#I don’t want to get into every grimly detail

[byakuyasdarling]

.

[mvltisstuff]

hi i have an eddie diaz request!

so eddie and the reader have been dating for a while, she’s also a firefighter with the 118, and after that special about them that taylor did aires, her abusive ex comes to find her. it’s kinda like the maddie and doug situation where he was looking for her since she left and she doesn’t tell eddie until something big happens and he has to save her which causes her to tell him everything.

thank you

all too well - e.d

summary: request

eddie diaz x reader

a/n: sorry for the unnecessary taylor slander in this i’m her biggest hater!!! warning for domestic abuse, very similar to maddie in season 2.

it was an innocent new segment. that’s all it was supposed to be. an informative post about the fire station 118 and how they work. taylor and her team had sauntered their way through the firehouse, gazing at the engines and the shiny structures that surrounded them. she recorded anything she could, despite requests of space and those who didn’t wish to be recorded.

y/n had been one of those, out of her relationship from her ex boyfriend. she was in active hiding, fleeing across the country to get away from such a man. he had been watching her every move, and she’d been meticulous in concealing herself. she’d heard of the situation maddie was in, dealing with the uncertainty of her location and condition. it was nightmare fuel, the thought haunting y/n in her sleep as she lay next to eddie at night.

she wanted to be able to tell him, but the more people who didn’t know, was better. she figured she’d be putting him in danger if eddie knew, especially the people around him. if something happened to eddie, she would never be able to move on from the life she wants to put behind her. the discarded ring of a man who was never truly her fiancé was something she needed to forget about.

the moment she saw the news segment had aired, her heart dropped. she fought to have herself removed, but that was not what happened. taylor removed other details of the day gone-wrong, but didn’t remove her identity. y/n had voiced her concerns very clearly to taylor and eddie, and eddie was pissed that no one would listen. she panicked as her name was splayed across the screen with a clean view of her face, easily recognizable. she knew he was looking for her.

she tried to reassure herself, but the joke was on her. she was now sitting in the familiar car with the disgusting smell of cigarettes and the sick excuse of a man. she was jostled awake in the moving vehicle. she didn’t dare to mumble a single word, her body frozen in fright.

“morning, sleepyhead,” the raspy and evil voice entered her ears.

“what did you do?” she managed to spit out.

he laughs grimly, in a tormenting manner. “you really thought i wasn’t going to find you? i’ll give it to you, it took a while but i finally have you where i want you.”

“why are you doing this, mark? i didn’t do anything to you.”

“you said we were supposed to be together. and you lied, y/n. you know i don’t like lies. like, come on, were you that stupid?”

“you kidnapped me in this car. i’m not the stupid one.”

“whatever you say, princess,” she moves her hand up to brush the hair out of her face when he grips her wrist painfully. “but if you ever say anything like that again, you will never go back.”

her eyes remain dry, feeling completely numb as she continues to stare forward. “you literally left me no choice! i love you! you love me and you just left me? you turned into a monster, a selfish, backstabbing person and it’s not my fault!”

“no, it’s not,” she complies, almost giving up entirely to make herself feel worthy. she plays into his act of the hero, when he’s been the villain in disguise.

he had driven her two hours out of los angeles, taking the backroads to avoid any interaction with people. y/n, in a complete terror, tries to formulate a plan in her head but everything is shut down by her own fears. “i have to use the bathroom, mark.”

“what? why?”

“because i am a human, it’s not like i had the chance before we left.”

“shit, fine. say anything and you’re dead,” he threatens, pulling up to an empty gas station with only a few workers inside. he lurks around, pretending that he’s browsing the selections. she speeds to the bathroom in the back, which looks like it hasn’t been occupied in years.

something in her mind switches, so she grabs a pen out of her pant pocket and searches around for anything she can. her eyes land on the paper towels, madly ripping one off and clicking her pen. she writes a message on it, prepared to hide it in her sleeve as they walk out. idiot she thinks.

“y/n!” mark bangs on the door. “c’mon, we have to go!”

she turns the sink on and off and discards of any evidence. she grabs the door and takes a deep breath, and swings it open to be confronted by the towering figure. she felt like he was feet taller, but he wasn’t. she had been so used to making herself feel smaller that she forgot the feeling.

the workers in the front had noticed the discomfort on y/n’s face. they could make an accusation, or believe that someone else would do something. “would y’all like to buy something?” one asked.

y/n looked at mark, scared for anything he react to. y/n steps closer to the counter, “yeah, can i get a pack of marlboro?”

“sure thing,” the other says and grab the pack of cigarettes from the back. he places it in front of her as y/n fishes for her credit card, swiping the note she’d written under it. somehow, marks obliviousness had missed the piece of white under it. she praised whoever made him this ignorant. after the machine dinged and the payment was made, mark grabbed her hand and moved out of the small store.

“i’m sorry,” she immediately begins to apologize. “it was a distraction to them.”

“whatever, get in the car.”

the workers had found the paper on the counter, all folded up and ink spilling through the back.

call 911, ask for sergeant athena grant.

two hrs out of la, gray toyota, license plate 2R7-983

the first man blanked, not knowing what to do but his suspicions were confirmed. the woman was not safe, so he did what he was told on the paper. he dialed 911.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the soothing voice came through.

“uh, i’m in solvang, and we just had a couple come in and i think the woman needs help.”

“did you get the name of the woman?”

“the name on the card was y/n, i didn’t remember any last name. she had y/c/h, about y/h tall, and she left a note asking for athena… grant?” this man was properly trained for emergencies, giving all the important details and steps they’d need.

“and what’s your name?”

“tyler,”

“ok, tyler, did she mention anything else?”

“yes! she mentioned a grey toyota and the license plate.”

“perfect, can i have the plate number?”

“it says… 2R7-983.”

“did she seem distressed?”

“yeah, she was scared and she looked tired and, i don’t know she just looked like something was really wrong.”

athena had taken the information, instantly realizing the name. she knew y/n very well, from bobby, eddie, and just being in the system she had been around her. she loved her, y/n was a great person and was good at her job. she was a gracious human, never leaving an ounce of disrespect in her tracks.

“grant!” her chief called. “we got a call from dispatch requesting you on a case, we’ve got a woman named y/n, domestic abuse concerns and she left a note with your name on it?”

“y/n? as in y/l/n? with the 118?”

“i didn’t want to assume, but i believe it is. i looked at her files and she’s had some past calls with a man named mark peterson, believed to have taken her.”

“son of a bitch,” she curses. “do we have an idea of where they might have gotten?”

“they were seen in solvang, two hours out.”

“so we get personnel out there asap?”

“exactly. we get out there and get this guy.”

y/n and he had stopped at a small inn, getting a room and a hideout for the night. he used a fake name for the both of them, lying through his teeth to the receptionist at the front desk. y/n was forced to put on a fake smile and a thrilled appearance, which she thought she should win an oscar for. they settled in the room, and she slowly started to accept her fate.

back at the home, eddie was in a slight rush. she hadn’t responded to any texts or calls. she claimed they would meet up the next day, but there were no traces left of her. externally, he put on a cool front for his son, but internally, his heart was sprinting. she could be anywhere. she could have a dead phone, or she could be dead herself. he tried not to think of the former, but he couldn’t stop himself.

eddie had loved y/n the moment she stepped into the station on her first day. he didn’t think he had any more love left to give. but, she shined her radiant smile and her adorable personality and eddie was head over heels. he’s been through hell with shannon and everything, and he wanted to never take anyone else again. y/n showed him a new side, making him realize that he needed affection, and she was more thankful to give that to him. he felt like the best version of himself when she had been with him the past few years, and that’s all he needs. he couldn’t let himself breathe until he found her, calling anyone who might know. until, he finally resorted to the police, calling athena.

“hey, athena,” he rushes out. “y/n, i- i don’t know where she is and that’s really unlike her, so-“

“diaz…” she says, making anxiety rise in eddie’s body.

“what? what happened? is she ok?”

“we believe she was taken,” eddie’s heart sinks to the floor, immediately turning his blood cold. “do you know a mark peterson?”

“no, never heard of him. i’m going to find her,”

“absolutely not, eddie. we are finding her now,” athena tries her best to ease his terror, but it fails.

“then i’m coming with you, i’ll be at the station in 10.”

eddie sits shotgun in athena’s police car after he got carla to watch christopher. he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing up and down and his fingers to quit fidgeting. athena takes note of this.

“she’s going to be alright, we’ve got a lot of evidence for this.”

“we don’t know where the hell she is, we have no answers.”

“you’re right, we don’t. but you think she’d want you to lose hope on her?” eddie looks at her, staring at her eyes on the road before turning his phone on. he’s confronted with a picture of y/n and christopher together, pure smiles on their face as his world is out of touch. it’s only on a screen, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

y/n sat, frozen on the bed of the hotel room. she was completely burnt out, thinking that she was stuck with him forever. that news segment. if only she wasn’t shown on the fucking news segment, he wouldn’t have reappeared in her life.

his fake smiles and taunting words had become nothing but useless ones. she was living in her nightmare of having to deal with him, but she thought back to eddie.

every single memory they’d made over the past few years came flooding through her head. from her teaching him how to cook, to their first kiss, to last night where she was in his arms. it was beyond her comprehension that this much could happen in 24-hours. the time of her shifts, her normal routines that she longed for right now.

it wasn’t until mark heard knocks on doors, asking how many people were staying there until she was snapped out of her thoughts. she noticed the red and blue lights from outside the window as mark swore to himself. “fuck! get in the bathroom, y/n.”

“n-no, i wanna stay here-“ she argued as he complained back.

“get in there now! i’m not asking you again, or i swear to god, y/n…”

the darkness in his eyes was what forced her to stand up, but leaving her jacket on the bed and taking her shoes off, leaving them in clear sight. the knocks got closer, before the own piece of wood separating them was banged. mark opened the door casually, like nothing was going on. it always scared y/n the most. the way he could put up this front and act like some innocent man.

“hello, officer!” he said politely. “can i do anything?”

“hello, sir,” athena said, knowing he was the one to be holding y/n. “may i just ask, how many people are in this hotel?”

“just me, miss.”

“alright, i see. i saw this room was booked for two, and i’m assuming those articles of clothing aren’t yours?”

mark stops right in his tracks, wanting to pull y/n out of that bathroom and reprimand her for leaving her stuff. his face dropping, he didn’t know what to say. athena knew it too.

“mind if i take a look around? missing person warning, we have to be sure.”

his expression did not change, but he panicked on the inside. he was a quick man, but not quick enough to prevent athena’s abrupt hand against the closing door. she pulled him out, pressing him against the wall as she called for backup. “better luck next time, mark. let’s have a few words, you have the right to remain silent…”

y/n’s fingers were pressed in her ears, trying to block out any of the commotion or yelling that might’ve commenced. she’d already heard too much tonight, scared to traumatize herself any further. the noise concealed by her hands made her not even notice the opening of the door, and fearful to turn around and see his face again. she had been crying violently on the cold tiles of the bathroom, praying she’d be out of this mess. y/n’s instinct was to flinch at the hand pressed against her shoulder. eventually, she realized it was a humane one. she slowly turned herself around, locking eyes with athena. “we’ve got him, y/n.”

she sighed out in relief, but also in preparation for the storm of tears pouring out of her eyes. her hand went to cover her mouth in disbelief. she’d been hiding from this man for years, and she finally didn’t have to. she knew for a while that she wasn’t really free, she was just away from him. at last, the game of hide and seek ended, and it’s all going to be different.

her hand connected with athena’s, pulling her off the ground and out of the room. she was brought outside, lurking around the parking lot in desperate hopes for someone she loves. someone who’s touch can heal any wound. her dreams came true, when she saw eddie walking toward her.

“eddie,” she gasps out.

“y/n!” he runs closer, scooping her up into his arms and kissing her face frantically. “oh my god, i’m so sorry, mi vida, i’m so, so sorry.”

“i should’ve told you, i should’ve said something.”

“no, no, it’s not your fault. it never has been and it never will be.”

“i was so scared my life was over again. that i’d never see you or christopher, or hen or chim and buck or bobby and-“

“hey, calm down, ok? it’s all going to be ok, i’m here,” eddie doesn’t let go or let her release herself from his arms. she looks him dead in the eye, making sure he’s real and that she isn’t just searching for an answer. “they’ve got him, you never have to see him again. you won, baby.”

she won. she won? y/n didn’t feel like she won. the whole scenario still felt like a twisted prank, but it wasn’t. it was real, and she ended it. the years of making herself smaller and degrading herself because of one man were over. the time where she was continuously proven as less than had stopped.

she has eddie forever now, so if anyone had won, it was her.

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 11.1 - against all odds

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language)

Word Count: 1500

☾

How can I just let you walk away? Just let you leave without a trace When I stand here taking every breath, with you You're the only one who really knew me at all

☾

February 14, 1984 - junior year

"Your room smells nice."

"Did you expect it to smell bad? Jesus."

Eddie stared at you, standing in his bedroom. You were looking around, your piercing gaze taking in every little detail, which suddenly made Eddie self-conscious.

"Do you have, like, multiple personalities or something, Buckley? I'm getting whiplash from your mood swings," he muttered, dropping the keys to his van on the dresser.

You scoffed, removing your jacket and scarf before laying them out on his bed. You sat on your jacket like it was some kind of protective barrier between yourself and his bedsheets. 

The strange action made Eddie roll his eyes.

Taking time to look at you, Eddie was sure now that you were going through some shit. Your hair was still pristine as always, but the bags under your eyes made you look like a goddamn ghoul.

"Hot chocolate?" you reminded him, running your hands over the tops of your thighs.

Eddie shifted awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, about that. I don't have any hot chocolate, I just said that to lure you in here."

"Again with the homicidal implications, huh, Munson?"

"I do love implications, sunshine," he snapped back with a quick wink. "Woah, woah!"

Standing up suddenly, you grabbed your jacket and made for the door. On your way out, you stopped in front of Eddie.

"Stop calling me sunshine. I don’t like pet names. I’m not your pet," you spat.

Ignoring the jab at his bruised heart, Eddie sneered at you, second-guessing why he even bothered to bring you there to talk. 

"At this point, I think the only thing I know about you is that you're a total asshole."

You paused in the hallway outside of his bedroom. You seemed defeated, like a car that ran out of gas, like a bird giving up after trying to fly with a broken wing.

"Look, I can tell you're not having a great time lately. Obviously," he said, gesturing towards you as a whole, "you're a little off your rocker."

When you didn't respond, Eddie continued. "Let me help you get back on your rocker. Talk to me, tell me things, anything. Tell me about your shitty parents, tell me about your dirty dreams. I care, you know. I'm not about to judge you."

He worried that his pleading would chase you out the door faster, which honestly could be the last straw for Eddie. There was a fine line between trying to help the girl who was hell bent on pushing everyone away and maintaining his own self-respect.

And then you nearly crumpled to the floor, rubbing your eyes with your fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry about ghosting you again, for leaving after what happened on New Years."

He hadn't expected an apology from you. Sure, he wanted one - but he sure as hell didn’t expect one. 

And then the very last thing he expected from you was the amount of emotion on your face. A mixture of confusion, exhaustion, just a sprinkle of anger.

Unsure of what to say, Eddie scooted towards you, taking a knee on the floor near where you leaned against the dingy wall.

"It's… it's okay. I can't be mad at you. We're both going through our own shit."

"That's no excuse for me to abandon you. Twice."

Eddie chuckled grimly. "Huh, yeah. You did ditch me twice, didn't you?"

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You mean, besides being a typical teenage girl?" He tried to joke, but immediately felt bad. "Is it about your parents?"

And finally, after months of wondering what the hell you were hiding, the wall you were desperately holding up… fell down.

☾

How can you just walk away from me? When all I can do is watch you leave 'Cos we've shared the laughter and the pain and even shared the tears You're the only one who really knew me at all

☾

You told him about your family. You told him about your religion, or ex-religion at this point, and how much it affected the dynamic of you and your parent's relationship.

You had been so used to maintaining your stoic appearance even before you changed your mind about religion. Since you were a small girl, your parents scolded you for crying. If you even laughed too loudly in public, your mother would pinch your arm. You're embarrassing yourself, child.

Your parent's recent divorce was the talk of housewives all over Hawkins, but not necessarily as big as Eddie's father's arrest. More like the hottest gossip amongst adults since back when Hopper went off the rails and banged nearly every woman in town.

You felt responsible for the entire thing. You told Robin about your father's affair, who in turn told your mother. The whole situation was a complete cluster fuck, ending up with your mother moving to Indianapolis and now the Buckley sisters only had your shitty dad. Not that either of you really needed him, though.

Confiding in Eddie about Robin's sexuality and your parent's ridicule was the hardest part, a lone tear crawling down your cheek for the first time in years. You had never said the words out loud before, even to Robin herself. It had always been an unspoken thing between you two.

You were a girl with a lot of feelings built up inside of you, anger bubbling at the surface of your impassive image. 

After growing up in a vicious, judgemental household, Eddie could see exactly why you were so distrusting of others.

Especially new, unpredictable people. Like himself.

And Eddie sat in silence, sitting across the narrow hallway from you. He absorbed every word you spoke. He felt like he was receiving a precious gift, a priceless artifact, deserving of being protected inside of his heart forever. 

In your close proximity, the Munson boy wrapped his outstretched legs loosely around your own legs. You didn't seem to mind.

"Thank you for telling me. Thank you for telling me about your life, Buckley," he mumbled, after a long stretch of silence between them. 

"Are you okay?"

"What?" he questioned, puzzled. 

"About your dad…"

Your eyes lifted to meet his, and Eddie felt like he saw a new clarity there. Your fixed stare was lucid, like a dirty window that was cleaned after years of neglect. And hell, Eddie would cut off one of his limbs to become the worn out rag that cleaned that window forever.

It seemed like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. He admired you, not only for overcoming obstacles in life, but as a physical being. Sour conversation aside, Eddie wanted to hold you. He was still afraid you would run away, disappear for a third time.

"Eddie?"

He coughed, distracted, looking down the hallway. "Oh, um, well… my dad got locked up for dealing drugs. Now I live here. Not much to say about that."

"But are you okay?"

