#BUDDY YOU STILL HAVE SEVERAL DECADES TO GO

[frightfulmouse]

not writing not doing my job literally just spending every moment of the day fucking around and thinking about how time is passing and i'm fucking it up with every second. OOOH i'm fucking it up!!! i hope a piano falls on my head!!!!!!! there. is. NO. reason of this 🕺🏻 My job is not hard. i just need to FOCUS on it and i don't WANT TO and it's PISSING ME OFF that that's all it apparently takes for me to do FUCK ALL!!!!!! my work window is sitting literally RIGHT THERE and i make ZERO effort to move my mouse over there because then i'll have to do the work and i hate it and it's not fun and i don't care!!!! and i'm bad at it!!! it looks like shit and i don't care when it's over and i don't make enough money and i'm not motivated enough apparently to actually work harder and make more because i am a stupid immature brat who can't lock into anything unless it interests me. I'M SO FUCKED!!!

[revelboo]

Am I going insane or has no one asked for D-16??? If not them I am going to humbly bEG YOU PLEASE LET ME SMOOCH HIM HE DESERVES IT

Sure! Took me a bit to figure out a plot convenience to get a reader to him, Megatronus Prime, and Silverbolt

Fight For You

D-16 x Reader

• Hefting his drill, D-16 sidesteps out of the way of a much bigger, cogged bot. The other not even sparing him a glance. Not even seeing him, because miners are barely above drones in their optics. But what he’s doing matters even if they don’t see him. There’s energon because of him and the others, risking their lives to make sure there are no shortages. That no one goes wanting. And if they cut his rations again? It’s because it was needed elsewhere. Cogless bots are smaller, need less even if there’s a vague dissatisfaction he has to keep pushing down.

• Listening to the chatter around you and sipping at the one glass of champagne they’d allowed you, there’s a nervous tension threading through you that’s part anticipation and part, mostly, anxiety. You pick at the steak they’d put in front of you, surrounded by other dishes, caviar, lobster, things so far out of your budget they’re a treat. If you had any appetite. You keep thinking this is likely a last meal and of the six other team members for the first jaunt, only one is tearing into the food. Everyone else as jittery as you are. But most of the drones have come back just fine. They’d captured staticky, conflicting images of a green world, a glittering city, and more. The gate unstable and shifting, but the scientists think they’ve figured out the intervals it swaps to a new location. That your team will be able to step through, take samples and step back out.

• Waiting for Orion and the others to fall into recharge, he heads to the roof of the dorm assigned to miners and tips his face up to the glittering, dizzying beauty of Iacon. Watches a flight capable Cybertronian streak by and wonders what that’s like. To be so free. Orion is the dreamer, though. Always has been. While he’s the realist. Knows that’s not meant for them. “I matter,” he whispers, voice lost in the noise of the city humming around him. Because he needs to believe that. To be satisfied.

• Heart rabbiting in your chest, you shuffle to an awkward halt, lined up shoulder to shoulder with the other explorers. Over the comms, someone’s humming the Jeopardy theme as you face that churning miasma of light and shadow. The government had dug up the gate decades ago, secreted it away to figure out. And it’s definitely not human tech. Already sweating in what’s essentially a space suit, you can hear yourself breathing as you flex your fingers in the thick gloves. They’d kitted you out with your own oxygen and water, the suit dragging you down and you want to look back to make sure the carbon fiber tether is still secured to the winch. Just in case, they said. In case they couldn’t walk back through on their own.

• “Hold,” calls a voice, almost painfully loud inside the helmet as feedback squeals in your ear. “We’ve got a power fluctuation.” And you feel it when the gate shifts, like a hook sank into your gut, tugging at you. Stumbling back a step as power arcs off the gate. Is this normal? There’s a klaxon screaming and your heart drops. Barely hear someone yelling ‘abort’ when the first person breaks and tries to run. The concrete floor under your feet buckling and cracking and you fall, sliding toward that miasma. Someone’s screaming and it might be you. Grabbing at your tether as you slide and someone else falls on you and you both hit that churning surface.

• Venting tiredly, he turns to go back down and get some recharge and feels a soft thump against his ped. And- what is that? A mini-con? A tiny, little bot with a domed, silvery head trailing a severed cable behind it. And it’s soft when he bends to nudge it with a servo. “You okay, buddy?” Head lifting to look for a transport, for any sign of where you’d come from. Knows the wealthy sometimes keep mini-cons as companions, but that tether? Had you run away? Being kept against your will? Denta gritting, he scoops you up and carries you down with him into the dorms. If you are a runaway, it’s none of his business, but mini-cons aren’t pets. No bot should be chained. But hiding you is only going to cause him problems if your keeper comes looking for you. Still, he can’t just ignore you. Can’t pretend he doesn’t see you, because he knows too well what that’s like.

Next

[acynicalsweetheart]

might be a little too cray cray but i NEED school shooter Jimmy... i need him to rape me in the bathroom stall or else he's gonna blow my brains out plsplslpls....

pairing: school shooter!jimmy x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, heavy gun violence, non-con/rape, references to rape and abuse, physical assault, creampie, mention of sandy hook and columbine but not in a political sense just jimmy being an ass tbh…

author's note: cray cray is my business… and business is good! ok sorry bad ref LMFAO umm terrible execution no pun intended hope it’s still readable.. some parts r really rushed and lazy but whatever.. interaction/feedback appreciated!!

Jimmy’s a simple man—he simply does not care. He does not care for the supposed lives or futures of these students, he does not care that he’s breaking several laws at once and he does not care because he’ll be out of town by tomorrow. 

Gonna have himself a nice bottle of Jack Daniel’s at the bar for once, or some fancy shit like that. To celebrate. 

(The one year anniversary of his bailout. Authorities have been on his ass ever since, hopes this goes out as a real neat fuck you.)

This place reeks. School-stink that Jimmy hasn’t had the absolute displeasure of breathing in for a couple of decades now. Forces its way through his nostrils like bong smoke—unpleasant in all the same ways—and has the guilt lessening by the minute. 

He finds his mind wandering back to those faces that were mainly fresh, some prematurely aged thanks to debauchery. The same ones that shoved him against lockers on a daily basis, the same ones that forced him into the janitor’s closet to perform their offences on the freak that was the broke and dirty, bone-thin boy at the back of the class. 

The same boy that might have been Jimmy himself. 

Makes it all feel a little lighter once Jimmy starts firing away at every moving thing like he’s the fucking Terminator. Jimmynator, more like. 

Sandy Hook was a hoax, Columbine will be nothing but an amateur hoax once Jimmy’s finished. Just gotta get past the 50-mark. Relatively easy when you’ve got four illegally acquired firearms and a baggie full of rounds with you. 

Jimmy loses count after 70. He empties classrooms on autopilot like killing is a chore. Shit’s kind of boring, he can’t wait to get the hell out of here. 

He isn’t going to clear out the entire school—cops will most likely arrive in approximately 10 minutes ‘cause gunshots and screams of bloody murder don’t exactly go unnoticed. And the frantic 911 calls, not to mention. Probably giving those pigs a real field day. 

Two more rooms, maybe three. 

Seems like they’ve rebuilt this place ‘cause Jimmy’s kind of lost. Can’t find any more classrooms so he goes to these reddish fugly doors that are looking mildly interesting. 

Bathrooms, hm. The embarrassment of dying while doing your business might just add up to the embarrassment of limping after homerunning a broomstick where the sun don’t shine. But will it add up to the humiliation of getting your ass beat and kicked out of your own home for being the devil’s son? Who’s he kidding, Jimmy’ll never get his justice. 

He does it anyway.

Jimmy’s egged on by his partner in crime that is the little, nagging schizophrenic voice in the back of his head. 

(The little, nagging schizophrenic voice in the back of his head that sounds eerily similar to Curly’s voice—that suburban drawl that irks him to no end. Some well-adjusted, attractive and normal blond fellow as the demon on Jimmy’s shoulder. Of course.)

Apparently the only business that was going on in the men’s was an orgie of shaking leaves and sobs. Better than nothing. 

Goodbye to you, you, you and you—oh, no, where does this one think he’s going? Man, my back hurts. That’s five more, nice job, buddy. What you at, a hundred? Should make it a hundred-and-one by finishing yourself off last. Shut up, that’s like, seventy. Oh yeah, ‘cause seventy’s real low, rookie numbers amiright? Shut the fuck up already. You’re killing people, Jim, people! School kids! They ain’t kids, they’re old as hell, plenty of cars in the parking lot. You’re a murderer. And you’re a pansy-ass, Curls. 

Shut him up real good. For the moment. 

Of course some little pussy is standing and ever-so-inconspicuously trembling like a newborn lamb behind the stall door. Like Jimmy can’t just fucking grab your legs and pull you out or something. 

He opens fire instead. 

A handful of bullets in a row shoot holes through the stall door you’re in. These nasty, smoky holes. Jimmy realizes a moment later that he should’ve aimed for the lock and not the door. Probably did wonders for intimidation though. 

Once he kicks the door open, you start screaming. He hasn’t even done anything serious yet. 

Jimmy decides to take off his stupid, cheap, stupid fucking balaclava so you can see his face. Lands on the floor. He doesn’t know if you’re screaming ‘cause you think he’s that ugly or ‘cause you’re terrified of dying. Could be a mix of both. 

“Oh my God,” the screech of your blunt nails scratching against the door as you frantically claw at it almost overpowers your voice. Doesn’t last long. “HEEEELP!” 

Jesus fuck, you’re loud. Jimmy tries to not laugh—tries. Sure’s gonna make you think he’s a psychopath. 

(The other part of Jimmy has him wondering if you’d scream like that if his cock was piercing you instead of his eyes.)

“Shut up.” He points the gun at you, pressing it firm against your ribcage and backing you up against the wall as a warning. Lets it go once you’re frozen up. “No one’s coming to help you, silly little bitch. I killed ‘em all.” Jimmy pinches your cheek in mock-sympathy. 

Your face contorts in disgust. 

It’s just a half-truth. Plenty of them are probably still alive, just in agonizing pain and suffering too much blood loss. The death will come later, hopefully. 

“A—are you gonna… kill me too?” You squeak like a mouse. 

No, I’m carrying four guns ‘cause I take pride in American culture, no matter the location. These? Oh, no, these are just splotches of strawberry jam. Silly me! Forgot to bring napkins, heh, I guess I’m just forgetful like that. 

“Yeah.” He replies causally, waiting a couple of beats to see the color of your face drain completely. “If you don’t stop talking.” 

You still don’t move.

Boring. Just ‘cause Jimmy threatened your life doesn’t mean you had to go all statue on him. Well, can’t stop now, can he? Gotta finish what he started. 

All guns but one fall to the floor with heavy thuds, you flinch about half a millimeter. It’s like you’re intent on masquerading as stone or something. 

Jimmy presses the muzzle of the rifle to your crotch, watches you come to life and stare down at it with your face oh-so-shocked, eyes wide like saucers. You’re dry heaving when he peels your panties to the side and starts prodding at your entrance. 

He’s almost hoping you’re a virgin. 

“Oh my—what are you…” the words don’t really get past your throat, your frantic breaths cutting off every word. Although, when Jimmy manages to get the muzzle inside your pussy, you shriek loud and clear. “No!”

So much for not talking. What Jimmy explicitly told you to do. Christ, what is it with females and being incompetent? Is it too much to ask for a bitch to shut the fuck up and struggle a little but not too much? A man needs to feel in control, that’s science. 

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod—

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jimmy shoves it further up, getting about a quarter of the barrel of the gun where it should never go—and you clench your thighs together. “I could shoot, you know.” 

“Please,” you plead, face scrunching up a second time as your head hangs lowly. 

“Please what, baby?” He tilts your chin up, squishing your cheeks till your lips pucker. “You wanna get fucked for real? I can do that.” 

“No,” you gasp out when Jimmy lets go of your face to reach for his belt. “Nononono, no! That’s—that’s not what I meant!”

“Shut up.” His fingers fumble with the buckle and zipper while he forces the gun out of your hole, placing it to your mouth like one would a hush finger. “You keep quiet, and I won’t blow your brains the fuck out right now, you understand?”

You whimper. 

“That’s better.”

Jimmy whips his dick out, gives it a handful of strokes for good measure, lines it up with your cunt. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jimmy grimaces at his own words, gross—sounds just like something Curly would say. Makes him contemplate if he should turn this whole thing into a murder-suicide seeing as he’s getting increasingly susceptible to turning into that milksop. 

“You’re real tight,” his tip manages to get inside, stretching you out pretty damn wide. “This your first time?” It’s a trick question to see if Jimmy should put a bullet in your brain.  

Can’t even give him a nod. Or a shake, but he finds that hard to believe. 

Fine.

He moves the gun to your head, keeping it against your temple with the trigger finger ready. In case you try anything. 

Jimmy pushes his cock all the way inside you and immediately starts thrusting up into you before you can even react. ‘Cause he’s got no time to waste. 

Face crumpled up like a used napkin and lashes wet with tears, you sob quietly. Mascara stains your cheeks and your skull thumps against the wall as Jimmy’s hips keep smacking with yours. 

Too bad he didn’t bring a camera.

Your walls are holding onto his dick for dear life, milking him like it knows he’s gotta be out of here right about now. Jimmy pants like a dog in your ear, trapping you between him and the wall. 

Man, it’s getting kind of hard to fuck you whilst simultaneously keeping an assault rifle to your head. His last name ain’t Carrey but he’s sure feeling like it right now ‘cause God is he dumb—should’ve brought a handgun for fuck’s sake. Would have made things a whole lot easier. 

His dick starts kicking after a minute, straining against your spongy walls. They feel quite sore, like Jimmy’s fucking you with a knife and not his cock. 

Has him picking up his pace till your body’s flopping around like a ragdoll. The sight of it alone makes Jimmy cum, spurts of jizz forcing itself into your womb. 

Jimmy lets it marinate for a couple of seconds before pulling out—a temporary candy cane mix of his creampie and your blood dripping out of your cunt. 

Your panties slide themselves back into place without him having to do a thing. You’re still crying like a damn baby and shaking. Snot’s coming out of your nose and it’s all very fucking gross. 

Still, you have the audacity to meet his eye. Giving him puppy eyes and fuck all. Like he gives a shit. 

The butt of Jimmy’s gun meets your face in a nice, hefty thwack! and he thinks he feels your nose break just before you black out. Probably gonna wake up with a concussion. And a flat back of the head with that death drop you just did. 

Pretty neat. 

You could pass for a dead body this way, got enough blood smeared around your pussy and thighs to make it look like you got fucked with a powered chainsaw. 

Jimmy doesn’t kill you, though, ‘cause he wants you to remember. He chooses himself to be your nightmare and panic attack for the next couple of years—possibly the rest of your lifetime. He chooses you to be the traumatized face plastered all over the news, the stammering mouth invoking mass hysteria and conspiracies about whom the perpetrator may be. 

Why else would you be the only one in the stalls, right at this time? Everything happens for a reason. 

It’s a real shame he’s gotta frame another dude, Jimmy would be quite content with being known for the largest school massacre yet. Like an Oscar of killing. Being on a run from the cops for the rest of his life isn’t exactly ideal though. 

Well, his real jail buddies will know. They’ll celebrate his name, hail him like Harris and that other guy in their rotting cells. Those opportunists striking at every drop of a soap will cling to the walls in fear lest Jimmy ever lands his ass back there. Feels like he should turn himself in just to be able to see their faces fall quicker than bullets out of a machine gun. 

Nah. Jimmy’s always preferred assault rifles. 

The assault’s got a nice ring to it anyway. Gonna make him think of you and every other wide-eyed, discombobulated bitch who’s ever had the pleasure of feeling Jimmy inside their too tight and too dry pussies. 

(And assholes for that matter.)

You were the only one who was wet. Must’ve been doing something wrong—your parents, that is. 

Jimmy whistles on the way out of your school that’s more of a complete bloodbath, really. Stepping over corpses and aspiring carcasses like they’re shit on the side of the road. 

The air’s pungently, suffocatingly thick with the stench of iron and Jimmy feels at home. Can’t get this stupid-ass tune out of his head. What’s it called again?

[callmebrycelee]

Advice from a Queer Almost-40 BuckTommy Shipper

Over the last several months, there's been a one-sided war brewing between Buddie shippers and BuckTommy shippers. As we get ready for Season 8, I want to give all of you fellow BuckTommy/Tevan/Kinley shippers some advice:

Do NOT let them ruin something truly groundbreaking and special.

I repeat:

Do NOT let them ruin something truly groundbreaking and special.

Let me take you way back to the early-2010s. Glee was quite popular in the cultural zeitgeist. The show spawned a plethora of ships including Finchel, Brittana, Samcedes, and Fabrey. However, there was one ship that reigned supreme on Beyoncé and Al Gore's internet. If you were on Tumblr during this time you definitely remember the chokehold Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson aka Klaine had on the Glee fandom.

