire consciousness was captured and taken somewhere else.

Leo turned his head to the left and saw April standing next to him, her eyes trained on something else. 

Donnie? No, not Donnie.

Not his Donnie.

This Donnie was… older. Scarred. Taller than Leo thought his twin could ever grow to be. He didn’t speak a single word, just held Leo’s gaze with an intense expression and nodded.

Leo understood, in a split-second, that the kid in his arms was precious. They were family. The pull, the call that compelled Leo back to Metro Tower was more than an antsy feeling driving him out of his cot. 

This… this was one last wish of a doomed timeline.

Leo also understood that if he let this kid bleed out on the streets of New York, the ghost of Donnie future wouldn’t let him sleep peacefully for the rest of his life.

“April? Leo?” Raph asked, his tone incredibly concerned as Leo snapped back to reality.

“Donnie called them ‘Sweets’,” Leo murmured under his breath.

“...What?”

Leo shook his head, clearing the images from his mind, “Right. Let’s go.”

[chqolan]

Luke Sullivan boyfriend headcanons

A/N: i'm not a writer of any sort LMAO but i just had to share my hc's for this man because i REFUSE to gatekeep any content for luke. copy pasted from my notes app !

TW: gender neutral reader, luke being a goofball (what else is new?), completely sfw mhm no unholy thoughts being posted 🧘‍♀️

⛧ definitely a soft boyfriend

⛧ always in the mood for hugs, kisses and cuddles

⛧ he's more romantic than most people would think!

⛧ most dates consist of travelling around metro city

⛧ movie dates, picnics, dining out, sight seeing, shopping etc!

⛧ he brings you along to his gym sometimes if you’re free

⛧ luke will always end up trying to show off when you’re watching and his students can clearly tell

⛧ he'd make sure you have a decent relationship with his students

⛧ wether you're a fighter or not, luke probably encourages you to practice and learn with the rest of his kids

⛧ on the days that you don’t go with him to his classes, you pack him lunch!

⛧ he loves your perfectly packed lunches with cute and positive notes that always have a smiley face at the end :)

⛧ you try your best to pack him healthy food to break his bad eating habits

⛧ he can definitely notice, but he'll still eat everything you packed him

⛧ going back to the topic of his classes, luke would probably order pizza for his students on a good day

⛧ it’d be the same type of pepperoni pizza you both had while on a date last night

⛧ his students would be celebrating once he announces he’s ordering pizza for everyone, meanwhile you and bosch just face palm

⛧ bosch would be wondering how eating junk food is supposed to help while they’re trying to exercise and train

⛧ you would be wondering how he still wants more pizza after eating 7/10 slices you guys had the night before

⛧ now about those dates with the two of you

⛧ luke also enjoys cozy dates at home with you too

⛧ sometimes he'll like having you watch him play video games, or even tell you to play with him

⛧ or cuddle up in blankets on his bed or couch to watch movies

⛧ but no scary movies allowed LMAO

⛧ if y’all are ever out, he'll still treat you good

⛧ he prefers dining out to satisfy his insane appetite

⛧ you'll be full and watch luke finish your leftovers and continue ordering more food

⛧ you reassure him that it’s okay and he can eat as much as he pleases, but he was already gonna do that anyways

⛧ he'd probably have moments where he kisses your cheek or forehead and clumsily places his hat on your head <3

⛧ he'd place it backwards and say that you look even cooler than him now

⛧ after playing world tour, it’s canon that luke texts A LOT

⛧ expect lots of good morning/good night texts from him!

⛧ he'll text you throughout the day to see how you're doing, and even ask you're free to meet up with him

⛧ he sends you the stupidest memes as well and will be like “this reminded me of u”

⛧ it’s so stupid but you can’t help but laugh

[gemsofgreece]

thoughts on the new thessaloniki metro?

Well, I will have to visit it and see it with my own eyes to form a proper opinion. The following are based on what I watched on TV and the Internet:

I watched a few videos and the most notable thing for me was the widespread excitement of the citizens of Thessaloniki, which was so pleasant and almost unprecedented for me to see, because you know how we are always so suspicious and reserved with everything that happens within the borders of our country. Even expats from Germany came to see it, even foreign people, for example from Georgia! This created a sentiment of generalised euphoria. I saw a few people - especially young Athenians - did not understand why the Thessalonians acted SO happy but I have lived a few years in Thessaloniki and people just don't have an idea how badly the city needed the subway. Not only it needed it badly, not only you entered the buses and weren't sure you will make it out alive due to how (almost fatally) overcrowded they were but the eternal metro construction works in process caused paralysing traffic issues downtown and a severe aesthetic deterioration of the streets. Thessaloniki needed the metro so much that the first plans for it were suggested 100 years ago! So no it's not because the Thessalonians are 500 years backwards... but because its creation after so many decades means so much to them. Besides, older Athenians confirmed the Attic Metro was also much smaller in its first years, serving only the center...

Funny reactions of Thessalonians when the first train arrived. I am laughing so much with the boy making his cross (I mean, he's not wrong):

I even made a gif of a moment... when the gates opened for the first time, the first one who enters is a very old dude and you can see from his gesture of triumph that he thought: "YES I LIVED TO SEE IT!!!". That was so hilarious!

Now, of course there are the drawbacks we could talk about again. It took 40 years (hence the enthusiasm of the old dude) and it is not even the whole thing yet. Really, the most pivotal extensions have not been created yet. The metro will be extended to Kalamaria next year but then it also has to extend to the west side (ie Evosmos, Sindos) where more than 250,000 people live. And of course it has to extend all the way to the airport, otherwise we 've done next to nothing. That's only when we will be able to talk about a fully functional metro. And I heard the airport extension will be ready... in 2040..... so once again let us hope we are going to be alive to see this one too!

Then it's also all the shady ways the antiquities were dealt with that have been condemned by most archaeologists. But after all, well, let's just not pretend there was an easy solution for it. It's not like they found an artefact here and there. They found the entire ancient city! So either if they changed entirely their route of the subway or what they actually did, literally pick up the ancient city and transfer it elsewhere temporarily and then put it back (for real, that's what they did!), it kinda makes sense that there were delays and fights and drama about it. I mean, sure, it should be ready much earlier but let's just not pretend it was an easy project. Another thing I noticed in the coverage of the inauguration that was so refreshing to me was that a lot of journalists interviewed actual workers from the subway and asked them about their struggles and feelings now that the metro was ready. Not the "minds"(...), they asked the "hands" of the project and I really liked that. People looked so eager and passionate to share their experience working there. Furthermore, amongst everyone who wanted to exploit the fruition of the project for their political benefit, I think there were even a few politicians who looked genuinely invested, most notably that old minister who was responsible for the project when the project first started 40 years ago and today gave a speech and then dissolved into tears. This was wholesome.

I guess, the general euphoria, even the positive internet comments (a most rare sight in Greek social media) indicates this is good for the city and the country and that strictly speaking the positives are more than the negatives.

Aesthetically, I think some statements in the likes of "best metro in Europe / the world" definitely are pushing it a lot but I also saw a Thessalonian saying in a video that photos and videos don't make it justice actually. In any case, I think it looks like a pleasant enough subway. Venizelou Station with the Decumanus Maximus, the discovered main road of the Roman period of Thessaloniki, called Μέση Οδός in Byzantine times (Middle Street), and all that part of the city that was unburied, plus other remains exhibited outside some other stations definitely give a uniqueness to the subway. They used to say that people will be able to walk on the ancient city and the politicians yesterday did exactly that

however maybe it won't be open to the visitors for walking after all, fearing a degradation of the archaeological site, and that makes sense. Okay I found out that the balconies surrounding the site have glass floors so you see the whole site like you are hovering above it. Then again there is also a huge projector showing stuff in the end of the road so I don't know how you'll get there without walking on it. Maybe it's going to be open for organized tours only? Idk just hypothesizing now

It's not just that though. There were 300,000 archeological finds during the making of the subway. I read that "only" 700 of those are exhibited in the various stations. For the rest they are going to build a Subway Museum near the Sintrivani station. They didn't say anything about that yesterday so it will probably take some more time. But when we have the addition of more trains, the stations to Kalamaria, the museum with all those artefacts that cover ALL eras of Thessaloniki from 315 BC to the modern period, and the future stations in the west part of the city and then to the airport, then yes we will be talking about a dang good subway.

Below I am adding videos and photos from the metro with some more commentary.

I think the following video gives the most accurate picture (obviously it's not going to be that crowded in normal days) :

And below is the station in Agia Sofia. What I liked particularly is how they presented the stratification of the history of the city as it is discovered archaeologically and geologically; the recent eras on top and the more ancient ones as you go deeper and deeper. This is how they presented all artefacts, in a continunation from top to bottom or rather an evolution from bottom to top. I found this very clever.

And this video is good for English speakers, it also stresses on something important I forgot to mention. This first line alone is expected to serve 300,000 people daily and decrease the presence of vehicles in the streets of Thessaloniki, with estimated 50,000 fewer cars! Now that's awesome on my list and I hope the predictions prove true:

The trains are automated and driver-less and the waiting time for each is 2.30 minutes.

Below some pics from the stations:

In conclusion, with all the drama and huge delay, I think it is fair to feel happy for Thessaloniki now and try to support the project as much as possible.