Thinking for a moment, he tapped his boot against your hip. "I'll be okay. I was planning to move here anyways, remember? No more drunken screaming fights, no more locking me out of the house on a weekly basis. No more broken guitars, either," he laughed. "I've actually been keeping my favorite guitar here at my uncle's for years because of that old angry bastard."

"Really?"

"Unfortunately, Buckley, you aren't the only one with dysfunctional parents. Hate to break it to you." He had one more question for you. "But, on a more personal note. Did I do something wrong?"

You fidgeted in your seat on the floor. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I guess I know better by now than to take these last few months too personally. We're human, life has its ups and downs. But are we still friends? Why did our friendship, or whatever the hell it was, become collateral damage in all of this?"

No answer from you.

"Are you going to stick around this time? I'm developing abandonment issues over here," he smirked.

His grin grew wider as you actually smiled back at him. Your eyes seemed to glow at him from across the hallway.

"I don't know, you tell me. Can I stay?"

"I'll keep you forever if you let me."

The blush on your cheeks was displayed to him in an almost shameless way, like an offering. And then your next question would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't already been seated on the floor.

"No, I mean can I stay here tonight?"

☾

Take a good look at me now, 'cos I'll still be standin' here And you coming back to me is against all odds It's the chance I've gotta take

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)" by Phil Collins)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @emesis-nemisis @ishouldclean @thegirlblogstuff @insert-geeky-things-here @melonmonstereater @well-be-okay-dear-valentine @mewchiili @maridevial @sp1dyb0y1008 @totallynani @the-historical-biscuit2468 @borhapgirlforlife19 @amandaauroraelli @daggerdear @nvrendfangirl @lausnotverybright @salvinaa @psychotickoda @hiimerinhime @heyyallitsnaomi @trixyvixx

[laundrybiscuits]

(part 3 of the not-hallmark fic, now tentatively titled grace coming out of the void)

It’s not too long before Robin tumbles through the door in a whirlwind of apologies.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Steve, wrapping her up in a bear hug. “Eddie kept me company.”

It’s true, actually. There’d been a few minutes of awkward silence, before Eddie’d visibly steeled himself and started making small talk with the grim determination of a general heading into battle. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t made Steve feel like dirt just a little bit.

He’s trying, Steve had told himself firmly. Yeah, it sucked that Eddie clearly still had some kind of problem with him, but if he was willing to try this hard to get over it…well, the least Steve could do was try, too.

So they’d filled each other in on all the stupid unimportant details of their lives, the stuff that was easy to talk about, and gradually the talking got easier. They’d never been strangers, not really, but somehow over the years it had gotten so Steve could forget that Eddie was fun to be around. There hadn’t always been a weird sour feeling in Steve’s stomach that had to be ignored; there was Eddie’s hands looping in big descriptive shapes as he described some new student who has absolutely no idea why she’s in my class, Steve, I swear someone’s blackmailing the kid to be there, she just shows up and like, grimly struggles through whatever I give her. Won’t even tell me what she wants to play, and I’ve tried everything. I arranged Cyndi fuckin’ Lauper for this kid, Steve!

Eddie’s face, relaxed and bright-eyed, never happier than when he’s telling a story. The way Eddie cares so much about every little thing. Just being around him feels like sitting at a fireplace, soaking in the warmth and light. And when Steve manages to make him laugh, it feels like winning the damn lottery.

So they’ve managed to get on pretty well in Robin’s absence. Steve’s hoping it doesn’t take them another few years before they can have a real conversation again, like some kind of timer that needs to reset.

“Good,” says Robin. “Because you two are like my favorite people, and it would really suck if you couldn’t get along.”

“Favorite people?” Eddie drawls, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t wait to tell Ronnie that.”

“Oh my god, don’t you dare!” Robin shoves at his shoulder until he moves over so she can squeeze onto the couch with them.

“Am I finally going to get to meet the famous Veronica?” asks Steve. Robin’s been going on about her for a while, but he knows the relationship hasn’t been official for that long. So it’s fine, it’s normal that he hasn’t met his best friend’s girlfriend yet, and Eddie has.

“Yeah, of course,” says Robin. “She’ll be here in like an hour to set up for the party.”

Of course there’s a party. From what Steve hears, Robin and Eddie seem to be constantly throwing parties and having people over, a rotating cast of quirky personalities with artistic inclinations and improbable backstories.

This one’s not even really a party, Robin assures him; it’s just the new girlfriend plus a couple local friends. Or, one local friend and one Hawkinsite who’s in town for the holidays.

“You remember Jeff, right?” says Robin.

“Oh sure, Jeff, yeah,” says Steve. “And the other one’s…Hannah?”

“Helen, she’s an artist who’s been working with Eddie on an installation. She’s great, you’ll love Helen.”

———

Steve does not love Helen.

“Wait, it’s true?” Helen cuts in. “People actually thought Ed was a cult leader? Our Ed?”

Steve breathes through the flicker of annoyance. Eddie doesn’t belong to Hawkins anymore.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s, you know, a small town. Folks were just scared, is all.”

“Aww,” she coos. “It’s just so tough to imagine anyone being scared of this guy.” She ruffles Eddie’s hair and Eddie slaps her away, laughing.

“Yeah, it was a whole torches-and-pitchforks thing,” Eddie says. “I met this guy when I was on the run from some villagers who wanted to burn me at the stake. Me! Can you imagine?”

Steve huffs, amused. “Think I remember something about that meeting. Something like…you threatening me with a broken bottle at my neck? Ring any bells for you, Ed?”

“Wait…that’s not how you got those scars, is it?” Helen’s looking a little more hesitant, like she finally realizes there’s something here she can’t ever understand. Steve’s viciously pleased about it, then tries not to be. He doesn’t like strangers talking about all that shit like they can relate or something.

All he says is: “Nah. That was a little later. Eddie’s the reason I lived long enough to let this—” He rubs awkwardly at his neck, fingers skidding and pulling at the ugly ridges. “—scar at all.”

“Don’t listen to Harrington, he never wants to admit he’s a fuckin’ action hero. I barely did anything except freak out and almost get murdered. He saved my life for real, like, at least three or four times—think at this point he just owns my entire ass.”

Steve is tempted to ask why Eddie’s been avoiding him for the last six or seven years, if that’s the case, but he knows that’s not totally fair. Steve’s been doing a lot of avoiding too.

“Shoot,” says Helen. She’s still got an arm tucked into Eddie’s. “We’re all very grateful, Steve.”

Instead of saying I didn’t do it for you, Steve says, “Just, uh, glad I was there. I’m…gonna get some more wine.”

Robin catches him in the narrow hall leading to the kitchen. It’s a nice apartment, yeah, but Steve thinks the layout’s weird as hell compared to the right angles and neatly aligned walls of his place back in Hawkins.

“Everything okay, dingus?” she asks. The way the hall bends, they’re sheltered from the living room. It’s a soap bubble of privacy, fragile but whole.

“How do you handle people asking about—stuff?” Steve blurts out.

“It’s actually been easier here,” says Robin thoughtfully. “Because in Hawkins, people always think they know a lot more than they do. Remember how Vickie and I used to get into those big fights?”

Steve nods. He hadn’t really understood what was going on at the time, and Robin hadn’t been great at explaining. She’d talk up a storm, get all worked up, and at the end of it, all he’d get was that she was mad and Vickie didn’t understand why.

“Well, later on I realized that they’d always kick off when Vickie said something like, I know what you mean, or I was there too. Because she didn’t, and she wasn’t. With Ronnie, it’s like…she doesn’t get it, but she knows she doesn’t get it. It’s easier with her, I guess. How did you handle it with Laura?”

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t, I guess. But she wasn’t, y’know. The One.”

“Still holding out for that fairy tale romance, huh?” Robin smiles. She’s just teasing him; she doesn’t mean anything by it.

“I’m really not,” says Steve. “Listen, I’m gonna—” He holds up his empty glass and escapes to the kitchen.

Jeff’s there, pouring some wine into his own glass, and fills up Steve’s without being asked.

Steve nods at him in thanks. It feels a little rude to just turn around and leave immediately, so he leans against the counter and takes a drink.

“So, uh,” says Steve. “How’ve…you been? Since, uh, Hawkins.”

Jeff gives him a wry smile. He definitely knows that Steve doesn’t remember him at all. “Not bad,” he says, drumming his fingertips on the counter. “I’m just in town visiting family for the week; I’m actually at Michigan right now, studying to be a doctor. I want to specialize in geriatrics—like, taking care of old people? But right now I’m in the part where they shuttle you around to different specialties to get a taste for everything.” He makes a face. “Surgery definitely ain’t my thing.”

“Shit. A doctor, huh?” Steve shakes his head, surprised for no real reason. It’s not like he hadn’t known that people from Hawkins could be smart; hell, he’d dated Nancy Wheeler. But this seemed like the kind of smart that just didn’t fit into his memory of Hawkins High. Other than Nancy, who—last he’d heard—was still sharing an apartment with two other girls and fighting her way up the ladder of some paper in Boston, nobody he’s kept tabs on has really gotten successful in a big-city way. Like, the kind of successful that could be on a TV show.

“Yeah, I was always into science. Used to keep caterpillars in my room, see if I could get ‘em to turn into butterflies. Drove my mama crazy, ‘cause she hated having critters in the house. But I just thought it was so wild how the caterpillars could have a whole life crawling around on the ground, and then their insides just rearrange, and suddenly they can fly. I was such a dramatic little shit, I was so damn sure I’d grow wings too.” Jeff laughs. It’s surprisingly nasal for such a broad-shouldered guy, and Steve decides he likes how unselfconscious Jeff is about it.

Steve reaches out to clink their glasses together. “Hey, you did, didn’t you? Got outta Hawkins, got to chase your fancy doctor dreams.”

“Guess I did.” Jeff nods and takes a slow sip of his wine. “Look…tell me to fuck off if this is too much, huh? But I gotta ask. Why’d you stick around? Why not get outta Hawkins too? Not that we knew each other or anything, but…even from the Hellfire table, it didn’t seem like you were having the greatest time, either. At least, not by the end.”

Hellfire, right, that’s how Jeff knows Eddie. A vague, blurry memory of seeing them both in those dorky shirts is surfacing.

“It’s not too much,” says Steve. “I don’t mind you asking. Don’t know that I’ve got an answer, though. I just didn’t have a plan like you guys, I guess.”

“Buddy.” Jeff laughs in that nasal way again and claps Steve on the shoulder. “None of us had a plan. I guess I did, a little more than the rest of them, but—I thought I wanted to be an ER doc, you know? Which, damn. Definitely not my scene, as it turns out. You don’t leave your hometown because you already know what you want out of life, even if you think that’s what you’re doing.”

“Getting philosophical in the kitchen?” Eddie appears in the doorway, empty glass dangling from his fingertips. “Congrats on being a cliche, guys.” He’s smiling, and it looks real. Happiness looks good on him.

“What’re you drinking?” says Steve. “Let me top you up.”

[lobster-tales]

Beat the Daylight

Sequel to Face the Noise, an Arcane Rock Band AU

Rating: M

Chapter 17: The Gym

Summary: Lux confronts Vi || Jinx's hostage gets a visitor

This work is available here on AO3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Progress Day’s practices had become sluggish, weighed down by the elephant in the room. Well, not really an elephant, more like a dinosaur: a five ton T. Rex that followed Lux around, hovering in her shadow. She kept her head high, though, and her shoulders straight.

Vi still spoke to her: all of them did, making small talk. But there was distance now, a noticeable gap between Lux and the other three band members. It didn’t help when her phone would ring mid-practice, and she would sigh and step out to speak to her parents or brother for a while.

Vi, Ekko, and Jayce were never privy to those phone calls, but every time Lux returned, there would be an emptiness in her expression, her jaw set grimly.

After a particularly bad one, a call that lasted an hour, Lux came back with damp eyes. Ekko ended practice there.

Lux and Vi spent their car rides in silence again, as they had for so long at the beginning. The chauffeur, however, was now more than happy to share the personal details of his life with Lux, who smiled and prompted with more questions every now and then. Vi liked listening to him, too, about his son’s bad score in math or his wife’s book club drama. It was a welcome distraction for both of them.

At home, Tobias was out getting groceries, so Vi worked out alone. She used to exercise to clear her thoughts. Now, she used the time to push them down.

Her emotions felt thick in her chest, a mess of loose frustrations. And the last thing she wanted was to untangle them, bring each one out into the light and face her own fears. Because truthfully, some of them were selfish, and the shame was worse than anything. The longer the feeling stayed buried, the better. So she put in her headphones and drowned them out with the angry growl of a guitar.

A presence appeared at the door: even out of the corner of her eye, she knew it was Lux. Vi acknowledged her by taking out one earbud, but continued her workout. She didn’t want to admit it, but part of her avoidance was embarrassment. Embarrassment at herself for not knowing how to handle the situation, for letting it simmer.

“Hi.” Lux leaned against the doorframe. She wore the kind of confidence that can only come with exhaustion, the calm of nothing left to lose.

Vi jutted her chin in greeting. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk. About the other day.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Vi’s fist thudded against the sandbag. “You fucked my sister.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Is there?” The sandbag swung back towards her and Vi caught it against her hands, panting as she met Lux’s gaze. “Because the pictures looked pretty cut and dry to me.”

“You believe everything you see in the press?” There was a bite in her tone now. Only a few short weeks ago, Lux would never have spoken to her this way.

“Well, I don’t really have much else to go on, Lux.” One of her threads untangled, one of the feelings she pushed down, and she was helpless to stop it as she said sourly, “Wasn’t that the point? To put on a show.”

“What?” Lux asked with a confused frown.

“Look, next time you want to play teenage rebellion, leave my family out of it.”

She scoffed, hurt. “Is that what you think, Vi? That I planned this?”

“Didn’t you?” The mess in her chest loosened, each angry thought and feeling coiling up her throat. “Why else would you keep it a secret from us? From me? I told you to be careful, Lux, and then you turn around and put you both in even more danger? You knew the consequences, so why? Why did you do it?”

“Because I’m in love with her!”

An electric fan whirred in the corner of the room, air rustling the sweat towel hanging there.

Vi shook her head. “There. Was that so hard?”

“What, did I need your blessing?” Lux asked, annoyed.

“No, but fuck, Lux.” As Vi spoke, she began to tremble. “She’s still my sister. And she’s perfectly happy running around with you and showing you off to the press and being with you and she can’t even look at me!”

And there it was. The center of it all, what she was ashamed of. And she realized she wasn’t ashamed because it was selfish, but because it was unfair towards Lux. Powder made her own choices, and it was wrong to hold Lux accountable for them.

“I’m sorry,” Vi muttered. She pressed her fist and her forehead against the sandbag, resting there. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s not your fault that I don’t understand her. I just… want my sister back.”

“That’s what she’s afraid of.” Her tone was kinder, but still cool.

“What?”

Lux said, “She thinks you want Powder back, and you don’t want Jinx tagging along.”

Vi opened her mouth to deny it, but as the words sank in, she realized they were true. When she imagined Powder’s homecoming, she assumed Jinx would get left behind, fade like a bad memory. It never occurred to her that Jinx was here to stay.

“And like it or not,” Lux said softly, “Powder and Jinx are the same. All the things you don’t like about Jinx still exist in Powder, and she’s afraid that if you find that out, you’ll reject her.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Vi. “I would never-”

“I know that, but she doesn’t.” Lux took a deep breath. “It’s not my business, but I thought you deserved to know.”

When Vi didn’t respond, Lux went for the door as if she had been dismissed.

“Did you… have fun, at least?” Vi asked. “That night, both of you?”

A wistful smile tugged at Lux’s lips. “It was the best night of my life.”

“Even with all the bullshit afterwards?” She nodded towards Lux’s pocket. “Like with your family?”

“I’d take that bullshit a hundred times over if it meant I got to see her again.”

Intense. Good. “You’re really in love with her, huh?” Vi asked.

“Yes.” There was no waver in her voice, no hesitation.

Vi looked at Lux, really looked at her. When they first met, she would never have considered her as a match for Powder: too preppy, too bright. But now, after knowing her for some time, she recognized that hunger for adventure, curiosity in place of judgment. And especially now, there was a hardness to her confidence. She was no longer that anxious, insecure girl. She became one of them, baptized by fire.

“I’m proud of you, Lux.”

Lux froze, her eyes widening. “Y-you are?”

“Yeah.” Vi spoke the feelings as she felt them, not burying any this time. “I’m proud of you for going for what you want and not caring what everyone else thinks. I’m proud of you for staying true to yourself and following your heart. Yeah, I wish you told me, but I understand why you didn’t. And… I’m really happy for you. When Powder loves someone, she loves them with every fiber of her being. It can get a little intense sometimes, but it’s because she cares.” She smiled sadly to herself. “And if you love her half as much as she loves you, then you two are going to be alright.”

Lux launched herself into Vi’s arms, sniffling into her shoulder. She had also been burying feelings, Vi understood, and now she let them all out. “Thank you, Vi,” Lux wept. “I am happy, I just… Everyone’s been so mad at me, you know? Even Ekko and Jayce-”

“Whoah, whoah,” Vi said, pulling away. Lux’s face was a mass of snot and tears, so Vi grabbed one of the clean gym towels off the rack for her. “They’re not mad at you. I think they’re just… confused. That’s all.” An idea bloomed in her mind. “You know… I actually don’t think they have any plans for tonight. Maybe we could just… talk? As a group. Over ice cream?”

Lux beamed at her. “I would like that.”

                                                           ☆ ☆ ☆                                                   

Viktor was an incredible hostage, which was annoying. When Jinx told him about his new status, he was completely unfazed, offering nothing more than a simple “Okay.”

Even though Finn and Margot had both left, the rest of Fissurefolk chugged right along. Band practices were much quieter now without Finn’s constant critiques. Sure, Jinx would snap at Sevika every now and then, who had switched from bass to lead guitar in order to fill the gap left by Finn, and though she was trying her best, there was still a drastic difference in quality.

But Jinx was finding it harder and harder to care. She couldn’t silence her mind, ideas breaking through for every one of Viktor’s tracks, small improvements. But she chose not to voice them to him. And when practice ended, instead of going to her studio, she escorted Viktor back to the hotel and kept him locked in his room. Silco and Sevika had no idea about Viktor’s espionage, and Jinx made sure it stayed that way.