Now I'll admit, at first, I was into the two glee club gays being together but then episode 2x06 aired. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, episode 2x06 titled "Never Been Kissed" is episode where closeted football jock Dave Karofsky cornered Kurt in the boys' lockerroom and kissed him. What followed was some of the best storytelling in the history of the show.

Over the next few seasons, we watched Dave Karofsky come to terms with his sexuality, apologize to Kurt for his relentless bullying, finally embrace his sexuality, get outed, and attempt to un-alive himself. Those of us who initially hated Dave and his initial treatment of Kurt became fans of him due to how realistic he was. If you went to high school in the early-2000s, chances are you either knew someone like Karofsky or you were him. That's why he resonated with so many of us in the queer community.

However, the showrunners weren't invested in Dave and Kurt becoming an item. You have to remember, this was the era of listening to the fandom and giving them exactly what they wanted. The fandom wanted Rachel and Finn to be together so that's what we got. The fandom wanted Brittany and Santana to be together so that's what we got. And what the fandom wanted was Kurt and Blaine.

Till this day, I still resent the fact that the showrunners and writers went the safe route when it came to couples on Glee. For the most part, all of their main pairings were expected and boring. Over a decade removed from the show, a lot of folks have come around to the idea that maybe Kurt and Blaine aren't the #couplegoals they initially thought. A lot of us will forever wonder just how different (and possibly better) the show would have been if they took a chance on Kurt and Dave.

Fast-forward to the year 2024. We have, on another Ryan Murphy show, Klaine and Kurtofsky 2.0. The moment Eddie came on the scene back in Season 2, folks on the internet started shipping him with Buck. Nevermind that these two were coded as platonic friends, here we had, once again, two good-looking guys played by two actors who have impeccable chemistry.

Much like Klaine, a lot of us see Buddie as boring. The ship smacks of cis straight women overlly fascinated by two good-looking, masculine guys. It reminds me of the overabundance of m/m romance written by straight women which have little interest in showcasing real queer male relationships and instead serve as fantasy fulfillment for straight women using two queer men as avatars to satisfy what they feel is lacking in their own heterosexual relationships. I don't necessary have a problem with those books existing but I do take issue with that kind of storytelling overshadowing queer male content written by queer male writers.

Whew! Now that I got that out of my system, let me tell you what I loved most about the latest season of 9-1-1. It seems the showrunners and writers of this show took note of what happened with Glee and they decided to go a different route. Instead of listening to the relentless noise on the internet, they have decided to not go the safe route.

Enter: Tommy Kinard.

The romance between Buck and Tommy is truly revolutionary. As someone who grew up consuming the queer media of the 90s and early-2000s, it is quite refreshing to have a couple like Evan Buckley and Tommy Kinard on primetime television. I love that many of the scenes between these two is just slice of life. Very similar to the scenes we get between Athena and Bobby and Chimney and Maddie. I've always said that true equality is when queer people can be just as mundane as straight people. Mission accomplished. Finally, we have two queer characters just existing and being happy. No AIDS. No gay-bashing. No Don't Ask Don't Tell. No epic coming out scene. Buck and Tommy are a shining example of what queer couples can and should look like in the 2020s.

So, back to my original point. When it comes to the great ship war, please do NOT let them ruin something so groundbreaking and special. If the showrunners wanted , they could have made Buck and Eddie a thing years ago. However, that's not the direction they wanted to venture. Thank you Tim Minear for not going the safe route. I look forward to all of the rich storytelling we will get in Season 8 and I have decided that whatever happens, I'm going to enjoy this era of 9-1-1. Oliver Stark and Lou Ferrigno Jr. are amazing actors but so are Angela Bassett and Peter Krause and Aisha Hinds and Kenneth Choi. All of the actors on this show, whether main or guest or supporting, are putting their whole self into crafting the characters we know and love. Regardless of what ship you champion, keep in mind that behind these beloved characters are real, human actors who do not deserve to be bullied and harrassed and threatened due to them simply doing their job. At the end of the day, everything we see on the screen is fiction.

Okay, this has gotten really long. Stepping off of my soapbox. Remember ladies and gentlemen, it's just a show. And although it makes us feel real emotions, 9-1-1 nor Glee is real life.

[akookminsupporter]

For those who were surprised or confused or were trying to find reasons on why Jikook enlisted together and *gasp* who will still be together for the next 500+ days, have you watched original content?

Like Run BTS, where JK mostly tries (yet, sometimes fails) to be on the same team as Jimin or helps Jimin (even if they're on different teams), or almost fights one of his hyungs when Jimin gets hurt by a shuttlecock (not on purpose)?

How about the Bon Voyage series, where competitive Jungkook was so happy to lose a game bec he gets to share a room w/ Jimin, or how they were mostly together, and shared food w/ each other? How JK, with a humongous backpack, was so happy to have Jimin as his partner in Hawaii? How about JK waking up early in the morning to hike and get a huge chunk of snow for Jimin? How about them walking while Jimin listens attentively to JK about sand fleas that got stuck at the bottom of his shoes?

In the Soop S1 and S2, sound familiar? The all-nighter duo going at it, drinking, laughing, smashing a mosquito net? How about having a karaoke session, eating ramen, and drinking beer? JK asking a sleepy Jimin if he wanted Haemul kalguksu?

How about the four documentaries? How they end up rehearsing until the end together, how they spend several hours per day? And yet, still wanting to be together even after they finished work? How they eat dinner in one of the rooms and talk? Or how, when one gets overwhelmed/frustrated/disappointed, they seek the other's presence?

How about those Festa videos and Festa special interviews, how they admire and inspire each other to be better at their craft, be better people?

How about the past weverse lives, esp Jungkook's ones? How about listening to other members when they say Jikook are together during this and that?

If people would just listen and look at their pattern, it shouldn't come as a surprise that Jimin and Jungkook will choose each other, especially for major decisions/moments in their lives, because that's what they've been doing the past decade.

Why undergo the complicated process of the buddy system when they would just separate after 5 months? They could have just enlisted individually. These people write lies and essays about Korean's military system, which they have zero knowledge about because it's Jikook. If other members did it, no one would question it.

Instead of worrying about JK and Jimin's safety in the artillery unit (which, quite frankly, seems intense based on what they were operating), solos and the subgroup keep spewing BS. Do you know the mental toll learning how to kill has on a person? And these guys commenting that JK is not smiling on the photo? Smh. I'm so sorry for the word vomit, Rosie. The next several months would be crazier and a lot would be more unhinged, it seems, bec they refuse to acknowledge the truth about Jungkook and Jimin's bond.

I just wish for Jikook and all the other members to come back healthy, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

OPINIONS.

[spookypanda04]

Congrats people. It's official. I am DONE. I'm done! I can't take this bullshit. The feds are fucked. They've been that way for decades and EITHER WAY THIS ELECTION WENT, we were screwed.

NOW! TO THE IMPORTANT BITS!

Republicans, remember your fellow citizens.

They just lost the most important election of their lives. You were in the same boat 4 years ago. So have some empathy and do not let their rights be stripped. The court put the power into the state's hands, meaning that it's your county delegates voting. Go call your old football buddies that you grew up with and talk to them about how your wife is doing.

Democrats, same thing.

These are your fellow citizens. Your party is supposed to be welcoming and tolerant and you're doing a piss-poor job because EVERY OTHER POST IS A DEATH THREAT. Seriously. It was the same exact thing when they lost too, so don't go blaming results. Again, have some empathy and don't tell people to kill themselves.

Now that that out of the way, there are things you can still do to prepare and protect yourself. For starters, start calling your local delegates. Make your voice heard PEACEFULLY. There's enough violence right now, and it gets us nowhere. The feds have decided to fuck a lot of us over. It's high time you guys learn that you can do something without approval.

Now if it's your physical safety being threatened? Go pull a maga and sign up for a self defense course. Take a concealed carry class. As clearly shown, guns are not the devil, people are. You've got the right to defend yourself by any means necessary, including from the government, so do it.

If you can, stockpile. Food, medicine, everything. There are ways to do it cheaply and efficiently, including those living on severely limited income. Most places, the government doesn't regulate local food pantries and they sure as hell can't regulate your garden. Canning is a wonderful thing, and for my fellow disabled people, and others, do it as a get-together and help each other out.

FINALLY!

This country is dead set on ripping us all to shreds on both sides. We can't let them. The American dream isn't dead yet, and don't let them tell you it is. Love yourself. Love your neighbors. And give em hell if they tell you otherwise.

[cyanide-latte]

Hihi!!! Tis the season to ask holiday themed asks!! Assuming the world of TWST celebrates winter holidays, do your OCs celebrate any holidays? If so, what are some things they like to do?

Thank you for including me in this idea, fam!

Admittedly this took a bit of consideration and it's still somewhat haphazard, so I apologize for that, please bear with!

Copper Benoit- While we touched on this very briefly in DMs, I don't mind expanding on it here! Copper doesn't recall celebrating winter holidays in the orphanage prior to Mr. Stone kidnapping him at age 6 or 7; he's sure the caretakers at the orphanage probably did do something for the kids, but it's been so long ago and his trauma so severe he doesn't really remember much about his time at the orphanage, let alone if they celebrated much of anything. And during the slightly-over-a-decade he's kept by Mr. Stone, nothing was celebrated, not really. So Copper's first exposure to winter holiday celebrations really begins when he starts his student career at Night Raven College! He wants to learn and respect as many celebrations of all sorts that he can (and as appropriately as possible,) so he's just happy to be a part of things and learn what these celebrations are and the significance they hold! Difficult to say what exactly that will lead to as he grows older, but he's got time to figure that out!

Wei Renqiao- Ren's family celebrates the Lunar New Year very faithfully, and when he comes to NRC, he makes certain to continue observing those traditions and celebrates in small ways before going back home to Bàoyìng for winter break. He especially loves when Ortho takes a more vested, hands-on interest in learning more about their celebrations, and goes out of his way to include him and anyone else who's curious in his festivities, even if they're much quieter in Ignihyde Dorm than they are back home!

Chrysanthos Shroud- Ahhh, here's where we get to my headcanon that the Shrouds observe a TWST version of Saturnalia; you'll have to forgive me, it's been years since I practiced observing it in high school and I'm still re-learning a lot of what I forgot, but that celebration and feast holds a special place in my heart. Even with working on re-educating myself, I do headcanon the Shrouds observe it, and it wasn't much more than a passing acknowledgement of notations on a calendar until Ilias married Kallisto. Kallisto insists on the Saturnalia season being warm and good-spirited and makes it a point to bring that together for her husband and her in-laws, so of course Chrys grew up with a very positive winter holiday celebration. His aunt and uncle and of course Ortho will also happily observe with him, though Idia has to be coaxed. Chrys loves the energy of Saturnalia and the vibes, and he brings it with him; eventually when he and Wei Xinyi start dating, the two decide to learn each other's celebrations and holiday observations, and eventually celebrate both when they get married!

The Anatoles- I do think they celebrate some sort of Yuletide holiday. The siblings are brought home during the holiday break and spend some time doing a lot of winter activities and holiday shopping and dining out, both with their great-grandmother, and with their stepfather's old jazz buddies. Their staff is offered the holiday off with double pay, but are also invited to meals at the home with them. Marianne especially wants people to eat the desserts she works hard to make, Bertrand will happily play holiday music on the piano, and Toussaint is generally pretty sleepy and calm compared to his usual energy (though still jovial as ever.) The siblings will often do their best to drag Rollo into their celebrations, despite his protests.

And last but most certainly not least, bonus surprise

The Pondicliffs- Felix and Aurelian always come home from Royal Sword Academy for Yuletide during the winter break. It's a little crowded with their sizeable family with so many dalmatian beastfolk kids, but they're pretty happy. The family tends to stay indoors most days for the break, with Felix and Aurelian often building snowmen, making snow forts and having snowball fights, or sledding downhill with their siblings, while the parents do a lot of cooking for several days. They all help with decorating their house, and spend a lot of time playing board games in the evening, having festive treats, watching holiday films, and then over the course of three days, they exchange gifts with one another! Felix loves the holidays, Aurelian's at that grumpy teen stage of hating the holidays just 'cause.

Thanks again for sending this ask! Also, would love to see more peeps and mutuals share their thoughts for their OCs and winter holidays too!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep me from going lunatic: chapter 11

Chapter Summary: The team land in Siberia. Bucky continues to piece together his memories. Steve momentarily becomes a barber.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

Chapter Warnings: minor body horror, catholicism

Steve has no idea what he's doing.

Between the two of them, Bucky was always the caretaker. Cleaning up Steve's messes and tending to his injuries. Covering his six during the war. It came instinctively to him, like looking after Steve was as natural as breathing. And it wasn't just Steve either.

Buck was the one who stayed when his Ma got tuberculosis and nursed her through it, because she was scared to death of getting Steve sick.

Buck was the one who stayed calm at Azzano, counseling his fellow soldiers on how to resist the German interrogation methods. Instructed everyone to say their name, rank, service number, and nothing else.

Buck was always the first to rise and the last to rest of the Commandos, tending the fire, taking watch, and preparing rations when everyone else was too beat.

It's always been Bucky. And Steve is so far out of his depth. He used to know Buck's body better than his own. After the serum, he could hear his damn heartbeat and know, that's his Buck. So much has changed. Zola finished the sick experiment he started at Azzano and then some. Buck doesn't remember Steve, or their place on Clark Street, or their quiet life before. Even his heartbeat is different. Where it used to be steady and firm, Buck's heartbeat is inconsistent, flailing at times. Enlarged heart, Bruce had told him. Several decades on steroids does that to the human body. Jury's still out whether it'll heal, or whether even this, Bucky's heartbeat, will remain irrevocably changed by his captivity.

But when Steve looks down at the sleeping form in his arms, none of that matters. Buck still curls into him like he did in the Alps and the bitter New York winters. He still snuffles in his sleep, instead of snoring, almost like a cat would. It's always been Bucky. It's still Bucky.

The door swings open to Bucky's apartment, courtesy of JARVIS, and Steve steps carefully over the threshold, careful not to jostle the precious weight in his arms. Steve sets him down carefully on the couch, among his nest of blankets. Buck still hasn't touched the bed, aside from pulling the blankets off of it, and Steve can't blame him. Beds are too soft these days.

Bucky doesn't stir as Steve releases him, just gives another quiet snuffle that tugs on Steve's heartstrings. For a moment, he considers staying the night, sleeping on the floor beside the couch, but he quickly thinks better of it. If Bucky wakes up disoriented from a nightmare, the last thing that's gonna help him calm down is an unintended houseguest. So Steve takes his time pulling blankets up around Bucky's prone form. If he can do nothing else, he knows how to do this. Hold him. Keep him warm. He's finally repaying the debt he'd started collecting seventy-odd years ago, when a buck-toothed James B. Barnes brought him home after a fight and held a cloth against his bleeding forehead. Even without interest, it's quite the sum to repay.

He allows himself one last look, drinking in the relaxation in Bucky's muscles he never exhibits in the daytime, the softening of his brow and unleashing of his hands, before writing a note and heading to his own apartment.

***

"So, you like birds huh?"

Clint peers at Sam through barely opened eyes. "Say again?"

"The bird thing. Where'd it come from?"

"Bird thing...oh," Clint huffs, worming his way deeper into his nest of spare parachutes he'd been asleep on. "Hawkeye. Dunno. Not a lot of things to call a sharpshooter." He considers the man in front of him. "Well at least we picked different raptors for our superhero personas. Could you imagine having a 'Hawk' and a 'Hawkeye' on the same team?

Sam snorts. "Can't say I can." His face sombers up a bit, and he looks lost in thought. "Buddy of mine, his call sign was Raptor." He shakes his head. "'Course that son of a bitch would choose the callsign that makes his name unpronounceable."

"What was it? The whole thing."

Sam sighs, his head hitting the metal wall of the Quinjet. "Ronald 'Raptor' Riley," he says, enunciating every syllable.

Clint can't stop the laughter bubbling out of his chest. "Oh. My God," he breathes. "You're right, he sounds like an absolute son of a bitch."

Sam smiles softly. "He was." Not one to let the conversation stall, Sam jabs his thumb towards the cockpit. "What's the story with you and Natasha?"

Clint sighs, stretching his legs out on the floor in front of him. "Got an assignment to take her out, made a different call instead. Been partners ever since."

"Just SHIELD partners, or...?"

Clint chuckles. "Just SHIELD." He glances toward the cockpit, chewing on his lip, like he's deciding how much to say. "I've got my hands full as is." Clint shifts on the makeshift bed. "Hell of a way for you to meet her, SHIELD falling and all that."

Sam shrugs. "A bit weird, yeah. Making two superheroes egg on toast. While on the run from the government."

