#I might bail just for my blood pressure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celianity · 2 years ago

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we go down together - jj.m.

After being abandoned by JJ in a jail cell, you are not really on speaking terms. The chaos becomes perfect when three uninvited guests crash your little beach party.

disclaimer: just tapping back into writing - might turn this into a little story project (if anyone's interested)

warnings: slight swearing, fighting, mentions of underaged drinking, english not being my first language

His eyes are more unfathomable than the depths of the ocean as he watches me across the campfire. The flames draw sharp shadows on his face, and I avert my gaze, afraid to cut myself on its edges.

It wouldn't be the first time I've stained my hands with blood trying to resist his almost magnetic pull. But by now I have become a serious opponent myself.

The hand on my lower back increases its pressure, pulling me closer to the side of the tourist whose name I'm going to scream tonight with such conviction that JJ’s ears will bleed even on the opposite side of town.

Am I getting tired of this cat-and-mouse game? Yes. Will I conciliatory hold out my hand and admit defeat? Of course not.

The beer in my red plastic cup is stale, warmed slightly by the fire and the still-comfortable temperatures, just right to make the fingers wandering along my hip more bearable. JJ gulps and brings his own cup to his lips to mask the disgusted tug around his mouth.

I know all too well how that sight can burn into your retinas, how cruelly it can keep you awake at night while you ruffle your hair and curse yourself for your own stubbornness.

Rough fingertips against the bare skin of my thigh bring me back to the present and I find myself wishing they belonged to someone else. The conversations of my friends crash over me like a mighty wave, their laughter carried away by the wind along with the music playing quietly in the background. A strand of hair flies across my eyes, veiling the scenery around me for a split second, before it’s carefully being tucked behind my ear by the boy next to me.

Kiara's gaze is razor sharp, slashing my ribcage open with a clean cut down the middle, baring the scars on my heart. Under her scrutiny, I feel weirdly naked. Not the kind I would prefer under any other circumstances.

I give her a carefree smile and turn back to my companion, whom I met on the beach while surfing this afternoon.

I didn't tell Kie about the last fight between JJ and me for fear she might finally be forced to choose a side. That it most likely wouldn't be mine makes the corners of my eyes sting suspiciously.

Each rash word is just another mark on JJ and mine's score. Gentle touches, breathless sweet nothings, secret revelations, nullified by accusations that etched our throats with every syllable. A lame maneuver to hide the real depth of our feelings.

As if JJ didn't relive each of the fears in my head through the stories, I used to tell him late at night. As if I didn't anchor each ounce of his guilty feelings inside the pit of my stomach to relieve him of this burden at least a little.

The familiar outline of his clenched jaw almost makes me forget why we're at loggerheads. My fingers twitch and I claw them into the hem of my dress. He's not getting off the hook so easily this time, no matter how much I miss the weight of his arms around my waist when lying in my bed.

The idea of sinking Topper's boat may have been my doing, but the finer points of the exercise came from JJ's imagination.

I suppress a shudder at the memory of the musty dampness of the puny jail cell where I spent last night. Alone, mind you. That traitorous asshole tucked tail when the going got tough and Shoupe showed up at the chateau’s door. And yet, with each passing minute, I find it harder to keep stoking my rage.

I swallow hard and sway the half-empty plastic cup in my hand before emptying it.

In a household with unstable foundations, news of an arrest is like an all-consuming earthquake that leaves no survivors. Not to mention the sizable bail, which for my parents was more onerous bureaucracy than serious problem. A metaphorical slap on the wrist and they turned back to more interesting things.

I endured my friends’ taunts this morning with a gracefully raised chin and indulgent laughter, because I have solid ground under my feet while JJ balances on a tightrope.

Still, his betrayal hurts more than I care to admit.

Before my mind starts spinning again, I focus on the banter between John B and Pope, who are about to use absurd comparisons to fight out who would stay alive longer in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

A winner can no longer be declared, because at that moment three shadowy figures approach from one side of the beach. Their quick steps sink into the sand, making their strides look rather stodgily. This impression fades relatively quickly when I identify the figure in the middle as Rafe.

“Hey, ex-con,” he calls out, the echo of his voice reverberating in my bones. Topper and Kelce flank him on either side, as if clinging to their mom’s skirt.