Practice had ended early today: Sevika and Silco had some business meeting a few cities away. Jinx kept calling it a family road trip, which pissed Sevika off. Business meeting, road trip, it didn’t matter what they called it because Jinx knew what it really was, especially since Sevika was wearing an extra pistol today.

Jinx spent the early release in her bedroom, playing video games. At some point, the sun had set and it was dark now, and she could hear the soft patter of rain outside the window. And shouting. In Zaun, people picked fights like they picked a place to eat dinner: a couple times a week. Shouting was part of the white noise in this city, along with the thud of fists and the occasional gunshot.

But this shouting was different. It was one voice, a man’s voice, and seemed weirdly familiar. Jinx paused her game to open the window, peering down the dizzying distance to the ground.

And there was Jayce motherfucking Talis. Standing across the street in the pouring rain, shouting up at the hotel.

She made a beeline for Viktor’s room, startling him from dissecting his alarm clock. “Why the fuck is he here?” she hissed.

Viktor lifted the alarm clock, confused. “Oh, I found him on my nightstand.” As she went to the window, he said, “I understand if you don’t want me meddling with hotel property. I know it’s a lot to ask as a hostage, but can I at least get some other gadgets? Maybe some-”

“Viktor,” she interrupted, pointing at the street below. “Why the fuck is Jayce outside?”

He joined her at the window, lips curving into a confused frown. “Strange… I told him not to come here.”

Jayce’s voice echoed off the cold walls. “Viktor!” So far, the hotel guards hadn’t gone for him: they seemed too entertained by his passionate display, and dissuaded by the rain. A few prostitutes had gathered under a storefront awning, also watching and chuckling to each other.

“You told him?” Jinx asked. “What do you mean you told him? You contacted him?”

He held up his hands defensively. “All I did was send a text telling him that even though I’m a hostage, I’m being treated very well, and that there was no need to worry.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“Well, when I ratted out Caitlyn, I assumed you went to her and told her I’m a hostage. And she would tell Jayce, of course, so I was just being proactive.”

“Okay wait,” she said. “Let me get this straight. Why did you text Jayce?”

“To reassure him. Because I knew as soon as Caitlyn told him I was a hostage, he would freak out and do something stupid.”

“Exactly. So why would Kiramman ever tell him?”

He opened his mouth but no words came out as he processed what she said. “Ah. You know, that’s a very good point.”

“VIKTORRR!”

Jinx put her head in her hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay,” she breathed. “Silco and Sevika aren’t here. As long as he doesn’t do anything else, we can play this off.”

“He’s going for the guards,” Viktor said, watching from the window.

“Shit!” Jinx growled. “I’ll take care of it, you stay here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Viktor had a look of satisfaction, maybe a dash of relief. “I could watch this all day.”

By the time she made it to the front door, the street’s residents had all opened their windows, warm light reflecting off the wet pavement as they gawked from above. A series of cars had parked illegally on the other side of the pavement: the press, probably. Jayce was oblivious to all of it, as guard after guard kept him off the property.

He was making too much of a scene. Jinx would really have to pull out all the stops for this performance.

She whistled sharply. The guards pushing against Jayce retreated at the sound, and he collapsed onto the pavement. Jinx stood in the center of the guard, silhouetted by the lobby’s glow.

Jayce glared up at her, panting. She had never seen pretty boy so disheveled before, hair plastered to his forehead, the white shirt clinging to his muscled torso. He rose, and it occurred to her just how large he was, how intimidating he might have been if he wasn’t just screaming his lover’s name in the rain.

“What have you done with him?” Jayce growled.

When Jinx spoke, she projected her voice enough for all the bystanders to hear. “Viktor doesn’t want to see you, Jayce. Go home.”

“Is he hurt? Did you hurt him?”

“Why would I ever hurt,” she hissed the words, emphasizing, “my bandmate?”

But he didn’t understand, yelling up at the building, “Viktor! I’m coming to save-”

Her fist flew faster than her thoughts, crashing against his temple. Stunned, Jayce staggered back. Jinx pursued, snarling, “He doesn’t want you anymore, Talis. And if you don’t scram right fucking now, then here’s what I’ll do to you.” She snatched the front of his wet shirt, whispering in his ear, “Viktor is sending you an address. Meet us there.”

Then she shoved him away, spun on her heel, and returned to the warm, dry hotel. She didn’t look back, but Viktor confirmed he was gone when she returned to the room.

“Good,” she said. “Text him the address to my studio. And grab your coat.”

His eyes widened in confusion but more importantly, hope. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” She hid the kindness behind a sour mutter. “You made this mess, you gotta clean it up.”

Jayce was already there when they pulled up to the studio, his car headlights trained on the front entrance. Jinx went inside first, placed a towel over Fishbones’s glassy eyes, and carried the plush shark out. Jayce gave her a wide berth and a bewildered stare, and she bared her teeth at him.

“One hour,” she told Viktor. He nodded and closed the door behind her.

Jinx waited in the car. She had hotwired one of the SUVs and driven it herself. Because of her busy schedule with tours and shows, Silco had forged most if not all of the legal documents she needed, including her high school GED, and of course, her driver’s license. She spent so long playing passenger that she never really took the time to practice driving. Luckily, the late night and bad weather kept other cars off the road, leaving few witnesses to her jerky stops and too sharp turns.

Viktor had been ever patient, though, offering encouragement and little snippets of advice when he could.

Fishbones sat in the passenger seat: she could feel him glaring even with the towel over his eyes. He was not happy with the circumstances. Some empress you’re going to be, he growled. Is this what you’re going to do with all your prisoners? Let them have conjugal visits anytime they want? You need to be cruel, Jinx. They should fear you.

Blah fucking blah. His voice used to motivate her, but now he just seemed like a pest in her ear. She turned up the music in the car, singing along to drown out his voice.

Open up my box and pull the string Am I just a musical machine for ransom? I will only listen if you scream Lose your voice for me and I will sing your anthem

Living in fear, living afraid Hysterical every day All because I let your poison paralyze me

Jinx lost herself in the song, belting the chorus alone, punching the air on the downbeats.

So tell me who's in control I'm confused, I don't know Tell me who's in control now

So tell me who's in control Is it you?

She pointed at Fishbones, then shrugged as she sang,

I don't know Tell me who's in control now My life is yours to hold

Jinx ran the gauntlet of songs, practicing some for the contest, though others were just for her. Those bought her a solid twenty minutes. When she got bored, she started dicking around on her phone. Jinx had been avoiding social media, specifically the sleazy pictures of her and Lux. But now she was curious about tonight’s events, eager to see her own performance.

She snickered at the videos of Jayce, screaming Viktor’s name like some romantic hero. It looked like the guards had landed a few solid blows on him before she arrived. And when she did, she definitely looked convincing. There she was, Jinx, scowling, ignoring the rain, facing a man who stood a head taller than her. Not just facing him, threatening him, intimidating him. When her video self punched Jayce, she locked her phone screen.

Maybe this empress thing could work. Maybe she could be cruel in public and kind in private. Especially when it came to Viktor.

She could bear the crown, she had no doubt: just another performance, just another stage. If she could handle a crowd, she could definitely handle a city. But then she thought of the mud on Silco’s shoes, the blood splatters on his maroon shirt, the easy way he lied about Finn’s death. Could she carry the weight of those things as well?

At some point, she nodded off, woken by the alarm on her phone. The hour was up. The rain had stopped, remembered only by the glistening pavement. She readied herself to retrieve the boys, but before she could open the car door, they both exited the studio. Jayce pulled Viktor into a hug, one last, crushing hug. And Viktor returned it, crushing him right back. They stayed locked for a long moment, exchanging no words, until they pulled away from each other and she saw Jayce’s eyes were wet.

As Viktor climbed into the passenger seat, Jayce met Jinx’s eyes. He gave her a tiny, grateful nod, and she returned the acknowledgment. He stood by his car, watching as they drove off.

“How’d it go?” she asked. “You guys talk it out?”

“Oh, we talked,” Viktor said. “Then we… stopped talking.”

“Right.”

“Kind of hard to talk with something in your mouth.”

“Ew, Viktor,” but she couldn’t hold back the ghost of her smile. “TMI.”

He chuckled. “You know, this is the best hostage situation I’ve ever been in.”

“... Have you been held hostage before?”

“A few times, growing up,” he said. “Singed had a lot of enemies.”

Silence stretched between them. At the end of the highway, Zaun slept, nestled in neon nightlights.

When they pulled back into the hotel garage, Viktor reached over and squeezed her upper arm. “Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Don’t mention it.”

[riftwalker-limbro]

natah - part 1

masterpost

---

For a long time, the Lotus allowed them to live as they pleased. They got their chance to rediscover this system of half-remembered dreams, familiar only in wisps of moments at a time before the memory fled their mind. They helped the factions which were friendly with them - with the Tenno, because there had started to be more of them around, recently - these factions which were trying to establish footholds in various places all over the system, and with the newly returned Tenno’s help, they were finally able to. Planet by planet, they established forward camps, then resupply points, and finally more permanent bases. Construction was started on several new Relays - the technology hadn’t been lost, but with the centuries it hadn’t been in use, it had been a near thing.

These factions might have been friendly to them and their kind, but they got the feeling that it was more the tolerance of a master towards a particularly useful pet. When they walked amongst these people, they kept their eyes on the weapons strapped to their thighs and back, though the gleam in their eye wasn’t one of fear, but of greed. They didn’t really know them, only how they could help them.

And to be honest, they couldn’t fault the factions. They didn’t know them either.

… urgh. This was getting too damn confusing. They needed to remember their name already so it could be less confusing.

They’d been trying out the sounds of various ones, but they always felt wrong, and the few that hadn’t felt too bad, they’d presented to Ordis, who had swiftly confirmed their suspicions every time with a quiet “no, sorry, not this one either”. He kept saying he’d know it if it was the right one, though, so they’d kept on with it, even though the process was becoming something like torture. It was a puzzle with one piece missing, and they couldn’t find one that fit. Well, several pieces were missing, but this one was presently the most annoying.

One day, in the middle of another argument with Ordis about why he wouldn’t even consider letting them install the incubator segment that would allow them to hatch their own kubrow, the Lotus called.

They halted, hands still raised in the middle of a sentence, as the tone rang out through the ship. They hadn’t heard it in a while.

“Allow it in,” they signed, curiosity pooling in their stomach and mixing with dread, because the Lotus calling directly hadn’t meant much good in the past.

“Tenno,” the Lotus’ voice filled the sudden void Ordis’ silence had left, “you need to go investigate an anomaly on Uranus. I will give you the details once you arrive.”

Her tone brooked no argument. Their Cephalon set the course immediately, and the Orbiter croaked into motion.

“Uranus?” they signed. “Isn’t that where Tyl Regor’s been hanging out?”

“It is, according to the latest reports,” Ordis confirmed. “He’s been there for a few weeks now. The Grineer are keeping this operation under wraps better than usual. That’s cause for suspicion.”

“It is,” the Lotus said grimly.

“Then what’s this anomaly?” they asked.

The Lotus paused for a second, as if unsure what to say. Or how much to say.

“The Chroma you encountered at the Arcane Machines was seen there,” she said, after a second’s deliberation. “It has been wreaking havoc on the Grineer’s project.”

They perked up significantly at this. They’d been wanting to talk to it since they’d parted ways, but hadn’t been sure how to find it. This was perfect. They strapped the skana to their back with renewed vigour, before asking: “So why are you sending us in? It’s not like the Grineer don’t deserve whatever Chroma’s doing.”

“The Grineer are meddling in something they shouldn’t be,” the Lotus said, and wow, that was almost a trace of anger in her voice. That was rare. “The Chroma’s interference has only renewed the intensity of the operation. They won’t quit unless significantly deterred, and Chroma shows no sign of stopping, so I’m sending you to help them. Run the Grineer clean off the planet if you must.”

Whoa, so it was really serious. Hit by the sudden sincerity, they put their palm on their chest, then moved it outwards, closing into a fist, elbow out to the side. It is done - though perhaps a little slower, more considerate, more formal than usual, signalling their surprise. 

“Contact me again when you arrive. I need to return to monitoring their communications,” The Lotus said, after another tense moment. The sound of her disconnecting seemed to release some tension they hadn’t realised they’d been holding. They shook out their shoulders and stepped up to the navigation console. It signalled a few more minutes’ travel time - Lotus had been lucky they’d been clearing bases on Nepture.

“Op- egh. Something about this feels off,” Ordis said. “Be safe out there.”

They looked up at the camera and nodded, feeling warm. It was just some Grineer. Sure, they’d heard tales of Tyl Regor, but one bright light in an ocean of Grineer clone-rot wasn’t going to pose much of a danger.

—

They had been so, so wrong. The very air on Uranus felt heavy and bad - more than an ocean-covered planet warranted. 

They’d barely waved off the Liset and Ordis’ worried hovering when alarms immediately started blaring. They turned around with a jerk, scanning the room they’d landed in. Nothing.

“I haven’t even done anything yet!” they signed in frustration, as the air suddenly gained a whole new degree of wrongness.

“Life support has been cut off. That must be Chroma, stirring enough trouble for the Grineer to try and smoke them out,” the Lotus said. “I’m marking a hotspot of activity on your map. See if you can find them there.”

They started running, because it didn’t seem like Chroma realised the danger they’d just plunged the entire base into. Luckily, the Lotus’ guess was right, and the closer they came, the more bodies littered the ground. There were scorch marks on the floor and deep claw marks scored into the walls. They shuddered, hoping the Chroma remembered them, or would at least recognise an ally.

It was in the next room, skillfully roasting another squadron, its back to the door they’d just come through. With a cut-off screech, it turned around, quickly-dying flames wreathing its helmet. They froze, as did the Chroma. The Grineer were dead on the ground.

Tentatively, they signed “friend”.

Chroma immediately perked up, emitting a happy scratching noise, as they signed for them to follow. The other didn’t bother to look if they were following, just set off at a jog. They had no idea where they were going, only that the enemy of their enemy was their friend, and the Chroma hadn’t toasted them on the spot yet.

On their way to wherever it was, the Chroma turned its head to the side, where they were keeping up. “Name?” it signed.

Shit.

The part of their mind that always took over during intense fights suddenly demanded control. They gave it up, curious, keeping up the jog as they watched their hand rise up and sign something unfamiliar. Chroma also hadn’t recognised it, because it tilted its head - and then their hand was spelling it out: “S-u-f-f-o-r-d”. Then it repeated the unique sign - the name-sign, they realised now.

… They’d deal with that later. The Chroma happily repeated it a few times, before spelling its own name, which turned out to be Kali.

And then, there was no more time for more detailed conversation, as the room they barreled into was once again populated with Grineer soldiers, these ones wearing gas masks to be able to work in the poison slowly spreading through the base. Though, there, in the distance, they could see a more distinct silhouette - one they recognised from the silhouettes of wanted posters in the bases they’d been helping to rebuild.

And so did the Lotus. “Tyl Regor!” she shouted, through the speakers built into their armour. They winced - they didn’t enjoy being a walking communication station, but it was necessary. They weren’t about to allow the other onto their secure comms channel.

“Tenno,” the man himself growled, turning around. “Little lizards can’t resist a chance to get their sticky hands in my jar.”

“Regor, you don’t know what you’re doing. You are about to-”

“I am about to discover something, aren’t I?” he gloated. “Something you don’t want us to discover. Something that would give us too much of an edge over your metal bugs, perhaps? Some weapon? Some… Old War secret?”

“Regor, listen to me, you are plunging the whole system in danger by continuing to drill!”

The Lotus was starting to sound frantic. They-and-Sufford stood around awkwardly with Kali, engaged in a staring contest with the Grineer soldiers, who’d raised their guns at their entrance but hadn’t opened fire yet.

“Yes, I am,” he easily confirmed. “Danger of a glorious Grineer empire! You know what is below there, do you not, Lotus? So do I.”

They spared a glance at Kali. Kali shook its head. No clue either.

Regor picked up on it. “Ah, but your insects, they do not! Are you keeping secrets from your children again, Lotus? Don’t you know that’s bad for them?”

“You are risking the lives of everyone in the system. We cannot let you do that.”

“Enough of this buzzing insect,” Tyl said, turning back around with a dismissive wave. His guard suddenly sprang back up into position from where they’d been slouching. “Dispose of the nuisances.”

Tyl vanished through a tunnel, and pandemonium broke out.

Alarms were blaring again, overlaid with fast Grineer speaking over an intercom. Immediately to their side, Kali drowned it all out with a deafening scream, and was then on the Grineer in front of them, once more at the centre of a living fireball. None of the soldiers had been ready for it, but more were already streaming into the room.

“Follow him!” the Lotus commanded over the speakers, so Kali could also hear. “You must not lose track of him.”

They signalled for Kali to follow when they caught its eye, and jumped down the tunnel Regor had vanished into. Trying to keep up with his trail before it went cold, they caught fragments of him speaking, presumably gloating about whatever it was he was trying to do. They strained their auditory sensors, hoping to make sense of just what the secret that lay under their feet was, and hoping it wasn’t a hallucination induced by the poison gas slowly reaching critical levels.

“The Sentient… Destroyer? Liberator? Depends…”

“Nasty thing. Came from where? Who cares. … smashed the Orokin, freed us! …”

And then suddenly, a new, unfamiliar burst of static shot through the communications channel. They nearly stumbled over their own feet in surprise, staggering to a halt. Kali also stopped, looking back and forth quickly, clearly confused but not wanting to let their target escape.

“Lotus, was that you?” Ordis asked. He managed the channel, he would know. Why was he asking?

“No, what did you hear?” the Lotus demanded.

“Some interference came through from your end,” Ordis said, and was promptly cut off by more.

“Natah,” a new, unfamiliar voice spoke. “Where are you? You cannot hide from me.”

“Retreat,” the Lotus said, urgent. “It is too late. Regor has woken the Sentient.”

Down the tunnel, where they’d seen Regor go, they could hear shouting.

“Marking extraction on your map. Please hurry,” Ordis urged.

None of this had been on speaker, and Kali looked extremely worried. They signed for it to follow, that they were heading to extraction, that they’d explain later. With one last longing look thrown at the other end of the tunnel, emitting a few sparks from the end of its helmet, Kali signed its agreement. They started running, the Chroma in tow, and turned on the speakers again, so that they wouldn’t have to repeat anything important said.