"Welcome to the club," Clint snorts. “It just gets weirder from here.”

In the cockpit, Tony sits with his feet propped up on the controls. Natasha doesn't have it in her to scold him, so she focuses on flying in silence.

"How's it feel to be back Mother Russia?" Tony asks once the Quinjet flies over the border.

"I prefer Ohio," Natasha replies smoothly. She knows what he's doing, trying to get her to open up by way of childish jabs. And normally, she'd welcome it. She'd play along and give the both of them the catharsis. But this time is different. They've gone over every step of the plan dozens of times. Infiltrate, execute, extract any intel. As the more seasoned pair, she and Clint will do the initial sweep with Sam and Tony as backup. Bruce has been chosen to stay with the jet, keep her running and ready for an emergency take off. And if they really need it, he's prepared to turn a little green. But they're hoping for stealth, first and foremost.

The fact that Rumlow is still in the wind bothers her. It's unlikely that he'd found his way to Siberia, but stranger things have happened. And if he's not in Siberia, and not dead in a ditch somewhere, then…

Then a commander-level HYDRA agent is loose, and they have no idea what his next move is.

The quinjet beeps, breaking her train of thought. She deploys the landing gear and brings her down. They're here.

***

The day after movie night, Bucky wakes on his couch with no memory of how he got there. His mind begins to spiral, calculating what exactly happened last night, before he spies a note on the coffee table, written in loopy cursive.

You fell asleep during the movie and I brought you back up here. Good to see you got some rest. Let me know if you want to finish the movie.

Steve

He blinks. Steve had…carried him to his apartment? Highly unusual. He doesn't understand why they wouldn't just wake him, why Steve would inconvenience himself when Bucky was perfectly capable of walking himself. He puzzles over the last sentence. The movie was about…a rat? Cooking? It was unlike any enrichment he'd ever received. And Steve is offering to watch it, again, with him, just so Bucky can see the ending. Bizarre.

After his morning meal, Bucky decides it's time to shower. The maximum three days between showers have not passed yet, but instinct tells him it'll help…clear his head. Order his thoughts. The access to hot water doesn't cease to amaze him, and he allows himself a full minute of staring at the shower wall, not engaging in any cleansing action, while the water hits his back, soothing the ache of the prosthesis. The pain is less prominent, the more weight he puts on, but it still gnaws at him. Like a maggot burrowed into flesh.

After four minutes, he shuts off the water and assesses the reflection in the mirror. The– his body has started to fill out. His cheeks are fuller, collarbone less prominent. The stubble that had made through at least three thaws and freezes has grown, a soft beard covering his face instead of the muzzle. Even his clothes now are soft, loose things designed for comfort, not for combat. Every day, he looks less and less like The Soldier.

Except for the hair.

It hangs lifeless at his shoulders, frayed and split at the ends from cryofreeze and neglect. Natalia's shampoo had helped, but the last few inches of the hair were beyond saving. It doesn't look like…him.

It feels like a leash. Something to be yanked. Another means of control.

And he– he remembers being proud of his hair, once. It doesn't make sense, the malf–memory of a mother. His mother. Steve confirmed she was real, that he'd had a mother, but how can that be? What mother would give her child to HYDRA? She'd been happy, in the memory. And he'd had– sisters? Why would she have more children if she hated her first?

Maybe that was always the plan. Or maybe. Maybe he'd been taken. He doesn't– he seen that before, he knows– and what the girls, his sisters? Did they–

The smell of rosin and gunpowder floods his nostrils and he lurches forward, grabbing onto the sink. I'm having a flashback, he thinks, and tries to recall the exercises Rebecca had given him. He can swear he hears classical music. His metal hand turns the sink on hot, and he sticks his flesh hand under the spray.

My name is Bucky. I'm in Avengers Tower. It's 8:23am. The year is 2014.

He repeats the phrase out loud three more times, flexing his hand under the water. I'm not there anymore. I'm safe. I'm with the Avengers. I have hot water, and food, and blankets. I'm not at HYDRA.

Eventually the smell of rosin dissipates, and the strains of classical music fade into oblivion. His breathing steadies, and he turns the sink off, looking at the mirror. The hair has to go.

His weapons were taken from him the day he defected, and never returned. There's not one pair of scissors in the whole apartment. Which is how Steve ends up walking in to find Bucky trying to saw off his hair with a kitchen knife.

“Buck!” He says, panicked. “JARVIS told me you were holding a knife to yourself, what are you doing?”

Bucky's hand falls away from his head and he places the knife on the counter [Always arm a handler]. He steps back, looking at the floor. “I'm sorry. I…my hair. I'm sorry.” He doesn't dare look at Steve, who must be furious with him, for damaging his body, for causing alarm, for–

“Sir, it's ripped the arm off.” A voice, German.

All he can feel is pain and cold. Why didn't he die in the fall? Why is the bleeding stopping? He can swear he feels bones snapping back into place, an unholy exorcism. Dear God, what have they done to him? It's inside of him, inside, inside-

Blessed Michael, Archangel, defend us in our hour of conflict– Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death–

Let me die, let me die– James Barnes, Sergeant, 302–

“Then start again! Cut off the whole thing if you need to, drill into its damn scapula–”

“You wanted to cut your hair?” Steve asks, his voice low and gentle, cutting through the haze of memory and malfunction. Bucky nods, risking eye contact. Steve doesn't look furious at all. Bucky can't pinpoint the expression on his face, but his features are soft, and he gives Bucky a half-smile. “Would, would you like it if I helped?” Bucky nods, and the half-smile widens. “Why don't you come to my apartment? I've got all the supplies we'll need.”

Steve's apartment is on the floor below his. It has the same basic layout as Bucky's quarters, but it's clearly more lived in. There are dishes in the sink, papers spread out on the kitchen table, and Bucky spots a turntable set up in the corner, looking well loved. There are random bits of laundry scattered throughout the place, as if Steve tries to throw his socks in a new, obscure place every day. Steve catches Bucky looking at the laundry, and chuckles, a hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Sam stayed here for a few days while Tony got his apartment set up.” He chuckles. “I don't think I'll ever live it down. Guess the Air Force is a lot tidier than the Army was back in the day.”

Army. Back in the day. Bucky files these bits of intel away to analyze later. Steve grabs a stool from the kitchen, before guiding Buck into his bathroom and rummaging under the sink.

"We got two options here," Steve explains, pulling out a pair of shears and trimmer. "I can go old school and just use scissors, or I can use the electric trimmers. These'll make a loud noise, though," he says, holding up the trimmers. Bucky chooses scissors only. The memory of a bone saw is still pressing too close to his mind.

"I won't be able to do a fade with just the scissors, that alright?"

"S'okay," Bucky affirms, allowing himself to be guided onto the stool, Steve wrapping a ratty towel over his shoulders. "I think– I like it long.”

“How long we talkin’?” Steve asks. His hands rest on Bucky's shoulders. Bucky's brow furrows, and he guides his own hands along the curve of his skull until they hit the nape of his neck. “Here,” he says. “But long, if that makes sense.”

“Gotcha,” Steve combs Bucky's hair back with his fingers, and Bucky has to suppress a shudder at the touch. “I'll get started, and you tell me if you want me to stop or do something different, alright? All you gotta say is ‘stop’, and I'll do it.”

Bucky can't imagine asking for this to stop. He cannot remember the last time someone has touched him so kindly for so long. Steve spends a few minutes just combing through his hair, comparing lengths, before bringing his scissors to the damaged ends. “Ready?” He asks, and Bucky shakes his head vigorously. Steve begins trimming, slowly, a little at a time, giving Bucky plenty of opportunities to back out, but he doesn't.

He watches Steve in the mirror, tries to memorize the look of focus on his face, the way his tongue sticks out just a little when he concentrates. It's the same look he'll get sometimes during their music sessions, when his sketchbook is tilted on his lap and he's trying to get the angle just right. Adorable, Bucky's brain supplies. Another new word.

Steve's fingers brush against his neck as he cuts away the dead ends, and instead of panic, Bucky feels an overwhelming sense of…safety. As if his body knows the touch of those hands, has it memorized still, under the rubble that HYDRA made of his mind. Bucky wants to stay in this moment forever. Soft snips coming from the scissors, warmth from Steve's hands on his head, Steve breathing steadily in and out…

Something snags in Bucky's brain. The deep breathing, the consistency, the lack of rattling in the lungs, it's– it's important, somehow. He tries to pull on the snag, chase whatever memory he's caught on, but it eludes him.

All too quickly, it's finished. When Steve pulls away, brushing hairs from the back of his neck with the towel, Bucky looks into the mirror and sees…someone familiar. “Do you have any…” he trails off, unsure what he's asking for, but runs his hand through his hair by way of explanation.

Steve's eyes light up. “Hair gel? Sure do.” He rummages in a drawer, pulling out a metal tin, red with white lettering, Royal Crown Hair Dressing. When Bucky twists the lid off, it smells–

“Buck, will you stop primping? We're gonna be late!” A familiar face scowls up at him, dress clothes hanging loosely on his frame and blond hair partially obscuring his squinted eyes. It's– but he's so small – why is he so small?

“Hold your horses, Stevie. Expo ain't gonna start for another hour.” He turns back to the mirror, adjusting his uniform and reaching for a tin of hair gel–

Bucky breathes out. His gaze flicks from the tin of hair gel to Steve's expectant face. “I knew you,” he says. I knew you. But– how–” Why was Steve so small? Where were they? When were they?

“Easy, Buck.” Steve's hands come to his shoulders, and Bucky realizes he's been hyperventilating. “Believe me, I wanna tell you everything, but the doctors say we gotta take it slow. The memories gotta come back on their own. But,” he pauses, makes sure that Buck's looking at him, “you can always tell me what you remember, and I can confirm it, if that helps?”

Bucky nods, focusing on the firm pressure from Steve's hands to ground himself. He holds out the hair gel. “I've used this before. We were…gonna go somewhere. You told me to hurry up.”

Steve nods, grinning a bit. “Yeah, you got that right. Hey, why don't you keep that tin? I've got an unopened one under the sink. If you run out, we could buy more, maybe make a day of it.”

Once Bucky has fixed his hair how he likes, he clutches the tin close to his chest, like it's something precious. Another gift from Steve. Another memory fitting into place.

Steve makes them lunch, a pot of creamy tomato soup (from the package, of course), protein shakes for the both of them, and several grilled cheese sandwiches for himself. That's the extent of Steve's cooking know-how, and yet Bucky still watches intently, each part of this process new to him. Despite being straight out of a carton, the tomato soup is rich and bright, rivaling even the soup from last night. Bucky would be content eating soup forever, if they all taste half as good as this.

“Oh, and since you know where my place is now, you're always welcome to visit, you know?” Steve says, dipping one of his sandwiches into his soup. “Even if it's late at night. I, uh, don't sleep all that well, haven't since– well, I can’t say much about it. Just know, if you're up, I probably am too.”

Another curious piece of intel that Bucky files away. Sub-mission identified: Find out what happened to Steve.

***

The base is empty. It's pissing Natasha off.

Well, yes. The five other Winter Soldiers are there, asleep in cryo. Natasha shoots each of them point blank in the head before turning off the life support. Can never be too careful.

There's intel too, but it all looks to be from the 90’s and earlier. Nevertheless, Tony dutifully backs up every byte for them to comb through later. He walks through the entirety of the base, taking meticulous photographs and 3D scans. Natasha knows why. He's wanted to blow up this base as soon as he set eyes on the cryo chambers and the Chair in the middle of the room, restraints red with what she hopes is rust. “We can't let anyone else have this technology,” he said. “The ability to wipe a person's mind, keep them alive indefinitely? I don't care about Walt Disney's frozen head, this cannot get out.”

The team agrees. And Natasha remains pissed. Rumlow isn't here. So while she feels relieved when the base explodes into nothingness and the quinjet sets its course back home, she also feels dread.

On all of their missions together, Rumlow was strategic, calculating, and above all, always ready for a fight. Despite what her heart wants, her mind knows that him dying in a ditch would be too easy. No, he's out there, somewhere. And while he no longer has the Siberian Winter Soldiers, there's one left that he can control.

This is just the beginning of a long war. Natasha has always seen a dozen moves ahead, every mission a chess game on a global scale. But now. She had no idea what the next move is. And she doesn't know if she's a pawn. She doesn't know if she's even on the board.

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

So Gus, how long HAVE you been workin for Peppino? You two seem very buddy buddy so I thought I'd ask

Gustavo: "Well, I've been working here pretty much since Peppino opened... Which was almost two decades ago now."

Peppino: (Has it really been that-a long...?)

Gustavo: "But how we met is a pretty fun story! One could say I fell into Peppino's life, hehe~"

Peppino: "That might be-a true, but I am still going to judge you on how cheesy that was."

Flashback Peppino: "..."

Flashback Peppino: "...?"

Flashback Gustavo: "...aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Flashback Peppino: "!!!"

Flashback Gustavo: "Ow... That squirrel was so rude...!"

Flashback Gustavo: "...!"

Flashback Peppino: "???"

Flashback Gustavo: "Oh! Sorry to drop in suddenly! I'll uh... Leave you to it..."

Flashback Peppino: "..."

Flashback Peppino: "Hey, uh, wait...!"

Flashback Gustavo: "Hm...?"

Flashback Peppino: "Uh, are you-a... Feeling okay...?

Flashback Gustavo: "Yes. Why?"

Flashback Peppino: "Well, you just-a... Fell on you-a face from several feet up... What if you have a concussion or something...? Don't you think you should sit down for a moment...?"

Flashback Gustavo: "I guess that's a fair point. If you're offering a seat, then I'm Gustavo!"

Flashback Peppino: "Oh, uh... I'm... I'm Peppino..."

Flashback Gustavo: "Nice to meet you, Peppino!"

Flashback Peppino: "Heh, likewise, Gustavo..."

Gustavo: "And that was pretty much it!"

Gustavo: "I never did find that treasure I was looking for..."

Gustavo: "Or maybe I did, because the real treasure is the friendship I made with Peppino~."

Peppino: "Guh! Non puoi dire queste cose, bastardo!!!"

Gustavo: "Hehehe, I love you too, Peppino!"

(Bonus Brick Cam)

[hyperfixatinglove]

Summary: Jesse confesses to Justice. // Tw for f-slur usage in affectionate/comedic manner & usage of c-slur

@yuiaka @the-green-knight @princess-hope-selfships @wuffverine

@thirst-thirst-no-mi

Jesse Rentier sat at the bar in Calico while stars shone on the night sky outside. Seat next to him creaked and smirk danced on Jesse's lips as he knew exactly who sat next to him to enjoy some booze.

''What's on your mind?''

Edgar, his now retired partner, gruff-ed with a arched brow and bottle of whiskey. His one eye never left Jesse's form as he took gulp of the bottle.

Rentier, who had been playing with his own glass of booze, chuckled. ''Shit, that's what.'' he muttered and gulped the liquid down. He didn't pay attention to Edgar's dismissive scoff as he poured the last of his booze in the glass to be consumed.

The bar was quite full tonight, as the agents and civilians alike were celebrating the recent fall of the most horrifying sanguine attacks in the several areas of their dear homeland for decades. It was also celebration of resurrection of Rentier institute, with Emilia Blackwater and Jesse Rentier as partners to lead the agents into golden age.

Despite the dancing, joyful chatting, games and several instruments playing Jesse was not in the mood. Edgar could tell quite easily, with years behind his belt knowing the man.

''The long face despite us fucking Felicity real good and saving the president and USA? Not like you Jess.''

Another soundless chuckle and more booze down the throat. The maids at the bar kept the liquid coming all night.

Edgar gave up on trying to gauce answer out of silent Jesse and let his eyes glide over the bar. Rentier had habit of finding secluded spaces in parties and this was no different, the older man could see everyone from their spot.

His eyes landed on one particular person. Dancing with no worries and wide grin, hand on their skirt keeping fabric from hitting the floor was Justice Delaney. Their eyes were closed and dancing was messy but still elegant. The candles illuminated them like angel, etherial in their joy.

Edgar's gaze returned back to his drinking companion. Jesse's back was to him, as he had turned around, hand absently swishing the booze in his glass. The gaze tick hunter had on looking at Justice was soft, smile more sincere Edgar had seen in years. His eyes didn't leave the dancing maid even when his ex-partner tried snapping his fingers in his vision.

''You sweet on that Justice or what?''

Edgar's words snapped Jesse out of the spell he had been under. The speed he turned back around to face his retired friend was fast, honed by years of being vampire hunter.

''What? Fuck no.'' He exclaimed before dunking more booze.

''Bullshit! You're practically eating that maid up with your eyes!''

The words caused Jesse to have coughing fit and some booze landed on his armor. He let out disgusted noise. Eyes gave stern look to Edgar who was merely amused by the display.