The realization makes me laugh in surprise and I quickly slap my hand over my mouth. John B gives me an alarmed look before stepping around the campfire to face our uninvited guests.

JJ lowers his cup to the ground and rises as well, arms folded defensively in front of his chest. I can almost feel the tension in his shoulders and unintentionally take a step toward him until cold fingers snake around my wrist to hold me back.

A broad back slides into my field of vision and my patience snaps. Roughly, I yank my wrist free and circle the fireplace, stopping next to John B, ready to face the inevitable melee with my head held high. Somewhere behind me I hear JJ’s knuckles crack.

“Have they now robbed you of the last vestige of your already deficient manners?” Rafe taunts and the hostile undertone in his voice makes me shudder. “So, a little refresher of the natural hierarchy should be just right, don't you think? It’s always tit for tat.”

“Since when do you let Mommy fight your battles, Top?” I ask challengingly, studiously ignoring Rafe. “We’re even, you dickheads. You had your fun with Pope, and in return we had ours with the Malibu. You should have heard her heartbreaking screams as she sank.” My choice of words hit the mark.

Rafe marches directly toward me with sweeping strides and I brace myself for his outburst of volcanic proportions, already seeing myself covered in ash kneeling amid the lava-covered landscape. He should really learn to get his temper under control. My jibes would be far less fun if they were met with an impenetrable countenance.

He has almost reached me when a blond shadow tackles him to the ground, causing sand to spurt up in all directions.

For a second of shock, we are all frozen before Kiara’s shouts and Pope’s groans tear the night apart. Topper has knocked the latter to all fours with a well-aimed punch to the stomach. Kie lunges for Kelce’s back, who gets a hold of John B’s shirt collar at that moment.

It's a chaotic mess of flailing limbs and strained groans.

And I stand at the edge of the scenery, squinting at the fast moving body shapes dimly lit by the fire like a fish out of water.

My tourist companion secretly sneaks away behind my back, but I couldn’t care less.

Taking a deep breath, I snap out of my stupor and grab Rafe’s lunging arm around the bicep before it can smash down on JJ’s face like a sledgehammer. The momentum of his movement makes me stumble, and I claw my fingers harder into his heated skin.

He whirls around, an animalistic glint in his eyes, ready to get back at me even though we’re not on direct war terms with each other. Shining blood wets his split lip, forming a thin trickle down his chin.

A spark of fear settles in the pit of my stomach. But he's not the only one willing to take a slap in the face for his friend.

“Don't even think about it", JJ presses through clenched teeth, kicking Rafe’s legs out from under him. He collapses like a blown up building and JJ manages to put him in a relentless headlock. “We’re even, you bastard.”

Finally, he pushes Rafe off of him as the latter's complexion turns an unhealthy dark red in the fire’s glow. Rafe lands on his stomach, unable to soften the fall with his hands, growling faintly.

My warning catches in my throat as JJ turns to face me, gifting Rafe with a moment of inattention for his next attack.

JJ’s fingertips slip from my outstretched palm.

Rafe pins him to the ground with both knees, fingers curled into claws around his neck, squeezing relentlessly, while JJ wriggles under his weight to get free again.

Feverishly, my eyes search for a way out, but the others are too busy trying to prevent various body parts from being broken. Pope and John B keep Kelce and Topper at bay, while Kie tries in vain to settle the fights.

That’s when I spot JJ’s backpack leaning against a log by the campfire and rush toward it, desperately hoping to find the gun inside that he rarely leaves the house without lately. He has an unfortunate habit of not having it at hand in dicey situations.

Half blinded by my rising panic, I rummage through the contents of the bag, gracing the coldness of his motorcycle keys and a bag of weed before my fingers close around the handle of the gun.

Two shots rip through the night, interrupting the melee for a few seconds. Steadying my hand with the other, I aim the barrel at Topper's sweaty face, wandering further over Kelce until I reach Rafe.

“The next shot is a hit.” I warn, taking a few steps forward to reinforce my words.

Breathing heavily, JJ shoves Rafe off of him and struggles to his feet. My friends slowly drag themselves behind me until Kooks and Pogues are facing each other, waiting with baited breath. Kie has an arm wrapped around Pope’s waist in support. John B, panting slightly, brushes his tousled curls from his forehead.