[jennsterjay]

Punkprowler Headcanons (because you can never have enough 😌👌🏾🎸💜✨)

---

-Hobie makes Miles G mixtapes of songs that remind him of him, and Miles G uses his uncle's old cassette player to play them. Miles G figures out a way to do a backwards compatible mp3 to cassette recording (because he's tech savvy like that) and gives mixtapes with his own favorites on them to Hobie. Hobie plays them on his Sony cassette deck in his boathouse

-Miles G helps Hobie take care of his wicks when he's tired after battling Osborn and his symbiote army, and Hobie likes to braid Miles G's hair in different styles because he loves it when he wears it proudly

-Miles teaches Hobie how to cook Puerto Rican dishes, and Hobie and Riri help Miles G with his physics homework on the days he's too tired to think after coming from nightly patrols

-At Earth-138B Miles G fits right in because he has no problem fighting fascists and V.E.N.O.M. symbiote cops, and even though rock isn't his top genre, he did have an alternative Linkin Park phase and Hobie convinces him to rap at some of his punk concerts. He becomes an urban legend

-After Hobie makes Miles G his own watch, Hobie often pulls him into spontaneous dates and adventures at other dimensions. Miles G warms up and starts doing it too, and before they know it, crossing time and space just to spend time with each other becomes a regular part of their lives

-Mattea Murdock teaches Hobie Spanish so he can use it to surprise Miles G. Miles thinks Hobie learning Spanish for him is the coolest thing on the planet

-These two are good-hearted vigilantes but watch out. Hobie has no problem killin it on a guitar, and Miles G has no problem handling his business like wolverine. Oooo What's up danger?

-As the Punk spider who's the Prowler in another universe, and the Prowler who was meant to be Spider-man, these two are the definition of opposites attract

-When Hobie meets Rio he introduces himself as his boyfriend with a smile. When Hobie meets Aaron he introduces himself as his girlfriend with a toothy grin. Both of these times were unplanned and Miles G was mortified until Rio smiled at Hobie, and Aaron laughed and told Hobie he liked her style

-Hobie Brown, Miles G Morales, and Ganke M Lee (Earth-42) often play video games and do graffiti at Miles G's spraypaint mural at the abandoned Metro Station. This is how Hobie finds out Ganke is Miles G's guy in the chair. Hobie can't tell if Ganke likes Miles because he can never get a read on him, and Ganke likes messing with Hobie just for the entertainment value

-When Gwen V. Stacy (Gwenom) meets Hobie, Hobie thinks Miles' friend has somehow succumbed to a V.E.N.O.M. symbiote that followed him from Earth-138B, so he tries to 'rescue' her from the symbiote but that goes about as well as you would expect. Gwen and Hobie are pretty evenly matched in a fight but eventually Gwen convinces him her symbiote is different and can be trusted. After their rocky start, and Hobie finds a symbiote dog in his own world that he takes care of, he brings this little inkblot with him to visit her and they become friends. They both mess with Miles G, and Gwen is ready to go to their wedding already, because Gwen and Hobie are friends in every universe

-Miles G plays some Childish Gambino while chilling with Hobie, and Hobie says that that singer is The Prowler in another universe. He smugly mentions he caught him once. Miles G doesn't know what to do with this information

-These two love to mix and match each other's clothes. Hobie takes the shirts Miles gives him and turns them into sleeveless crop tops with FNSM symbols and Anarchy symbols painted and spraypainted on them. And Miles takes the patched jackets and hoodies that Hobie gives him, and adds his own designs and spraypaint to them with his own tag designs and symbols on them. Peak punk style and NY streetwear solidarity

-Hobie teaches Miles G how to play the guitar and the drums, and Miles G teaches Hobie the salsa, cha cha, the jerk, the dougie, the wobble, and any other dance he thinks Hobie needs to catch up on and learn. He finds that Hobie is a quick learner

Cue a timeskip and Hobie has long defined dreads, and Miles G has dreads in a braided bun to match. Miles G stopped Hobie's canon event where he was fated to die young with a signature Morales "Nah imma do my own thing", and Hobie helped save Rio and Aaron from the final battle with Kingpin and the Sinister Six when Miles G's identity was revealed and he had no choice but to lead an avengers assemble style fight

Now that things in Earth-42 and Earth-138B have calmed down, they can say that their futures are looking bright

And at the end of the day, no matter what obstacles they may face, they're glad to have each other

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

The Flip Side Part 9

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~9.2k

Summary: Your motivation to continue working as a mobster in Chicago is dwindling after the birth of your daughter.

A/N: Things get heavier in this chapter. Mind the warnings and please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. Enjoy! 😁

Warnings: physical/emotional abuse, gaslighting, references to sexual assault, threats of violence, angst, car accident, mention of blood and injury

12 years ago

Your neck aches from how often you’ve looked over your shoulder today. You’d been frantic in your escape, but too paranoid to draw too much attention to yourself as you went between the bus station, metro, and lastly train station. You were finally escaping your abusive, terrifying girlfriend, and it had only taken 2 years. 

Planning the imperfect escape and saving enough money hadn’t taken more than 6 months. The longest part of the process was finding the courage to finally go through with it. You’d made sure to cover all of your bases so you wouldn’t be caught until it was too late to stop you, but you couldn’t help but be fearful. In the time you’d been with the brunette, you’d gained a healthy appreciation for fear and you’d realized how it could save your skin in certain scenarios. Sure, most of the time you experienced it as a by-product of being with someone who was both unpredictable and reliable in their ability to tear you down. 

This morning before she’d left for work, you’d made breakfast for her and your bodyguard with milk that you’d kept out in the sun for the afternoon before. It hadn’t been enough to notice immediately, but only an hour later you see him leaving your lecture hall with an uncomfortable look on his face. 

You wait exactly thirty seconds before leaving class as well, but not before squeezing your friend’s hand in thanks. She’d been the only person you could confide in about your horrible relationship, and she’d helped you any way she could. You grab the bag she’d brought to class with her that has three changes of clothes and some extra tip money from her waitressing gig. You’d wanted to use most of your own money, but that was difficult to do given how closely it was watched and how any deposit or withdrawal you made was scrutinized. 

You’d changed clothes in a bathroom at the bus station first and took a bus to a city an hour away. It’s larger and has a metro that you catch to get as close to the train station as possible. You’re going backwards in your journey to cause confusion, but you’re hoping your wardrobe changes and use of cash only will keep you from being found. 

You’d had to ditch your phone and wallet to make sure you weren’t tracked, and now as you sit on the second train, you’re starting to grow less tense. You’d been on edge since arriving to your first class this morning, and it had only gotten worse as you followed through with each step of your plan. You’d almost chickened out, but the idea of having to face Hela when she came home and inevitably blamed you for her food poisoning kept you on track. The last time she’d hit you was earlier in the week, and you were still sore from it. 

As you stare out the window watching as the world blurs by, you wonder how you managed to land yourself in this mess. You weren’t even 23, but the past two years had been enough to age you significantly. You felt at least 10 years older from the stress and the amount you’d seen and had to experience firsthand. You’re not sure what you’ll be able to make of yourself once you arrive to your destination, but for now the most important thing to you was getting away and being free. 

For the first time in two years, you might have a chance to be your own person. You can’t fight the smile that tugs at your lips as you sigh in relief. 

When you first met Hela, you were sneaking into a bar with friends a few months shy of your 21st birthday. You were the youngest of the group and all of them had been able to get in, but you’d been stopped at the door. You ended up trying to get a ride home alone when a tall brunette had come up to you and offered you an alternative. 

Despite being young, you weren’t stupid and you knew there would be a catch. You didn’t have the self-esteem to believe that this beautiful woman would want anything good from you. You’d been right, but you wouldn’t figure that out for nearly three months. That night she’d only asked to buy you a drink and keep you company while you drank it. You were going to refuse until you realized that getting in the bar meant you could stay there even after you finished your obligatory drink. Except you didn’t leave after the first drink or the third. You’d talked with Hela for nearly an hour before your friends noticed you were there.

It had surprised you how easily you’d been able to talk to a total stranger. She was charismatic, attentive and showed a genuine interest that you hadn’t been prepared for. Thinking back on it, this is probably when she trapped you. Despite giving her your number, you hadn’t heard from her until a few weeks later, and she’d been on your mind almost every day after that first drink. 

Looking back, things had moved surprisingly quickly given that you’d never been in a serious relationship before. Hela had just lured you in and made you feel safe with her until she knew you wouldn’t be able to leave. By the three-month mark, you’d moved in with her, mostly to avoid going into more debt paying for school and an apartment, and you’d also learned what she did for a living. 

You hadn’t believed it at first. You thought she was lying and you’d made the mistake of laughing in her face. She’d made you regret it by pulling a gun on you and asking why you thought it was so funny. You’d said all of the wrong things and after claiming to find the idea ‘absurd and reckless’ she’d hit you for the first time. You knew you should have left right then and there, but the idea of her being in a gang was terrifying. You didn’t have any money or even an idea of what would happen to you if you left. 

She’d tried to make up for her misstep, for revealing her personality to you by apologizing and promising that she would never do it again. She’d just ‘had a hard day at work’ and you ‘couldn’t possibly understand it’. You hadn’t been able to argue even if you wanted to. You lost all ability to speak as your fear caused your throat to go dry and a cold sweat to break out. You hated the unknown and you’d asked her to explain what she did. You wanted to have a better idea of what you were facing if her work was going to help you prepare for her mood swings.

However, you failed to realize that ignorance really could be bliss. 

Hela had told you the truth. That’s how she’d conned you. She’d told you that she hurt people, she sometimes even killed them if they got in the way of her business of dealing drugs, laundering money and running several illegal money-making schemes. She claimed that she’d protect you because you were special and had no idea what you’d be up against if you were on your own. You were convinced to fear the unknown threat when really the only thing you had to fear was the woman who swore to protect you. 

She’d sometimes take you with her when she had business and you didn’t have class. The first couple times it was a question, then attendance became mandatory. You were mostly ignored on these trips, but you’d learned quickly that you had to pay attention. You had to watch, but you couldn’t say anything unless Hela spoke to you directly. You made the mistake of answering one of her client’s questions and she’d beat you black and blue with her belt as soon as you got home as punishment. 

By the 7-month mark of your relationship, you had no friends anymore, and the only people you saw other than her and her business partners, were your classmates. You weren’t allowed to see them outside of lectures unless it was strictly necessary, and you’d only tried to argue this once. Hela claimed to want you nearby or at least in the apartment at all times so she could know you were safe. You’d begun to hate coming home to a place that felt foreign and filled you with apprehension. 