''If you aren't, it's no big deal to ask her for dance.'' Edgar dared with mischievous glint in his eyes and smug smirk. He would trap Jesse with no way out.

''You know I don't dance Edgar.'' The first try was dismissed with a wave of hand.

The man with eye-patch leaned back, his smug demeanor continued. ''Well then it's no big deal if you went and gave her a kiss right?''

''Like hell I'm doing that.'' Jesse grumbled but his cheeks were dusted pink which only spurred his drinking buddy on.

''Guess I'm going to have to tell other agents The Great Rentier is too afraid to talk to a woman. You'll be laughing stock for days Jesse, remember the last time?''

The glass and the man stopped halfway from taking chug. The last time Jesse was teased and laughed at was decades ago, when he was mere runt, shortest of all to-be agents in training, before his height spurt. Everyone said William Rentier's son wasn't fit for field duty and should be forced to be pencil-pusher for the rest of his life, tucked away in the manor to avoid bringing shame to his father and institute. The laughing and whispers and the deep, uncomfortable silence whenever he appeared in the room with agents.. The memories were as clear as ever, the way he forced himself to train harder, gain muscle, stop voicing his opinion in case someone called him stupid or ape again.. The laughter ringed in his ears, slowly mixed with the piano music overpowering the bar, before fading into nothingness.

Part of the reason why Justice felt so safe to be around, was they never called Jesse dumb or looked down on him for not understanding science or have way with words. He hadn't been surprised when he had realized he was sweet on the Delaney but had promised to never tell. His dead father had been absolute if he were to have wife, there would be heirs, pencil pushing,being overworked and absent father like his own, loss of wife and perhaps the love of his life just like his father..

So Jesse had decided to never let it show he was sweet on the maid. Years past, as younger man he had been successful, never showing the Delaney maid was his favorite among the staff at the manor. Smile here and there, maybe little defending when their antics had negative consequences.. Nothing major so no one suspected.

And yet, it had led to this. Despite trusting Edgar with his very life, Jesse had never again trusted anyone with the matters of his mind and feelings since youth. He had barely been able to let Justice take glimpse at the man he was, besides and disregarding all the violence and tick hunting.

''Fuck you Edgar! Using that card.'' He hissed between his teeth, aggressively downed his glass of booze, before storming off. Edgar took better position in his seat and took casual swig.

Justice was oblivious to the man storming straight to them across the saloon. His expression caused the other dancers to disperse out of his way, as his face looked angry instead of focused. The maid continued dancing, in a way that made no sense to others, but was siren's call to Jesse. Come, take me, kiss me, hug me, love me

The maid yelped as their wrist was gripped, eyes snapped open and darted around, noticing the crowd staring and whispering, the music going on and on. The impulse to break free overtook them, drafted only by seeing just who was leading them away from the saloon into the beautiful night in desert.

Jesse's hold over Justice's wrist stayed as the pair stormed outside through the saloon doors. Little lanter above them was lit as signal of free rooms and saloon being open, illuminating the pair among the stars.

''You have power over me.'' Words were spoken hastily, in a whisper, in a tone so vulnerable the meaning of the words struck Justice. Mr Rentier never admitted being weak, some agents wondered had he heart at all, so the rumors went inside Calico.

The maid knew Rentier enough to know he hated when he wasn't in control, when he didn't have power over his own actions and body. How frustrating it must be to want to be strong and be so weak to yourself.

Their heavy breathing slowed down. Stars twinkled in the sky above and the piano in the saloon softly filled the silence. Justice's eyes were on Jesse, who had taken off his hat, revealing his buzz-cut hair, eyes fixated on the night sky, cheeks pink with tears.

''Promised as lad to never tell. No one would ever have power over me, no way to laugh at me again. Then you showed up. Maid in manor. Always kind, you. How could I not? How could I not fall for you? After momma, no one had been kind.''

Justice was in shock. They had been gossiping with fellow maids back at the manor, how the son of the owner never married despite being quite handsome and admittedly the smiles Justice had been seeing gave them thrill, and maybe once or twice they had imagined themselves as heiress of Institute by Jesse at their side.. But, those had been fantasies, not true dreams.

Until the attack of the manor and following months. Until witnessing Jesse's pain, until growing close in horrible circumstances..

Never had Justice even fathomed the possibility the heir of Institute itself had romantic feelings towards them!

Scarlet redness snaked to their cheeks and nose and the chilly desert air meant nothing. Eyes twinkled with pure joy as silly, wide grin erupted to Justice's face.

The joy was overwhelming and they had no say in their actions. In a flash their hands were on Jesse's arm, the one he suffered shoulder pain from, from years of holding the heavy gauntlet. Their body jumped up and down, not caring for Jesse's questioning stare.

''Nerd.'' He whispered, but muttered in affection. The jumping slowed, then ceased, as did the smile on Justice's face.

''Call me slur Rentier!'' Shouted with such conviction and sudden anger, as slip of tongue, it shocked the man beside them.

Heavy silence fell the duo as Justice slapped their hands to their mouth. Jesse's eyebrow arched in confused smirk.

''You- You want me to call you faggot? In affection?''

''If that's what fucking you want too!'' The haste which the words were blurted gave Jesse pause. He thought he had been obvious in his affectionate tone and yet.

''Are you angry I called you nerd?''

A huff. Justice was adorable while mad. The lantern illuminated their lush hair, making them look irresistible to the cowboy.

Jesse's hand grasped Justice's waist, gently bringing them closer to one another. The shorter one, who had turned their head away, stared at his eyes with open wonder and sparkle in their eyes. With genuine smile Jesse leaned down to close the gap between their lips.

The one kiss he had as kid didn't compare to the sweetness of this, how right it felt, how warm another body was pressed to his, how perfect their lips slotted together. Another hand on the back of the maid, Jesse felt the shiver coursing through Justice's body. He caused that

''I didn't think it would go this way.'' He whispered as they parted. Justice's eyes were wide, twinkling with awe, cheeks redder than he had seen.

''I didn't know how you meant it.'' The younger whispered, hands fiddling with the fabric of their skirt. A gulp. ''What did you mean by power?''

Jesse shook his head with a smile. Justice was dense.

''I love you.'' The three famous words fell by far much ease he had expected them to. The truth felt liberating.

Justice's delicate hands touched his cheeks. He couldn't look away, not from those adoring eyes.

''I love you too Jesse.''

He smiled, finally genuine full-blown smile, cheeks dimpled, old scars accented and made visible under lantern light. Defeating Felicity was damn good thing indeed. Giving him confidence to talk to pretty..

Actually Jesse didn't give shit what exactly Justice was. Justice was his and that was all that mattered. They were both cripples, Jesse with his shoulder pain and Justice with knee and other joint pain and he has known from young age he was queer, faggot. He just had power to protect himself, to protect Justice. He would never let them go.

Lacing his fingers with Justice's, he flashed a smile to his new partner.

''How about horseback ride tomorrow darlin?''

The sloppy kiss he got in return was answer enough.

[whatwouldeddiedo]

i guess i just jotted down a several sentences sunday that's a bit of a continuation of the little proposal i wrote last night. i've had this bit of, like, buddie talking about how they Could Have Been in another life for a while and in it it's always happening in this exactly situation. i don't think i'll ever write a longer fic but i thought i could make it part of that universe.

buck/tommy but mostly buck/eddie as the platonic soulmateism variety on buck and tommy's wedding day. i hope you enjoy it. please tell me if you do.

"so what are you thinking about, buckley?" eddie steps into the room. he's wearing a suit and his hair is loose and falling into his face. if buck didn't know better, he'd think eddie was trying to show him up on his own wedding day.

"my name isn't going to be buckley in like an hour." he turns around, sucking in a breath. "do you think i chose the right suit? maybe i should have gone with the green."

"the blue is perfect. everyone will be lucky if tommy doesn't rip it off you right there at the alter." eddie adjusts buck's tie ever so slightly.

"right." buck laughs and ducks his head.

"i'm still calling you buck. i am not going to start calling you evan."

"no, please don't. weird." buck laughs.

"are you nervous?"

"oh for fucking sure." buck breathes in. "what if he leaves me at the aisle?"

"tommy? no way, man. he's been in love with you since you met. do you remember what an asshole you acted like? you fucking broke my leg, buck!"

"you sprained your ankle. don't be dramatic." he laughs quietly. "oh god, you're going to talk about that in your best man's speech, aren't you?"

"guess you'll have to wait and find out."

"such an asshole."

"that's why i'm your best friend."

"dad! they're ready for buck!" chris pops his head into the room and then immediately ducks back out.

"well, that's it then. you're about to be off the market."

"i think i've been off the market for a while."

"maybe." eddie brushes some lint off buck's shoulder. "you look great. tommy is a lucky man. you are too. you deserve this."

"you know," buck laughs. "there was a time when - i don't know. i know before tommy i didn't really - " buck waves his hand around. "but i did wonder about us."

"us?" eddie raises an eyebrow.

"you know, yeah. i watched you get shot in front of me and just thought, if i lose him now - " he shrugs. "but then you were fine and you were with ana and i just let it pass. we were both straight - i thought we were both straight, anyway." buck grins. "but in another life - "

"you wish, buckley." eddie rolls his eyes. "but yeah, maybe. maybe in another life the last thought before i thought i was dying was i love him and he'll never know."

"damn, we really could have been epic."

"nah, this is how it was supposed to happen."

"you're right, diaz. don't let it go to your head. would have been fun, maybe, to have a fling, though."

"i'm gonna tell your husband you said that. i'm rewriting my speech as we speak."

"if you tell my new husband i confessed i had a lapse in judgement half a decade ago, i swear to god!"

"hey, you're the one who told me on your wedding day!"

"eddie!" buck laughs. "i do love you, you know. you're my best friend."

"yeah, i'm the best. it's true." eddie hugs around buck and grips the back of his neck, tightly. "you're more than my best friend. hope tommy realizes that he's marrying you, but i'm part of the deal."

"oh he definitely knows that."

"BUCK!"

"when did chris get so loud?" buck snorts.

"he gets that from you." there's a twinkle in eddie's eye. "i hope tommy also knows he's a step dad to a teenager who's angling for a car for his 16th birthday."

"oh chris has already started telling him about it."

"come on, lets go walk you down the aisle before chris goes to get maddie to come yell at you, buckley. or should i say Mr. Evan Kinard." eddie hooks his arm in buck's.

"that sounds so fucking good."

"yeah, yeah it sounds pretty right."

buck grins and lets eddie lead him to the hall where his future husband is waiting.

[spectrechosts]

Hell's Belles

Yeah there's more of the succubi too. What can I say? I get attached to my characters.

Same deal as Better Off Together, these are just little snippets of hanging out in hell. There is actually kinda an arc across some of these and another thing but like. Don't expect big plot.

Anyway, regarding this chapter: Lilith and the other rulers of Hell have a meeting every 10 years. It takes maybe half an hour and is still the low point of everyone's decade every single time.

Full Series

"Asmodeus! You're late."

Lilith looked around the conference room, empty aside from her, Lucy and the Lord of Pride.

"I'm three minutes early." She said. "And it's Lilith. As it was last meeting. And several hundred before that."

"Sure, early for the meeting. But you should really show up seven to ten minutes before, help set up, show initiative, y'know, like I do." Abbadon said. "And you should use your new name! Going back to your human name, it makes it seem like you don't even care about your place here.

"I'll take that under consideration, Abbadon."

Lilith fucking hated these meetings.

The other Lords of Sin filtered in over the next few minutes, aside from Belphagor, who they had all long since given up on expecting to arrive on time.

"Alright, the decennial meeting of greater demons is now in session." Lucy said, clicking on a tape recorder. "Lucifer, Lord of the Seven Hells, presiding as always. Belphagor absent, assumed late, again, as always."

She sighed, and flipped open the first page of a printout.

"First on the agenda, we have a proposal from Beezlebub?"

"Actually, I would like to hold off on that until Belphagor gets here." The insectoid Lord of Gluttony buzzed, between fistfuls of food.

Ugh, watching him indulge in his sin always made her wonder if she should bring a few girls to these meetings. Might make them slightly less unbearable.

"Second on the agenda, Lilith wishes to reopen discussions of your ongoing torture strike."

Lilith sighed heavily.

"I would once again like to ask Satan to please join us in our strike. It doesn't have to be permanent, but having no sinners punished at all is going to get more attention from upstairs than-"

"THE DAMNED SHALL CONTINUE TO FEAR MY MIGHT!" Satan bellowed, shaking the room with the force of his voice.

"Just for a few decades-"

"THEY SHALL KNOW NOT A SECOND OF PEACE IN MY HELL!"

"Inside voice, big guy." Belphagor said, yawning as she appeared at the conference table wrapped in blankets and clutching a large stuffed shark.

"Belphagor! Lilith, are you-?"

"I'm done." Lilith sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Okay, so-"

"Abababap- Hang on. I'm after Lilith on the agenda." Mammon tutted, jutting a finger out.

"But-"

"This is my timeslot. You had yours, you didn't want it, you can wait. Lucy?"

"It's his timeslot." Lucy agreed. "Mammon, your proposal?"

Mammon cleared his throat. "Alright, you guys are gonna love this. Souls, they're so inconvenient, aren't they?"

"No?"

"Nope."

"Never once thought this."

"Now, hear me out here. One word. Soulcointm."

"SOUL AND COIN ARE TWO WORDS!" Satan yelled, frustrated.

"Yes, but I'm combining them into one new word. Soulcointm."

"Why do you keep saying it like that?" Lilith asked, and instantly regretted engaging with the conversation.

"Ohohoho, why indeed! You see, Soulcointm is no mere currency, my friend, no no-"

"We aren't friends."

"- Soulcointm is the Web3, blockchain capable solution we need to bring the Seven Hells into the next generation!"

"Mammon, none of what you just said meant anything. At all." Said Abbadon.

"Now, I know you're asking, 'Mammon, how do I get some Soulcointm?' And folks, it's so simple, you'll be racking them up in no time. You send me, your buddy Mammon, souls."

"Nope."

"And what I do, is I mint an equal number of Soulcointm and put them in your digital wallet. And that's on the blockchain. That's verified."

"…But, I want souls so I can eat them." Said Beelzebub, and the other lords nodded in agreement. "What can I do with soulcoins?"

"It's Soulcointm, and that's what I'm here to propose. What I need you all to do, is drum up Soulcointm hype, get people onboard, so they want 'em. And then, when everybody wants them, we stop minting more. Then, the Soulcointm that you got at a rate of one to one soul, people are lining up to buy them for more and more, five, ten, a hundred souls apiece!"

"So that they can do what with them, Mammon?"

"Well, now they have them, and people will want to buy 'em for souls!"

"Motion to stop talking about this?" Beelzebub asked.

"All in favour?" Asked Lucy, and all but Mammon raised their hands. "Motion passed. Beelzebub, what is your proposal?"

"Luddites." Mammon grumbled.

"Alright!" Beelzebub buzzed. "I would like to propose that Lust, Gluttony, and Sloth, are all the same sin, and should be consolidated into one circle: Hedonism. The pursuit of pleasure."

"Interesting!" Lilith chirped. "Fuck no!"

"Awww c'mon, you can't deny it makes sense! All three of us are about overindulging in earthly pleasures!"

"You just want to fuck the succubi!"

"Yeah! I do!"

"Well, get in line and pay them like everyone else."

"You don't pay them!"

"Because they love me, dickhead. Answer's no."

"Well, my answer is yes! Belphagor?"

Belphagor snored loudly, having fallen asleep during their argument.

"What- Belphagor. Belphagor wake the fuck up. I'm trying to help us both out here."

"Wake her up and put it to a vote if you want, my girls still aren't going to want to serve the Lord of Maggots." Lilith hissed.

"Oh, yeah, real nice coming from the girl who can look however she wants, shit on the bug guy-"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

Mammon cleared his throat loudly.

"You know, these are supposed to be civil meetings. Are we done with this discussion?"

"Yes." Said Lilith.

"No!" Whined Beelzebub.

"Yes." Said Lucy. "That's all that was scheduled on the agenda, would anyone like to discuss anything not-"

"Ooh, ooh, me!" Mammon said, waving his hand in the air. "Pick me!"

"Mammon, speak."

"Now, as my friend Beelzebub has so astutely pointed out-"

"Not your friend." Beelzebub buzzed.

"- the Hells are in need of some restructuring. Some consolidation."

"Oh for fuck's sake, you see what you've done? We're not having this fucking discussion again-" Lilith seethed, her talons scratching deep grooves into the table as she gripped it, furious.

"I would like to posit that there is only one sin: Greed, and all circles should be placed under my rule."

"NO!!! NO THEY FUCKING SHOULDN'T I'LL WRING YOUR STUPID PENCIL NECK-"

"Easy there, Lord of Sex Greed."