Too bad the interference chose exactly that moment to return. “Natah, who have you become? Does this form remind you of what you once were? Time has carried my seed so very far from the branch.”

“Lotus,” they signed, worried. “Who is that?”

“We can discuss details once you are back to safety, Tenno,” she replied, tersely. Fine.

They reached the extraction point. Kali was still with them, so they pushed it ahead of them. It seemed familiar with the setup, as it jumped into the magnets without trouble.

“Who the hell is- Ahem, I wasn’t aware the Chroma was tagging along?” Ordis asked.

“Its name is Kali,” they signed, spelling out the name again, before hopping into the newly-freed magnets themself. Once in the Liset, they continued. “Can’t leave it behind on a planet with an unknown danger. Can’t evaluate the danger as long as Lotus won’t tell us anything. So it’s coming with.”

The fresh air inside was a relief they couldn’t enjoy for too long, as Kali had already found their collection of floofs and was handling them just a tad too roughly for their comfort. As the Liset took off, they were distracted away from the fact that the Lotus stayed entirely too quiet in response to that.

[cosmicoceanfic]

Sam does not understand, fundamentally, why he is always the one getting shafted, cosmically speaking.

He’s considered it pretty carefully. He’s not exactly sure if you can get reincarnated, but every day he gets a little more certain, because clearly he did something terrible in a past life to deserve this. I mean, sure, there’s all the murdering he’s done in this life, and the lying, and he’s done more than his fair share of coveting, he guesses. But even with all the killing, he can’t have done anything bad enough to warrant this. It’s gotta have been the guy before him, fucking up his life from beyond the grave.

Grimly, Sam makes the call. As he listens to it ring, he wonders what he can do to make up for his cosmic misfortune. Plant trees, maybe. Campaign against animal cruelty? He’s definitely going to need a burger after this. The biggest burger they’ll make him. So maybe he shouldn’t be a hypocrite about the animal cruelty.

“Yeah?” Dean answers.

“Hi,” Sam says.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam, not for the first time, silently damns his father to hell for raising them on the road in a way that means Dean intrinsically knows all his tells. “Cover’s blown. We need a new plan.”

“Cover’s- what do you mean, cover’s blown?”

“I meant that the cover’s blown. So we need a new plan.”

“The fuck did you do to blow it?”

Sam bristles. “This is not my fucking fault.”

“Well, whose fault is it?”

Sam hates his life. He wonders if it’s too late to renounce hunting and go back to law school. “Did you come to see Cas while I was investigating the warehouse yesterday?”

“Yeah, he wanted an opinion on an angle on the case.”

“Did you hang out on the front porch for a while afterwards?”

The defensiveness creeps into Dean’s voice, right on schedule. “A man can’t hang out with his best friend for the first time all week, Sammy?”

Maybe killing Dean’ll get the metaphysical target off his back. It’s more murder but that’s gotta be a net win for the universe. “Were you… behaving any different? Than normal?”

“No, same as always.”

Yeah, that checks out. “Cas left to do some recon today and this, uh. This posse of the older ladies who live in the neighborhood dropped by for a talk.”

“…okay?”

“And they wanted me to know that Cas…” Christ. “Cas is having an affair.”

Silence from Dean before he lets out a squawk of laughter.

“You can’t even hold anybody down when you’re not laying any pipe,” he tells Sam. “You’re a fucking embarrassment.” Jesus God, Sam hates him. Sam opens his mouth but something changes in Dean’s tone. “Wait, an affair? Is there- did somebody-“ And there’s the jealous edge, also right on cue. “Did somebody come by to see Cas? Someone he likes more-“ Dean cuts himself off, saving the two of them the awkwardness of him finishing the sentence with than me?

“No, moron,” Sam says, because he’s about at the edge of his patience. “They think he’s cheating on me with you.”

Dead silence. Sam waits.

“No, they don’t,” Dean says finally.

Sam rolls his eyes. “They gave me a pretty detailed description, Dean, I think they must’ve had binoculars.”

“Well, how the fuck do you know they were-“

“Freckles, green eyes, tan jacket, red flannel.”

More silence.

“They said they’re gonna watch the house like a hawk in case you come back,” Sam tells him. “We can’t have them doing that. So the cover’s blown, and we need to find a new angle.”

“Cas and I don’t read like that,” Dean says.

Sam doesn’t even know where to begin with that. “Evidently you do,” he settles on. “Because they clocked you, and now we’re fucked.” Dean’s quiet again. “Dean?”

“I told you nobody was gonna buy Cas being in love with your big dumb ass,” Dean finally bursts out with. “I fucking told you this was a bad plan-“

“It was the only plan,” Sam snaps. “It was the only goddamn plan, and you refused to be the one to do it, so it was my job.” Sam’s had to watch Cas mope around about it for a week, and he is not about to entertain Dean rewriting history.

“Does Cas know?”

“Cas is out investigating, I’m gonna tell him when he gets back.” Because Sam’s life is the hardest anyone’s ever had it, and he’s including Jesus. “Drive to the rendezvous point and start thinking about a plan.”

“Why is this my job?

Sam, with some restraint, does not say because thanks to the fact that you won’t have a conversation with Cas like people do, this is your fault. He also does not say because you’re pushing fucking forty and still a stilted jackass. Finally, he does not say because you’ve been inflicting you and Cas on me for almost ten fucking years and I’m starting to think I will never know peace.

“Just is,” he says, instead of all that. “See you soon.”

Sam hangs up. Cas’ truck is pulling into the drive, and he’s anticipating that this conversation is only going to go marginally better than the Dean one did.

The absolute biggest, juiciest, fuck youiest burger, Sam thinks, and heads out to meet him.

one of my strongest opinions is that a samcas fake couple matchup would flop because cas is just not going to cooperate at all. sorry. you could not pay him to pretend to be attracted to that man. r/DeadBedrooms vibes so potent that several of the miserable suburban str8 couples they come in contact with during the case immediately file for divorce.

[jjorbles]

(Repost) Supergirl’s costume... looks like Supergirl. Weird.

Note: This article was originally posted March 11th, 2015 on the Agony Booth, which I used to write for. Since that site is sadly no longer with us, I’m reposting my old articles here.

Apparently, I’ve developed a bit of a rep as the “anti-DC” guy here on the Agony Booth, which is fair, but kind of weird, because I don’t hate DC. In fact, I love DC, or at least I love the DC Universe and its cast of characters. I wouldn’t devote so much time and energy to something I didn’t care about.

I’ve been a DC guy since I was a kid. Maybe it’s just that DC had better cartoons when I was growing up, but for whatever reason, I’ve always had far more interest in DC than in its competitor Marvel. The DC universe just seems more grandiose, and I prefer their larger-than-life heroes to Marvel’s more down-to-earth style of storytelling (well, as down-to-earth as a comic in which a Norse god clubs a radioactive giant with his lightning hammer can be). Sure, I’ll always love Marvel. I can never turn my back on the universe that gave me She-Hulk, Nightcrawler, and Susan Storm, but there’s nothing quite like the trinity of Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman. You just can’t top that.

Of course, the downside of being invested in something is it makes it easier for that something to turn on you and piss you off, hence my constant rants about DC’s frequently boneheaded editorial decisions. It’s intensely frustrating when the people with creative control over the things you love insist on ruining them in the worst possible ways all the time. Sure, I should probably stop getting so upset over the way they treat characters who aren’t real, but it’s hard not to be depressed knowing that my favorite superhero (Wonder Woman, natch) is stuck with a company that has repeatedly demonstrated they do not have her best interests at heart.

But justified or not, apparently I’ve talked about this stuff enough that every time DC announces anything, people tend to want my reaction. Not that I’m complaining—it’s the greatest feeling in the world to know people actually want your opinion. And given that one of my all-time most popular articles was an angry screed against Wonder Woman’s new outfit for her movie appearance, naturally it makes sense for me to offer some kind of comment now that a costume for DC’s next most iconic heroine, Supergirl, has surfaced. Having seen the outfit, designed for the Maid of Might’s upcoming CBS TV show, it allows me to say something I don’t get to say about DC announcements lately:

I like it.

Seriously, I actually really like it. Sure, the colors are a bit muted for my tastes, and I miss the yellow background for her S-shield, but otherwise, this is much better than I expected. I was afraid that, like most recent DC comics adaptations, it would toe the company line and give us something resembling her New 52 costume. Instead, they’ve gone with a classic old school look.

The actress, Melissa Benoist, is doing the traditional George Reeves-esque hands-on-hips pose, and even (gasp) smiling! It’s far from the latest DC movie marketing campaign, with all the heroes grimly bowing their heads over desolate, dimly-lit backgrounds. Even more surprising, the costume is actually a more modest throwback to the character’s pre-Crisis look, as opposed to the more revealing, naughty schoolgirl look the character has been sporting in the comics since the ‘90s.

This costume was reportedly designed by Colleen Atwood, who worked on outifts for the CW shows Arrow and The Flash. This is definitely her best work yet in the field of superhero design. The outfits in Arrow were less than impressive, most barely even qualifying as costumes, befitting the overall underwhelming aesthetic of an underwhelming show*. The Flash was a step in the right direction, but was still a bit cheap-looking and lacking in interesting details.

[*Sorry guys, I will just never be an Arrow fan.]

It’ll be interesting to see to what degree these promotional images reflect the actual show. Like Wonder Woman (or really, any female comic book character that’s been in publication for more than a few decades), Supergirl has a rocky history at best. Her personality varies wildly from writer to writer, and DC doesn’t seem to really have any idea what to do with her, mainly keeping her around because she makes for great marketing.

Silver Age comics portrayed her as a classic teen girl adventuress, and a more human, impetuous version of her male counterpart. The ‘90s saw a bizarre revamp of the character’s origin into a supernatural being who interacted with angels and demons, something like Supergirl crossed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When the character was returned to her more classic origins, they began characterizing her as a sensitive, curious alien, playing up her inexperience with Earth culture; basically, E.T. with boobs. And the New 52 version is essentially Superman with no moral compass: an angry, destructive force, which isn’t that different from New 52 Superman himself, really.

Of all these approaches, you’re probably unsurprised to hear I’d prefer something closer to the Silver Age version. It’s the simplest and most endearing version of the character, and it’s the one that made her an icon. Making a Supergirl show essentially allows you to do Smallville but without suffering from prequel syndrome. You can have your likeable-but-relatably-flawed, sexy young superhero story without constantly having to beat around the bush. You don’t have to do younger or not-quite-there-yet versions of popular characters. You can just come right out and say “This is Lex Luthor” or “This is Toyman”. Hopefully, CBS’s Supergirl will be another step in The Flash’s direction: Colorful, fun, and unashamed to call itself a superhero show.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.” 

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf. 

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels. 

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons. 

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be. 

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

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

+ Childhood

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Pay Attention

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 4472

Part 2 of 2

Part One

Summary: With a new body, the team is sure that the reader’s attacker is the unsub they’re looking for. He, however, is looking for them too. 

Notes: Like the last part, this one is a dark one guys. This part will deal with more violence and the attacks. Feel free to skip. I really loved writing both of these. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Trauma, gore, assault, mentions of rape and sexual assault. 

Find Reid and more crime drama imagines: HERE

-

He checked every corner of your apartment, leaving no throw pillow unturned. After that call, he wasn’t taking any chances. It wasn’t until he was sure it was clear that he let you through the door. You had your arms wrapped around yourself, hugging your sweater closer to your body. 

“Spence, come on. I feel ridiculous enough with the security detail standing out here.” You glanced at the agent beside you. “No offense, Agent Bradford.” 

“None taken.” He nodded with a kind smile. You stepped into your apartment and Spence immediately started making you some tea. 

“I can do that.” 

“I know.” He looked at you and his hazel eyes were distraught. “I just… I need to help. Please, just let me help.” He turned back to the stove to put the kettle on. His shoulders slouched forward and his whole frame seemed to cave in on itself. You took off your sweater and laid in on the back of the living room chair. Everything felt so hot and stuffy and suffocating. 

You pressed your cheek against Spencer’s back, wrapping your arms around his middle. Your chest and arms still ached and the bandages rubbed against his sweater vest. Spencer paused, resting his hands on top of yours. You could hear how fast his nervous heart was beating and held him a little tighter. 

“I’m okay, Spence.” You whispered, but even you thought it sounded unconvincing. You were scared and you were angry and you were guilt-ridden for causing him this much pain, but you definitely were not ‘okay’. He could feel it too. 

Spencer turned around, still keeping your arms around him. He tucked your head under his chin and enveloped you in his embrace, holding you as close as he could without hurting you. You held each other like that until you pushed away slightly. 

“Spencer?” Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and Spencer put a hand on your cheek, his eyes searching yours in panic. 

“What is it?” 

“Can you…” You felt so stupid, but you needed to feel something else. “Can you kiss me?” His brows knitted together in confusion. You looked down at your feet. “All I can think about is him and his hands and his lips and I-” You choked back more tears. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He put his other hand up so he was cradling your face. He hesitated at first, worried that it would trigger memories of the attack. But when you gave him a small nod, he closed the space between you. 

Spencer’s lips were soft. He seemed overly cautious at first, but it only took a moment for him to confirm that you weren’t uncomfortable. His fingers slowly slipped back to tangle themselves in your hair. It wasn’t rough or needy. It was more to remind you that he was there. He was with you. 

You weren’t sure which one of you fell asleep first, but your couch was hardly big enough for both of you. You were pressed against his chest and he had his arms locked around you to keep you from rolling off. You listened to his heartbeat and he listened to your breathing, both lulling each of you to sleep. 

Until his phone rang. 

It woke you up first and Spencer still seemed fast asleep so you answered it. 

“Hello?” You whispered, slowly trying to slide off of your boyfriend so he wouldn’t wake up.

“Y/N?” It was Morgan.

“Yeah, Spence is asleep. Is everything okay?” 

“Not exactly. We found another body.” He sighed. “Looks like our guy.”

“He killed someone else?” You cried, putting your hand over your mouth to quiet the sound. “That’s not possible. He said he would stop as long as I went to Hotch. He said he would stop-”

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, just calm down, okay?” Morgan instructed, softening his tone. “I need you to keep calm and put Reid on the phone, can you do that for me?” 

“I’m not a child Morgan.” You snapped bitterly. You didn’t mean to take out your frustration on him, but your blood was boiling. Your anger kept you from being afraid. 

“I know that.” He wasn’t defensive or irritated. Instead he seemed sympathetic. “Y/N, this isn’t your fault. This guy was never going to stop.” Morgan watched crime scene investigators swarm around him, his eyes landing on the new body. He had a gut feeling that had been gnawing at him since he got here and he hoped that he was wrong. 

“Who is it?” Spencer rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. 

“Here, he’s awake now.” You handed him the phone and had to sit down. It was like he was there, his weight crushing your chest and making it impossible to breathe. 

“Reid, we’ve got another body.” 

“That’s not much of a cool down.” Reid pinched the bridge of his nose. This could be turning into a spree which meant that he would strike again soon. He turned so that he wasn’t facing you and tried to lower his voice so you wouldn’t hear. “Did the other crime scenes seem to fit Y/N’s attack?” 

“That’s the thing, Reid.” Morgan stared at the pale blue fabric hanging limply from Maddison Gusman’s body. “When we talked to the family of the last victim, they said only one thing was missing from her body. Her red jacket.” 

“The one Y/N saw in the van.” Spence winced. While making connections would help catch the man that did this, it wouldn’t make it easier for you. 

“There’s something else. About this body.”

“Is she missing something too?”

“No. It’s what she’s wearing.” Morgan watched them zip the body bag and grimaced. “Her shirt isn’t the right size. It’s too big.” 

“What does that have to do with-” He stopped, feeling his stomach drop. “You don’t think that…”

“Hotch said they never recovered Y/N’s shirt. Other victims had items of clothing that were missing. From the missing person’s report, the shirt on the body is not the shirt that Maddison Gusman was wearing according to her boss’ description.” 

Spencer was silent, trying to control himself so he didn’t scare you. 

“You okay, kid?”

“A murdered woman was found wearing my girlfriend’s shirt less than 24 hours after she was attacked by a serial killer. No, Morgan, I’m not okay.” He hissed. He flinched, hearing a sob escape your mouth despite your efforts to cover it. So much for control. “Do you need me to come in?” 

“No, you stay there. Prentiss and I will come to you to go over the details.” Hotch didn’t want either one of you stepping one foot out of that apartment. “And Reid?”

“Yeah?”

“If either of you need anything, I’m a phone call away.” Morgan wished that he could just take all of this away, but he couldn't. The best thing he could do was catch the bastard. The agents hung up and Morgan returned to the crime scene. 

“He made her wear my shirt?” You tried to stand up from the chair, but your legs were shaking. Spencer gently sat you back down and crouched in front of you. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He put his hands on your legs, his fingers rubbing soothing circles. He looked at the floor. “Morgan and Prentiss will be here soon. They want to go over some of the details with me. They might want to talk to you too.” His hazel eyes searched yours with the same sadness you saw in them at the hospital. 

“Okay,” You said softly, twirling one of his mousy brown curls around your finger. You stared at it, your mind unable to escape your own guilt. “I really thought that if I did what he said, he would stop.” Spencer caught your hand in his, tangling your fingers together. 

“This man wants to feel powerful. He’s been neglected all his life and this is how he’s getting attention. He needs it.” 

“So he was never going to stop.” You nodded grimly. You should have seen that. You taught this kind of behavioural analysis, for god’s sake. “I gave him what he wanted for nothing.” You should have known better. 

“No,” Spencer said sternly. He pressed his forehead against yours, holding the back of your head in his hand. “It probably kept you alive. And to me that’s everything.” 

You stayed there for a while, breathing each other in and holding completely still. Suddenly, a gunshot ripped through the silence, followed by another. Spencer was up in a second, pistol in hand and slowly walking toward the door.��

“Spence,” You squeaked, getting up from the chair. 

“Stay there.” He instructed, listening carefully for any other sounds coming from outside the door. 

He slowly opened the front door, but his path was obstructed by Agent Bradford’s body. There was what appeared to be a stab wound in his side and two gunshot wounds in his chest. His gun was gone. Reid looked down the hall, finding the fire escape window open. 