Eventually, you’d learned more about gang operations than what you were studying in school, but you didn’t quit. You did well enough to stay enrolled because you didn’t want to flunk out. This would only give Hela another reason to drag you around with her or keep you locked up. You would sometimes sit in the apartment for hours wondering how you’d been so blind. Hela’s front was a good one and it had to be for her job, but you wonder why she chose you of all people to target. Why did she want you by her side when she could have certainly found someone else to abuse and belittle? 

One night you’d failed to cook dinner and she’d found you just sitting at the table where you studied in the living room staring off into space. When she’d asked you why you didn’t cook, you’d countered with a question of your own. 

“Why me?”

You remember the look on her face when you’d asked her why she’d chosen you that night. What had led her to you? Hela had just smiled coldly before sitting down across from you and propping her elbows on the table between you two. She’d wondered how long you’d wanted to ask her this. She was honestly surprised it took you this long to bring it up.

“Because you’re you.” 

You had no chance to feel a fleeting sense of self-esteem before Hela continued and quickly cut you down to size so you resembled an ant. 

“I knew the moment I saw you that you were clueless. Such a pathetic little thing that I could easily manipulate and shape to my will.” 

You remember feeling embarrassment followed by rage and you’d tried to leave then and there. You’d gotten up from the table without a word and gone into the bedroom to pack a bag. Hela had realized what you were doing as soon as you made a racket throwing things around the room and yanking clothes from the closet. She’d come to stand in the doorway and simply watch you tearfully pack your belongings. You didn’t see her condescending smile as she scoffed and dared you to leave. 

“Where are you even going to run to? You’re broke. I’m the one paying for everything. You need me.” 

You didn’t want to believe this and you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care. That it didn’t matter, but it truly didn’t make a difference. As you finished packing and began to zip up your suitcase, Hela came up behind you and grabbed your hair and yanked you backwards. 

“You’re not going anywhere you little bitch.” 

She’d thrown your suitcase to the ground before shoving you onto the bed. You caught yourself before you could fall all the way back, and you were going to push yourself up when Hela pulled out her gun and held it against your forehead. You hadn’t understood true fear until that moment, and you’d stayed perfectly still barely daring to breathe as your girlfriend smiled at you lovingly. 

“Are you sure you want to leave me, Y/n? Who will protect you from all of the bad people out there who want to hurt you? Who’s going to stop you from becoming a worthless dropout?”

You wanted to defend yourself and tell her that she was wrong. You don’t need her. You open your mouth to tell her this but she cuts you off as her finger moves to the trigger and she shoots you a challenging look that you’re not brave enough to defy. 

“Go on, darling. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

Your continued silence is answer enough, but Hela decides that you should still be punished for trying to leave. After setting her gun down on the bed still too close for comfort she started to take off your clothes. You were still too fearful to protest and you let her touch you, claim you as hers because she was right. Where would you go? You had no one else. They’d all moved on with their lives after you’d been convinced to stop seeing them. You had no friends, no money. You really were stuck with Hela. 

On your 1-year anniversary, you’d begun planning your escape from Hela. Unsurprisingly the day passed as any other and any attempt to do something special was thwarted by your bodyguard. They were assigned to you around the 10-month mark when someone in one of your classes asked you out very insistently. Hela didn’t trust you and she wanted to make sure you weren’t stepping out on her, so she assigned one of her goons to watch you. He was rude and very intimidating given that he was over a foot taller than you. You could maybe outrun him but if he caught you, he could probably snap you like a twig. 

Needless to say, you hadn’t attempted to run away yet, but you were careful to study him and see how attentive he really was. Unfortunately, he was probably afraid of Hela’s wrath too and he did a very good job of watching you and making sure all of the rules were followed. 

Hela began to feel more like an overbearing abusive mother than a significant other. She’d stopped touching you unless it was to hit you, and she criticized everything you did no matter how it was done. You’d given up trying to make things right or even easier for you. You just accepted that depending on the day you could be met with cool indifference or white-hot fury. You knew which one you preferred. 

You shudder at the thought of what Hela would do to you if she caught you. You’d made sure to act no different in the days leading up to your escape. You’d planned it down to the hour, and you knew that short of her knowing about your plan all along, she won’t find you. 

You try to keep this in mind as you step off the train a little later with a victorious smile. Although it felt a little premature, you allowed yourself to feel pride in the fact that you had outsmarted the brunette. She had shown you early on that she liked being in control of all things in her life, and the idea of losing you…well you hoped it drove her crazy. 

You walk outside of Chicago Union Station into the cold night and release a sigh. You look around and wonder what your next move is going to be. You have very little money, and no identification so you’re not sure what you’ll be able to do tonight other than sleep. The sound of sirens in the distance forces you to walk down the road away from the station. You decide that you'll crash at the first place you find that is within your budget. Then tomorrow, you'll begin to figure out what to do with your newfound freedom. 

Your last night in jail was certainly the worst. It was the worst night you’d had period, at least in a while, and you had another panic attack. That was a record you hadn’t broken recently. 2 in a week. It’s been years since that happened. You don’t remember much of it, but you’d ended up on the ground in the middle of the cell being stared at by your confused cellmate. You’d woken up when someone kicked you and told you it was time to get ready. 

You’d jumped up quickly because thinking about your ex last night had only made you more eager to get out of here. You have to stop yourself from running to the showers and speeding through breakfast so you can leave sooner. Gavin had told you someone would be here first thing in the morning, but you honestly can’t remember if he gave you details. He’d told you after showing you Hela’s picture, and you’d been a little distracted afterwards. All that mattered was getting out and making sure that your family was okay. You were desperate to see how Wanda was feeling after what happened yesterday. You can’t imagine that she feels good, and you want to take care of her. 

“Y/L/N, your ride is here.” 

Natasha ended up staying most of the night at Wanda’s after Steve and Pietro went to sleep. She had wanted to give them a break for the night, and she’d called Bucky to let him know. Instead of staying downstairs alone he decided to come up and keep Nat company. They’d taken turns staying awake and they’d both helped get Little Nat up in the morning once it was obvious that Wanda wasn’t going to wake up on time. It was almost 8 before either Pietro or Steve reappeared, and at that time both Nat and all of the dogs were taken care of. 

“Good morning.” 

Steve looks up to see Bucky at the stove in the kitchen cooking while Nat is sitting with Little Nat and some of the dogs at the counter. She’d just finished burping the little one when the duo shows up and she smiles at the sight of them fairly well-rested. 

“Morning.” 

“How’d you sleep?” 

Pietro just mutters something resembling ‘like the dead’ while Steve offers an appreciative smile. He was glad to get a bit of a break given how stressful yesterday had been. He was also very glad that you were coming home today. You would be all over Wanda for a while, but that was understandable given that your wife had been hurt while you were gone. You were probably feeling guilty.

“Very well, thank you for taking over last night.” 

Both of them smile and Bucky nods before he grabs his phone from the counter as he’s flipping an omelet. He’d seen this message last night but hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to anyone about it but Nat. Your warning was rather vague, but still specific in the sense that they needed to watch their backs. You seemed to think that whoever broke into the restaurant and hurt Wanda was behind everything that had happened in the last week. 

“Did you get a text from Gavin yesterday?”

Steve shakes his head as he sits down next to Natasha before reaching out to greet Natalya with a smile. He wonders if it’s just specifics about pick up today, but they’d already figured that out. He is grateful for the cup of coffee that Pietro brings him because he’s a little lost by this conversation already. 

“No, what did he say?” 

Bucky finishes up breakfast while he mentions what Gavin had told him yesterday. Pietro is almost finished with his coffee and plans to check on his sister in a few minutes. He wants to make sure she’s sleeping soundly, or if she’s up, see if she needs help changing her bandages. Those would be difficult to do by herself. 

“Apparently Y/n recognizes the woman in the picture. Her name’s Hela and she’s bad news.” 

The vague description doesn’t do much to quell their fears or explain how you know the brunette. They supposed you would tell them soon so they’d know who they’re up against. Steve checks the time and realizes they need to get ready to leave soon to pick you up. The jail was about half an hour’s drive, and they’d rather be there early than late for this. Nat seems to realize where his mind’s gone and she’s handing the blonde Natalya before she exchanges a look with Bucky. They’d talked about this a little last night, and as long as their friends didn’t feel strongly otherwise, they planned on picking you up today. 

“We’ll go get, Y/n. You eat up and see if Wanda needs anything.” 

Wanda had slept very well. The drugs had hit her hard and she barely felt her burns until she woke up the next morning. She’d been reluctant to take anything stronger than an OTC pain medication, but leaving the hospital yesterday had been harder than she’d anticipated. Once her IV drugs were discontinued, she couldn’t ignore how painful her arms were, and she’d caved and taken some Oxy. She was hoping not to have to do that again, but as soon as she was conscious, the first thing she registered was the stinging in her arms and she wanted to cry. 

If she remembered correctly, these wouldn’t heal for weeks and the thought of that makes her cry. Not just because of the pain because that won’t be fun, but she’s not sure if she’ll be able to hold Natalya for days. She couldn’t hold her yesterday and she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to do this long term. 

She doesn’t realize that she has tears rolling down her face until her brother comes to check on her. He’s finished his coffee and brought Wanda a cup as he knocks quietly on her door in case she’s still asleep. Rogue is on his heels because he hadn’t seen his mother in hours and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. Pietro figured it would be fine because the dog had seen how out of it his sister was yesterday, and he’d immediately picked up on something being wrong. Whenever Wanda was sick or hurt, which wasn’t often, Rogue would do his best to be by her side to comfort her. It was truly adorable to find him curled up next to his sister when she had a cold. 

Even as the years went on, he continued to do this and from his wagging tail and low whines, Pietro knew the dog was as eager as he was to check on the other Maximoff. 

“Wanda?” 

Pietro hears shifting and sniffles as he opens the door quietly and just enough to stick his head in. The light from the hallway is enough to illuminate his sister, and he sees that she’s trying to sit up but is having a difficult time without the use of her arms. She’s crying and Pietro’s quick to put down the cup of coffee he’d brought as he steps inside. 

“Here, let me help?” 