"This is ridiculous!" Beelzebub buzzed furiously, his loud droning filling the room.

"It was your idea, Food Greed!" Mammon said, shrugging. "You and her and Sleep Greed are all the same, because you're aaaaallllllllllllllllll Greed, baby."

"Sleep greed is a stretch and you know it."

"Why are you mad? I'm agreeing with you! We should take your good idea further! Bring in Violence Greed, Attention Greed, Greed For Other People's Shit-"

"I have so little compared to you fuckers, and you want to take it from me?" Whined Leviathan.

"I, for one, am good with my circle remaining how it is." Said Abbadon, smiling smugly.

"Oh, sure you are, Mr. Perfect, the mortals throw parades for your sin."

Abbadon's smile faltered, a tiny bit.

"Actually, Lilith gets those." He mumbled.

"Of course she does, Lucy plays favorites." Leviathan whined, and then withered under Lucy's glare.

"I don't pick what the sins are, nor where sinners are sent, nor how many circles there are. You want to reorganize, take it up with God. Leviathan." She snapped, and he whimpered pathetically. "Whine all you want, but if you question my leadership again there will be dire consequences. Mammon, Beelzebub, you have your own circles, stop being dickheads. Belphagor-"

She cupped her hands around her mouth.

"WAKE THE FUCK UP! I MAKE YOU COME TO ONE MEETING A DECADE! PAY ATTENTION!"

Belphagor woke with a start, and Abbadon snickered.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, boss-"

"Abbadon, quit being such a kissass."

Lucy closed her eyes and rubbed her hands down her face, groaning.

"If that's all, meeting adjourned. Get the fuck out of my office."

"Why don't Satan and Lilith get yelled at?" Whined Leviathan.

"Because they're my favorites."

"I WOULD LIKE TO BE INCLUDED IN THE YELLING!" Yelled Satan.

"FINE."

"YIPPIE!!!"

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found- Chapter 26

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. However, you do not need to read the other fics to understand this one)

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @residentdormouse @thebejeweledwatercat @asirensrage @theesirenteller @ninjasawakenedmystar @alisbackalleybbq @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity @fanficanatic-tw @karimac @kmc1989

Warnings: profanity, brief mentions of blood, bruises, scrapes, cuts. Nothing major.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/134444914

My tag list is OPEN. Please just message me or comment on this post to be added :D

*****

The house is one of half a dozen Nik has collected around the world; located on the Amalfi Coast along the southern edge of Italy’s Sorrentine peninsula. A highly secure five-bedroom, six-bathroom villa that backs onto a cliff that overlooks the Tyrrhenian Sea; built a kilometre from the main road and hidden from sight by a dense, expansive lemon grove.

Despite the years of both work experience and friendship, he had never set foot in any of her homes; business always being conducted in neutral yet secretive places, over the telephone, or even -years before- at his old shack in the outback. They have always travelled in different circles; Nik’s beyond-the-job friendships extending to powerful politicians, multi-million and billionaire businessmen, heads of organized crime and the shady, top-notch lawyers that defended them. Tyler prefers to stick with the couple of buddies he’s known for years; the ones that he can trust with nearly every one of his darkest and deepest secrets. Koen and Rata both serving with him in the ‘normal’ ranks of the Australian Army before he secured his place with SASR. The former his direct superior officer for several years; since the day he’d shown up at boot camp as a cocky, wet-behind-the-years eighteen-year-old.

While Nik prefers the sophisticated, luxurious life that being a gun runner and the head of her mercenary business provides her, Tyler has always lived well below his means. Able to afford much more than that shack in the outback and even the house in the Broome, but never feeling the need for something more expensive and flashy. Even keeping the same old pickup he’d had since he was a teenager; doing his own repairs for nearly two decades before finally running the old girl into the ground.

Their distinct differences had prevented him from developing something more with Nik; drawn instead to the normalcy and practicality that Esme brought into his life. She had always longed for a much simpler and quieter existence; preferring not to draw attention to herself and never surrounding herself with those that they encountered in their respective careers Somehow managing to keep the two sides of her life -of HERSELF- completely separate; leaving the job behind the second a mission wrapped and able to -no matter how brief- enjoy a normal life. The job didn’t control her, and she didn’t obsess over her successes and failures. Indulging instead in all the little moments that came with routine and domesticity. Nik, however, was unable ever to let the job go. Spending every waking moment immersing herself in the lifestyle and enjoying its spoils. And she certainly never entertained the idea or wish of something more beyond it; laughing off any suggestion that perhaps marriage and children and settling down were somewhere in her cards.

He had never realized he wanted any of that either; his first marriage had crashed and burned, and he’d been a complete and utter failure as a father. But then he’d met Esme, and everything quickly changed. HE changed. Finding himself both mesmerized and intrigued by the love and joy she somehow still possessed for life and everyone in it, the whimsy she possessed, and those hopeful and wistful dreams that she carried with her everywhere she went.

THAT was someone he could see carving out a future with.

Upon arrival, he reluctantly puts his trust in the medic to ‘deliver’ Esme to the waiting doctor; a longtime colleague of Nik’s who has attended to many injuries -both minor and life-threatening and everything in between- over the course of the last decade and a half. The largest of the villa’s guest rooms is already prepared and stocked with various medical equipment and supplies: a machine to monitor vitals, an IV stand and a pain medicine pump. And it isn’t until that moment that he’s able to register his discomfort; plagued by near-crippling mental and physical exhaustion. His entire body screaming in pain; his lower back on fire, both his knees stiff and painful, and his head pounding from a likely concussion of his own. Yet he knows sleep will likely elude him. Plagued by a potent mixture of emotions; the profound worry for Esme, the lingering regret and guilt for his choices, and his momentary lapse of judgement. And a rage that remains on a low boil when it comes to both Alessio, his actions, and Winston’s betrayal and the words he’d spoken in the basement.

Instead of allowing himself to second-guess his decisions and plot revenge, he focuses on Millie. Carefully unbuckling her from the booster seat in the back of one of Nik’s many chauffeured cars, easily lifting her with one arm and tucking her tight into his chest. Her legs and arms dangle loosely as her head rests on his shoulder; not offering up even the slightest of flinches or mumbles when he tosses her sequined unicorn backpack -full of her art supplies, finished pictures, and her beloved doll and koala bear- over his shoulder.

“Her room’s the first one at the top of the stairs.” Nik nods toward the central staircase; gleaming white and gray marble accompanied by polished steel handrails and glass panels. “On the right.”

It makes the bitterness return; the realization that Millie has her own ‘place’ in Nik’s home. An expansive and beautiful suite fit for a princess, decorated in all of her favourite colours, holding all of her favourite toys and belongings, the closets filled with her clothes. He had been robbed of all of that; never getting the chance to put a crib together, change a single diaper, put her in a bubble gum pink onesie, or slip one of those ridiculous flowered headbands onto her head. He never got to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story; he was never able to help with potty training or assist with brushing her teeth. He hadn’t witnessed her going from rolling from back to front and side to side to sitting up and eventually pulling up into a stand. He wasn’t there when she’d taken her first steps, hadn’t seen her learning to run, and hadn’t heard her first words.

So many missed opportunities. Things that others had been blessed to experience. While he’d never even known of her existence.

He uses a hip to push open the door and an elbow to flick on the light. The room is enormous; possessing its own walk-in closet and ensuite bath and a separate crafting area sectioned off with a dinosaur AND princess-themed room divider. An entire wall is taken up with built-in shelves, hosting books, stuffed animals, and a wide selection of Barbie dolls, action figures, and matchbox cars. A wrought iron canopy bed sits in the middle of the room and atop a three-stepped platform; the frame decorated with pink and gray camouflage drapes and the mattress covered in a Batman comforter.

Tossing the backpack in a nearby chair, he climbs the steps to the bed; Millie clutched to his chest with one arm as his free hand pulls back the blankets and flat sheet. And she gives a slight whimper and a heavy sigh when he places her in the middle of the mattress; her eyes flickering open as she lets out a long, soft “daddy” and reaches up for him.

Time seems to stand still. His entire body tenses as the emotions -profound and overwhelming- rush through him. It’s been a long time since he’s been called that; over a decade since Austin had addressed him that way during his last weeks in the hospital as the cancer ravaged him. Esme had been the one who’d given him a semblance of hope; that one day he’d once more be given that title and he’d hear the word come out of a little one’s mouth. When she left, that dream had evaporated; gone was the one person he could ever see making that kind of commitment and building that kind of future with. And while Millie may not be fully aware of what she’s saying in a semi-conscious moment, it still nearly brings him to his knees; tears welling in his eyes as his throat tightens and his heart hammers within his chest.

Grumbling her displeasure of being awakened, Millie sits up in bed; her brow furrowed and eyes half closed, a pout curving her lips. Stuck in a state of disorientation and confusion as she glances around the room. “Where are we?”

“We’re at Auntie Nik’s house. The one in Italy. Remember how I told you? About how we were going to stay here for a few days?”

“Oh…” Yawning noisily, she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. “...yeah…I remember. Where’s momma?”

“The doctor is taking a look at her. Just to make sure she’s doing alright. Then she’s going to sleep. Just like you’re going to. You want jammies on or are you just gonna sleep in your clothes or…?”

“Jammies, please. Where’s Franklin? And Posie? I can’t sleep without Franklin or Posie. Posie needs her jammies on, too. They’re with mine. They match.”

Collecting the doll and koala out of the backpack, he drops them on the bed. “And the jammies…”

“In my dresser. Top middle drawer.”

He searches for pyjamas for both her and the doll, finally locating matching nightgowns: white cotton with thin straps, the fabric emblazoned with colourful butterflies.

“Those are my favourite!” Millie enthuses, as she wriggles out of her clothes. “Mommy made those for us! Out of pillowcases! They’re really supposed to be dresses, but I always liked wearing them as jammies. So does Posie.”

“Your mum’s a pretty talented one, isn’t she?”

“Most of the time. Just don’t ask her to cook. She’s not very good at that. At all. My dirty clothes go in there…” She nods towards the ensuite bathroom.. “...that’s where the washer and dryer are.”

“You have your own washer and dryer? You're four.”

“It’s not like I know how to use them. They’re just there. For convenience, I guess. Well, I do know HOW to put stuff in the wash and in the dryer. I just can’t reach to turn them on.”

“You are way too smart for your own good.”

“Mom says that all the time.”

Retreating to the ensuite, tossing the clothes into the washer; leaving the door open for more to be added later. And when he returns to the bedroom, both Millie and the doll are already in their pyjamas; the four-year-old waiting in bed with a hairbrush in one hand, and a package of elastics in the other.

“We have to do my hair. Or it gets really knotted when I’m asleep and then it’s really hard to brush it in when I get up.. And it hurts like hell too! Do you know how to braid hair?”

“No.”

“I can teach you!”

“How about we leave that for tomorrow? When it’s not so late. Think maybe we could do something else with it? Put it in a bun or a ponytail or…?”

“Ponytail is alright. But you gotta put it up on the top of my head, or I can’t sleep. ‘Cause it hurts to lie on it.”

He gingerly and patiently works the brush through Millie’s tresses, then gathers it in both hands and secures it with the hair tie she passes to him. It’s a simple experience shared with his daughter, yet it brings back vivid memories of similar moments with her mother. Those times when Esme would be busy in the kitchen; focused on a recipe she was trying to recreate or the baking that had that little cabin filled with delicious aromas. He’d approach her from behind; sneaking a kiss to her cheek or temple before putting her hair back for her.

“What else?”

“I gotta brush my teeth.”

“How ‘bout we skip it tonight?”

“Momma won’t like that.”

“I won’t tell her if you won’t. We’ll just make sure you brush them twice as long after breakfast.”

“Does that work? Does it really make up for not doing it before bed?”

“Of course. Would I lie to you?”

Millie shakes her head, ponytail swaying from side to side.

“So does your mum read a story to you or…?”

“Sometimes. Not every night. Only if I ask. I’m too tired tonight. No stories. But thank you.”

“Do you want me to just tuck you in or…?”

“Will you snuggle with me? Just for a little bit? It’s been a really bad day, and I’m still super sad. I need a snuggle. A really good one. And momma can’t do it, so…”

He agrees to the snuggle; moving towards the door in order to shut off the lights, pauses with his hand on the switch. “You got a night light or something?”

“Nope. I’m not scared of that dark, daddy. I’m not a baby!”

He wants to tell her that yes, she is. That she’s HIS baby. How regardless of how old she gets and how many children she has of her own, she always WILL be. And while the first time being called daddy had been a shock, the second occurrence hits even harder; the realization that it was a fully conscious decision on Millie’s part and not just a slip of the tongue… a random moment…while still teetering on the edge of sleep. He’s thankful for the darkness that envelopes the room when he turns off the light, able to hide the tears sparkling in his eyes and the millions of questions a very observant Millie will lob at him. And climbing into bed beside her, he wraps both arms around her; that tiny body snuggling tightly against him, doll and bear under one arm, her face nestled in his ribs.

“You good?”

“I’m good. You’re nice and warm. And comfy. You make me feel safe. Like I don’t have anything to be scared of.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. No one can hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. And I’d promise with a million pinkie promises.”

“That’s a lot!”

“That’s how honest I’m being. You and your mum ARE safe. And I’ll make sure you stay that way. I won’t let anyone hurt you guys. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of you. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nuzzling her face against his side, she places her free hand on his chest. “Will you draw on my back? Please? It helps me sleep.”

He obliges, his own eyes closing as his fingertips create random patterns on her back. Several minutes passing before she yawns and raises her head to look at him, eyes sparkling in the moonlight that streams through the curtains.

“Daddy?”

“Millie?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’ll go to sleep AFTER I ask my question.”

“What is it?”

“You and momma lived together, right? Before I came along? In Australia?”

“We did.”

“In the house you live in now?”

“No. A different house. In a different part of Australia.”

“But the house you live in now is the house we are ALL going to live in? Or do we have to get a new one?”

“We won’t have to get a new one for a while. There’s enough room for all of us. And maybe one or two more people.”

“That means you and momma can start having babies!”

“That’s something your mum and I would have to talk about. I don’t know if she’s quite ready for that. Having babies.”

“Well, I hope she’s ready soon. ‘Cause I really want to be a big sister. And I’m not getting any younger!”

“If you think you’re not getting any younger, how do you think I feel? I’m way older than you are.”

“How much older?”

“A lot.”

“How much is that? How old ARE you?”

“I’m forty.”

“Holy shit!”

“Excuse you? Forty’s not THAT old.”

“It’s middle age! You’re older than momma!”

“I am.”

“Momma’s only thirty-four. But she’s going to be thirty-five soon. Maybe we can have a party for her. For her birthday.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t.”

“We can even make her a birthday cake and put up balloons and streamers and play games! We can even take her out for dinner!”

“You got it all planned, do you?”

“Most of it. I don’t know about the guest list, though.”

“That’s something we can talk about when it’s closer to the time. For now….” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “...it’s time for bed. It’s late. And it’s been a really long day. Time to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she pecks his cheek, followed by the corner of his mouth. Her face buried in his ribs as she once more lies down next to him. “Goodnight, daddy. Love you.”

Tears threaten once more. “I love you, too. So very much.”

*****

He’s teetering on the edge of sleep when a soft knock comes to the door; Nik standing on the threshold, motioning for him to join her and the doctor in the hallway. Carefully slipping from under Millie’s arm and out of bed, he tucks the blankets around her slumbering form and then leans down to press a kiss to her forehead. Reluctantly leaving her side, he joins Nikand the doctor in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“How’s she doing?” Nik inquires, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

“She’s finally asleep. I don’t know where she gets all that energy from. She wore me out a long time ago.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, daddy. She’s cute as hell, but she can be a real handful. And you’ve just been thrown right to the wolves.”

“Esme?” Tyler addresses the doctor. “ How is she?”

“Very lucky. Considering the intensity of the crash and the damage done to the vehicle, I’m surprised we’re not looking at life-threatening injuries. If not worse.”

“Anything I need to worry about or…?”

“For the most part, I agree with the medic’s findings. There’s no sign of internal bleeding, and there’s no dilation of the pupils, slurred speech, or difficulties with reflexes. And no confusion; she was able to tell me her full name, what day, month, and year it was, and give a very detailed description of what exactly happened. Ruling out a brain injury, the diagnosis remains the same; whiplash and a moderate to severe concussion. Both should begin to ease within the next few days. I do suspect a bruised liver and spleen, however. I’ll be able to monitor those over the next forty-eight hours. For any sign of tearing or rupture.”

“He does think the sternum is broken,” Nik pipes up. “Based on the severity of the pain. And limited movement.”