“You heard her.” Kiara snaps. “I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you.”

Rafe spits disdainfully at our feet before shooing his entourage in the opposite direction with a nod of his head. Apparently, a spark of his sanity has managed to save itself from JJ’s blows.

“Holy shit.” Pope moans, slipping from Kiara's grasp to slump against a tree trunk, his face contorted in pain.

“Now would you please put that away?” JJ asks, hesitantly closing a blood crusted hand around the barrel of the gun.

I glare at him. My heart is pounding, adrenaline flooding my veins, and for a split second I'm afraid my finger might slip on the trigger. I release my tense grip and drop the gun to the ground in front of him.

“Careful, Maybank. I may have just saved your ass, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten about my little jail holiday.”

His gaze becomes veiled again and it’s like sitting in this damn cell anew, hands clasping the bars, waiting to be released. But this time I turn around and throw away the key.

For now, I don’t crave the sweet taste of freedom.

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj x kook!reader #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #john b routledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera #rafe cameron #rudy pankow #obx season 3 #obx cast #obx netflix

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karuvapatta · 2 years ago

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Dear readers: I hope you have abandoned all hope of this thing fitting in anywhere within the canon timeline. And also of Jon getting a break anytime soon.

....I'm doing my best to wrap it up I swear ;-;

***

The night doesn’t get any more pleasant from there.

Jon spends several long hours in an Emergency Room, gets a CT scan to exclude cranial fracture, a blood test that tells him he’s slightly anaemic, a nurse worried that he’s underweight, comments about his blood pressure and resting heart rate being elevated, some less-than-subtle inquiries about domestic abuse once they see his scars, and a stern reminder to not mix alcohol with the sleeping pills he wheedled out of his GP.

(He wonders, now, if he influenced the GP into prescribing him the pills, or was he just annoying enough that she eventually caved in. He wonders how that power even works.)

They want to keep him in for observation, but after he signs a waiver that he’s aware of the risks and leaves of his own volition, they let him go with little fuss. The ER is busy enough as it is, and Jon is stubborn.

He does pause on his way out; the waiting room is full of mostly elderly people in bad physical shape, a few drunken brawlers, some victims of unfortunate accidents, and other assorted medical emergencies. The one person that stands out to him is a middle-aged woman, sitting unnaturally still in the corner, with wide-open, haunted eyes. She’s been marked by one of the Powers; he knows this. He feels her calling out to him, a promise of a feast for the Eye, brimming with fresh terror and terrible nightmares. It’d take very little to get her to talk—

Their eyes meet. Jon swallows, an involuntary reflex; he can feel the hunger in his stomach, this terrible need to extract a tribute to his patron. And it would nourish him in ways normal food doesn’t seem to anymore. It might even make him whole.

A nurse passes by with a clipboard, and asks the woman a number of questions. Jon flees the waiting room, hating himself every step of the way. He isn’t a fucking misery vampire, to prey on innocent unsuspecting people. He isn’t.

It’s long past daybreak when he finally makes it back to his apartment. He doesn’t even bother undressing, just swallows a pill, throws himself on the bed, and waits for the nightmares to begin.

***

He wakes up around noon with a mild headache and throbbing pain in his cheek. It’s raining outside; the steady beat of raindrops against the windowpane is actually quite soothing.

Jon showers, brushes his teeth, and contemplates breakfast, but the very thought of eating food makes him nauseous. He settles for a mug of herbal tea and watches the rain for a while, holding an ice-pack to his cheek and drumming an erratic melody on the table with his other hand. He wonders if he should make that phone call. He can almost hear Tim calling him insane, Sasha’s attempts at reasoning with him, his own name repeated in Martin’s worried voice. But he can also remember what it felt like to drag the truth out of Tim’s mouth; the mark of the Powers on that unfortunate woman. The Eye’s insistent presence.

He makes that phone call.

“Archivist.”

“Elias.”

There’s a beat of tense silence on both sides of the line. Jon curses himself for not writing down his questions beforehand.

“Sorry for calling on Saturday,” Jon says. “Are you busy?”

“No need to apologize,” Elias says smoothly. “I always have time for you, Jon.”