Wanda wants to tell him she can do it herself, but she’s not sure she can. She nearly screams anytime she moves her arms. She feels the burns rub against the bandages and it sends shooting pains up her arms and through her body. She really needs her pain medication. 

She just nods as she holds her arms up and lets her brother help her into a sitting position. Rogue whines by the bed as Pietro has to wrap his arms around Wanda’s waist and hoist her up, and she sighs in relief as she leans against the headboard. She looks to the bandages on her arms and realizes they need to be changed, but she doesn’t want to do that right now. 

“Thanks, Piet. Hi buddy.”

She looks to her dog who’s placed his head on the bed in an attempt to get closer to her. She reaches out for him and taps his nose before turning her attention to the older Maximoff. He’s looking at her carefully and since she’d clearly in pain, Pietro shoots Wanda a questioning look. 

“Where are your meds, sestra?” 

After being directed to the bathroom he goes in and turns on the light just long enough to find a couple of pill bottles. He also grabs the glass by the sink and fills it up with water before heading back to Wanda’s side. Rogue is still sitting beside the bed, more leaning on it as he tries to get closer to Wanda without getting on the bed. Wanda would consider letting him up if she were just sick, but she’s afraid any additional movement won’t help her feel better. 

She’s still smiling and petting his head as Pietro returns with pill bottles and some water. She turns to him with a sigh of relief despite feeling guilty for wanting pain medication so badly. She knows that they will make her feel better, but hopefully she won’t be knocked on her ass again. 

“Thanks, Piet.” 

Wanda watches as he opens the bottle before she realizes that she’s only on one medication. She frowns before stopping him from opening the other one that’s not hers. 

“It’s only one, Piet. The other is Y/n’s. “

Pietro just nods before placing the bottle on the bedside table and handing Wanda the pill and a glass of water. She grimaces as she grabs it but she wants to give it a try. Pietro waits until she’s taken her pill before setting the glass down with a smile. 

“Speaking of Y/n. Nat and Bucky are on their way soon to go get her.” 

Wanda feels more tears fill her eyes at the news of you getting out of jail. She’s not sure she could have been told anything that would make her happier today. She sighs happily before wondering if she’d be able to go with them, but the idea of getting up right now and changing clothes to go out sounds daunting. Not to mention she needs to take care of Natalya. 

“I’m so glad. I wish I could go.” 

Wanda’s gaze drops back to her arms and she has to stop herself from frowning at the intrusive thought that kills her mood immediately. She hasn’t looked under the bandages yet, she honestly doesn’t remember what her arms look like, but she’s certain she’ll see soon. You will also see them soon and she can’t help but worry about what you’ll think. Will you be disgusted, or will you get mad and try to go out and find who’s responsible for her injury? Do you even know who you’d be going after? 

“What’s wrong, sestra?” 

Pietro saw Wanda’s smile fade immediately and he doesn’t know why until she starts to pick at her bandages. They need to be changed soon, but he was hoping to get his sister some breakfast first. Maybe she could spend some time with Natalya so they can both feel better. The youngest Maximoff was a little fussy this morning, and it didn’t take a lot of thought to figure out why. 

Wanda shakes her head as she pulls her hand back from Rogue’s furry head as she starts to get out of bed. She shifts and winces as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Pietro holds his hands up and is about to help his sister to her feet, but she speaks up before he gets the chance. 

“I just wonder how she’ll react to these. She’ll probably be grossed out.” 

Rogue steps back to give Wanda room to stand up, and she groans in effort, but she does it on her own. She holds her arms at her sides stiffly as she starts to head for the door. She stops short when Pietro shakes his head with a sigh. He puts his hand on the handle of the door, but doesn’t open it as he shoots Wanda a look. 

“I’m pretty sure she’ll be horrified, Wands. She’ll hate that this happened to you and she’s either going to cry on the spot or be out for blood.”

Wanda’s still frowning at the idea of this, and she shakes her head before turning to her brother. She barely notices Rogue standing beside her nosing at her leg as she contemplates how to stop you from going on a rampage. 

“I don’t want her to do that, Piet. I just want her home.” 

You’re waiting impatiently to get the last of your belongings as one of your friends waits outside. It’s barely 8 o’clock, but you’re glad to be leaving sooner rather than later. You’d been here too long and you just want to go home and hug your wife and kid. You sigh in relief when you see the guard who had disappeared to grab your things. You take the plastic bag with a smile before heading for the door.

“You’re good to go, Mrs. Y/L/N.” 

You nod and head out to the car that’s waiting outside. You’re so eager to get out that you don’t even care that your friend isn’t greeting you, and you just hop in the back seat of your car. 

“Hey the--.” 

You pause when you realize that you don’t recognize your driver, and you berate yourself for even getting in the car without checking first. You brace yourself on the front seats as they take off quicky down the road as if they’re your getaway car. 

“Wait, who the hell are you?” 

Instead of any of your friends, or wife, you see someone you don’t recognize in the driver’s seat of a car that is basically your own. You know it’s not though because of a few details, but you don’t bother with those now. Even on no sleep you’re still paranoid as hell and you just sit back slowly as you watch the driver carefully. 

“Mrs. Y/L/N. I was sent by your friend Gavin to pick you up. He will meet us at your penthouse.” 

Your bullshit detector is going off like crazy, and you look out the window as you hear the engine revving. You’re going fast, a lot faster than the speed limit and there’s very little chance you’ll be able to jump out without dying. You’re not sure what the options are, and you’re not sure where you’re being taken.  You just sit back for a couple of seconds as you speed down the road before deciding that you’re not going along with this. You’re going to get home to your family today no matter what.

“That’s a little disappointing. I would have thought someone would want to see me.” 

You’re plotting your escape when you see something in the road ahead. You curse under your breath while putting on your seatbelt before the brakes squeal and you’re thrown forward as your chauffeur tries to stop in time. You brace for impact right as the tires hit the spike strip and you curse the fact that you hadn’t seen this coming. 

“Well fuck.” 

After waiting for Pietro to come back from checking on Wanda, Bucky and Nat left to head for the jail to pick you up. They’re a little later than they wanted to be because they wanted to see how Wanda was feeling before heading out. She wasn’t doing great but she was excited to have you back, so they left her to eat breakfast while they go pick you up. They figure that’s the best thing they can do right now.

Nat scoffs as she puts her phone away after receiving another text from her sister. She was on house arrest and she did not like it. However, she wasn’t trying to get away again because Kate had threatened her and for once her sister was taking something seriously. 

“Yelena’s not liking house arrest. No surprise there.” 

Bucky chuckles at this because he’s not surprised at all to hear this. He wasn’t going to tell Nat this, but he had anticipated that the blonde would try to escape at the soonest opportunity. He was certain that Nat knew this on some level, but he didn’t want her to feel guilty about not being able to stay with her. She’d had to figure out what was going on with you, but leaving her sister with Kate probably wasn’t the best idea. Kate, as well-intentioned as she was, was easily duped. 

“What is Kate’s threat this time? Dumping out all of Yelena’s vodka?” 

Nat laughs at this as Bucky speeds across the bridge toward the prison. She looks down toward the water with a sigh. She’s not sure what to do about her stubborn sister, but right now her priority is you. She smiles before turning toward Bucky who’s going 15 over near a federal prison. Hopefully he slows down before they run into a cop. 

“That and making her sleep in the car for a month or two.”

Bucky’s already slowing down, but not because he sees a cop. He sees what he thinks is a car wreck down the road and he slows as he drives past part of a bumper and a hubcap. Nat’s focusing more on the wreck up ahead and she eyes the smoking black car that’s flipped upside-down with a scowl. She looks to see the rest of the wreckage before noticing the shredded tires that were caused by more than just a nail. 

“Let’s go see if they need help.” 

The fact that there’s no one visible outside of the wreckage isn’t a good sign, but as Bucky parks the car Nat sees someone in the driver’s seat. She doesn’t recognize him, but as she kneels down to look into the car, she can tell he’s dead. Her gaze moves to the back and she sees nothing of interest. Nat stands up and looks around to try and get a better idea of what happened here, but Bucky’s already walking around the car. 

“What is it, Buck?” 

Bucky walks over to the side of the road where he sees what looks like drag marks into the grass. He follows the path before hearing a groan somewhere past him. Nat’s already wading through the tall grass and clovers for the source of the sound. 

When the car had run over the spikes, unfortunately the expected had happened. The front tires blew out and the car veered off the road before flipping several times. You’d been buckled, but still thrown around a bit as the car flipped and finally came to a stop upside down a ways down the road. You had been suspended upside down and your neck was bent at an odd angle as you tried to unbuckle yourself but not land on your head. You were only a little successful and you land uncomfortably and the car rocks threateningly. You roll yourself over before lying on your stomach for a few minutes to try and regain your bearings. You feel something ticking your face, and as you try to brush it away you realize you’re bleeding. You groan under your breath as you try to move everything else to test for other injuries. Other than being sore in general, you don’t feel anything else scream at you so you decide to try and get out of this fucking car. 

It's not as easy as you hoped and by the time you manage to crawl out of the broken window, you’re sure you cut yourself on something. You sigh deeply as you let your head fall into the grass with a frown. You see the empty road and wonder how this had happened to you, or rather why. You know why you got into the car but whoever had decided to try and kill you probably wasn’t Hela. 

You remember too much about the brunette, but one thing that you’d tried hard to forget was the fact that she didn’t half-ass anything. She wasn’t responsible for this meaning that someone else might try to come back and make sure that the job was finished. This thought made you groan in annoyance as you started to drag yourself off of the road and into the possibly snake-infested grass. You would get up soon, but you just needed to lie down for a few minutes first. 

You’re not sure how much time had passed when you hear the sound of a car door slamming shut. You open your eyes and wince immediately at the bright sun that sears your retinas. You decide to just listen for whoever’s stopped to check out the wreck. You stay quiet as you hear murmuring, but you’re unable to hear what they’re saying. You try not to panic as footsteps sound nearby and you release a groan as you reach for the gun that unfortunately you don’t have. 