“Nothing more than a hairline fracture,” the Doctor explains. “And nothing that we could repair surgically or even cast for. The best course of action is none; just letting it heal on its own. She’ll need to rest it for at least four weeks; no lifting anything over ten pounds, no repetitive movement. She can wear a sling if she finds it lessens the discomfort. As far as I can tell, the majority of the pain is actually from the contusion caused by the seat belt; deep and prolific bruising from the top of her shoulder, running diagonally to the left hip. I have her on IV antibiotics and pain meds for the next twenty-four hours; after that I’ll be able to switch her to oral medication.”

“Can she eat or drink? If she wakes up hungry or thirsty…?”

“She’s allowed both solids and liquid. I suggest keeping meals small and light. Her system is in shock from the amount of injuries and the pain; anything too heavy could cause stomach upset. And preventing further discomfort is important at this time.”

“And how long will we have to stay here? When can I take her home?”

“Within a week, she should be able to move around quite freely and without much difficulty or pain. I wouldn’t suggest flying any sooner than that; the altitude would put pressure on the brain, and with the concussion, it could cause severe issues. Swelling, blood clots, aneurysms. It’s safer to wait seven days. After that, even when home, you’ll have to keep an eye on her; make sure she stays on top of her meds, and follows the rules when it comes to healing properly.”

“But she’s going to be okay? She’ll be back to normal? Eventually?”

“She’s young and healthy. There’s nothing to suggest she WON’T be back to normal. Just keep an eye out for anything that suggests trouble; severe headaches beyond what a concussion would provide, any unexplained swelling and redness anywhere on the body, a high fever, speech issues, or any loss of consciousness. If any of those happen, she has to be seen immediately. Wherever you are. Now…” Tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrow as he takes in the various bruises and cuts on Tyler’s neck and face. “...perhaps I should take a look at YOU now.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine. I cleaned myself up. Fixed what I could. I don’t…”

“You should be looked at,” Nik gently persuades. “Esme wasn’t the only one in that accident. You’re pretty banged up. Just let the doctor take a look and…”

“I said I’m fine.” His voice stern. Harsher than it needs to be. “I’ve gone through a lot worse. And lived to tell about it. All I really need is some sleep.”

“If you have your own concussion or some internal damage or…”

Ignoring Nik, he once more addresses the doctor. “I’ll let you know if I start feeling worse. Right now, I’m just tired. I just need to rest. It’s been a hell of a long day. Thank you,” He offers his hand. “For taking care of her. If anything had have been seriously wrong…”

“She’s going to make a full recovery. And because of her good health and how she’s taken care of herself throughout her life, she’ll likely heal faster than most. Right now, rest and relaxation are her best friends. And keeping up with a med schedule. I’ve left my home and cell numbers on the nightstand in the bedroom; call if you have even the slightest bit of concern. I’ll be right over.”

Nodding in both appreciation and farewell, he turns on his heel to head for the bedroom next door.

“Tyler…wait…”

“Nik, not tonight. I’m not in the mood for this shit. I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I desperately need at least a few hours of sleep.”

“I wasn’t going to…”

“I don’t need to have the doctor look at me, and I sure as hell don’t need you getting on my ass. So if you're even thinking about bringing up me leaving when all this is over…”

“Actually, I WAS going to say that I had your things brought to the room. And that there are fresh towels and facecloths in the bathroom. I would have had one of the other guest suites made up, but I already knew you would argue with me; that you wouldn’t want to be away from her.”

“Despite how rough things have been…between us…I do appreciate it, Nik. Everything that you’ve done. Especially in the last few days. I don’t agree with what you did; not letting me know that Esme was alive and that I had a kid out there. And it’s going to take me a hell of a long time to get over it. I can’t pretend I’m not pissed off. That I’m not hurt. I can’t just turn all that off, you know? It isn’t something I can just forgive.”

“I couldn’t betray her trust. Not even for you. She relied on me; to keep her and Millie safe. And I…”

“Safe from who? Me? I wasn’t a threat to them. You didn’t need to protect them from me.”

“She wanted to protect you. She thought she was doing the right thing. And whether I agreed with that or not…”

“I’m not going to get into this right now. I just can’t do it. I’ve said everything I needed to say. Other than thank you. For taking care of her and Millie. Keeping them safe. You didn’t have to step up like that, but you did. And if it wasn’t for you, who knows where they’d be right now. Kinda scares me to even think about it.”

“I took care of them for YOU. Because I knew one day she’d track you down and you’d get that chance; to be a family and grow old together. I WANTED that for you, Tyler. I wanted you to get your ‘happy ever after.’ And I’ve never seen you as just a commodity. You’ve always been more than that. Much more.”

“I want to believe that, Nik. I do. But right now…”

“You’re hurt. You’re angry. And you’ve got every right to feel those things. I just hope one day you’ll realize what I did, I did for them and YOU. Try and get some rest. It’s been a long day. And Millie is going to have you up and bright and early, believe me.” “If it’s before the crack of dawn, I’m sending her to you.”

“Don’t even think about it. I plan on sleeping until noon.”

“You’re gonna up with the sun, and you know it. It’s just who you are. The way you’re made.”

“Try and relax, Tyler. It’s safe here. THEY’RE safe.”

“Sometimes that’s easier said than done.”

“In a week’s time, you’ll be back home. With your family. The chances of any threats finding you there…”

“There’s always a chance, Nik. You know that.”

“I’ll do what I can. When it comes to handling things in New York City. Making sure the trouble stays there. And once things settle down…for good…that’s it. You’re free.”

“Only if you’ll let me be.”

“It’ll be hard to let you go. We’ve been through a lot together. SEEN a lot.”

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me THAT easy. After all, you’re Auntie Nik, yeah? Something tells me Millie wouldn’t stand for you just up and disappearing.”

“She doesn’t have to worry about that. She’s my family. So is her mom. And so are you. Sleep well. You’ve earned it.”

Nodding in agreement and apprehension, he moves towards the guest room, hesitating as his fingers curl around the door handle, and just as Nik steps onto the top landing of the stairs. “Nik?”

She hesitates.

“Thank you.”

She manages a weary smile. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

*****

A long, hot shower makes him feel almost human again. Thirty minutes spent standing motionless under a punishing stream of hot water as it not only rid his hair and body of remaining remnants of debris and blood, but brought some relief to his lower back, base of his skull, and both shoulders. Afterwards in the light of the bathroom, he’s able to better assess the damage done to his body; various cuts and abrasions along both arms and legs, large bruises on the front and backs of his thighs and in the middle of his back, several smaller across his collarbone. A perfect impression of the steering wheel -and its emblem- covers the majority of his sternum, and the skin on the left side of his rib cage has begun to turn vivid, various shades of purple and blue. Far surpassing the damage done in Georgia and Vienna, even WITH the gunshot to his hand and to his lower left abdomen. The latter missing all vital organs and lodging near his hip; an easy removal for the medical team at the Graz-Karlau prison. Barely leaving a scar behind and requiring a very short rest and recovery time.

He navigates the bedroom by both the streaks of moonlight that spill through the window coverings and the glow given off by the portable ECG machine monitoring Esme’s vitals. Rummaging through the rucksack; he locates the lone pair of sweats he’d packed for his initial business trip; grimacing at the stiffness in his knees and discomfort in his back as he steps into them. The bed -more expansive than an average king- is more than large enough for both of them to sleep in, and for her to be kept safe from his tossing and turning; eager to spare her an errant elbow to the back or stomach or a knee into a thigh. And he creeps to her side, watching as she sleeps soundly; light, peaceful smile curving her lips’ with her face turned towards the window. The soft, silvery sheen the moon casts upon her face shows off the various cuts and bruises that she’d incurred earlier in the day; the vivid purple and blue upon her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, and on the tops of both cheeks and under one eye.

It’s painful to look at; the mere thought of her injured and in discomfort nearly splitting his heart in two. Hating his perceived negligence and failure to keep her safe had led her to this; hooked up to various wires and tubes from the IV and pain. Hurting far worse than he’d ever expected it to; believing that watching his son suffer and waste away had steeled him against witnessing someone experiencing pain and illness. But it aches to his very soul; twisting and wrenching at his guts and a sorrow -for someone who is still very much alive- creating a death grip around his heart. And emotion chokes at him as he crouches at the side of the bed; smoothing a hand over her hair and laying his palm on the top of her head, thumb repeatedly brushing across her brow.

“I’m so sorry, Me.” He grazes his knuckles over her bruised and swollen cheek. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She murmurs in her sleep, then releases a long, soft sigh as she nestles her cheek into his palm.

“And I’m sorry for being as angry and as hurt as I am. I know you did the best you could; that you left because you were scared, and you wanted to protect me. But you kept my daughter from me. When there was no reason to. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get over that. If I ever really do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I have ALWAYS loved you. Those five years changed nothing.” Leaning forward, he presses a lingering kiss to her brow, then to her lips. “You sleep, okay? ‘Cause that’s the only way you’re gonna get better. Because that’s what Millie needs; her mom back to normal. And I need that too.” He pulls back with a heavy sigh; running the tip of his index finger down the bridge of her nose. “This is all going to be over soon. I promise. There’s nothing for you to be scared of anymore. No one can hurt you now. And they won’t hurt you EVER again.”

His knees crack, and he bites back the pain as he stands. The limp in his right leg more pronounced as he retreats to his side of the bed, peeling back the layers of blankets and slides underneath. His body is sore and weary, and his head immediately sinks into the pillow; the case and the crisp, linen sheets cool and refreshing against his skin. He’s never experienced this level of exhaustion; not even during the months of tedious and often agonizing physical therapy sessions that had preceded his release from the hospital in Dubai. It’s a tiredness that is bone…SOUL…deep; both limbs and eyes feeling impossibly heavy, his own body seeming rooted to its place. And despite the years of frequent bouts of insomnia, it isn’t long before rest claims him. Lulled to sleep by the faint beeping of the EKG machine, Esme’s soft rhythmic breathing, and the rolling of the waves as they wash up onto the shore.

*****

He sleeps soundly despite the pain and only over-the-counter pills to dull it, stirring only once when the nurse crept into the room in the dead of the night to change Esme’s IV and med bag and then reset the pump. He remembers a brief, exhausted chat; the nurse apologizing for waking him, the exchange of pleasantries, and his peppering of questions in regards to Esme’s vitals and the continued care she’ll be receiving. Already back asleep before the woman even finished her duties and slipped from the room. When he finally wakes for the day, it’s courtesy of a tiny hand repeatedly -and remarkably vigorously- shaking him and a tiny voice calling his name. And cracking open his eyes, he moans in discomfort when he’s immediately greeted by the sun’s harsh rays, followed by Millie’s wide, beaming smile as she stands at the side of the bed. Clad in her pyjamas with her doll under one arm, teddy under the other; her high ponytail having loosened in her sleep and now sitting at an awkward angle on the side of her head.

“Hi!” she chirps. “Hi, daddy.”

“Hey…”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Better than I expected to. Is something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“You’re okay?”

Millie nods.

“What are you doing? What…?”

“I’m hungry. My tum is complaining.REALLY loud. I went downstairs and looked for Carmen, but I couldn’t find her. And there’s no brekkie waiting in the kitchen. Usually, she has brekkie finished and waiting for me.”

“Who’s Carmen?”

“Auntie Nik’s cook.”

“Auntie Nik has a cook?”

“And someone that shops for her, someone that books all her appointments, a chauffeur, and a maid.”

“What does she do? If she has all those people doing everything for her?”

“Wears nice clothes and kicks butt and takes names.”

“Is that what you’re going to be like? When you’re older?”

“I’m already like that.”

Chuckling, he reaches out to playfully tug on her ponytail. “So I guess this means I better get my ass up, yeah? Can’t exactly do stuff on your own.”

“I CAN make my own breakfast. Well, just cereal and toast, but still, I’m ONLY four, so that’s pretty good, right? That I can do that?”

“Your mumma’s been doing a damn good job, that’s for sure. Teaching you things.”

“She wants me to be strong and independent. But not grow up too fast. But one day, I’ll be able to make pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon. Not just boring old cereal and toast.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want something else? More than that?”

She giggles as she drops her chin to her chest. “I’m REALLY hungry. I could eat the shit out of a dead hippo.”

Smirking, he tosses off his blankets. “Where did you learn that?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give up my sources.”

“Well, you know what? I could eat the shit out of a dead hippo, too. So why don’t we go downstairs and raid the fridge, and see what we can dig up. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” She steps back as he slides out of bed, her brow furrowing as she studies her mother’s bruised and battered and sleeping form.. “ What about momma, though? She’ll be all by herself. She might get lonely. What if she wakes up and we’re not here? She might be scared. And sad. I don’t want her to be scared and sad.”

“IF she wakes up, she knows we’re not far away. That we wouldn’t just leave her. She knows how much we love her; that we’d never just take off on her. Besides, she’s going to be doing a lot of sleeping for the next few days.”

“‘Cause the doctor said so?”

“It’s the best thing for her. So that her body can get better. And that’s what we want, yeah? Mumma to be all better?”

The four-year-old nods.

“How ‘bout you tuck her in? She’d like that.”

Her face visibly brightens. “Like a momma burrito?”

“Something like that. Don’t do it as tight, though. And be careful; you don’t want to get tangled up in all those wires and tubes. Careful and gentle, okay?”

Handing him her doll, she scurries around to Esme’s side of the bed; slipping her body between the machine and the IV stand and gingerly stepping over or slipping under various tubing and wires. Carefully spreading and smoothing the blankets over her mom’s body, then loosely tucking them underneath her. And a distinct sadness darkens her eyes and furrows her brow when she runs a palm over Esme’s hair and leans in to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I miss you, momma. I love you. You’ll feel better soon. I promise. Daddy and I will take really good care of you! Right, dad?”

Nodding, Tyler leans down to drop a kiss on the top of her head when she scurries back to his side; plucking the doll from his grasp.

“I’mma leave Posie here,” Millie announces, then proceeds to lift the top blanket and tuck her under it. “So she can keep an eye on mumma! And if mumma wakes up, she’ll see Posie here and know that I’m coming back for sure. ‘Cause I never leave Posie behind. Not for good!”

“You know, you have a really big heart in that little body of yours.”

“Momma always used to tell me that I got that from my daddy. That his heart was way bigger than his body, too. Is that really true? ‘Cause your body is super big!”

“Is that a polite way of calling me fat?”

“You’re not fat! You’re thick!”

He smirks. “I wonder where I’ve heard that before.”

“You’re like a giant! You’re really tall and crazy big! Do you think it’s true? What momma said? About your heart being bigger than your body? Because if it is, your heart is super huge!”

“You know what I think? I think your mum’s the most amazing human being I’ve ever known.”

“Next to me, right?”

“Yeah…” Scooping her up onto his arms, he presses pressing a kiss to her temple as he settles her on his hip. “...definitely next to you.”

*****

He relaxes in a poolside lounge chair; hair damp and matted to his head, his aching and tired body clad in a pair of board shorts bought during an impromptu shopping excursion with Nik and Millie. The latter fast asleep against his chest; snoring lightly, her eyes shielded by a pair of pink and purple polka-dotted sunglasses, her bathing suit -one of many she’d excitedly picked out- beginning to dry in the heat. Exhausted from the morning and early afternoon activities and the drama of the last seven days; the time spent in the sun and water solidifying her successful escape from New York City. Content and relaxed; confident that her old life is now firmly behind her and the new one is just lingering on the horizon. And despite the worry and sadness revolving around her mother’s injuries, she feels safe and secure; putting all of her trust into her surroundings and the people around her.

Nik joins them, standing at the side of his chairs with her hands shoved in the pockets of a pair of wide-legged, burgundy linen trousers and a pair of oversized sunglasses. A smile curling her lips as she glances down at a snoozing Millie.

“Out like a light.”

“She’s had a hell of a week. It was bound to catch up to her.”

“She doesn’t do that with just anyone. Fall asleep on them like that. Means she feels safe. Secure. She trusts you.”

“I’m not sure she’s making the right decision. Look what her mum’s trust in me got her.”

“What I said on the plane…about what happened…I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was blaming you.”

“That’s exactly what you meant for it to sound like. I know you, Nik; I know you don’t say shit you don’t believe. And you’ve never been one to pull punches.”

“I wanted an explanation. A reason. For how things went so wrong, so quick.”

“And I told you. They came out of nowhere. There’s no way I could have seen it coming. It just happened. And it happened THAT fast.”

“You didn’t hear anything? See anything? You..?”

“I was concentrating on driving. On getting us to the meet-up point. We’d just gone through all that fucking bullshit with Winston..”

“Which was probably weighing heavily on your mind. Probably had you on edge. Distracted.”

“...and all I wanted to do was get the fuck out of there. Get to you and Yaz and then to the airport. I thought the roads were clear; Wick had people blocking all the intersections, and you had eyes on things. Or at least I THOUGHT you did. Had you not pulled the guys early…”

“I thought you were in the clear. You were only three blocks away. I made a decision based on that. I did what I thought was best.”