That is a blatant lie, but Jon lets it slide.

“I hope the gala went well,” Jon says.

“You call me on a Saturday to ask about an event you didn’t want to attend and that you bailed on halfway through?” Elias asks, thankfully more amused than upset.

“Oh! Yes, sorry about that. I, uh,” he contemplates lying, but is too worn out to come up with anything halfway believable. “I felt really awkward. After the. You know.”

“Yes, and maybe sometime next decade Simon Fairchild will stop reminding me of your dramatic escape,” Elias says. “All in all, it went about as well as I could have expected. Don’t worry about it too much.”

“Right,” Jon says, knowing damn well that he is going to worry.

“But this isn’t why you called.”

“No. It isn’t.”

There’s another long, awkward silence, while Jon struggles to formulate his thoughts.

“I think I can force people to answer my questions,” Jon says. “Is that normal?”

Elias has the audacity to laugh at him. The bastard.

“I was wondering when you were going to notice,” he says. “Compelling voice is a crucial ability to fulfil your role as the Archivist. How else could you extract statements from those unwilling to share them?”

He says this as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“That’s—horrifying,” Jon says. “You do realize that it’s horrifying, right?” He takes in a shuddering breath. “Can I control it?”

“Yes. Of course. Now that you are aware of them, controlling your powers should become your next priority.”

“Stop giving me damn homework, Elias! I’m trying to ask for your help!”

The words are out his mouth before he can stop them, but he doesn’t think there’s anything supernatural about it. No; just pure desperation.

Elias sighs. “As lovely as it is to hear your voice, Archivist, I’d rather have this conversation in person. Are you available?”

“What—right now?” Jon asks. “Oh, wait. Is it because you cannot read my mind over the phone?”

“…maybe,” Elias says after a pause.

He files away the information for later. For now, he says, “Yes. I’m available.”

“Splendid. Where should I meet you?”

Jon considers the question. The Institute is the most obvious answer. It’s familiar and relatively safe, and both he and Elias have been known to spend their weekends at work, so it wouldn’t even be that strange. But the thought of always meeting Elias in a place where he holds all the power annoys him to no end. A restaurant, then? But, damn, he doesn’t want to have to dress up for the sort of place that might meet Elias’s standards. Besides, his head spins slightly every time he stands up; he suspects he might end up slipping on the wet pavement and cracking it open.

“I am actually not feeling very well,” he says. “Could you meet me at my place?” Suddenly aware of how it sounds, he hastens to add: “I don’t mean—I’m not trying to suggest anything inappropriate, so please do not read too much into it.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Great,” Jon sighs. “I’m assuming you know where I live.”

“I do.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you later,” Jon says.

***

Inviting Elias over might have been stupid, but isn’t much more questionable than any of his other decisions as of late. It’s the sort of baseline stupid Jon is becoming accustomed to.

He spends the time cleaning up and fretting over his clothing. Should he dress up? Which part of the dress code covers this particular situation? He feels like he shouldn’t be meeting his boss in an old band T-shirt and sweatpants, but another, more rational part of his brain points out that he shouldn’t be inviting his boss to his house at all. His outfit is the least concerning aspect of this situation. Intellectually he understands this, but he spends a good while selecting the right combination of sweatpants, shirt, and hoodie. He can’t imagine Elias would take him seriously if he were wearing pyjamas. If he deigns to take him seriously, that is.

His nervous fretting comes to an abrupt stop once the doorbell rings. Right. One hour.

He opens the door, and is greeted with the comical sight of Elias’s tailored suit and expensive coat looking distinctly out of place in the cluttered, dark, narrow corridor of his apartment. But then Elias’s eyes zero in on Jon’s face, and Jon feels suddenly self-conscious.

“Uh. Hi. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”

He leads the way to the living room, but doesn’t get very far before Elias stops him.

“Jon,” he says quietly.

Now he is in Jon’s space, looking down at him with an intense, scrutinizing expression in his steel-grey eyes. He smells faintly of rain and laundry detergent, but mostly that cologne he favours, which Jon remembers well from yesterday’s gala. His fingers are on Jon’s chin, gentle but insistent, turning his face up, towards the light; he brushes away the hair from Jon’s face. For a moment it seems inevitable that he will lean down and press his lips against Jon’s; why else would he touch him in this manner?