“Bucky!” 

Nat’s voice makes you open your eyes and you are pleasantly surprised to see the redhead kneeling over you. She’s shielding you from the sun and you offer her a smile as you reach out your hand for assistance. 

“Nat. Good to see you. I assume you’re my actual ride.” 

This question makes Nat frown and she’s already trying to figure out what happened to you. You’d clearly been released from prison, but why had you gotten in the car with someone that you didn’t know? You turn slightly to see Bucky appear behind Nat and you smile at him as well before Nat takes your hand. 

“Why are you here? What happened?” 

Nat pulls you up into a sitting position and you cringe when your neck protests the movement. You imagine you have whiplash, but if that’s the most you suffered, you’d be grateful. You forget about the cut on your brow until Nat reaches out to touch it making you flinch. 

“I was told my ride was here, and well you see how that worked out."  

Nat and Bucky help you to your feet and besides grumbling in annoyance you don’t complain much. You look over toward the road to see your ride and the wrecked one with a frown. You are stuck trying to decide between the police being responsible for this or one of your rivals as you take a step toward the car. 

“Thanks for coming to get me. I can’t wait to be home!”

Bucky and Nat watch you with matching incredulous looks as you just walk back to the car like nothing happened. They supposed you were used to things like this happening to you given your earlier years with the mob, but it was a little disturbing to see how easily you accepted this. They had a lot of questions, but they figured they could talk on the ride home. 

Wanda groans as she looks down to her newly bandaged arms. They’re so itchy but she knows that scratching them will hurt her more than it will help. Her brother had helped her treat and rewrap her arms after she’d decided she wanted it done before you got back. She knew you’d see the burns eventually, but she’d rather not hit you with them right as you walked in the door. She’d been able to greet and hold Natalya on her lap for a while with her brother’s help. She leaned back against the couch as Natalya clung to her like a koala. At least she tried to, but she mostly tugged on her mom’s hair while Pietro supported her. Steve was already figuring out how to order more first aid stuff when Nat texted him a little later. 

I figured we should all hang around for a bit so Y/n can catch us up. We’ll be there in 15.

Wanda holds back her grimace as she carefully reaches out to grab one of Natalya’s hands. She doesn’t need Little Nat pulling her hair out despite how upset she is. She feels bad that her baby feels neglected, but it’s going to be a long few weeks if she doesn’t get over it soon. 

“How about we try something else, hmm?” 

Wanda reaches for the little stuffed bat that Yelena had gifted her a few nights ago and Natalya is briefly distracted by it. She grabs it and holds it out to Wanda and the brunette smiles before taking it back and flying it around for a bit. She keeps Natalya preoccupied as Steve texts Nat back and asks if pickup went okay. She simply responds with a facepalm emoji and a picture of the wrecked car and Steve’s at a loss for words. 

“Bucky and Nat will be back with Y/n soon.” 

Wanda perks up when she hears this and she’s smiling widely as she turns back to Natalya excitedly. She wonders how much Natalya really understands, and if she’s aware of your absence. You’ve been around more recently, so hopefully Natalya will be excited to see you come back after a few nights away. She’s probably just feeding off of her own energy, but her daughter smiles gleefully at what she says next. 

“Did you hear that, milaya? Mom’s coming home!” 

Wanda’s only a little apprehensive about your return when the elevator dings a few minutes after signaling someone’s on their way up. The dogs that had been lounging in the living room immediately head down the hall to investigate while Wanda takes a deep breath. She looks to Natalya who’s resting in Pietro’s arms before she stands up in anticipation. She’s excited to see you and she pushes down her anxiety to go greet you.

You’re tapping your foot so furiously on the way up the elevator that Nat puts her hand on your shoulder to stop you. You turn to her before cursing yourself for turning against the crick in your neck. You should probably go to the doctor, but you’re not delaying your reunion, and leaving anytime soon doesn’t sound appealing either. You mutter a ‘sorry’ under your breath but both of your friends just smile at you as Nat shakes her head. They’re glad that you’re no longer in jail and they can’t wait for you to reunite with your family. You certainly hated being away from them for so long and you nearly run out of the elevator when it arrives to the top floor. 

“Thanks again for breaking me out you two. We’ll talk about everything soon, okay?” 

They both nod in agreement but don’t respond as you dart out of the elevator only to fall over your dogs. You slam into the ground and land on your side to keep from squishing your confused dogs and you groan loudly. 

“Ow!” 

You look up at the sound of a whine and open your eyes just in time to feel someone lick your face. You can’t help but smile at the sight of your two shepherds and Rudy looking at you curiously. You reach out to pet them all before you climb to your feet with a sigh. You pet them one more time before heading for the living room with barely contained excitement. 

“I missed you guys too, and I’ll be back. I just need to say hi to your mom and sister.” 

You get up and, a little more carefully this time, hurry toward where your wife is. You find her standing at the end of the hall waiting with a smile, and it takes all of your limited self-control to not throw yourself at her. You can see the bandages covering her arms and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the reminder that she’s hurt. 

“Hi detka. Are you okay?” 

You close the distance between you and your wife with a relieved sigh before you contemplate how to do this. You don’t want to hurt Wanda, but the idea of not being able to hug her is not acceptable. You try to work out the best way to do this while your wife looks you over carefully. 

You’re wearing the same clothes that you left in and not only are they wrinkled, but they’re covered in dirt and a little bit of blood. Your face is also covered in dirt and blood that’s coming from a cut above your eyebrow. Wanda notices a bruise around your other eye that looks older than your other injury. She's frowning by the time you come to a stop in front of her and just smile widely as you reach out for her. 

“Wands. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.” 

You drop your hand at the last minute because even before you touch her hand you see Wanda tense in anticipation. That answers the question you hadn’t wanted to ask, but had suspected you knew the answer to regardless. You frown as you kneel slowly and make sure this will actually work. You stifle a groan as you sink down until you’re basically eyelevel with your wife’s belly button. Wanda frowns slightly but she doesn’t get to ask as you’re reaching up to carefully wrap your arms around her waist. She lifts her arms slightly so they’re out of the way and she takes a deep breath as you hug her gently first before tightening your hold when you feel Wanda relax. 

“God, I missed you.” 

You don’t notice your friends all watching as you hug your wife and bury your face in her stomach. Wanda wishes she could hold you better but simply lifting her arms and putting them on your shoulders is uncomfortable. She moves one of them to run it through your surprisingly clean hair, but she does take out a twig that came from somewhere. She’s going to have to ask about your appearance. 

“I missed you too, detka. What happened to you? Are you okay?” 

You nod despite feeling your neck strain just from trying to look up at your wife, but you know you’ve had it so much easier than she has. You sigh heavily before you squeeze her one more time before getting to your feet. Your knees are starting to ache and you’re getting a little self-conscious of the fact that everyone’s sitting in the living room waiting for your explanation. 

“I’m fine, Wands. Just had a little issue with my ride, but Nat and Bucky came to my rescue. How about you? How are you feeling?” 

You risk reaching out for your wife’s hand just to hold it, and she lets you as she shoots you and then your friends a confused look. You take a second to look at the extent of Wanda’s injuries and you’re shocked by how much of her arms were affected. You feel your anger at Hela come back ten-fold at the fact that she’d gone after your wife. You’d like to shoot her in the face now, but that would require leaving your wife, and you don’t want to do that anytime soon. You are distracted by the sound of your wife’s voice, and you look back up at her face to see she’s frowning at you. 

Wanda tries not to shift uncomfortably as you zero in on her arms, and everyone notices it. They couldn’t blame you for being surprised by what you saw, and you hadn’t even seen the burns themselves. You probably imagined it differently based on what Bucky told you, but they mostly saw concern and a bit of anger as you studied your wife. Pietro tried not to frown at the fact you were unintentionally making his sister very uncomfortable. 

“I feel okay right now, Y/n. The meds help, but it hurts to move too much.” 

You frown deeply at this and want to say something else, but your wife redirects your attention. She reaches up to brush your hair away from the dried blood on your eyebrow with a questioning look. She doesn’t appreciate your vague answer and she wants you to give her a better one. 

“Back to your eye. What happened?” 

You winced slightly before you nodded and turned toward your friends that were all seated behind you. You reached out for Wanda’s hand, but changed your mind and just waved her over so you wouldn’t have to touch her arms again. You take a detour toward Pietro and Natalya and smile as you reach out for your daughter. 

“Hi my baby. I missed you.”

Wanda watches with a smile as you and Natalya greet each other. Natalya reaches out with a gleeful smile and smacks your face a couple of times. Wanda can’t help but laugh at this and your shamefaced expression as you move to sit down on the loveseat before motioning for Wanda to join you. She does and watches for a few more seconds as you play with Natalya before you kiss her face multiple times with a sigh. 

“So someone came to pick me up around 8. Said that Gavin sent him, but since I knew that was bull…a lie, I decided to jump ship.” 

Wanda’s only very confused, and a quick glance around tells her that she’s not the only one. You reach out to pet Boone who’s come to sit at your side with a whine. He wanted a better hello than he’d gotten, and you’re happy to oblige him as you explain your eventful morning to your friends. 

“I honestly thought the car was going to explode, but we just ran over some spikes and the car went rolling into a ditch. Then Nat and Bucky found me, and here I am.” 

Wanda’s jaw drops as she tries to figure out how the hell you’re sounding so nonchalant about almost dying. She also wants to know why you got into the car in the first place knowing that your friends were picking you up, but she’d get to that later. She sighs in defeat before she reaches out for you with a grimace that you don’t miss. 

“Y/n. You could have died! Why didn’t you wait for Nat and Bucky!” 

Your only response was a shrug and Wanda scowled in annoyance at your apathy. You just held your hands up in surrender for a millisecond before they went back to squeeze Natalya’s sides until she shrieked in response to being tickled. Wanda tried to stay mad at you but you were making it really damn difficult. 