“So did I. I did what I thought was best for Esme. To get her the fuck out of there. I had just gotten her away from Winston; all I had to do was get her to the airport and on that plane, and everything else was going to be easy. I trusted you to have the people in place. To have my six. And if I DID let my guard down, it’s because of that. Nothing else.”

“I admit, it wasn’t my best decision. I should have left them in place longer. Until we actually DID meet up. But…”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Nik. You’re beating a dead fucking horse. I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I’ve got a lot on my plate. I don’t need this, too. Can we just let it go? I think you fucked up, you think I fucked up. Can’t we leave it at that?”

“I think I deserve an explanation. Not as your friend. But as your boss.”

“And I’ve told you everything there is to know. There isn’t always an explanation or a reason, Nik. Sometimes, shit just happens. There’s nothing simple about this job. It’s not just black or white. And you of all people should know that. You…”

When Milliie whimpers in her sleep, his mood abruptly changes; the tension in his jaw and shoulders releasing, the brightness returning to his eyes. And he smooths a hand over her and down her back, his lips soft as they press against her brow. “It’s alright, Amelia. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She heaves a long, content sigh, then nestles her face against his chest and shoves her thumb into her mouth. And for several minutes, he and Nik remain silent; his chin resting on the top of Millie’s head and his hand rubbing her back in smooth, slow circles.

Nik uses a fingertip to sweep wayward strands of hair off of the little one’s forehead. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is. Esme and I do good work.”

“You most definitely do. Although I’m not sure how much work Esme actually put in. I think her genes were completely absent that day. Millie looks just like you.”

“That’s an awful thing to say about my kid, Nik. That she looks like her old man.”

“You know how many times Esme has heard it? How many people think she’s just a nanny? No one ever believes they’re actually mother and daughter. Until Millie opens her mouth of course; she tells stories EXACTLY like her momma does.”

“All over the damn place.”

“The only two people I know who can go off in five different directions and never get back to what started everything off.”

“You know how many times Esme will start a story, only for me to never find out what the original point of it was? Too many to count.”

“It’s just part of who she is. That exuberance and that light that she’s managed to hold onto. I’ve never met anyone like her, you know. Not in this circle, anyway. I don’t know how she does it; holds onto that optimism and that brightness. Everything she’s been through…the things she’s seen and the things she’s done…all of that has been stacked against her. Yet she’s still…Esme.”

“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. How many people do you think would have stuck around on that bridge? For someone like me?”

“Not a lot.”

“Yet she did. For some reason. She wasn’t leaving me there. And she had every reason to, believe me.”

“She saw the potential. Things about you that no one else did. Or maybe you just never LET people see them. See YOU.”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

“Maybe…”

“Were you there? When she was born?”

Nik nods. “I was.”

He glances down at his daughter; taking a deep breath and then noisily clearing his throat. A vain attempt at pushing away the emotion that threatens to choke him.

"Tyler…”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being there. For Esme. I’m glad she wasn’t alone.”

“She asked me. If I’d be the one to go in with her. And regardless of what you think, I tried telling her; convincing her to call you and let you know you were going to be a dad. I told her there was nothing for her to be afraid of; you weren’t going to ignore her call or turn her away or question whether or not the baby was yours. That there was nothing she could ever do to make you hate her that much.”

“I didn’t hate her at all. I never did. I loved her. I never STOPPED loving her.”

“And that’s what I told her. That you loved her and missed her and were spending all your time looking for her. That if there was ever a time TO contact you, that was it; the baby was very close to being born, the nursery was done, and the name was picked out. I told her you would be on the next plane there; to be with her and see your daughter come into the world.”

“But…”

“She was scared. Of rejection. Because she loved you, and her heart couldn’t take it; if you wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. I told her that that would never happen, but…”

“She’s pretty damn stubborn.”

Nik nods.

“You know I never got to see that with my son, either? Him being born? I was in Iraq; on my second tour with SASR. We were located just outside of Mosul. Mia was pissed about it; she was already six months pregnant when I signed up to go, and she knew there was no way I’d be back in time. I tried to justify it; I was one of the commanding officers, and they needed all hands on deck. Now I realize it’s just who I was; I wasn’t capable of putting her first. And I probably never even should have tried being a family man. I just didn’t have it in me.”

“You were young. You’d already spent years devoting everything you had to the military. It becomes ingrained in you. The only thing that really matters. Believe me, I know.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I ever really wanted to be. A husband and a father. At least back then.”

“You were in love. And you wanted to make her happy. You were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.”

“I was. In love. Or I thought I was, at least. Took me until I was thirty-five to figure out it wasn’t the real deal. I think I just settled. The same way Mia did. I wasn’t really her type; she’d always been into lawyers and politicians and businesses. I was just some guy in the army. I wasn’t anything special.”

“To her, you were.”

“Guess she just wanted something different. Someone a little more dangerous. Younger.”

“And you were there. Ready, willing, and able. And lonely.”

“I don’t know what I was. Stupid, for the most part. But I’d lived practically my entire life without a family; my mum was long dead, and I’d already cut my dad out of the picture. Mia was there. I liked being around her. Not that we actually spent a lot of time together, considering her career kept her busy, and I was always being shipped off to different places.”

“And then your son came along…”

“He just sort of happened. We didn’t plan on having kids. She wasn’t even sure she wanted any. I was just so caught up in thinking I was in love and had found my ‘happily ever after’ that I didn’t really give a shit if we had any or not. But things happened, and he came along, and I tried my best to be a good dad. We know how THAT turned out.”

“That one choice you made…that one mistake…doesn’t mean you were a terrible father. It doesn’t negate the good things, Tyler. Or the love you had…you STILL have…for your little boy.”

“It was a hell of a mistake, Nik.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you loved him. That you still do. Or that HE loved YOU.”

“I never thought I’d be a dad again. I had no plans to be one, that’s for sure. I’d already done that once, and it didn’t end well. And then Esme came along and everything changed. I changed. She made me want to be a different person. A BETTER person. She wasn’t like anyone else. I knew that right away.”

“I think she knew that same thing about you.”

“Once she stuck around after Dhaka, I knew that was it. That SHE was it. I don’t regret it, Nik. The way things happened. I know it was the wrong place and totally the wrong time, but I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change a fucking second. I would take that bullet to my throat a hundred times if it meant I’d be with her.”

She blinks at his honesty.

“When we decided to get the house and started talking about getting married and having a family, I was terrified. Of being a husband and a dad again. I didn’t want to fuck it up. I’d already screwed over one wife; Mia deserved a lot better than I ever gave her. That’s when I told myself it would be different. That I’D be different. I’d be the man that Esme needed and wanted. That she deserved. I’d be a good dad. The one I never had. I would do everything right; I’d be there for my wife, and I’d put my family first, and I wouldn’t be a total fucking failure.”

“You were never a failure, Tyler. You…”

“I used to think about it. Esme being pregnant. Seeing her get bigger and bigger. Feeling the baby move. Making a nursery. Going to all the appointments. I was looking forward to it; going through all of that with her. I’d missed it all the first time, I wasn’t going to miss it again.”

“I know what you’re going to say. I know…”

“That was all taken from me. I never got the chance. I was ready and I was willing, and I was able, and it never happened. Sure, she got pregnant, and the baby came along. But I just didn’t get to know about it. I didn’t get to be part of it, did I.”

“Tyler…”

“I don’t hate you, Nik. Let’s get that out of the way. We’ve been through way too much together. Not to mention everything you did for me after Dhaka and everything you did for Esme and Millie. That you continue to do for them. I could never thank you enough; for keeping Esme safe and for making sure that she didn’t go through everything alone and that she and Millie were taken care of.”

“I don’t need your thanks. They’re my family. So are you.”

“Like I said, I don’t hate you. I might not like you very much right now…”

“And I deserve that. I know I do. But I don’t regret the choices I made. I don’t regret helping Esme or keeping her secrets. And I would do it all again. No questions asked. And I’m sorry if it hurts you to hear that. It was never personal, Tyler. I never did any of that to intentionally hurt you. And I DID try and convince her to contact you. Many times.”

“I really hope that’s true, Nik. That I don’t find out something completely different. Because that whole not hating you thing? That could change. I can’t make any promises.”

******

Nik settles on the lounge chair beside him, stretching out of her legs and setting her clasped hands on her stomach.

“It was a beautiful day.”

Tyler arches a quizzical brow.

“When Millie was born. It was sunny and cool, and the leaves were just starting to change.”

“Seems kinda fitting. That she came along when she did. It was always her mum’s favourite season; Esme used to go on and on about fall in New York City. About how she’d always take walks in Central Park; she loved seeing all the different colours and hearing the leaves crunching under her feet and how the air actually seemed fresh for a change. She made it sound incredible. Beautiful.”

“She has a knack of seeing things differently than we do. She holds onto so much trust and wonder; she sees the beauty in everything. And everyone. She could watch the same sunset a million times and find a million different things to marvel at. I used to tease her about it; almost scold her for being that way. For always seeing the cup as ‘half full’. But now that I think about it, wouldn’t it be better if we all saw it that way?”

“She’s just different, Nik. From what we’re used to. We’ve all been through hell and back. In one way or another. And somehow she’s still like that. I used to give her shit for it, too. Always said she was setting herself up for disappointment if she kept seeing the world like she did. Seeing the good in everyone no matter how shitty they treated her. Even told her how stupid it all seemed; that she was being naive and childish and she was just going to get hurt.”

“If anything…anyone…is a breath of fresh air…”

“I realize now that if she didn’t see things the way she did? Millie wouldn’t even exist. Esme wouldn’t have stayed on that bridge. Dhaka wouldn’t have happened the way it did. The things that went down between the two of us. She wouldn’t even have given me a second look. She would have just seen me as a huge mess. A liability. And moved on with her life.”

“I know you talk about how she came along when you needed it the most, but have you ever thought that maybe you did too? That you came along when she needed you to? Because despite all that light and that brightness and that love for the world and everyone in it, there was a very broken and lonely woman…little girl, even…under all of it. I would see it sometimes; this sadness that would just take over. When she’d just seem so lost and vulnerable and hurting. That changed. When she met you. I saw it in that hospital. All that time she was holding on and fighting for you, she was holding on and fighting for herself too. She wanted to be what YOU needed. And what you deserved.”

“She is way more than I have ever deserved.”

”But she doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see YOU that way. You came along, and you pulled her out of a really dark, horrible place. And I know it’s hard to see that when you’re in a pretty bad place yourself, but it’s true. The two of you found each other when you both needed it the most. She didn’t just save YOU, Tyler. You saved her too. In more ways than one.”

Swallowing around the lump of emotion sitting square in his throat, his fingers moving through Millie’s damp hair as he nods slowly, considering Nik’s words.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions. About the last five years. About Millie. Maybe even about before she was born. If there’s anything you want to ask or know about it or I can help you understand better…”

“How was it? The pregnancy? Was it really hard on her? Were there any complications? I mean, I assume everything went okay, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, but…”

“It was pretty uneventful. There were no scares. No real health issues. Yaz and I got a place in the city. We wanted to be close by; to keep an eye on her, make sure she was taking care of herself and that she got everything she…and the baby…needed. She was never alone, Tyler. Not physically, anyway. We were there when she needed us. Maybe too much at times. I’m sure we annoyed her a lot. I know I can be pretty assertive and overwhelming at times. And Yaz…”

“He’s always had a hard-on for her. I don’t think her being pregnant changed that. Knowing that little freak, it probably made it even better in his mind.”

Nik laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s been harmless. He’s always known he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I mean, she has bad taste in men, but it’s not THAT bad.”

“He was so into things. He loved the idea of being an uncle. He was constantly buying Miillie things; always showing up with toys and outfits and things Esme could put away until she was older. And when we found out it was a girl? He got even worse. That kid was going to be the biggest, most spoiled princess on earth.”

“Esme knew? That it was going to be a girl?”

“She didn’t want to know at first. She was pretty adamant about waiting. Letting it be a surprise. But she ended up caving. At the very last ultrasound. And low and behold, baby Rake was a little girl. We always called Millie that. By your last name. It might not be that on paper, but we talked openly about it. You were always on her mind, Tyler. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t think about you. TALK about you. You may not have been there, but to Esme, that baby was just as much yours as it was hers.”

“I would have been there. If she’d called me out of nowhere and told me about the baby, I would have gotten on the first flight out of Australia. Nothing…no one…could have stopped me from being there. Not you, not Winston, not The High Table. No one.”

“And she knew that. Which is why she was determined NOT to tell you. I’m not saying she made the right decision. Or that I agree with how she handled things. But it was not my place to tell you. Especially about Millie. I couldn’t betray her, Tyler. Not even for you.”

“As hurt as I am, as PISSED as I am, I’m just glad she wasn’t alone. That people were there for her. I fucking hate I didn’t get the chance, but it’s never really about me, has it? It’s about her and Millie. Especially Millie. Always has been. And that’s the way it should be.”

“Esme was having that baby no matter what. Not once did she ever think about not having her. Let alone talk about it. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy and she was lonely and sad and missed you every second of every day. Millie was part of you. Her only connection to you. And there was no way she was giving that up.”

“She’s always wanted to be a mum. She talked about it a lot. When we lived in The Kimberley. About coming close with Mark and having that taken away from her. I don’t think she ever got over that. And I knew one day it would happen; she and I would get our shit together, and we’d start a family. I didn’t think it would happen this way, mind you.”

“She never stopped thinking about you, Tyler. Loving you. She talked about you all the time. About wishing you could be there. So, please…PLEASE…don’t ever think she didn’t want you in her life. Or Millie’s life. Because nothing could be further from the truth. That baby was all she had. Aside from Yaz and I, Millie was her only connection to you. And no one could take that away from her. She wouldn’t let them.”

“Did she ever talk about me to Millie?”

“Maybe not by name. But even she was just a tiny baby. Millie heard stories about you. And all good, believe me. Esme has NEVER said a bad word about you to that little girl. And she always promised that she’d take Millie to meet you; that one day they’d go to Australia and track you down and let you meet each other.”

“Esme had chances. She’s had four years, Nik. She…”

“She had to be ready. She had to get over all that fear and worry she had. I couldn’t force her to just stop being that way. We’ve already established how stubborn she is. But I’d be honest with her; I’d tell her that she needed to contact you and you had the right to know you were a dad. That you deserved to be part of Millie’s life. But other than that, there wasn’t much I could do.”

“What about when Millie was old enough to start asking questions? What did she tell her then?”

“She would tell Millie that her dad was a good person. A big man with an even bigger heart. That he lived far away and one day, they’d go and visit him. And that she loved him very much. She always would.”

His voice quivers with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say. What IS there to say?”

“I know it hurts, Tyler. What Esme did. Having your child kept from you. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. But you need to know that it wasn’t done maliciously. It started with her wanting to protect you, then ended up being about wanting to protect herself.”

“From me? She didn’t need to protect herself from me. I’ve never been a threat to you. I have never hurt her. I’ve never raised my voice, let alone a hand to her. I never would. I’d kill myself if I ever got that way. If I ever laid even a finger on her in THAT way…”

“She was protecting her heart. She was scared, Tyler. That you’d turn her away. That you’d turn MILLIE away.”

“That would never…EVER…happen. No matter how pissed or hurt I was.”

“Rationally, she knew that. But fear…and love for that matter…don’t always have us thinking…or acting…rationally.”

Sighing, he glances down at Millie; running a fingertip down the bridge of her nose and then pressing a kiss to the tip.

“Would you like more?” Nik asks. “Kids?”

“I’d love more. I’d love to go through it all with her. I WANT that, That experience. With HER.”

“But…”

“But it’s kinda selfish, isn’t it? Wanting it for ME. She has to want it too.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Something tells me she’s on the same page. She loves being a mom. And she’s good at it. Damn good.”

“She’s an amazing mum. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kid.”

“You’re going to get your ‘normal’. Your ‘happily ever after’. It won’t be much longer now.”

He nods in agreement. “Thank you, Nik. For telling me all of this. I needed to hear it. Esme can say it all until she’s blue in the face, but hearing it from someone else?”

“It’s a different viewpoint. Coming from an outsider looking in. I just didn’t want you to think she never wanted you in her life, In Millie’s life. Because she did. She missed you, Tyler. Every second of every day. And believe me, I know she wishes she could change things. Go back in time and make different decisions.”

“I told her I wouldn’t want that. When you change one thing, you change everything. I believe that. And even if it were possible, I wouldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk a damn thing.”

Smiling, she reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing. “It was never about her not loving you, Tyler. It was always about how much she DID.”