“What happened?” he asks.

His fingers skim feather-light over the bruise on Jon’s cheek. Jon winces; it’s swollen and tender, and no doubt does little to improve his appearance. He misses the ice-pack, but it was getting too warm so he had to place it back in the freezer for the time being.

“It’s nothing,” he says, a little breathy. He’s trying not to inhale too much of Elias’s scent, in case it makes him do something above-baseline stupid. “Just a bruise. It’ll fade.”

Elias’s lips are pressed thin, his brows knitted together. His eyes flare; for a moment, Jon could swear they changed colour into something deeper, vibrant, otherworldly; that they can suddenly see much, much further than Jon’s own face.

“Timothy Stoker did this to you?” Elias asks. His voice is pitched low, in cold fury; it sends a tremor through Jon’s body, an instinctive reaction to flee. But he can’t quite move, Elias’s hand and gaze pinning him in place, as gentle as they are insistent.

“We had a fight,” Jon says. “Stay out of it. It’s none of your business.”

Elias narrows his eyes.

“What happens to myArchivist very much is my business,” he says.

“I’m not your damn property,” Jon seethes. “And I can take care of myself.”

“You called me to ask for help,” Elias reminds him coldly.

“Not with this,” Jon says. “Leave Tim alone. Leave all of them alone.”

He’s trembling; his head spins. What a pathetic sight he makes right now, bargaining for his assistants’ lives with an empty hand. It’s a wonder Elias doesn’t laugh in his face.

“Jon,” Elias says. “They haven’t the right…” he cuts off, abruptly, and lets go of Jon’s chin.

The sudden absence of his touch is enough to have Jon swaying on his feet. He gasps, black spots dancing before his eyes; luckily the wall is not far behind his back, giving him something to lean on, his sweaty hands desperately scrambling at it for something to hold.

Elias looks down at him, startled. Jon gives a weak laugh in response.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Elias says. He steps away to where he set down his briefcase and retrieves a file from it. “Here. I brought you these.”

It’s the damn statements. Jon doesn’t even need to browse through its contents to know as much; the file calls out to him through no sense he can name. As Elias places it in Jon’s hands, Jon can almost hear the background static of the tape recorder, all other thoughts and concerns receding from his restless mind. He’s blank, achingly empty, and ready to receive this new account of the Powers, to absorb the fear and lose himself in it, to feel, to experience, to know—

“No,” he says. “Why—”

“It’ll help,” Elias says. So calm, so logical.

“I don’t want this,” Jon whispers. “I never wanted this. I can’t…”

The wall slips away, or maybe he slides down, limp and helpless. Elias catches him before he can hit the ground and steers him towards the couch; Jon doesn’t fight him. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“Jon,” Elias says, from somewhere far away. “You need this. You know you need this. What, exactly, are you hoping to gain by intentionally starving yourself?”

“This is wrong,” Jon says. His mouth is dry; his tongue feels like it was made of sandpaper. The buzzing in his head only gets louder.

“It is what it is,” Elias says. “You can be angry about it later, if you’d like.”

Jon shoves him away. He would have more luck with a brick wall; Elias catches his hands easily, encircling Jon’s wrists in a loose grip, his thumb running soothing patterns on the delicate inner skin of them.

“No,” Jon repeats, numbly.

He still can’t bring himself to let go of the statements. He is clutching them so tightly it’s a wonder they haven’t torn yet… but, no. The thought is absurd. In the heights of madness, Jon would never damage these. He might as well take a knife to his own flesh and slice it into ribbons.

“When was the last time you read one?”

“Not sure. A week. Maybe two,” Jon shakes his head. He’s been avoiding them, he hates what they turn him into. He hates the sick thrill of anticipation, he hates the words flowing out of his mouth, he hates the buzz of static on his tongue, he hates the Eye’s heavy gaze over his shoulder, all around him, within him. He hates the nightmares. He hates himself most of all.

“Oh, Jon,” Elias says softly. Like he understands, like he cares. He moves closer, sits right next to Jon and lets go of his hand to cradle the back of his head.