“I’m sorry, Wands. I was just really looking forward to being home with you and this one.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes at your excuse but she can’t be too mad at you right now. She’s just so grateful to have you home, and her arms twitch as she considers trying to hug you. She really wants to especially as she watches you be so adorable with Natalya, but she knows it wouldn’t be a good idea. She glances around to her friends and her brother and they are all waiting for something. It’s not that Wanda doesn’t want them here, but they usually would have taken off by now, at least Bucky and Nat.

“We’ll talk about that later, Y/n, but first can we talk about the elephant in the room?” 

You’re immediately set on edge and this makes you remember that you’ve been off your meds for a bit. You doubt they’d help you in this situation, but you can’t resist the urge to at least look to the bathroom and consider running to get them. You don’t though and you just frown slightly as you consider what Wanda could be talking about. There are a lot of possibilities and you are not sure what Wanda’s talking about. You’ve missed more than you had hoped by being in prison for nearly 4 days, and you wrack your brain for the right answer. 

“Um…” 

You look around the room before you tap your fingers against your cute plump baby with a contemplative hum. You pause as you flex your fingers and then look down to your hands with a smile. You look to Nat who just raises an eyebrow in question while your wife frowns. 

“Right, right. Nat, do you have my rings?” 

You’d almost forgotten that you’d taken them off and left your phone with Wanda so the cops wouldn’t take them from you. You miss Wanda’s eyes widening in realization before Nat curses and nods before digging into her pocket. She’d meant to give these to Wanda, but it kept slipping her mind with everything that happened with Yelena and then Wanda. She stands up and hands a small black box to you and you smile happily before opening it carefully. Your daughter of course wants to be included and she reaches for one of the shiny rings with a curious noise. 

“No, no, little one. These aren’t for you.” 

You quickly put them on before explaining that you hadn’t wanted the cops to take them. If you’d lost these you’d probably cry for weeks. Wanda smiles at this but she shakes her head as she tries to address the real reason why her friends are sticking around like there’s news to share. 

“I’m glad you thought of that, detka, but I was talking about something else.” 

You know that and you’d just been buying time. You know you can’t do that any longer though because your friends are waiting for an explanation and they all deserve one. You take a deep breath before nodding as you lean back and look at your squirming child. 

“Pietro said that you know something about whoever broke into the restaurant.” 

You’re nodding as you get up suddenly and cause everyone but Wanda to start. You hold Little Nat up and away from you before turning back to Wanda. You’re about to hand her your daughter, but you stop short when you remember why that won’t work. You frown and try cover up your mistake by bringing Natalya with you. You excuse yourself quietly before you walk to the bedroom where you hope you’ll find your meds. 

“Right, right. Of course. Let me just run to the bathroom first.” 

No one says anything as they watch you flee into the bedroom and shut the door behind you. A couple people frown and Wanda sighs before she looks to her friends and her brother worriedly. She has a bad feeling that this isn’t going to go well. If Wanda focuses she can hear the faint sound of water running and continues for maybe 30 seconds before it stops and a door opens again. You take a deep breath to try and prepare yourself for this. You look to Little Nat and squish her cheeks making her giggle before you try to match her smile. This is going to be painful to remember, and awkward to tell anyone for the first time while they’re all together. There will be a lot of different reactions and too many feelings for you to deal with in addition to your own, but you can’t delay it. 

It wouldn’t be polite or even fair to tell everyone to leave so you can just tell Wanda about this. Despite having plenty of opportunities to tell Wanda about your previous relationship, you’d held back for too many reasons to count. You wanted to forget it, and you don’t think that anything that you’re going to face in the next few days will be easy. 

Not if you have to see her again. 

You take another deep breath and pretend that the extra few seconds will make your meds kick in faster. You bounce your daughter gently before kissing her cheek and reaching for the door handle. 

“Ready for this, little one?” 

Masterlist

[dinomite2]

Female Agent 8 x male reader relationship headcanons

Yay ! Another Agent 8 x reader fic !

also what month do think side order going to release it said that it was going to be released sometime in spring so think March to April is a good time

Featuring: female Agents 4 & 3

● when 8 got out of the surface after a few months after she got out the deep sea metro defeated Commader Tarter she settled in for a new home at inkopolis Square to meet new people and to have fun in turf wars and ranked battles and so far things have been normal for her

● That was until 8 met you for the first time in the middle of inkopolis Square she was about to get a the new Quadruple fried Cosmic Shwaffle Meal from the crust bucket, but she didn't have a ticket for it since it was very rare ticket to get

● But luckily you were nice and lucky enough to get the ticket and share with her and you two ate together ,started to know about each other and what you do and quick became friends

● Your usual activities together would either be mainly just hanging out together and uncommonly at times you'd either see one or both of 8's friends Aka Agent 3 and Agent 4 and both of them are mysterious wonders to see

● we start with who seems to be the most rowdy of the two Agent 4 when she First Met you She was a friendly fellow but at times she'd be strangely and jokingly flirty with you and it mostly happen at random times but Don't worry 3 will take care of her if things go weird

"And that how it takes 6.79 seconds to refill a ink tank with no ink recovery up while it takes exactly 4.19 to fill up with ink recovery up everyone got that? " 3 said questioning 4, 8 and You

"Yep!" 8 said happily

"Yeah" you said giving a smile and a thumbs up

"Y/n would fill up my ink tank in 3 seconds~"

"4!" 8 groaned and covered her face looking down while blushing you did the same too keeping a straight face while blushing wildly while 4 just sat laid back with a smug smile on her face

3 threw her shoe Mach speed at 4 after she said that

● And secondly we have Agent 3 who's not a bad gal herself but she takes care of both 4 and 8 while also keeping a close eye on you, and making sure that your not taking advantage over any of them

●and by that a friend group was made ! And everything had gone swell for awhile hanging out and having lots of fun and doing lots of turf wars Until 8 started to show more "feelings" for you

● she blushed whenever you looked at her she stuttered 8 when was talking to you, when she looked at you from afar she looked at you with a wavy smile on her face and would sometimes do REALLY stupid stuff to try and to impress you

"um 8 are you sure about this this doesn't look safe" you said looking at 8 holding a VERY spicy pepper

"I'm a trained agent Y/n I can handle anything" 8 said with high amounts of confidence as she ate the pepper

.

"See nothing happened im fine" 8 said As her entire body was sweating and slowly starting to turn entirely red

"is sweating excessively and your body becoming red count as normal?" You questioned

"Nope I'm still fine" she said with a strained smile and was now melti- WAIT MELTING!?

"OH COD 8 now you're melting now do you want me to get 3!?"

"don't worryyyy" she said melting into a puddle of herself eyes and mouth separated like 3 cereal pieces in a bowlful of milk

"I'm getting 3 " You said walking backwards looking at the liquidfied agent 8

● and while this frantic loveshowing was in tow 3 and 4 both took notice of this and eventually found out that 8 has a crush on you!

● And 8 couldn't really hold her secret to 3 and 4 as it was eventually found True so they planned to teach 8 how to show her feelings toward you By a beautiful picnic date!

(I took this pic during the start of a big run/splatfest)

It was a crisp night on top of a hill up standing there was a tree plastered with warm colored lights and under there was picnic carpet, basket and a boombox and 8 sitting as she was waiting for you to come thanks the invitation that 3 gave you hiddenly.

"Um guys are you sure this will work?" 8 said questioning 3 and 4 on her hidden mic

"Don't worrrrrry 8 me and 3 will guide you through " 4 said reassuring 8

"And ill make sure she doesn't say anything STUPID "

"Ok ok geez I won't, look! He's coming greet him!"

"Hey 8! What's up you invited me here?"

"Uh-h hello cmon over !" 8 said blushing as you both sat down on the picnic Blanket she then pulled out a disk and placed it into the boombox

(Ost/video not mine) (also new fav music ever man)

"ohh pop 'n' schlock that's my favorite! How did you know ?" You said questioning 8

"I-ii heard from 4, uhm want a drink?" 8 said quickly pulling out a bottle of fruit punch

"Yeah I will !" You said picking up a cup

8 poured the punch into your cup and then you drank it

"Ok you're doing good Now complment him, say that you have pretty eyes " instructed 8

"Ok, um Y/n"

"Yeah?"

"I have pretty eyes "

"Uh yeah they're nice -they're" You said feeling a bit awkward about what 8 just said looking away

"No not yours his !" 3 said into the mic

" Oh! I meant you have pretty eyes not mine ok mine work" 8 Said embarrassingly

"So 8 why did you invite me you wanted to say something?"You said As pop 'n' schlock was playing

"Ok now tell him how you feel"

"Ok uh-m Y/n I like you"

"Yeah and I like you too"

"No I meant a bit more than that I love you Y/n i had a crush on you since we met"

"Oh uh well um uh i" you blushed while looking away until 8 kissed you on the cheek causing you to blush even more

"Well I'm great you showed your feelings to me 8"

And done SORRY MAN for the massive wait it was supposed to be done in the early December but I caught up on school, Christmas and my own laziness a three distraction combo lol

Also requests haven't been coming in for the past few weeks so if can request.... plz i need something else to do for Christmas break

Anyway enjoy!

[didsomeonesaygo]

Quando a Roma...

Finalmente, siamo in Italia! 🇮🇹 Early morning out of LAX with a stop in Montreal. Got to Rome about 10 am, at which time any Italian I had went straight out the window. Luckily, people weren't joking when they said everyone speaks English - even if I try Italian, they answer me in English. But that's molto bene with P. Our driver Pietro took us to the U Visionary - we were early, so they held our bags and we headed out!

The hotel is right around the corner from the Trevi Fountain, so we decided to start there. Everyone had said this is not high season, but it IS a Jubiliee (Giuboleo) year, so the city is busy. That was... true. The whole time, we kept saying we couldn't imagine what the high season would be like - P's eye might not agree, but it felt like we dodged a bullet not going in August. So we went to the fountain, but couldn't get anywhere near close enough to throw a coin in - figured we'd try again later, and just started walking.