“Spencer.” He heard you call out. Darting back into the room, he kept his gun at his hip. 

“It looks like he got out through the fire escape. Bradford is dead. We need to get out of here.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Dr. Reid.” That familiar raspy voice sent a chill of panic up his spine. He spun around and found himself aiming his gun at you. The unsub was holding you in front of him with one arm latched around your stomach with crushing force and the other holding a gun to your temple. 

“Let her go.” Reid ordered, adjusting his weapon. The unsub just laughed. 

“I wouldn’t do that, Dr. Reid. We both know you aren’t  a very good shot and lovely Dr. Y/L/N here wouldn’t stand a chance if you missed. So why don’t you be a nice agent and put it down.” 

Spencer was frozen. He looked at your terrified face and back at the unsub’s smiling one. 

“Spence,” You cried, wincing as the unsub tightened his hold. Spencer held up his hands in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, just don’t hurt her.” He moved slowly, setting his gun on the floor and sliding it over. The unsub kicked it far out of reach.

“Alright, I just need everybody to calm down.” He leaned his face into your neck, inhaling the smell of your hair. He watched Spencer’s fists clench and grinned. “And do exactly as I say.”

-

Prentiss had been oddly quiet since the hospital. The elevator in your apartment building was getting repaired, so they had to climb the four flights in uncomfortable silence. Morgan gave her an inquiring look. 

“You feeling okay, Prentiss?” He asked. She seemed too lost in thought to hear him. “Prentiss?” 

“Hmm?” She saw his concerned look and sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking about Y/N. What this guy did to her…”

“It’s rough stuff,” Morgan nodded solemnly. He remembered the sound of your voice over the phone. How scared and angry you were. “That’s why we’ve got to catch this guy before he gets to anybody else. And if anyone can figure out how to do that, it’s those two.” Prentiss smiled slightly.

“They are kind of a brainy power-couple, aren’t they?” They both laughed, finally reaching your floor. Her expression turned serious again. “You know, we always made plans to get a cup of coffee or lunch, but something always came up. You guys have all known her a lot longer than I have. She’s practically part of the team, and I hardly know anything about her other than she’s one of the youngest instructors at Quantico and a super genius when it comes to behavior.”

“And that she somehow got boy genius wrapped around her finger.” Morgan added, trying to lighten the mood a little. “But you should get to know her. She’s one of a kind.”

“I guess her and Reid were kind of made for each other.” 

Her nice sentiment was forgotten as soon as they emerged from the stairway. Both agents grabbed their weapons and trained them at the unmoving mass on the floor. They scanned every single detail of the hallway as they approached. 

“Is that…” Prentiss started grimly. 

“Agent Bradford.” Morgan confirmed. Your apartment door was cracked open, but it didn’t look like it had been broken into. The window at the end of the hall was fully open, leading to the fire escape. Morgan motioned towards it and Prentiss nodded. She slowly crept through the door while he looked outside, making sure it was clear before climbing out onto the fire escape. The platform had access to one other window. The glass was broken from the outside, shattered pieces littering the carpet of your bedroom. 

Prentiss opened the door, holstering her weapon once she checked the room. She looked at Morgan with a sickened expression. 

“You better come see this.” 

Morgan carefully climbed in, making sure not to disturb any evidence. He followed Prentiss out to the living room and felt his heart sink. Sprawled across the wall were words written in blood. 

“Pay Attention.” Derek read angrily. He wanted to put his fist through every bloody letter. “We took, what, ten minutes to get over here?” 

“He knows how to work fast, that’s for sure.” Prentiss scanned the room. She had to treat this like any other crime scene. She walked around while Morgan called Hotch to get some back up. 

The kitchen table had a chair pulled out and the beginnings of a pot of tea were left stranded on the counter. Scuff marks from the chair likely meant that it had been pushed away from the table quickly. The body in the hall had both gunshot wounds and a stab wound to the side. 

“So if I’m the unsub, I must have approached Bradford without him pulling his gun, so I look like I belong.” She made the motions as she spoke, trying to get into the killer’s head. “I know I can’t take him down without a fight, so I stab him in the side and grab his gun, shooting him twice in the chest.” 

“Reid and Y/N hear the shots, one of them stands up and scuffs the floor.” Morgan added, putting himself into the scene. “If I’m Reid, I’ve got the weapon. I’m going to go check out the sound and keep Y/N away from the door.” He walked across the room and stepped into the hallway. “I see Bradford’s body and the window open so I’m going to go back in and get Y/N the hell out of here.” 

“But Y/N had to have heard the glass break in the bedroom.” Prentiss pointed out. “But if I’m already at the front door, I’ve taken out the security, why don’t I just come that way? Why go out onto the fire escape and break in through the bedroom window?” Both agents were quiet for a moment, trying to get a clear view of the situation. Morgan spoke first. 

“Because you want to get to Y/N without confronting Reid. That way you can use her to control him.” 

“So I’ve got my gun on her and I make you slide yours over here.” Prentiss pointed to the abandoned pistol next to her foot. 

“And make me write that.” Morgan added, looking at the message on the wall. He looked around the room for any kind of clue Reid could have left. “Reid knew we were coming. He’d try and tell us something.” 

There, on the table beside the couch, was another spot of red. Morgan pointed to it and Prentiss grabbed a glove out of her pocket to pick it up. The paper had a red thumbprint next to a few scribbles of writing.

“They look like Y/N’s notes.” She held them up so Morgan could see them. 

“Look at that. She wrote these for her guest seminar at Georgetown three days ago.” He ran a hand down his face. “When Reid told us about the phone call he got from the unsub Reid said that he told him ‘He learned from the best.’” 

“You think he was talking about Dr. Y/L/N’s class?”

“Reid put this here for a reason. He wanted to make sure we saw it.” He took out his phone and dialed Garcia. “If we can find out who was in that class, we find Reid and Y/N.” 

-

You were both in cages. Yours sat adjacent to the one Spencer was in but your cage had a moldy, piece of cloth that could have been a blanket at one point in the corner. You made the connection and scrambled to the farthest corner away from it. 

“Oh god,” You put a hand over your mouth to cover the sound of your heavy breathing. Your mind started to go into a panic. You were going to die. This man was going to torture and kill you and then dump your body for other agents to find and study and dissect. A quiet groan broke you out of your thoughts. Spencer. He was going to kill Spencer. He turned over, eyes slowly opening. You reached your arm through the bars, desperate to touch him, to feel him just one more time. 

“Can you see anything?” He asked quietly, slowly crawling towards you. Other than the lights hanging over the cages, the room itself was pitch black. Judging from the echo, you knew you had to be in some kind of warehouse or workshop. 

“No, I can’t see anything. I can’t see anything.” Your breathing was picking up as the panic fully set in. Spencer finally reached you, grabbing your hand and putting it against his cheek. 

“You can see me.” His thumb gently rubbed the back of your hand. “Just look at me. Look at me, Y/N.” He was just able to get his hands through the bars and put them on your shoulders. “We’re going to be okay. The team will find us.”

“How, Spence?” You cried, the dark shade of hopelessness washing over you. “They don’t know anything about this monster and- and we don’t know where we are-”

“He was in your class.” 

“They don’t know that. How are they going to figure out who he is let alone where to find us?” 

“I showed it to them. It wasn’t much, but I know that Morgan and Prentiss will understand.” Through his hopeful tone you could still hear it. The fear. He was terrified. 

Spencer wasn’t tough like Morgan or cool and collected like Prentiss. He couldn’t turn off his emotions the way that Hotch could. The only thing keeping him from breaking down was you. Your hand fell from his cheek to his neck. He was wearing some kind of collar, a chain connecting him to something outside the cage. 

“Spence, we have to get that off of you.” As soon as you said it, he was yanked backyards, a choked cry escaping his mouth. The chain pulled him against the bars, his arms still reaching out for you as it crushed his windpipe. “Stop it!” You shrieked into the dark. “Leave him alone! Please! Stop it! Spencer!” 

The chain slackened and he fell to the floor, gasping painfully for air. 

“You’d be surprised at the amount of things you can make with elevator parts.” The unsub had appeared behind you, leaning his forehead against the bars of your cage with a smile spreading across his lips. “Fun, huh?” 

He dangled a key from his fingers, swinging it back and forth in front of you before he started to unlock your cell.  

“Leave… her… alone.” Spencer coughed, slowly making his way back towards you. 

“You know, whenever I brought one of those other girls here, they just screamed and screamed the whole time.” The man shook his head, entering your cage one step at a time, drawing out your panic. “But you aren’t going to do that, are you? You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.” He pressed a button on the remote in his hand and Spencer was jerked back again. 

“Yes!” You blurted. “I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone.” You had your back pressed against the metal bars, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. He beckoned you to step forward. 

“Show me my work.” 

“W-what?” 

“I’ve heard you teach, Dr. Y/L/N so don’t pretend to be stupid with me.” He snapped, his calm exterior cracking. He stepped towards you more aggressively but was able to regain control of himself. “Take off all those pesky bandages.” 

“P-please let us go.” You pleaded. He just held up the remote again, his finger hovering over the button. “Okay, okay.” You made sure your back was to Spencer before lifting your sweater over your head and slowly peeling the bandages off of your wounds. The letters were still an irritated red color against your skin and your usual bra felt more revealing than ever. He ran a hand down your arm, bringing your shirt up his nose to breathe in your scent. 

“D-don’t touch her.” Spencer cried, using the bars to pull himself up. The unsub just clicked his tongue, not even bothering to look at him. 

“You should have popped the question while you had the chance, Dr. Reid.” He smirked as your eyes widened. “Oh, didn’t I mention that?” He pulled a small rectangular box from his pocket. “I found this in lover-boy’s jacket pocket. Looks like he won’t be needing it after all.” He tossed it over his shoulder and grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing your lips to his. His hands traced over the marks he’d left on you greedily. 

He was distracted and you took the opportunity to snatch the remote out of his pocket and threw it through the bars, listening to it smash into pieces under Spencer’s foot. The unsub shoved you backwards, the breath knocked out of you as you hit the ground. 

“You little bitch.” He spat, his hands moving down to his belt. “Pay attention, Dr. Reid. I’ll show you how your girl is meant to be treated.” 

“Put your hands up and don’t move!” Prentiss’ voice ordered, a team of agents bursting into the room. The unsub clenched his jaw and lifted up his arm, knife clenched in his hand. Prentiss pulled the trigger without hesitation. 

You didn’t even give them time to reach you. You reached into the dying man’s pocket and grabbed his keys. You pushed through the other agents and unlocked the door to Spencer’s cage and had the collar off of him as quickly as you could. He could see your body shaking as you moved and you were desperately trying not to break down. He wrapped his jacket around you and pulled you into his arms. 

“I’m okay.” He choked out. It was still hard to speak without his throat feeling like it was burning and now he had relieved tears welling in his eyes. “We’re okay. It’s over.” 

-

Sitting in the hospital felt strange. You had been cleared already, but Spencer was still in as they looked at the damage to his throat. You sat leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. In your hands was the small box you had yet to open. You had grabbed it before you and Spence were taken out to the ambulances, but you hadn’t brought yourself to look inside. 

“You, um… I guess you know what it is.” Spencer’s raspy voice startled you. You looked up and saw the dark bruises starting to form on his neck. “They said I’ll be okay, I just have to take it easy on the talking.” 

“That won’t be easy.” You laughed lightly. He sat beside you and stared at the box.

“Have you opened it yet?” Even in his strained whisper, you could hear the disappointment. This isn’t what he wanted and now he was afraid his chance was gone for good. You shook your head. 

“I thought we should do that together.” You took his hand and put it on the lid. He gave you a small smile and slowly flipped it open. Inside was a leaf. To someone else, it wouldn’t have made any sense, but seeing it brought tears to your eyes. “Is that…?”

“It’s the leaf that got caught in your hair the day we met. You walked into the BAU to assist us on a case and I grabbed it for you. I was just this weird, tall guy who pulled your hair so you gave me this strange look so I explained that there was a leaf in your hair. And then you smiled and I had never felt like I had right then before. There wasn’t a trash can or anything so I put the leaf in my pocket. I guess I’ve just held onto it ever since.” 

“Spencer, this is-” You were trying to find the words, but you couldn’t. 

“I was going to ask you last night when we were supposed to watch the movie.” He sighed. “It feels like a long time ago now, but I still feel the same way.” He shifted so that he was kneeling in front of you. “I always thought that if, by chance, I ever found someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, it would be because they make me feel normal. But you don’t make me feel normal.” He blinked back his own tears so he could say everything he needed to. “You make me feel like the best version of myself. And maybe it’s inappropriate after everything that has happened in these two days, but all of the pain we just went through just made me realize even more that I don’t want to spend one moment of my life without you. Dr. Y/N Y/L/N-”

“Yes.” You blurted, kneeling on the floor with him and taking his face in your hands. Spencer laughed. 

“You didn’t let me even ask.” 

“Right, sorry.” You brushed away the endless flow of tears that now fell down your cheeks. “Ask away, Dr. Reid.” 

“Will you marry me?” The smile on his face made your whole body light up. 

“Yes.” You crashed your lips into his, not caring if anyone was around to see. 

The team was down the hall, beaming at each other. Even though they couldn’t hear your words, it wasn’t hard to tell what just happened. Prentiss leaned over to Morgan. 

“I told you.” She grinned. “They’re made for each other.”

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks​

From last part (I think I got everyone, but don’t be offended if I missed you, I’m just bad at tag lists): @ takeyourleap-of-faith; @ squiggledrop; @ avidreider; @ lotties-journey-abroad; @ justfloatingthroughtime; @ bisexualwomanofcolour; @obsssedwithjustaboutanything; @jupiterdove; @ uhuhuh; @ walkingjunkdna; @ skullwithemotions; @ shigwhore; @ harry-hollands; @ cielo1984; @ slytherin-blogger; @eevee0722; @ spenceoffense; @ radtwinkie; @ absolutemarveltrash

[sukunarii]

May I please offer an Omiki for the lyrics 'I hate everything about you. Why do I love you?' from the song I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace?

Feel free to ignore this if it does not spark any inspiration or if I'm offering incorrectly. Thank you. ❤️

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Sometime before you died, you formed a binding vow with Sukuna causing you to become a curse. One thousand years later, you finally found him again. You wanted nothing more than for him to release the binding vow, however he refused.

A/N: Dw hon, you made the offering correctly, thank you for the request! Also, a bit of a longer fic today! With school starting it’s taking me longer to get through all the request 😣. Thank you all for being so patient!

If there was any god, it seem that he has finally smiled upon you tonight. A malicious smile forming on your lips, you ran towards the pink hair boy that was standing alone in the streets.

"Excuse me lady—"

Before he could finish his sentence, with a single hand you grabbed his entire face and shoved him into the nearby wall, cracking the wall in the process. Dust flies in all direction and the boy falls down into a seating position, his eyelid slowly closing. You bent down, to look at him curiously.

"Finally found you," you say.

Suddenly, instead of the original brown eyes, two pairs of piercing red eyes opened and the boy taps you on your forehead.

Immediately, it seems that everything turned blurry for a moment until you fell into a puddle of blood. You recognized this place. It was Sukuna's innate domain.

You rubbed your head from the fall.

"Sukuna," you grunted, your voice dripping with hatred.

"Is that how you greet someone?", Sukuna calls out to you tauntingly.

You followed the source of the voice up and see him—Sukuna sitting on a throne of bull skulls looking down at you with amusement. Oh how much you have learned to hate that smirk.

You got up, slow and grimly, some of the blood dripping down your clothes. Sukuna didn't move as he watched you grab a buffalo skull from the pile and threw it at him. With a flick of Sukuna's finger, the buffalo skull easily dissolved into little pieces before it reached him.

"Adorable. Fiesty as always."

You grimaced, you were really hoping that it would hit him. Or even at least make him realize that you weren't playing around, but he stayed the same. He was just toying around with you.

"Sukuna don't give me this shit, you know why I'm here" you shouted at him.

He rolled his eyes, "Do you think I remember the concern of everyone that hates me?"

Those words hurts more than you would like to admit. Your entire life, you chased this fruitless dream that you could be Sukuna's 'someone'. But even after so long, he still viewed you as no different than 'everyone'.

"I became a curse because of you. We made a binding vow of some type so I didn't pass on like everyone else. I'm tired of existing. I want you to break this vow and release me," you explained.

You searched his face for any change of expression, hoping to find a hint of compassion. But you were foolish. Sukuna does not care about anyone else and you knew that more than anyone.

"I refuse."

Anger rised from your chest to your head. It was a simple request yet he turned you down so easily.

"What do you mean you refuse?," you shouted at him, "I didn't spend one thousand years looking for you just so you can refuse me. I said I don't want to be in this binding vow anymore so whether or not you like me, you better fucking release me."

Seeing you all worked up, Sukuna laughs again. You hated how he always treated you that way. He always seemed to be looking down on you when he reacts to you with a laugh like that.

"Why should I?", he said, then his voice deepened and he no longer looked amused, "A binding vow is a mutual agreement, you can't break a binding vow because you've lost interest."

"I've lost interest? What use do I have for you anyways?", you snapped back.

Sukuna seems to lean back, cocking his head higher but his eyes still locked on you, "Do you not remember the details of the binding vow?"

You didn't answer. It’s been one thousand years, the details have all became hazy.

Sukuna's laughter echoes through the vast chamber again, "So you really did forget?" Sukuna gets up from his seat and stands on the top of the buffalo skull pile.

"The biggest mistake a sorcerer can make is to make a wreckless binding vow. You can't blame anyone but yourself," he grins, "And this means that your life belongs to me."

You balled your hands into fists, "Then I'll just fucking kill you!", you shouted at him.

Moving at the fastest you can, you jumped to the top of the pile of skulls where Sukuna was standing but he easily dodged you. You tried to land a kick on him, but you missed. Every time you tried to punch him, he easily blocked your punches. He was still so much stronger than you.

He effortlessly overpowered you and knocked you to the bottom of the skull pile. You laid in the pond of blood, breath heavy from the fight. He followed you to the bottom too.

"If you want to kill me darling, you'll have to try harder."

You were trying your best to not cry....one thousand years later and you still couldn't beat him.