[thesporkidentity]

an incomplete list of texts i sent as i slowly lost my mind over the second book of rivers of london, because i fully intend to drag at least one more person into this pit with me. come read with me i promise you're gonna feel so good and normal over this book, come closer

wow okay peter remains the absolute horniest bastard ever. is he a tits or an ass man? yes

oh we are just getting the surface levels hints of nightingales MOUNTAIN of unresolved PTSD and i am very 🥺

you ever feel like a character was written specifically to appeal to you? i'm getting so many tantalizing hints and i KNOW he's going to destroy because he's catnip. he is bait specifically designed to hurt my feelings

also his description makes me think of lee pace or like, 90s/00s paul mcgann and that's just Very Good and i'm being deeply not normal about it

also nightingale reads as SO queer to me, and the potential in fic to explore what that means insofar as how he has navigated the changing landscape of queerness from 1900 to present day is so tantalizing. i don't care that the author says he's not, in this case the author is wrong lol

i must say, i do not care for simone. if we absolutely MUST have hetersexual nonsense in this book i would like beverly back please. she was cool and not a cheating homewrecking jazz groupie lol

still not impressed with simone. i mean, far be it from me to judge a woman's grieving process and all, but she doesn't seem very broken up over her within-the-week dead lover. i mean, i LOVE peter and all and he's hot shit, but immediately falling into bed with him? sus

in conclusion bring 👏 bev 👏 back 👏

also peter, buddy, WHAT ARE YOU DOING

he's a disaster so even though i'm screaming DON'T DO THAT i am unsurprised he is being led around by his dick by a beautiful woman throwing herself at him

but i just. i Don't Trust Her. she doesn't make sense, and i can't tell if this is a case of male author writing wish fulfillment and thus not giving the hot girl adequate motivation of her own

or whether i AM supposed to find it suspicious the way she basically doesn't mourn the man she homewrecked who died very suddenly and then IMMEDIATELY jumps into bed with the magic cop investigating his very probable murder

and i REALIZE the only way to find out is to keep reading, it's just frustrating that women are written poorly so often that, even if he's written good women before, i still have to debate with this is a subtle clue or just Male Author Syndrome

oh my god he finally twigs that this may be weird behavior. peter. bud.

at least he got it before trying to sneak her past folly wards?

side note: god lesley really got the short end of the stick. like, her face fell off, her teeth are a fucking mess, and she probably has brain damage. she got royally shafted

peter "i'm totally straight" grant, talking about how he wants to take a muscly guy by the shoulders and kiss his cheeks and making sure to mention how many phone numbers her got while canvasing the gay bar.

hmm sure, jan

look i KNOW peter is Incredibly Horny All The Time when near any attractive woman, but simone appears from NOWHERE half dressed while he's canvassing for the jazz vampire and he just skives off like that? while looking for a potential killer? that doesn't seem like him he's not that irresponsible. that smells like conspiracy and glamour and i don't trust herrrrrrr

like, peter was already horny wanting to motorboat mama thames (lol don't think i didn't catch that pun) last book. but this book has been a whole new level of horny, and peter may be distractible but not THAT distractible surely

another side note. i love molly and nightingale's weird friendship they've developed living basically with just each other for decades.

oh jesus that's fucked up

oh the severed head is talking

oh. oh no. it got worse

peter, darling, beloved, is now REALLY the time to be talking about how hot your boss is? like i appreciate your dedication to the thirst but time and place, bud

oh never mind i forgive you nightingale is so fucking cool, i get it, i love him

he's so good. the most tragic backstory and perfect stiff upper lip old fashioned english gentleman on the outside, and then just below the surface he's a daredevil and a bit of a bitch and he fucking CARES just SO MUCH and have i mentioned how much the casterbrook wall HURTS ME?? this was revealed in the last book but i just remembered it and it stabbed me again

okay i'm done

i feel like peter has miscalculated making a deal with his cousin to teach her if she aces latin. that's gonna come back to bite lol hope you like teaching too smart for their own good teenagers cuz that's gonna be your life now

"but sir, what do we do if you die??!" "well, that doesn't seem like it will be my problem at that point :)" he's such a bitch sometimes and i LOVE him, mother

ohhhhh. oh no. the pale lady looked like molly and now molly is obviously not okay after she died, that resemblance wasn't just coincidence she definitely knew her 😢

and this is the first person peter has killed, no matter how accidentally. and nightingale is back in the hospital with his chest infection. wow everyone is just having a terrible time right now

okay. i realize that as a memory for him this probably isn't a GOOD one, it's from the war and probably much scarier and MUCH more traumatizing than he makes it sound with his dry narration of it. but god. nightingale knocked out two TANKS. by himself. with his mind. fucking sexy lol

oh damn it why can't they just let me be horny about how powerful he is instead of immediately following it with the fact that he was rear guard and making emotional that it means he was the one trusted to watch over and protect the rest of his men while they retreated as that one final shield between them and enemy fire

hhhhhhhholy shit what did simone DO to mama grant???!!!!

she just bitch slapped her!

OH MY GOD SHE TRIED TO HOMEWRECK HIS PARENTS TOO???

she's PLAUSIBLY IMMORTAL???

fuck i was right she was sketchy as hell!!

she's a fucking jazz vampire and she's been glamouring and sucking him dry! buddy, get to dr walid STAT for a brain scan and make sure she's not turning you into cauliflower!

peter don't you make excuses for her you KNOW it's possible, stop lying about your mum and trying to make her feel better you need to take her in she's a m u r d e r e r

i mean, glamour yes i realize but god, frustrating

good lad peter, i see you fighting it 💪🏾

ohhhhhhhh. oh fuck. she didn't KNOW. she didn't know she was from the 40s and killing people. oh this is bad

nightingale, attempting to show concern: "that was not the most intelligent thing you've done" xD 10/10 nailed it buddy

umm, nightingale? this may not be the black and white moral situation you think it is to go in guns blazing...

it's both funny and little sad how militant both molly and dr walid are when nightingale is injured like. i do LOVE when the person who is SUPPOSEDLY in charge gets lovingly bullied, but it hurts because that's also probably the ONLY way to make him take care of himself is if they FORCE him. and peter's not any better, he's gonna need bullying too

i do love when they team up though. molly and nightingale ganging up against peter like. nightingale gets the special treatment and a hot cocoa from molly, but peter gets the dog's leash and smug little "i'm on bedrest :)" or nightingale foisting the rest of his kidney pie on peter while molly is out of the room then grabbing his empty plate back to pretend he ate it all himself when she returns xD

the cases are interesting and all, but i think it's the core characters that are really the standout of the novel and the reason i keep reading even while i'm asking myself things like, but WHY is she killing via vagina dentata instead of literally any other assassination method? i think it's also why simone stood out so much. she HAD no background that we were told (until now) aside from being sexy. which of course i now know was intentional

"this is your brain, which is not only clean and unsullied by thought..." i love dr walid. it probably says something about me that my favorite characters all have to be at least a little bit of a bitch

oh no i'm having feeeeeelings about both nightingale and peter trying to keep the other out of the vampire raid to shield them from the emotional effects of it, just from opposite ends. nightingale doesn't want peter to have the pain of ANOTHER death on his hands, this one purposeful as opposed to the accidental death of the pale lady, so he's trying to just cut him out of it. and then peter ALSO doesn't want NIGHTINGALE to have the weight of more deaths on his soul and wants to protect him from what he sees as the unfortunate necessity of having to off someone who isn't intentionally hurting someone but still may be too dangerous to live. nightingale trying to save peter from his bleeding heart and peter saving nightingale from his practicality overriding his morality 😭 i just love when characters try to take care of each other in mirrored ways

uh...uh oh peter...no i don't think those are the police OR nightingale's paratrooper buddies

okay the audiobook is fucking excellent though, his infomercial voice while extolling the virtues of doc martins is KILLING me

oh this posh wanker. "oh what is feeding on people but another form of exploitation, and we all know there's nothing wrong with exploiting workers, equality is morally bankrupt anyway" god i hate you already you're insufferable

like of COURSE a dining club oxford nose wipe would think that way. he thinks he's sooooo slick and original with his chimeras they're such exciting new COL crimes but it all just boils down the the exact same rich white bullshit mentality

he would hate it if he realized how dull and banal his villainy is once you strip back the shock value of the trappings. just another entitled prick who views people as things, fuck this dude

i'd be tempted to say the faceless man's signare smelling like pork was a dig at david cameron and piggate if i didn't know it was written a few years too early for that lol

peter: oh no nightingale is going to give me SUCH a bollocking nightingale, obviously so relieved he's alive: very much does NOT give him a bollocking and instead tells him how impressive it is that he didn't just immediately die against the faceless man

"for a terrifying moment i thought he was going to huge me, but fortunately we both remembered we were english just in time. still, it was a close call" 🤣🤣🤣

oh ouch peter. just use all his dead friends against him. effective but also, low blow

god he wants so badly for peter to be right, too, that they and HE doesn't have to kill anyone anymore, that how that it's not Just Him ALl Alone they might have the support structure for other options. oh no i want this to work so badly so that hope is validated, but i just know something is gonna go wrong

welp

i didn't like her but i didn't want her fuckin DEAD you know?

and now the ones left standing have to deal with the trauma and the fallout

oh lesley :( they're both trying so hard to be normal about it and they're such good friends 🥺

LESLEY DO MAGIC?

LESLEY JOIN TEAM FOLLY???!!

also don't think you've been sneaky there and that i haven't noticed SOME sort of thematic symmetry of lesley struggling with having lost her face involuntarily from magic, and the faceless man having voluntarily masked himself. involuntary vs voluntary loss of identity. i'm sure there will be more parallels in the next book but like. i see you. i see you setting up face themes with these two

hopefully with lesley regaining her face somehow and thus reclaiming identity while the faceless man is unmasked thus losing the identity he built for himself and revealing the true one he hid. maybe hopefully? i want good things for lesley and bad things for the faceless one.

[akookminsupporter]

Hey Rosie! Quite surprised that we had Jikook cooking and spending time together in Jimin's apartment shown in the docu. I knew the reason we have so many jikook moments the past years was bec they were always together, but this uptick in recent and upcoming (travel show) Jikook moments have been interesting.

Imagine the chaos that happened the past two to three years when people left and right have been shouting that they're not close/not spending anymore time together, that they're the only members not engaging on each other's social media posts, only to be proven for the thousandth time that, they're pretty much spending time together and that they're just not posting or broadcasting it.

Can you imagine how many Jikook hangouts we're not privy to?? Good for them. They're happy and inside their own bubble without an effing care about people trying to disprove their bond.

But God, imagine being together for the past decade, spending off-hours and rest days together, and still opting to enlist in the buddy system together, 24/7, for possibly 547 days? At this point, even I can't imagine how much they love being together to the point that they're so secure they won't get sick of each other's presence. I'm going to be so insufferable when their show comes out. I probably won't stop talking about it.

Hello, Anon! In your Ask, you mentioned several things that I'd like to comment on, so I'll go paragraph by paragraph if you don't mind.

I finished writing everything I had to say, and I realize it's quite lengthy, and the Ask is already long – I'm sorry!

Paragraph 1: This is interesting. I'm curious to know why this surprised you. If anything, it is consistent with everything we've seen from Jimin and Jungkook in this type of content. They spend a lot of time together, generating moments between them that don't involve other members or that other members don't have. As I mentioned in another Ask, I believe that's precisely why we can always count on various moments between them in official content. It's not that everything is scripted or fake; it's simply that their dynamic creates moments that can be captured. Regarding the increase in moments between them, it's not that unusual. When you spend so much time with another person, it's normal. They have confirmed this time and time again, in my opinion. As for the show/series/documentary they did, I do recognize that it surprised me that they did it, especially considering the timing. Regarding this, I can't say much because we don't have any information about it. We don't know what the focus of the show will be, if it has one, of course.

Paragraph 2: Something that many people don't seem to understand is that the day has 24 hours, and these men don't share absolutely everything that happens in their lives with us. Just because we don't see something doesn't mean it didn't happen. It also doesn't mean it happened, but it doesn't mean it didn't either. This is tied to all the recent or ongoing discord with the subgroup. But especially since last year; they've mocked endlessly that Jimin and Jungkook didn't spend time together, that they didn't talk, etc., but at the same time, Jimin and Jungkook let us know through comments in their own Wlives that they did see each other's Wlives. They almost always mentioned the other, or in Jungkook's case, he spent time watching Jimin's videos in his Vlives or listening to his songs. This argument also falls apart when we remember that Jimin and Jungkook applied together for a special system that would allow them to enlist together in the army. It's not a decision you make with someone you're not close to and with whom you don't have communication outside of work. This decision also involved constant communication between them to complete the application and all that it entailed. Pretending that Jimin and Jungkook made that decision overnight after not having contact with each other is absurd and ridiculous at best. Pretending that they made that decision without being close or having a close relationship is even more so, especially when they had other options. This argument has also crumbled many times when, after a while, Jimin and Jungkook tell us that they were together at a certain moment, that they did something together, or, as we saw in the documentary, they are recorded by the cameras. Not everyone has to believe that Jimin and Jungkook are a couple or that the possibility of them being one exists and is high, but to believe that they are not close, don't like spending time together, or don't get along is ridiculous.

Paragraphs 3 and 4: Jimin and Jungkook like spending time together. That's something that no one can really argue, although many obviously try to. That's why it was a bit surprising that they filmed a show/series/documentary together before enlisting. Before we knew about the buddy system, it made sense to us that they would decide to do something like this because they wouldn't be together for a long time. But after learning that they would spend that time together, many of us wondered why. Perhaps the simplest answer is that they wanted to do something together for us, and the company agreed because they know better than us that the two of them have very good chemistry, and anything they did together would be entertaining. But at the same time, it's not that simple because, despite sharing a lot with us, or so it seems, Jimin and Jungkook are quite reserved and private about their relationship or dynamics. And for that reason, it will be very interesting to see what they did together.

[mademoiselle-red]

The Inheritance

Once upon a time, sometime around 1948 to be precise, in a place far far away, in a small wine town in a place called Sichuan, in the middle of a civil war, a man said to his wife and baby son: “I have to leave with the army for a while. I’ll be back before Chinese new year.”

The wife said: “Then we’ll try to survive long enough until you return.”

The new year came and went. There was no trace of the man. No letters, no messages, nothing. Where did he go? Did he die on the road? She didn’t know. And when the new government set up shop in her town, she decided it was better to assume he died in the war.

The wife kept her promise and survived. She went to live with her brother’s family.

“Auntie, where is uncle?” My young grandmother would ask.

“We lost him during the war,” her auntie would explain.

Several new years came and went. The young son grew up in his uncle’s house, knowing only that his father had been a simple bookkeeper who’d perished in the war, and the adults did not like to speak of him.

According to my grandmother, her cousin lived a good life, but died young from a sudden illness, unmarried and childless.

After her son passed away, the mother continued to live in the house he bought for her, just a few streets away from her niece, until she passed away too. She went peacefully, my grandmother said, after a long battle with cancer.

My grandmother buried her aunt next to her cousin, and then moved on with her life. Over the next few decades, she met and married my grandfather, raised three daughters with him, and retired in her late-fifties after a long career as a school teacher.

And when all her daughters left home one after the other to pursue their own careers and start their families, she and my grandfather sold their old house and moved to a more spacious one across town.

And then one day, some time in the 90s, a man from a place far far away showed up in a suit in this little wine town, looking for an address written on an old crinkled piece of paper to a house that was torn down decades ago.

The old neighbors on the street didn’t remember where that family —a single mother and her young son —had moved to.

But he still had a few days left on his visa so he kept asking around town. And on the last day of his trip, he found an old lady who remembered that the young mother’s brother had a daughter who had been a school teacher at her local elementary school.

And with the help of a retired teacher from the same school, the man found himself knocking on the door of a house on the other side of town.

“Hello, my name is ——, I come from Kaohsiung, and I’m looking for the niece of ——. He left this town in 1948 during the war. He was my father’s best friend.”

~

In 1948, a bookkeeper for the army left his mountainous hometown on a truck, got on a train, and then on a ship, and sailed to a foreign place called Kaohsiung. There, he was given a room to sleep in, and told he would be back home before the new year.

Several new years came and went, and the army discharged him, gave him some money, and told him he was free to do what he wanted. But he was not allowed to return home.

And so he bought a truck with the money and started a delivery business with a buddy from the army.

The decades went by, the buddy started a new family in their newfound home, but the man remained alone. His buddy’s children called him “uncle” and he doted on them like they were his own. And when the children were all grown up, they looked after him like he was indeed their uncle. On his deathbed, the man said to one of the children who called him uncle: “I have a wife and son in a small town in a place called Sichuan. I saved up some money for them over the years, but could not find a way to contact them. Please find them for me and give my son his inheritance.”

And so this is the story of how my grandmother was visited by a stranger one day out of the blue, who sat down for tea, told her a story, paid his respects at a grave, and left her with a rather hefty bundle of cash and gold, all within the span of one afternoon.

The end.