Rome feels like San Francisco, only more so. (Yes, I know that's backwards.) Tiny winding streets and great architecture, and with the fountains, statues, and churches e-ve-ry-where, there is something beautiful no matter where you turn. But the craziest thing is the ruins right in the middle of the city. So you walk down a major road, and suddenly there are 2000 year-old ruins RIGHT THERE. And oh, yeah, that's the Colosseum in the background, nbd. (Fun fact: they've been working on a new metro line for 20 years, but keep having to stop for archeological digs.)

We roamed around looking at ruins for a bit, and then wound our way toward the Chiesa di sant'ignazio in Campo, which was recommended by the hotel desk clerk. There's a mirror you look into to see the full ceiling, but there was (surprise!) a long line, so we checked it out old school and lit candles for Sweet Pea, Aunt Judy, and Uncle Kevin. (I'm a heathen, but I love the churches - Mere said Daddy did too, and she eventually started waiting outside for him because they're all beautiful, but they all start to look alike. Shh - don't give P any ideas.)

Then on to the Pantheon, which was originally a Roman temple (pan = all, theo = gods), but is now, you guessed it, a Catholic church. (It turns out the church adoptappropriated a lot of ancient structures - shocking, I know.) But this is the only one with has a 9-meter oculus (~36 feet!) - the better to talk to (the) god(s). Apparently when there is light rain, the oculus creates a warm updraft like a chimney, and the rain becomes mist before ever reaching the floor, but there is still a sloped floor and drains, just in case. (The Romans were good at drains.)

Then we figured our room would be ready, so we headed back to the hotel (Trevi Fountain even busier) to change and figure out dinner. We had a couple of recs from the hotel, but we think every hotel must have recommended the same places to every guest, because the lines were ridiculous - so we romed around until we found something open. We eat way too early by Italian standards; a lot of the places on our go-to review site don't even open until 7:30, but jet lag + we are old = ain't nobody waiting 'til 7:30 for dinner. We finally got lucky with the patio at Il Falchetto, a little place at the end of an alley (alleys are my jam), where we had great wine, ravioli, and cacio e pepe. (In Italy, I can eat butter noodles without getting grief about it, and I intend to take full advantage.) Got gelati on the way home, at one of approximately 1000 gelaterias within a mile of the hotel - I had strachiatella, and P had the best pistachio ever. Considering we didn't even hit town until 11 am, we did pretty well!

[sillypiratelife]

Modern au silly little Zoro headcanons based on stuff I see normally in Latam:

He's the one friend that falls asleep as soon as the car starts moving and awakes on his own when they are near their destination, like it's magic or something.

Hates protein bars and protein milkshakes because a lot of them are sweet tasting.

Genuinely the one that hangs on the sides of the open bus door and rides there when the bus is busting with people. Never falls.

Overly respects the sacred ritual of drinking a couple of beers before and a lot of beers after the regular softball/baseball game with the pals.

He actually has a favorite liquor store. They send him new stuff to taste all the time and it is on the house.

The bank would call him saying that someone is trying to retire money from his account not knowing that it's literally him trying to pay.

Big Bro of the whole neighborhood, whenever he comes around he gets dragged into five different houses to chat and eat and he ends up having to join a basketball/baseball game before he's allowed to leave.

Probably the type who doesn't care about football ⚽ that much, so the "alpha dudes" look at him with suspicion.

Oblivious to how dangerous certain areas are because he's the Danger in the streets, which means it's useless to ask him to suggest a place to eat (he'd eat literally anywhere lol).

That one asshole friend that is not bothered by the mosquitoes. Theory says that it's the not showering that aids him.

Carries three freaking pocket knives with him at all times, instead of his swords.

He doesn't wear jewelry except for his three earrings. He has gotten in a lot of fights with people trying to steal them from him (yes it's real gold, it makes him look like a criminal).

Instead of a bandana, he wears a baseball cap backwards. If he rights it, it's game over for the person he's about to completely destroy.

The metro workers already know him and would help him get into the actual station he needs to go to. It's safer for him underground than when he's on his own in the city streets.

Actually a great dancer, he's just too busy drinking at the party and he is not particularly interested in finding a dancing partner. He learned to dance as extra training for his arms legs coordination and found out that he was a natural because he has good ears.

Gets money from helping people move out. He's the one who the elderly people of the neighborhood call when they need extra help with anything, also the one the kids wait for every summer because they want to play with him. A man of the people.

He's lonelier when he's traveling around for his tournaments/competitions. The straw hats always make a point to at least send one of them with Zoro if not all of them can go.

Before the straw hats, Zoro barely used his phone. After the straw hats, he had to put it in mute because they won't shut up. He loves them a universe for that, not that he'd say it.

[bondwithme-murderstyle]

so, Reid x OC taster below!

planning to go live on AO3 by the end of the week or even next week eek

Reid bid his friends and colleagues a gentle wave goodbye as they made their way down one street and he crossed to head to the metro. His metro card turned over and over in his pocket. He had a game of chess to finish that he had set up perfectly for his arrival home that night and truthfully, it spurred him on.

It was colder, much colder since the morning and he turned the collar of his jacket up against his neck before he approached the station.

Due to a power cut across town, the train was delayed as they rerouted. He sat in his usual seat, fingers drumming on his knee anxiously at the delay in schedule. He once again followed the conversations of other passengers much like he had done that very morning. One man apologized to his wife for missing the previous train. A woman argued quietly about work reports and months-end statistics. Her eyes flickered around the carriage nervously as she grew irate at the voice on the other end. She didn’t want to argue, it was plain to see. Her head hung low as she stood by the door of the carriage and nodded with the voice down the phone. Seemingly reluctant to perform extra hours when she got home, the woman agreed, wishing the voice a goodbye with a gentle yet strained ‘I love you’ and then furiously shoved her cell-phone into the side pocket of her skirt as the call ended abruptly. Her eyes caught Reid’s for a moment as she stressfully carded her hands through the hair on the side of her head before turning shamefully to face the opposite direction.

Reid told himself on a daily basis not to profile anybody outside of the cases he worked on but sometimes it was far too interesting and compelling.

Only a few minutes late on his nightly schedule, Reid stepped off the metro and took his usual path home. The wind picked up, carrying a chill into the core of his body. His evening was mapped out perfectly. Immediately take his hamper to the laundry room in the basement of the apartment building before brewing a pot of tea and playing his game until his clothes were clean. Followed promptly by a hot shower and an early night with the newest addition to his collection. A first-edition Oscar Wilde he had been gifted by JJ and Will for his birthday the month prior. As he walked, Reid decided to turn his cell-phone off. When Garcia started to drink around JJ and Morgan, things could get out of hand and today wasn’t that kind of day for slurred conversations and constant invitations to join in.

Reid crossed the street and fished his keys from his bag, tugging slightly on the bound cover of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The fob allowed him access which was a solid indication that the power cuts hadn’t reached his district yet. Once inside, his collar dropped and he unfastened the front of his jacket, pressing the button of his floor quickly as he heard the main door open in his wake.

“Wait!” A voice called out, “Hold it!”

Reid relented the company but he wedged his foot between the closing doors of the elevators nevertheless. The pressure around his left foot released and he used his hand instead to keep the door open, taking a short step backwards.

“Oh, thank you!” The woman sighed and brushed past him, a plastic bag of takeout in her hand. It was her. The woman from the train. “Uh, seven, please.” She gestured tiredly and Reid pressed the button for her floor.

[alterrune]

How has things been after The Grand Festival, now that things cooled down?

(And who knows? Perhaps the outcome was what Mr. Grizz wanted)

We've been busier than ever. Grand Festival may have ended, but there was some fallout to it.

Yeah, Deep Cut cussed us out on their broadcast, and essentially quit working with us on live television. It was quite the incident. And thanks to Siphon-Boy over here, we've been pressuring him to get Splatsville's Great Zapfish back so he stops using power from ours.

I mean, I was really salty at the time, and Deep Cut suggested it.

Dystopiac, you realize they're a band of thieves, right?

Yeah. And I fucking live with them, remember? Just like how you live with your foster moms. Plus, they help fund my gigs as DJ BL3ND3R, so I'm not complaining.

"Regardless, thanks to Callie & Marie, nobody was allowed to go anywhere outside the venue. And thank goodness, because if someone had accidentally seen us, we would've been done for."

"We're trying to keep this under wraps. And luckily, we have."

the only people who know about all of this aside from the NSS are me and synth. and we're not snitching on them.

YEAH. WE'RE NOT BETRAYING THEM. ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY'RE LITERALLY SAVING THE WORLD HERE.

God, this Tri-Stringer is so unwieldly! How the hell do I---?

(PEW, THUNK)

Wait...I have to jump to shoot vertically? What kind of backwards logic is---?

Kyle. We're in a world where squids and octopi can swap from regular form to humanoid form on command. Don't think too hard about it.

Alter, that doesn't explain why the hell we can't just turn it vertically in our hands!

Vi, believe me, I feel this is stupid too. But let's just accept the stupidity, okay? These weapons seem like they wouldn't shoot anything at all in our world, let's be grateful they actually function here.

Alright, cuz, fair enough. We should get out of this FAR quicker than we did the last level, though, we seem to finally be getting the hang of all this.

...WELL, "SAVING THE WORLD" AT A SLOW PACE RIGHT NOW, BUT THEY'LL SPEED UP EVENTUALLY.

Yeah. It took me a while to learn, so they'll probably be the same.

And yes, Grizz got exactly what he fucking wanted. You could hear that evil victorious laugh of his all the way from the goddamn DEEPSEA METRO. Smug prick...

[ninjadeathblade]

Mouin Rouge Discotrain AU (Christmas Special Part One)

Summary: It's Christmas! Our lovely and strange little friends are all celebrating in their own ways.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 1,272

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationship, mentions of death, discussion about how life isn't always good

Author's notes: I left it far too long to write this. I should have prepped these chapters sooner. But, they are here! Congrats!

“That is the dumbest thing you've ever proposed,” Empress deadpanned as she locked up the shop for the night.

“You're just a coward,” Snatcher goaded.