"I hate you," you finally said to Sukuna, defeated, "The way you always say I won't be as strong as you, the way you always laugh at me or flash me that annoying smirk, I hate how because of you I am still stuck here forever."

Sukuna crouches down beside you.

He was still above you but for once, he didn't seem like he was looking down on you.

"You don't hate me," he says matter-of-factly.

You pressed your lips into a fine line, and annoyed, you splashed some of the blood onto his face, "Says who?"

This was the first hit that landed on Sukuna today and you finally felt a little bit smug seeing him angrily wipe the blood off his face, annoyed with your antics. But he seemed to recall something and brushed it off.

"I want you to do something for me," Sukuna tells you, then he leans down to you and whispered something in your ears.

When he was done talking, you rolled your eyes, "Why should I help you?"

"You're the last piece of the puzzle, once I take over the body of the brat, the plan will be set in motion. We'll rule the era again."

There he was again. Toying around with your emotions and using you to help him fulfill his ambitions.

You laughed bitterly, "We? There was never a we. It's always just you. Me doing this, doing that for you."

Sukuna stands up, "Don't make me regret my offer," he warns you.

You brushed yourself off finally get up too, and gave him a shove, "Fine. I'll do whatever you want. Just promise me that you'll release me from this binding vow when I'm done."

A triumph smirk forms on Sukuna's face, "That's my (Name)."

Immediately, you spat back at him, "Don't say my name like that as if you love me. We both know you don't."

Sukuna didn't agree nor deny your statement. Instead, he chose his next words carefully.

"I know I need you."

And he tapped your shoulders, sending you out of his innate domain again. You woke up on the pavement. The encounter is still fresh on your mind.

Inside Sukuna's innate domain, the King of Curses took a seat on his throne again.

His eyebrows knit together...did you really think that you became a curse because you made a binding vow with him?

"You're the one who cursed yourself," he says out loud.

Curses are spiritual beings manifested from strong negative emotions.

You can shout at him all you want about how much you hate everything about him, but the fact that you're still here is a testament that you still loved him. This is because you’ve spent your entire life chasing for Sukuna's love and died with regret of never hearing him say "I love you," in return. The only reason you were still here is because you still love him. Thus, you were still burdened by the negative emotions of unrequited love.

This is also why Sukuna could never show to you that he loves you in return. Because if he did, your one regret would be fulfilled and you would no longer bear any negative emotions.

(Name) would then pass away for real. And he can't bare at the thought of you leaving him. Ever.

It was a limbo of love and hate, and it seems that they've reached an impasse.

[dracowars]

I was wondering if you can write one with harry for me? Where harry and reader are dating around when sirius died in order of the phoenix and harry is very depressed about the stiuation and slowly disassociates from the reader and when he/she wanted to talk about it and lighten the weight on his shoulders harry says sth to reader along the lines "you are not my family and you are not my home" and a big fight eventually harry realises what he has done and gets very upset bc he loves her/him so much. They eventually make up but i want drama and tears you know lol i will be very happy if you can write this!!

don't shut me out | harry potter

pairing: harry x gryffindor!reader

word count: 2,5k

summary: where harry shuts y/n out after sirius' death

a/n: my first harry one shot, yayy! thank you for sending in this request <3

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

"Please write an essay about the effects of the Anti-Paralysis Potion until next week", Professor Snape grimly finishes his lesson and immediately chaotic murmur breaks out in the classroom when all the other students pack up their things and leave for their well deserved break.

You on the other hand calmly close your book and slowly slide it into your bag before getting up from your seat with a sigh, but not without taking another look at the empty seat in front of you first.

Harry did not show up for class again today. This is the third time this week and even when he is in one of his courses, his mind is not there with him.

A week ago he returned to the common room, devastated, and Ron and Hermione even had to support him so he would not fall over. The only thing you knew at that time was that they were on a secret mission at the Ministry of Magic, but you did not know what a terrible disaster happened.

Harry did not exchange a word with you and went straight to bed that evening, leaving you behind confused and ignorantly until Hermione told you about the recent events. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and last living relative, was killed right in front of his eyes through his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. While Hermione told you what happened, tears were already uncontrollaby streaming down your face.

You knew exactly how much he meant to Harry.

Now that Harry has also lost the last remaining member of his family, he has shut himself off completely, hiding from the world, from his friend and also from you. Any attempts to talk to him have failed, but you keep a close eye on him everyday.

If he does not shown up at dinner again, you bring him a plate full of his favorite food to his room, even if it is without his consent, just to find it barely touched in the morning. If he misses another of his lessons again, you always take even more detailed notes than usual that you later give him so he is able to catch up on what he has missed so far, just to watch the pile grow bigger and bigger.

Every time you enter his room, it breaks your heart when you have to see how your boyfriend, whose face has lost all color by now, looks at you with such sad eyes and cannot even utter a different word at you than a simple 'thank you'. It pains you to see him like this, but he won't let you get to him anymore, he won't let you or his best friends help him.

He shuts himself off the world completely.

"Ms. Y/L/N", Snape suddenly approaches you as you are about to make your way out of the classroom. You look up at your grouchy professor, full of expectation and also a little scared.

"Tell Potter if he does not show up for my class one more time, he will fail", he explains seriously and you can only nod while his cold stare is fixed on you. "Very good."

Turning around, you quickly run out of the door and meet Ron and Hermione in the hallway in front of it, waiting for you.

"What took you so long? I am starving", Ron asks you oblivious as you make your way through the crowd of students in the direction of the Great Hall.

"Snape held me from going. If Harry does not show up for class soon, he will fail in all of his courses", you mutter and your thoughts immediately wander back to him and how he is doing right now.

"Snape can't do that! Dumbledore will not allow it anyway. Everyone knows what happened and no one is this cruel", Hermione breathes out in shock.

"We are still talking about Snape, you know that, right?", Ron replies, only catching an annoyed look from her at his words.

"I will talk to Harry again. Well, at least I will try", you sigh exhaustedly and just before reaching the Great Hall, you leave your friends alone and run up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, entering it after saying the correct password.

Waisting no time, you walk up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and timidly knock on the door. Nothing, not a single sound comes from the inside when you knock a second time.

"Harry? It's me, Y/N. May I come in-"

"Get out!", his voice angrily shouts at you through the door and you back away in shock. There is so much sorrow in his voice, so much pain, so much fear.

So much hate.

"I am not going anywhere", you answer firmly and stand your ground before carelessly opening the door.

The sight that greets you when you enter lets your eyes widen to the maximum. The entire room has been demolished, your carefully written notes scattered in snippets on the floor, his books torn apart next to it and the whole furniture turned over.

And in the middle of it all there is Harry, breathing heavily, as emaciated as you have never seen him before, his hands clenched into fists, his fingernails already painfully digging into his palms. The expression on his face blank when his gaze meets yours.

Without saying a word, you slowly and carefully walk towards him, trying not to stumble over anything on the floor until you stand in front of him. And then you wait.

Wait for him to finally open up to you, wait for him to finally let everything out.

But he turns away.

"Harry", you breathe out barely audible and reach for his hand, which he pulls away in the last second, his eyes on the ground and his back to you.

"Go", he orders, now without any emotion in his voice.

Refusing to listen to his words and let him push you away another time, you circle him to stand right in front of him again.

"I said go!", he aggressively yells at you, but you are quick to catch his face between your hands and lift it up so he has to look at you, taking a good look at him while softly pressing your palms to his cheeks.

His cheeks are still damped from the numerous tears that have flowed over them, and his eyes are glassy, almost fragile.

"I am here for you", you claim in a low voice to not scare him away while you look deep into his eyes, in which you discover nothing but emptiness. "I can help you if you would just let me, Harry. Please don't shut me out."

For a brief moment there is silence, somehow pleasant and safe as it has always been between the two of you. In the next moment, however, your hopes are destroyed.

"I don't need your damn help!", he yells at you again and pulls away from you, running his hands through his hair desperately while you stay frozen in place.

You almost had him.

"You do need me! You can't just lock yourself up here for weeks, Harry!", you raise your voice as well, desperation evident in it.

"You can't tell me what to do!", he loudly shouts and the look he throws at you is again full of nothing but hatred.

"What happened to Sirius is horrible, but you have to move on some day and you can't do that if you do not talk to someone about it. I am your girlfriend and-"

"Exactly. You are just my girlfriend and not my family!", Harry angrily spits out all of a sudden, his words catching you off guard and you could swear how your heart has split into half right at this second. "You are not and never will be my home, get that into your head! I am sick of you, Y/N! How you pamper me like I am a fucking child and never know when to stop!"

"A-Are you serious r-right now?", you let out a trembling sob, the strength to scream at him gone when a tear rolls down your cheek. You look at him with complete disappointment, at the boy whom you love so much, who just hurt you so deep as you would have never imagined him to.

"Get the hell out of here!"

"Do you even hear what you are saying? You do not really mean that. Tell me that you do not mean that, Harry!"

"It is the only thing that I want", he grinds his teeth and you nod understandingly while wiping away your tears.

"Fine. If I can never be your home anyway, then I guess this is where it ends", you sniff and walk past him, your gaze lowered as you go out of the room and let the door slam shut behind you.

And he does not even follow you.

Deeply hurt and with a broke heart, you barely make it to your dorm room, where you slide down the closed door with your back and pull your knees close to your shaking body, weeping bitterly.

You do not know how long you sat there and just cried your eyes out, but when you hear Hermione's worried voice behind you, it is already dark outside and you missed all of your classes.

Exhausted, you let yourself fall into your soft mattress, hiding your tear stained face from your roommates, but of course Hermione immediately senses that something is wrong.

She approaches you carefully as to not frighten you and sits down next to you on your bed, stroking your back up and down soothingly, which in return only makes you cry harder into your pillow. After several minutes you finally manage to calm down and sit up.

Hermione looks at you speechless, does not urge you to tell her about what happened at all, but you do it anyway as it almost gushes out of you. And so you spend the whole night in your bed talking.

The next morning you are sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, completely exhausted. While Ron allows himself another joke with Hermione, you stare down at your empty plate, your stomach not wanting to be filled.

"Did you finally got Harry back to his senses, Y/N?", Ron asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your deep thoughts, and you interpret a teasing tone in his voice.

Your eyes filling with tears in a matter of seconds, you abruptly get up and leave the hall, leaving a confused Ron and an angry Hermione behind as you run back into the common room and into your own room.

Again you let yourself fall to the floor behind the closed door, your arms crossed over your drawn up knees, your forehead resting on top. Without meaning to, your sobs get stronger by every second, shaking through your body while your breath speeds up to an unhealthy pace.

Your head and your heart just do not want to understand that what you and Harry once had is over, once and for all. That you will never wake up in his cozy, warm arms again. That you will never feel his tender touch again. And above all, that you can never look at him the same way you did before.

You lost him for good this time.

The sudden knock on the wooden door behind you causes your head to jerk up in surprise. Not sure if you just imagined it, you stay silent for a moment and hold back your crying.

Another gentle knock.

"Please leave me alone, Hermione", you sniff and lower your head again.

"Y/N", his voice sounds muffled from the other side unexpectedly and your heart leaps painfully.

You always loved the way he pronounced your name, how easily it slides off his tongue. Since your first meeting, back then on platform 9¾ where you immediately fell in love with him head over heels.

Speechless, you are unable to move or say anything, just blinking away your tears.

"I know that you are in there. I can hear you crying", he softly speaks to you through the door and finally causes you to get up from the ground and open the door with a swing.

"What do you want?", you calmly ask him, trying not to show the emotions going through your head right now, and avoid eye contact while playing with the hem of your sweater. It takes a moment for Harry to contain himself, the sight of your fragile figure like pure horror in his eyes.

A sight for which he is guilty. He alone did this to you.

After clearing his throat, he searchs for the right words to make everything alright again, to fix everything he said, anything just so he does not have to see you this devastated. However, there is not a single sound coming out of his mouth.

"If you have nothing to say, get out", you order with all your might and try to sound as serious and emotionless as possible, trying to hold back your rising tears.

At least until you suddenly end up in his warm, safe arms after he pulls you into a bone crushing hug before you could close the door on him. A hug you both needed more than necessary.

"I am such a stupid idiot", Harry whispers in your ear, also having trouble to hide his sadness. "You just wanted to be there for me and I pushed you away even though you could have given me exactly what I needed."

His words only make you more emotional and turn you into a crying mess, your face hiding in his chest. His hand slowly rubs over your back to calm you down. Your legs begin to tremble harder and Harry has to hold you upright with all his strength to not let you fall.

"I-I just could not accept that I was alone", Harry sighs as he listens to your sobs until you finally push yourself weakly away and stand in front of him, an arm's length apart.

"You are not alone", you choke out and Harry gives you a small, tender smile before closing the gap between you and gently placing his hand on your cheek. With his fingers he strokes the strands of hair out of your face that are already stuck to your skin due to the tears.

"I realized that too, sweetheart", he confirms and tilts your head towards him to leave a soft kiss on your forehead. "I can't erase what terrible things I said to and threw at you, but please believe me when I tell you that that I did not mean a single word. I just did not know how to move on and you were there to receive all of my anger.. Do you forgive me?"

"Only if you never shut me out like that again. I will always be here for you and take care of you, Harry. No matter what, I will stay", you answer, also with a tiny smile on your lips and when he returns it before connecting your lips you, the world around you suddenly becomes more colorful and bright again.

"I promise."

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[marjansmarwani]

somehow we’ll be okay

9.3k || ao3

Gabriel and Owen process their guilt, the 126 comes together in the face of (another) tragedy, and Carlos and TK find comfort in each other. ---- A 2x12 coda, in 3 parts

This took me an entire week to write and I'm not even sure what it is anymore but here it is.

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

The shrill ringing of a phone shattered the silence of the Reyes home. 

They had just been settling down for the night when the call came and Gabriel muttered a curse under his breath as he rolled over in bed to grab the offending phone from the nightstand. He frowned when he saw the contact info on the screen. 

“Owen?” he said in greeting, “Is everything okay? It’s a little late for a social call.” 

“Gabriel!” The fire captain's voice was tense and distant. It sounded as if he was driving, and fast. “Have you talked to Carlos at all tonight?” 

“No,” he responded, sitting up in bed, nerves suddenly on edge, “Why?” 

“I don’t think Raymond was done. Do you remember what he said? ‘I’ll take what matters the most from you. At first I thought he meant the 126, but I think there was more; and I think he was talking to both of us.” 

It only took a moment for Owen Strand’s frantic words to process and when they did Gabriel felt a cold chill was over him. “The boys,” he said quietly, fearfully, and he felt his wife shift beside him, sitting up and facing him with a concerned expression.

“I think so,” Owen confirmed grimly. “I’m on my way there now but TK’s not answering. It keeps going to voicemail.” 

“I’ll try Carlos,” he said, desperately hoping there was some other explanation for them not answering, anything but the worst fear Owen had just painted for him. He went to hang up, but he hesitated. “Owen…” he said instead, not sure what exactly it was he wanted to say. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” the other man promised and despite everything, Gabriel took comfort in knowing that he and Andrea weren’t alone in this fear. He thanked him again before ending the call and switching to his recent calls list. 

“What’s going on?” Andrea asked him, eyes roving his face for any clues. He didn’t answer right away as he tapped his son’s name and held the phone up to his ear, praying to hear his voice answer. Instead all he got was the mechanical ringing before his voicemail picked up. 

He lowered the phone and met his wife’s eyes. 

“Owen thinks that the arsonist isn’t done with revenge yet. He thinks that he had a more personal goal in mind; something that would affect both of us.” 

He knew he didn’t have to spell it out for her - Andrea had always been smarter than him, after all - and when she placed a hand over her mouth he grimaced, reaching over and squeezing her arm gently as he tried calling Carlos again. It was the same as the first time, so was the next. He could feel the fear and desperation growing within him, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Their son’s home was nearly 20 minutes away from their house - he’d never make it in time to make any difference. He could only hope that Owen would get there in time; that his actions wouldn’t cause him to lose what was most precious to him. 

He stood abruptly from the bed, pacing the floor of the bedroom as he dialed again. Again he got the voicemail and it took every single ounce of his self-control to not hurl his phone across the room in frustration. He took a shuddering breath and sank onto the bed, running a weary and shaking hand across his face. 

He felt the bed shift as Andrea moved closer to him, “Talk to me, corazón,” she murmured, a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

“He’s not answering,” he told her dully, “and neither is TK.” He sighed again and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. 

“That doesn’t mean we have to assume the worst,” she reminded him gently, “not yet.”

He nodded dully and reached up to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own. They waited in silence on their bed; joined together by their hands and their fear as they waited for Gabriel’s phone to ring. The moments passed like sand through a clogged hourglass; each one lasting for its own small eternity as they all piled upon each other. 

Finally, his phone rang.

He snatched it up from where it was resting on his knees but paused over the screen before answering. He needed to know - they both did - but this could very well be the moment that changed their life forever. With a glance at his wife who gave his shoulder another comforting, supportive squeeze, he answered, putting it on speaker. 

“Owen?” he asked in a shaky voice, “What happened? Are they okay?” 

“We’re okay, dad.” 

Nothing else could have made him feel the rush of joy and relief that hearing his son’s voice through the phone did in that moment. He sagged in relief, turning to Andrea to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He gave her a watery smile before he turned his attention back to the phone in his hand. 

“The house is gone,” Carlos continued; voice low, rough, and a little shaky, “but we’re safe.” 

“That’s all that matters right now, mijo,” he told him. “Everything else we can handle in time.” 

On the other end of the phone he heard Carlos make a noise of agreement that was cut short by a cough. He frowned and shared a glance with Andrea to see his concern reflected in her expression. 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked. 

“The paramedics checked us out, dad. And then TK’s captain, when they were done. We’re fine, really.”

“Are you sure? Because…”

 “We’re fine, dad,” Carlos repeated; his voice soft, but firm.  

Gabriel took a breath, steadying himself. “Okay. Your mom and I are on the way, we’ll be there as soon as you can.” 

“Yes, sir, see you soon.” 

The almost professional tone in his son’s voice hurt. He knew that it was likely a shield; a way to keep himself together in the aftermath, but he needed him to know. He had come so close - too close - to losing him, he needed him to know. “I love you, son,” he said, voice tight as he said the words he didn’t say enough. 

“Love you, too.” 

With those words Carlos ended the call and Gabriel felt as if all the energy had just been sapped from his body and he sank down onto the bed once again. He heaved a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes. He could feel his wife looking at him, so he voiced the thought that has been ricocheting through his mind since the moment Owen had called: “This is my fault,” he admitted quietly. “I could have cost us our son, or could have caused him to lose someone he loves.” 

“That’s not on you, Gabriel.”

“Yes it is - of course, it is,” he argued. “He did this to get back at me, to make me suffer. It’s completely on me.”

“Did you want to hurt Carlitos? Or TK?”

Gabriel looked up sharply, meeting his wife’s gaze with wide eyes, “Of course not!” 

“Then that’s not on you. Yes, someone awful did this to hurt you; but that doesn’t mean you did it. I’m not saying I agree with what you and Owen did,” she reminded him in case he did not recall the rather heated discussion they had had earlier in the kitchen about keeping secrets and not considering the possible collateral, “but you didn’t start the fire. Someone terrible did it of their own free will and that’s on them, not you.”  

Her gaze was steady as she spoke to him and her words firm: she believed what she was saying and there was not a doubt in her mind. He wished he could say the same. 

But if there was one thing he knew about her after over 30 years of marriage it was that there was no arguing with her once she made up her mind. So he simply nodded and offered a weak smile. They sat in silence for another few moments before she stood up, walking up to him and placing a kiss on his forehead. 

“Get dressed,” she told him gently, “let’s go see our son.” 

He nodded and rose on shaky legs, sighing as he turned to his dresser. His emotions were still swirling inside of him; turbulent and unrestrained. He couldn’t believe they had come so close to losing their son and until he saw him with his own eyes a part of him would insist on believing they had. So he threw on the first shirt and pants he found, discarding the pajamas he had been wearing on the bed without a second thought. The small details could be handled later; all that mattered right now was getting to Carlos. 

They were in his truck a few minutes later and the half-hour drive to Owen Strand’s house was spent mostly in silence as they each worked their way through the night's events. When they arrived Andrea barely waited for him to put the truck in park before she was opening her door and climbing out and striding towards the house. He followed quickly behind and the front door swung open as they approached, revealing a tall man Gabriel had never seen before.

“You must be Carlos’s folks,” he said with a nod, “they’re in here.” He stepped aside without a word and Gabriel offered him a nod of thanks, but couldn’t find the words as he stepped through the doorway and got his first sight of his son: sitting at the counter, miserable and soot-covered with his hands clutched around a mug of tea as his eyes tracked something across the room. 

Gabriel followed his gaze to see TK - equally filthy and absently pacing as he spoke on the phone. 

“I’m fine Mom, I promise,” Gabriel could hear him saying even as his eyes traveled back across the room to Carlos. “We both are.” 

He offered Carlos a small, reassuring smile before he turned away, continuing to speak to his mother in low tones. Carlos hadn’t even noticed their presence yet, too focused on his boyfriend to catch much else, but when Andrea stepped closer and murmured his name he turned to face her quickly, eyes widening at the sight of them. 

“Mom,” he said quietly, “dad.” 

And then Andrea had her arms around him and he all but crumpled into her embrace, shaking as he let out a sob. Andrea whispered reassurances and Gabriel stepped closer, not wanting to intrude. But the moment he got close enough his wife released Carlos from her embrace and as he straightened he made eye contact with Gabriel. 

“Dad,” he began, but Gabriel didn’t give him a chance to speak. He simply stepped closer and pulled his son into a hug, clutching him tightly. 

“I was so scared, Carlitos,” he admitted, “and I am so, so sorry this happened.” 

“It’s not your fault dad,” Carlos muttered and Gabriel shook his head. He was about to argue the point further when another voice interrupted. 

“He’s right, Mr. Reyes,” TK said, joining them in the kitchen having finished his phone call. “It’s not your fault - or my dad’s. It’s just something that happened. It’s shitty, yeah,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You couldn’t have known.” 

Any more discussion was halted by Andrea stepping forward to pull TK into a hug as well. 

“Who is or isn’t to blame doesn’t matter,” she said firmly as she hugged TK as tight as she had Carlos a few moments before, “what matters is that you are both safe.” 

“You’re right,” TK agreed from her embrace, his eyes finding Carlos, “that is what matters.”

There was more to his words, as if he was trying to convey a message that only Carlos would understand. Whatever it was, Carlos seemed to understand as his body - still in Gabriel’s embrace - lost some of its tension. A comfortable silence settled over the four of them, the low tones of the other man on the phone in the corner the only sound. 

Footsteps from the stairs soon interrupted that silence and a moment later, Owen Strand turned the corner. 

He smiled weakly at Gabriel and Andrea before he turned his attention back to the boys, “I put some stuff in the guest room at the end of the hall: some extra clothes and towels. I’m sure you’re going to want to get cleaned up, feel free to use whatever you find in the bathroom.” 

TK nodded as Andrea released him, “Thanks dad,” he said gratefully, stepping towards Carlos. He approached and Gabriel let him go as TK held out a hand. 

“Come on babe,” he said softly, “let’s go get cleaned up.” 

Carlos nodded and took the offered hand, allowing his boyfriend to lead him down the hall towards the stairs. As they walked by the other man ended his phone call and called out to them. 

“The others know now,” he said, “and they’re on their way, just so you know.” 

TK smiled fondly and nodded, “Thanks, Judd.” 

Then he and Carlos disappeared up the stairs. 

Andrea looked at Owen, “The others?” she asked.

“The rest of the 126,” Judd explained as he joined them at the counter. “I was about to call them anyways but they saw it on the news first so…”

“They want to come and see that they’re okay for themselves,” Owen concluded with a nod and a small smile, “They’re good like that.” 

His smile faded though as he looked at Gabriel and Andrea. 

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I should have realized it faster. It was right in front of me and I almost missed it. Even as it stands I was almost too late.” 

“You’re no more to blame than I am,” Gabriel told him, “I had the same information and didn’t even think of the possibility until you called me. But really we should be thanking you for saving them. From what it sounds like if you had been a minute later or if they had to wait for a fire company...”

He trailed off, the awful possibility settling over him. They had come so close to losing the one thing that was most precious and it was only thanks to either sheer luck or a miracle that they hadn’t. 

Owen nodded, but his expression didn’t change. They were silent for a moment before he spoke again, “I still can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved maybe none of this would have happened - especially not this.” 

Gabriel went to reassure him, to tell the other man that he was wrong, but he stopped. He knew that Owen wouldn’t believe him, because he didn’t. This was their fault; regardless of whether or not their children blamed them. If they hadn’t gotten involved they wouldn’t have had a target on their backs and they would still have their home. 

“It takes two to make a team-up,” he said instead, nodding when Owen met his eyes. He saw understanding in his gaze; the knowledge that this was a guilt they were going to have to live with, but that they could shoulder the burden together - and make sure nothing like this ever happened again. 

---------

“Is it just me or does this place feel different?” Nancy asked as she surveyed the once familiar bar. 

“Does anything feel the same?” Marjan asked wearily from beside her, taking a sip of her water as she joined the paramedic in glancing around the room. 

“That’s because nothing is,” Paul reminded them, “and because it’s been a weird few weeks.” 

Marjan scoffed at that, “Weeks? It’s been a weird day. Our captain got arrested for arson, our fire station was blown up by said arsonist, and then it turns out that was in retaliation for the sting operation our captain secretly put together with our friend’s Texas Ranger dad and included his staged arrest. What part of that is not completely fucking bizarre?”

Paul titled his drink towards her in acknowledgment while Nancy shook her head. Mateo took a sip from his beer. “I’m just glad TK and I managed to get the house cleaned up before shift today so Cap didn’t have to come home to that,” he declared. 

“Speaking of which,” Nancy said, “has anyone heard from my partner? Or his better half?” 

Marjan shook her head, “He said he was heading home once we got the all-clear to leave. And given the discussion that he and Cap had before he left, I have a feeling he and Carlos have a lot of talking to do.” 

“They’re going to need some time,” Paul agreed, “after everything.” 

“I still can’t believe it was all a setup,” Mateo mused with a shake of his head, “I mean I knew Cap was innocent, I just had no idea he was in on a conspiracy.” 

“I just can’t believe they didn’t at least tell TK and Carlos. I mean…” Nancy trailed off, but they all knew what was left unsaid and they had all heard the scene at the firehouse. 

“I guess they did what they thought they had to do,” Marjan reasoned with a shrug. 

“Doesn’t make it right though,” Paul reminded her darkly.

“No, it does not,” she agreed, looking back down at her glass. 

There was silence then as they all let their thoughts wander, all processing the day. It’s only by chance that Majan looked up and happened to glance towards the bar. The hand absently stirring her water with her straw froze and her sharp intake of breath caught Nancy’s notice. 

“Marj?” she asked, looking over to the woman sitting beside her. “What’s up?” 

Marjan didn’t seem to be able to form words because she settled for gesturing vaguely to the bar, and they all followed her gaze to the tv playing idly in the corner. The news was on and there was footage of a structure burning brightly as crews battled the flames. The sight of a burning building would have been familiar to the assembled group regardless, but this particular building was familiar for an entirely different reason. 

Nancy paled and the grin abruptly slid off Mateo’s face, leaving a look of horror in its wake. Paul cursed and pulled out his phone, swiping it open and tapping on TK’s name. It went right to voicemail and they all watched tensely as he scrolled further down the list to Carlos’s name before repeating the process with the same result. The three firefighters exchanged dark, scared looks. The scene on the tv was grim and they all knew first hand that with flames like that, time was key. There was a very small window to escape before escape became impossible, and they all hoped their friends had managed to find that window because the alternative was too awful to think about. 

Nancy hadn’t said a word and Marjan turned to her only to see her trembling and clutching her glass too tight. 

“Nance?” she asked gently, only to get a vigorous shake of her head in response. 

“No,” the paramedic said softly, but firmly. “No. I can’t lose another partner. Not...not again. Not so soon.” 

Marjan glanced at the others briefly to see her own pain reflected on their faces. Then she turned to Nancy, placing a comforting hand on her arm, “Hey,” she reminded her bracingly, “we don’t know anything yet. And TK knows what to do in a fire, he would have done his best to get them out as quickly as possible. Don’t count them out yet.” 

She gave the other woman a smile that was shakily returned. She turned back to the other two, hoping they had a solution or an idea of what to do next but any conversation was interrupted by the sound of Paul’s phone ringing. 

He answered it the moment the caller id flashed onto the screen, picking it up before the first few notes of his ringtone died out. 

“Judd,” he asked quickly, “we just saw the news, do you…” 

He trailed off as their acting captain spoke on the other end of the line, listening intently. After a minute, he relaxed. 

“Thanks, man,” he murmured, “we needed to know. Yeah, we’re all together right now.” He listened for another minute before he nodded, “Yeah, we’ll head over there shortly. Thanks, man, really.” 

With that, he hung up the phone and the other three stared at him expectantly. 

“Do not make me turn to violence Strickland,” Nancy told him after a few more moments of silence, “because I will.” 

“They’re okay,” he told them and the resolution to the tension that had been pressing on them rippled across their table. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Marjan muttered softly and Nancy’s entire body seemed to sag as she leaned forward, placing her head into her hands with a shuddering breath.

“Do they know what happened?” Mateo asked, and Paul nodded grimly. 

“Arson,” he replied, “retaliation from Raymond; revenge against both the men who arrested him.” 

“Ranger Reyes and Cap,” Marjan provided softly, shaking her head. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Paul agreed, “it’s a whole mess. And the house is a total loss. But,” he reminded them all after another few moments of silent contemplation around the table, “they’re okay. Judd said they're all at Cap’s house now, and I told him we would head over there.” 

He looked around the table to see if there were any objections but as he expected, there were none. He nodded and took another sip from his beer before setting the still half-full glass down on the table and standing up. The others followed suit and they migrated to Marjan’s car in silent agreement that there was no need to take 4 separate cars and a shared desire to get there as quickly as possible. 

They drove in silence and when they arrived, Mateo led the way in through the front door. They followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the small gathered crowd at the counter. Owen stood up and offered them a smile, “hey guys.” 

“Hey Cap,” Mateo said while Paul added: “Good to see you not arrested.” 

Owen laughed weakly before gesturing towards the others at the counter, “These are Carlos’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes.” They nodded at the tired-looking couple who smiled back as Owen concluded his introductions of the new arrivals to the Reyes. 

They all stepped further into the kitchen at Owen’s insistence before Marjan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “Where are they? Are they really okay?” 

“They are,” Owen confirmed, Judd nodding his agreement beside him, “but shaken, understandably. They’re upstairs now, trying to get cleaned up.” 

“It could take a while,” Judd said lowly and the others nodded in understanding - they were all too familiar with the struggle of trying to scrub the remnants of a fire from your skin but that was from a stranger’s fire; someone else’s tragedy. None of them could imagine what it must be like to have the reminder of your home being destroyed clinging to your skin. 

“Man, I can’t believe this,” Mateo said with a shake of his head and it was clear that was a sentiment shared by the rest of the group. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Marjan asked, looking from Owen to the Reyes. “I want to help, I just don’t know how we can.” 

Owen shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Give them time, I suppose. Be there for them. They’re going to have to start over and that’s not going to be easy.” 

There was a heavy silence over the group as they all considered the task before their loved ones. It seemed insurmountable; too much to take on. 

“But they have each other,” Andrea reminded the group, “and all of us. It doesn’t make it better, but it does make it easier.” 

There were small smiles and nods of agreement at that and before long they fell into comfortable chatter while they waited. The conversation wasn’t uncomfortable, but none of their hearts were in it. All of their collective focus was on the pair currently upstairs and despite repeated reassurances that they were fine, none of the newly arrived group would truly be able to believe it until they saw them with their own eyes. 

Nancy in particular seemed agitated, shifting on her feet and glancing up the stairs every now and then. Marjan could almost feel the anxious energy rolling off of the other woman from where she stood beside her. She knew that they were all worried, but she also knew that Nancy was still healing from the loss of Tim. It had hit them all, but none more than her; rightfully so. The thought now that she could lose her new partner - the one she had finally let into her heart - was clearly affecting her, manifesting itself into an anxiety that would likely not fade until she was able to see TK herself. 

Marjan held out a hand anyways, finding Nancy’s under the lip of the counter and squeezing it. She met her surprised look with a soft smile that widened when Nancy relaxed, some of the tension leaving her body at the touch and the knowledge that her burden was shared. 

Hand still clasped with Nancy’s beneath the counter and away from curious eyes, Marjan turned her attention to where Paul was talking through the case with Ranger Reyes and their Captain. Given everything she had heard she had expected more enthusiasm in the retelling of their sleight of hand to trick the arsonist into walking into their trap. But they were subdued as they talked, almost regretful in hindsight. Given everything, she supposed that was more than fair. She just hadn’t been sure they would feel the same way. 

There was nothing like almost losing the people you cared for most in a disaster of your own making to deflate an ego, she supposed. 

She met Paul’s eyes briefly and his expression told her that he had thoughts that she would likely hear later. She tried to tune into the conversation, willing herself to focus on what was happening right before her, but she couldn’t seem to pull her attention away from the stairs and her friends somewhere on the other side of them. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Judd’s reassurance that they were fine, but she had been a firefighter for a long time. She had seen the footage of the flames and the skeleton left behind in the aftermath of their fire on the news and she knew that there was a wide gulf between fine and okay. 

And until she saw them she had no idea where in that gulf they were treading, or how well they were keeping their heads above water.

It’s still another few minutes until they hear footsteps on the stairs. All conversation dies in an instant and all gazes turn to the stairs to see them descending: hand in hand and miraculously in one piece. 

She’s the first to get over the surprise, dropping Nancy’s hand in favor of closing the distance between them and pulling TK into a gentle hug. He returns it and she allows herself a moment to absorb the fact that he is safe and whole before she moves on - both needing the same assurances from Carlos and knowing that Nancy is at her heels and needs this just as much as she does. 

Carlos’s smile is so dim when he looks at her that she squeezes him extra tight. He seems to melt just a bit in her arms and she feels a pang for her friends. Though they are both whole and mostly unscathed it was clear they were not okay. But that is something that would come, she supposed, with time. She couldn’t help but shake her head, voicing what everyone else was thinking: “I can’t believe this happened.”

“I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” TK said with a shrug. There was silence after as no one seemed to know how to respond to that until Paul, who had been studying them, spoke. 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked them in a skeptical voice, “You don’t sound good and you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Thanks, Paul,” TK said with a roll of his eye but his words only further served to confirm that his voice was still raspy from smoke. “And we were checked on scene: both by the 129’s team and Captain Vega. We’re fine, really.” 

“Maybe we should sit down though,” Nancy suggested, studying her partner and Carlos with a critical eye.  

TK shook his head at her but didn’t fight the migration as the group moved to the living room and they settled on the sofa together, just as they had at the intervention all those weeks ago. In some ways this was earlier similar: the group gathered in the Strand living room, the somber mood in the air. But it was TK and Carlos at the center now; both whole and unhurt, but so far from okay. 

They fell into easy conversation as they sat, falling into their usual patterns and habits like breathing. But Marjan made sure to watch them as they all spoke and she saw the way they clung to each other, even if it wasn’t physical. They were far from alone but it seemed that to each of them the other was the only one in the room that mattered. She couldn’t blame them for that and it didn’t surprise her. 

But a glance around the space revealed just how many people were in their corner and just how much love and support was ready for them to grasp onto whenever they wanted and whenever they were ready. She hoped that it was soon because she didn’t like the thought of them shouldering such a burden alone - even if they did have each other. 

She supposed they would come to see that and that they would take the hands that were offered to keep them from falling. All in good time. 

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

They ascended the stairs in silence, hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the door to the bathroom was shut securely behind them. In the security and privacy of the enclosed and private space, TK stepped closer to Carlos, reaching out a hand to frame his face and gently run his thumb across his cheek. 

 “How are you feeling?” he asked gently. 

 Carlos shrugged non-committedly, “Okay, I guess. I just really want to get clean.”

 “If there’s one benefit of my dad’s obsession with skincare, it’s that there are plenty of soaps to help with that,” TK told him with a grin. Carlos gave him a smile in response, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it by the way it didn’t reach his eyes; Carlos’s smiles always reached his eyes. TK let his own grin fade and let his hand fall from Carlos’s face down to his shoulder. 