The cat's tail twitched with annoyance and she stared at him for a long moment before speaking.

“Okay then. What do you propose with this little… bet?”

Snatcher grinned and looped an arm around her shoulders, turning her to face the giant area at the centre of the metro.

“We both take a different half of this place. Decorate it to the nines with as many lights, inflatables, sculptures, blow-ups and decorations as we want,” Snatcher pitched.

“On Christmas, every resident of this forsaken place votes on who did it better. Loser has to buy the winner dinner for a month.”

Empress smirked, elbowing him in the side. “You really think you could beat me?”

“Why of course!” Snatcher shouted, stepping away from her and making a flourishing gesture.

Small crystals of ice shot out from his hands and both stared at the fragments.

“That's new,” Empress said warily, hoping that Snatcher wouldn't push himself with this challenge.

“And isn't it just the best!” Snatcher replied with a false happy tone.

One of Empress' ears flicked backwards, another bit of worry tensing her muscles.

“So?” Snatcher extended a hand, a slightly tight smile on his face, looking as if he was going to burst with excitement.

Empress placed her paw in his hand and shook. “I am going to regret this.”

“Never.” Snatcher's features stretched back into a genuine grin and he retracted his hand, dragging it through his curls.

She noted briefly how vivid the blue streaks seemed to be.

“You'd make a good radio show host.”

He turned back to her with a curious expression, head tilted slightly to the side. “Yeah?”

Snatcher paused, staring as if he were somewhere very far away.

“I never really put thought into wanting to do something other than law,” he admitted quietly.

Empress hit him gently on the shoulder, slowly drawing his attention back to her.

“Come on. We've got some decorating to do.”

Days passed and all too soon it seemed to be Christmas.

Snatcher strolled into Empress' shop with a self-satisfied smile.

His friend was shouting at some poor cat who scrambled out of the shop as soon as possible.

“Merry Christmas!” Snatcher said, sitting down on one of the counters.

“Get off of that right now!” Empress snapped and he quickly hopped back off.

The cat's tail lashed from side to side as she muttered to herself.

“You good, Em?”

“I'm fine,” she growled.

Snatcher frowned, reaching towards her before pausing, hand hovering near her shoulder.

“Let's just pecking get this over with.”

Snatcher walked a step behind the bristling cat into the main station.

His side was decorated on every possible surface with lights, trees and a couple ice sculptures that had exhausted him for a couple days.

Empress' side had a measly few bits of bunting and a string of half working lights that was trailing across the floor.

A few dozens cats were shifting nervously in the plaza, a mere fraction of residents.

Snatcher snapped his fingers as both of them stood in position, a message made of shadows displaying behind them.

All the darkly coloured cats’ eyes widened, and they scrambled to change what they'd written on their slips of paper.

As Empress turned around the message disappeared and Snatcher waited a moment longer before revealing everyone's votes.

The letter E floated above every cat's head.

The crowd dispersed as quickly as possible.

“Nice going, you won,” Snatcher said, trying to cheer his friend up.

Empress continued to scowl before striding back towards the shop.

He let out a defeated sigh, waiting a couple of minutes before following her.

He expected to find her breaking something, maybe ripping something to shreds.

What he didn't expect was to find her crying on the sofa.

Snatcher slowly crossed the room, settling down beside Empress.

The cat quickly scrubbed a paw across her face and hissed at him. “Go away.”

“No. You're family. I'm not-” he took a deep breath in. “I'm not going to ignore my family when they need me.”

Empress' ears were flat against her head and her tail twitched. “That so? And what exactly makes us family?”

“I mean, I practically live here for one,” Snatcher said with a slightly bitter laugh. “You helped me after the whole thing with Vanessa. And you're someone who's opinion I care about. And who I want to live a happy life.”

“Like anyone ever gets that in life.”

Snatcher sighed, hazy memories of his life flitting through his mind.

“Yeah, okay, so happiness is a fluke some of the time. But not always. I mean, you've told me about what you were like when younger. You were happy then, right?”

Empress narrowed her eyes at him before making a miniscule nodding motion.

“And I wasn't always happy while alive. Hell, me and Vanessa were an arranged marriage that I knew about since I was five years old. But I tried to make the best of it despite it all.”

The cat's ears perked up slightly as he went on.

“And peck, I hated how infatuated she became with me. I didn't realise it at the time but I look back at it now and it was such a toxic relationship. And sure I hated dying and what it meant for me but…”

He trailed off momentarily and realised that talking about it was making him feel choked up.

He swallowed down a sob and blinked away the tears at the edges of his vision.

“But if I hadn't died the way I had, I don't think I'd have my power. The curse gave me the power I had for my deals and you wouldn't be able to see me without it. I would never have my friends- my family if it weren't for it. So yeah, life does suck sometimes. But you've got to look on the bright side of things. I had to become a glass-half-full kind of guy. And I think it'll help you as well if you do that.”

Empress uncurled herself slightly, reaching for him and pulling him into a hug.

“It's Christmas, you shouldn't be crying. But you're allowed to show weakness you know.”

Snatcher finally let his wall break, sobs pouring out of him as he clung to her.

How much had he been holding back? How long had he just brushed things off and accepted them as they were? How long had it been since he truly accepted how unfair life had been to him?

It felt like ages until he stopped crying.

“I'm sorry I've been so grouchy,” Empress apologised, her tail winding itself around his arm. “Scarlett died around this time of year. And no matter what I do, it always hurts.”

“You two were really close, weren't you?”

A small nod brushed against his shoulder.

“Not a day goes by that I don't miss her. I wish I could speak to her again. Hell, even just seeing her would be great.”

Snatcher tightened his grip around her. “Would it help to watch a movie?”

Empress let out a small laugh, pulling away from him enough to look him in the eye.

“It won't cure everything but it might help, yeah.”

Snatcher twisted around slightly so they were both laying down on the sofa together.

“Okay then. Movie night it is.”

“Actually, TV show night,” Empress stated.

“Christmas show?”

“No. But there's a character I think you'll like.”

“Evil?”

“Mhm.”

“Count me in.”

[dybdahlsvisitportugalspainfrance]

More of Lisbon. Hey - it's a big place!

September 4, 2023

We spent the morning exploring parts of Lisbon that we haven't explored on this trip. The weather was not perfect - with lots of intermittent rain showers and wind, but it is never the weather that is bad - just the clothes you have on to deal with the weather. So we were OK!

We met our bus driver, Paco and watched his amazing skills as he navigated forward - and backward - places this huge bus should not go. Our bus is designed to comfortably seat 53 people - so the 17 of us are quite comfy.

We started with a small tour of some places Mark and I had seen on the Hop-on/Hop off bus and then started to explore other places too. We saw the Portugal Parliment but my picture taken through a rain spattered window was pathetic - so "hello my dear friend, Internet."

We worked our way to the one neighborhood that survived the earthquake, fire and tsunami of 1755 - the Alfama.

The roads are small and twisty and many of the roads cannot be transversed by even the smallest vehicle.

The place is built into hills - so steps are everywhere. (That is our sweet leader, Carolina. That is Car-o-leena. FYI.)

These houses were built in the 1500s. Many are covered with tile for easy maintenance.

St Anthony is the patron saint of Lisboa and he was born in the Alfama. This cathedral was built on his birth place.

So the buzz on St. Anthony is that he is the patron saint of match making. Women hoping to find the man or their dreams come here and light a candle. Also he is the patron saint of "missing items". Can't find the car keys? Light a candle and ta-da!

To get to St. Anthony's just grab a trolley.

Shortly after our St. Anthony experience we stopped for coffee and an egg custard tart - Pastéis De Nata - THE Portuguese treat.

And - I can eat these. YUMMY!!!

Our walk eventually took us to the main square of the city - the square where the palace of the king and queen USED to be before it was destroyed by the tsunami in 1755. The new palace was built far from the sea after that event.

We continued exploring in the rain and saw the elevator

We kept walking and got to the main square of the city - the end of the line from the traffic circle from Marquis de Pombol. Check out the patterns in the circle. It is an optical illusion - because it is flat. Weird!

Some our group headed back to the hotel and some of us stayed on to enjoy - a local favorite - Bifanas (pork belly on a bun with mustard.) I couldn't have the bun - but the pork belly was yummy!

As we walked to the Metro we saw this...

Carolina explained to us that this atrocity was a recent find in the hidden history of Lisbon. In 1506 in the middle of the Portuguese Inquisition a congregation of this church...

...mainly made up of "new" Christians - former Jews who had converted rather than die or be expelled - experience a "miracle." The alter was suddenly illuminated and the priest fell to his knees overcome by this miracle, but a parishioner said - HEY - WAIT - that is only the sunlight coming through that window. The priest was enraged and demanded that this "doubter" be killed - there and now. He was - and then the "real" Christians fell on the "new" Christians and killed them too. Then it was buried deep in the history books to be found quite by accident 500 years later.

Now, this church, has a series of bad events. Fire and other things have haunted this place for 600 years. Karma? Whatever it is, it has never had the same power as it experienced before 1500. To quote my granddaughter. when we are discussing history- or new jewelry, "I'm intrigued!"

From here we took the Metro to our hotel. PERFECT. Many people did many different things - but I took a nap. Only 40 minutes - but just the right amount of time to re-charge for dinner.

We took a lovely walk down the Avenue da Liberdade until we reached the funicular. The weather was perfect!!! We had some" technical difficulties" so we waited, waited, and waited but finally - we were headed up. We arrived at the overlook that Mark and I had visited yesterday. We felt so superior knowing exactly where were were...

At the top of the funicular we had a wonderful surprise from Carolina...

A cherry liquor served in chocolate cups. SWEET!!!!! Then on to our Welcome Dinner.

We had a wonderful dinner and a Fado performance. Fado is a Portuguese tradition and is a UNESCO intangible culture designation.

It was so much fun!!!

Check this out - (these are not the artists we saw - but it gives you a good understanding of this art.)

Tomorrow we will explore the city of Sintra. New discoveries await. I love my life!!!!

Stay tuned.