 “Why don’t you get undressed,” he suggested gently, “I’ll go grab whatever my dad left in the bedroom for us.”

 He gave his boyfriend’s shoulder a light squeeze before stepping away. He was about to move to the door when Carlos’s hand reached out and grabbed him. He turned back to the other man, to see his surprise mirrored on his face. 

 “I…” Carlos began but trailed off as if he couldn’t quite find the words he wanted to say. TK had a feeling he understood though. 

 “I’ll be right back,” he assured Carlos, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

 Carlos held his gaze for a moment before nodding, letting his hand drop as TK stepped away again, heading once more for the bathroom door. He opened it softly, slipping out into the hallway and closing it behind him. He crossed to the guest room and barely even stopped to glance at the items left on the bed. He simply gathered them all - a haphazard bundle of towels and clothes in his arms - before turning on his heel and heading back to the bathroom and Carlos. He knocked once, lightly tapping on the door before he opened it to reveal Carlos. He had removed his shirt in the time TK had been gone but now he was simply staring at his bare chest and arms in the mirror, his gaze tracing the lines of soot winding across his body. TK set down his bundle and stepped closer, his own reflection appearing besides Carlos’s as he met his eyes in the mirror. 

 “I always find it’s the smell that’s the worst,” he murmured. “That’s the part that always got to me.” 

 “It feels heavy,” Carlos said dully. “Like it’s clinging to my skin and it’s always going to be there.” 

 “We can fix that,” TK promised him.

 He gently pulled Carlos away from the mirror, helping him to remove the rest of his clothes before he turned on the shower. Then he removed his own clothes, tossing their smoke-filled and singed clothes into a heap next to the bathroom door to be dealt with later. He reached a hand back into the shower to check the temperature and when he was satisfied he reached for Carlos’s hand, guiding him into the shower and the stream of warm water. 

 He grabbed one of the soaps off the ledge and squeezed some into his hand before beginning to rub it against Carlos’s body. 

 “It may take a few tries,” he told him, “but we’ll get it all off.”

 He scrubbed at his skin gently, making circular repetitive motions up his arms and across his chest. Carlos watched him quietly, allowing him complete control as he washed away the remnants of the night. TK could see his eyes tracking the soot as it faded into the water and traveled down to the drain. 

 “And just like that, there goes what’s left of our home,” he said darkly. 

 TK froze, looking sharply up at Carlos and meeting his eyes. 

 “Hey,” he reminded him, voice firm, “as long as we have each other, we still have a home.”

 Carlos’s expression turned to one of surprise before he wilted, leaning closer to TK. TK abandoned his scrubbing in favor of wrapping his arms around the other man and allowing the warm water to wash over their intertwined bodies. 

 “My home is you, Carlos, it has been for a while,” he said, his words loud and clear in the confines of the shower and their embrace. “Nothing can change that. As long as we have each other, we’re going to be okay.”

 His words settled around them like the water droplets bouncing off their skin and Carlos nodded. TK tightened his embrace, clutching his boyfriend tighter for another moment before he pressed a kiss onto the top of his shoulder blade and stepped away; not straying further than the hand still on his shoulder would allow. He studied Carlos, taking in the glint of his warm brown eyes and the slump of his shoulders. 

 “Are you okay to finish?” he asked softly, receiving a nod in return. He grabbed the soap again and resumed scrubbing them both, methodically removing the reminders from their skin. 

 Carlos was quiet as he worked but TK had the sense he was studying him, almost as if he was trying to solve a riddle. 

 “How are you so okay?” he finally asked. “We almost died an hour ago and you’re fine. How?”

 TK slowed in his motions as he considered, trying to find the right way to explain. He settled on a shrug: “I don’t know if I am okay. I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. Besides,” he added as he moved his hands up to Carlos’s hair, “I’ve been trapped in fire hundreds of times. It’s scary but after a while, you get used to it.” 

 He paused to get more soap and to find the right words. He needed to explain, but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t want Carlos to feel any less for his reaction, for his fear. 

 “I remember my first time in a house fire,” he said eventually as he squeezed the last of a bottle of shampoo into his palm. “I was maybe a week out of the academy and though you go through training and simulations, nothing can quite prepare you for the real thing. It was a bad one, too: an old house in Bushwick that went up like a tinderbox. I made it through fine, but I was probably shaking for at least an hour after. And that was with training and gear in a stranger’s home. That wasn’t my home, and I wasn’t trapped with the person I loved; worried I could lose them. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling, Carlos; however you are feeling it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

 “Logically I know that,” Carlos agreed. “But…” 

 “But knowing it is different from actually feeling it,” TK suggested, receiving a nod in return. He smiled sadly at the other man, placing his hands on his shoulders. 

 “Sometimes I wonder if your shoulders hurt from trying to carry the weight of the world on them,” he told Carlos softly. “And that’s who you are, I get that. You always want to look out for others; always want to make sure everyone else is safe and happy. It’s why you became a cop and it’s a big part of what makes you who you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He paused to smile, running his hands across Carlos’s broad chest: newly clean and red from the scrubbing before he continued. 

 “But sometimes you need to feel things too, Carlos. Sometimes you have to lean on someone else. And I know I might not always do such a good job of reminding you, but I can be that someone you lean on when you need it. I want to be. We’re a team, right? And that means we take care of each other. So whatever you are feeling now, you are not alone. I’m here for you - every step of the way. And if I need it later, when this whole mess finally processes, I know you’ll be there for me too.” 

 “We lean on each other,” Carlos agreed softly, and TK smiled at him again, reaching behind him to shut off the water.

 “Always,” he promised him, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips before he exited the shower, “no matter what.” 

 They dried and dressed silently, pulling on borrowed clothes that felt almost foreign against their freshly washed skin. TK spared a glance at their discarded clothes, still in a heap by the door. He debated throwing them out, but he couldn’t bear the thought. They were the only thing they still had that was theirs, after all. He gently picked them up and placed them in the hamper, making a mental note to try to wash them tomorrow, to see if they could be salvaged. Then, task completed, he looked back to Carlos. 

 “You ready?” he asked. Carlos took a deep breath and nodded, offering him a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes, but it was closer. 

 “Yeah, let’s go.” 

 TK nodded, but hesitated at the door. 

 “If it’s too much, if you need to step away,” he began, “tell me. I’ll find an excuse. And even if I can’t everyone will understand.” 

 Carlos nodded and reached for TK’s hand, winding their fingers together. 

 “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just, stay with me?” 

 “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Carlos, squeezing his hand gently and holding his gaze for another moment before they headed downstairs to where their friends and family were waiting for them. 

 The sound of chatter drifted up the stairs as they approached, but it died as they reached the bottom of the stairs and when they entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to them. The familiar gazes were filled with sympathy and relief, and TK forced a smile; holding Carlos’s hand a little tighter. 

 “Hey guys,” he said and his words seemed to be the catalyst needed to break the spell. Marjan is the first to approach, pulling first him and then Carlos into a gentle hug. Nancy is right behind her, squeezing TK tightly and holding on for a few moments longer. 

 “You really need to stop with this almost dying every other week bullshit,” she muttered into his shoulder, “I need my partner.” 

 He chuckled softly, returning the hug, “I’ll try my best, Nance,” he promised. 

 “Good,” she told him, pulling away and blinking away the tears that were slowly filling her eyes, “Because breaking in a new one is a lot of work. I don’t have that in me again this year.”

 He gave her a smile as he pulled away, pulling Carlos into a hug and lingering there as well, murmuring something to him in low tones. He was pulled away from their moment by Paul appearing before him, wrapping him into a hug. The other man didn’t say anything, but he looked at TK for a long moment as he pulled away, his analytical gaze taking him in. TK offered him a half-smile, and Paul nodded before stepping closer to Carlos. The next hug was full of forceful enthusiasm and TK smiled fondly as he found his footing again after Mateo nearly bowled him over. 

 Once they had all gotten their hugs in his team stood back, taking them in. Marjan was the first to speak, voice low in disbelief, “I can’t believe this happened.” 

 TK looked past them to where his dad sat watching them. Their eyes met and TK knew that they were both thinking the same thing: this could have been avoided. He had meant it earlier when he said it wasn’t his dad or Gabriel’s fault. Neither of them had started the fire and he knew that. He didn’t blame them for the fire. 

 But there were other offenses and other hurts they had caused when they had charged into a situation with no regard for how it might affect anyone else. He didn’t feel up to broaching that subject just yet, he knew he would have to. He suspected Carlos would have some feelings on it as well, once the shock had worn off a bit. For now, they could dance around it and he could let his dad’s silent remorse be enough. 

 “I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” he said eventually, pulling his focus back to the group before them. 

 No one seemed to know what to say to that, and he couldn’t say that he blamed them. Instead, he tried for a smile as he took Carlos’s hand in his own again. He could feel Paul studying them both and parried his questions about hospital visits. They were fine - or at least as fine as they could be. 

 The suggestion to move to the couch was a welcome one however and he tugged lightly at Carlos’s hand, guiding him to one of the couches. He let Carlos sit before he settled in beside him, pressing against his side to both provide and receive the reassurance that they were both there. The conversation ebbed and flowed around them and while TK interjected from time to time he mostly let it all wash over him. He and Carlow were both here; they were both safe. Their friends and families were with them and whatever would come they would face, just like he had told Carlos earlier. 

 Now if he could only get himself to believe it. 

 The conversation is light and not too hard to follow (purposefully so, he’s sure, and he appreciates it) and soon they are joined by their parents and Judd as they migrate from the kitchen. Judd comes up behind them and places a warm hand on TK’s shoulder. 

 “I’ve gotta get home to Grace,” he tells them. “She sends her love, and probably some food tomorrow too, if I know my wife. But hey,” he paused to squeeze TK’s shoulder, looking between him and Carlos as he spoke, “you let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, just ask.”

 TK and Carlos both nodded. TK was about to thank his friend, but Carlos beat him to it, “Thank you Judd,” he said earnestly. “For the offer and for earlier. I…” he trailed off, looking at TK before clearing his throat and trying again, “I don’t know how to ever thank you for that.”

 “And you don’t need to,” Judd said firmly. “Not only is it my job, but it’s what you do for family and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d rather I never have to though, so let’s all try to avoid fires in our off hours from here on out, yeah?” 

 The last bit was directed at the room at large and pulled a few chuckles from the others, but when Judd looked back down at them his expression was soft and his smile sincere. He put his other hand on Carlos’s shoulder and gave them each a comforting squeeze before he moved his hands, giving the rest of the group a wave before he headed out the door. 

 “We should probably be heading out soon too,” Andrea said regretfully. “It’s getting late and you boys are going to need sleep after everything and I’m sure Owen doesn’t need a houseful.” 

 “On the contrary,” Owen countered immediately, “I love a houseful. And it just so happens that I have an extra guest room, if you’d rather stay.” 

 Carlos’s parents didn’t respond right away and TK watched as his dad’s expression softened before he spoke again, “I’m sure you want to stay close, because I know I do. There’s no reason you should have to leave just because we ended up at my house. You are more than welcome to stay, really. That applies to all of you, really,” he added in a heartier tone. “Obviously not Mateo because he already lives here but you all are welcome too, always.”

 “As tempting as that is and as much as I appreciate it, really, I’m pretty sure you’re out of guest rooms cap, and my place isn’t that far,” Marjan responded, and Paul and Nancy nodded. 

 “What Marj said, Captain Strand,” Nancy said awkwardly with a nervous smile. 

 “Likewise,” he said. “I do really appreciate it though, and you can bet I will be over here tomorrow to check in on you two.” At Marjan and Nancy’s pointed looks he sighed, “ We will be back tomorrow.” 

 Owen first glanced at TK and Carlos and upon their nods, he smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he confirmed, smiling at the group. 

 They all rose then, extending their goodbyes, reminding them of the standing offer. Anything you need was repeated over and over again but TK knew that they meant it. There was no false sincerity or empty words here - not with these people, not for them. Eventually, the three of them headed out into the night and Mateo headed off to his room leaving TK and Carlos alone with their parents. 

 There was silence in the wake of Mateo’s door closing, for a beat. Then Andrea Reyes, who had been studying the boys as the others made their exit looked first to her husband and then to Owen. 

 “If you really don’t mind…” she began, but Owen cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

 “I don’t mind,” he assured her. “In fact, it would make me feel better.”

 There was something unspoken that passed through their parents, confirmed with a smile from Carlos’s mother and a nod from his father. But his focus - whatever portion of it that wasn’t honed in on Carlos and the presence of him beside him - was soon interrupted by a yawn that caused all eyes to turn to him. He could feel his face turning red as he stammered. 

 “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude but…”

 “But it has been a long day, and you boys have been through a lot,” Andrea finished gently. “You should go to bed, you need rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”

 Carlos shifted beside him and TK could see him gearing up to argue, whether about his parents staying or the fact that they were fine, but his dad cut him off. 

 “Listen to your mother, Carlitos,” he said gently, “you know as well as I do she’s always right.” 

 Carlos still looked like he wanted to argue, but TK placed a hand on his knee drawing his attention back to him and he smiled. Carlos held his gaze for a few minutes before he relaxed and nodded before standing and offering TK a hand. TK took it with a smile, allowing his boyfriend to pull him off the couch. No sooner was he on his feet than Andrea Reyes was before them, offering them each a hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

  “Go get some rest,” she told them softly, “we can start to figure everything out in the morning.”

 TK glanced over at their dads who both wore sad but sincere smiles. He studied them all; their newly meshed families that had blended so well trying to place this in his head with everything else. He couldn’t but he knew that he would, in time. 

 For now, he allowed himself to be led to the stairs by Carlos and with one last wave to their collective parents, they disappeared up them; shutting themselves into the privacy of their temporary bedroom. The sight of the bed was enticing and TK flopped onto it, suddenly aware of how quickly all the energy had left his body now that there was no more goal to push towards. He heard a small chuckle and the sensation of the bed dipping beside him as Carlos sank onto his side far more gracefully and once he was sure he had settled he rolled so he was facing the other man. 

 “So,” he began, “our parents are having a slumber party.” 

 Carlos chuckled and TK grinned at him before the mood turned more somber again. 

 “This is all kind of surreal,” Carlos admitted after a moment. “Not only did our house burn down but I’m now spending the night at my boyfriend’s dad’s house with my parents staying in the other guest room. It’s just a lot to take in. Especially…” 

 Carlos trailed off and TK shifted so he had a better view of his face. “Especially what, Carlos?” he prompted softly, running a gentle hand down his arm, watching as he tried to get his thoughts in order. 

 “I’ve never doubted my parents love me,” he said after some time, “not for a moment. And I know now that they don’t have a problem with me being gay and they are supportive of that, and us. I even know how much they like you,” he added with a smile, pulling TK’s hand closer and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

 TK grinned at him but knew that there was more he wasn’t saying. “But?” he prompted. 

 “But the thought that they are here, that both of our families are together? I’m just having a hard time processing that, I think. It’s a lot very quickly.”

 TK nodded, “That’s understandable, babe. So much has changed recently and you’re allowed to struggle with that, I will never judge you for that. But it’s a good thing, right? Our families getting along?” 

 “It is,” Carlos assured him quickly. “Though,” he added dryly, “I’m not sure how much of our dads scheming we can be reasonably expected to survive.” 

 TK groaned and tucked his head into Carlos’s shoulder, “Don’t remind me. I’d like to think they learned their lesson…”

 “But it is hard to say with them,” Carlos agreed. “Which is why I think we need to talk to them about it, soon.” 

 TK pulled back from Carlos and placed his head back on his own pillow with a sigh, “You’re right,” he agreed, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I just couldn’t handle it tonight.”

 “Me neither,” Carlos confirmed with a nod. “But I suppose they’ll both be here tomorrow, we can try then.” 

 TK hummed in agreement before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. It wasn’t even that he was ready to sleep yet. There was just so much in his head and he didn’t know where to put it all. There was noise coming from every corner of his mind and he couldn’t seem to drown any of it out. 

 “Ty?” Carlos’s asked, his gentle voice cutting through the dark and silent room, “How are you doing?” 

 TK took a moment to think, to try to organize the mess in his mind. There was really no concrete answer to give, but he turned again so he was facing Carlos before he did his best to answer. 

 “I’m upset,” TK said after some consideration. It took some time to find the right words for everything he was feeling. “And annoyed at our dads and still so scared at what could have been. I’m overwhelmed with everything we have to do now, with the idea of having to start over. But mostly,” he added, knowing that what came next was the strongest truth of all, “I’m worried about you.” 

 Carlos furrowed his brow, “Why?” 

 “Because it was your home, Carlos.” He shook his head as Carlos opened his mouth to argue, “I know it was our home, but it was your home first. You’re allowed to be upset about that Carlos.” 

 Carlos was quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running a hand down TK’s arm as he considered, “You’re right,” he said eventually. “It’s hard. That condo was the first place I could really be myself, the place where I started to build my life. The place where we started to build our life. And I’m upset about it - it hurts to think about. But then I think about what could have been and...I really didn’t think we were going to make it out of there, TK.” 

 His voice grew thicker and tears filled his eyes once again but TK reached across the space between them to gently brush them away. 

 “But we did,” he reminded him firmly. “We did and we’re okay. We may not have a home anymore, but we have each other.” 

 “Which means we will always have a home,” Carlos agreed, echoing his words from earlier. “And I know it’s not ideal, but now we get to start something new together. It’s going to be scary and hard and it’s not going to happen quickly, but we’ll make it work. We have family and friends to help us, and we have each other.” 

 And as they lay there in a spare bed at TK’s father’s house; friends and family alike waiting in the wings to offer them love and support and the man he loved more than anything else in the world whole and safe right beside him, TK knew what Carlos said was true. He moved closer to the other man, readjusting so his arms were wrapped around his torso and his head rested on his chest; the steady beating of his heart a steady companion to help and hold off the fears hovering so close by. It was a reminder too; that they had both made it out and that he wasn’t alone. That he never would be.

 There were so many uncertainties and unanswered questions but there was one thing TK Strand knew for sure: as long as they had each other, they would be okay. 

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little 

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure. 

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods  - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on) 

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive  to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss -  I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it’s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...