And it’s nice. It’s nice to sink into his embrace, regardless of how sure Jon is he’d be safer throwing himself into shark-infested waters. Elias is warm; his chest moves at a steady, comforting rhythm. His arms around Jon feel grounding, partially shielding him from the Eye’s constant presence.

“I don’t want this,” Jon repeats, over and over, like a broken record. He isn’t making any sense. He knows he isn’t.

He smooths the paper in his hands. Elias tucks a few loose strands of hair behind his ear, so that they won’t obscure his vision.

“You didn’t hurt these people, Jon,” he says quietly. “Whatever happened to them is already done. You cannot rewrite their stories. All you can do is archive them.”

“What for?” Jon asks. “Why?”

Elias considers him for a long moment, with an inscrutable expression on his face. On anyone else, Jon might be willing to classify it as remorse; but he knows better. He knows Elias too well, and yet not at all.

“For now? Because you need it,” Elias says. “For later – I’ll tell you when you’re ready.”

He needs it. That’s the simple truth of it. Right now, Jon can start reading, or he can die. It’s stupid, it’s absurd; and yet it’s true.

“Statement of…”

#jonelias #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #at least NOW i can use the jonelias tag with clear conscience #when will they end my torment and finally kiss

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mt-musings · 2 years ago

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Bluebell

Chapter 19

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

19. Barrel of a Gun

Cassie stood in front of the hardly used mirror in her apartment fussing with the thin black turtleneck she’d bought hoping it would look sophisticated and mature.

She cursed, pulling it off and flinging it onto her unmade bed. She didn’t know why she’d let Spencer talk her into going out with the team. Derek and Penelope had talked of dancing and she knew there was nothing in her wardrobe that was even remotely appropriate. There wasn’t any way she could wear anything like that without putting her litany of scars on full display and practically begging for questions or worse, pity.

She sighed, running a hand over the scars that covered her upper chest, her arms. She’d tried every scar cream on the market, rubbed vitamin E capsules on them every night but nothing seemed to diminish the way the scar tissue caught the light, or the raised surfaces of their number. She’d never considered herself particularly vain, but she knew even now she’d pay anything to have a doctor get rid of them, to have the ability to wear whatever she wanted without having to cover up the reminders of that night.

Maybe it would be better if she just stayed home.

She threw herself face down on her bed, burying her face in one of her pillows. Yes, it would be best to just stay in and order some takeout, maybe crack open the bottle of horilka with Chuck and watch Fight the Future until she was drunk enough to slip into dreamless sleep.

Her phone rang and she cursed.

She glanced at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“You’re still coming tonight, right? I’m just hopping on the Metro.”

She groaned. “I was actually thinking about bailing.”

“Why? It’s going to be a blast. Thomson and Moreau are going to be there and JJ said there was a handful of people from CASMIRC too.”

“It’s just not really my scene—“

“We’re going to do trivia and drink, it sounds exactly up your alley.”

“I’m not sure I—“

“You know socializing improves memory and cognition. And has been linked to reduced blood pressure and a longer lifespan.”

She sighed, scrunching her face up as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

She hung up, tossing the phone across the bed. She glared at herself in the mirror, running the heel of her hand, too hard, across the scars on her chest before pulling back on the black turtleneck and hunting down a decent pair of jeans.

---

Cassie wondered how she’d allowed Spencer to convince her to come out with them all. She had no interest in football and even less in joining the sweating masses on the dance floor. She’d tried hanging out Spencer and his egg-head cohort, but she’d never seen Star Trek or Firefly or any of the other dozen-odd shows they were competing in trivia over.

She ended up sitting on the stoop of the bar, nursing her drink as she watched passersby. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be the first to leave, but she was regretting it, thinking longingly of sweatpants and warm blankets. She watched as JJ exited the bar, phone pressed to her ear, tension rolling off of her in waves. JJ hung up and turned, seemingly spotting her for the first time.

“We’ve got a case.”

“Thank God,” Cassie muttered, too low for JJ to hear, before downing the rest of her drink and following JJ inside to retrieve her coat. Spencer looked up as she returned, grabbing it from the back of his chair.

“Where’d you go? You missed the Star Trek lighting round.”

“I just needed some fresh air.”

“You were gone for twenty-three minutes.”

She searched his face for a moment before pulling on her coat.

“We caught a case. We gotta go.”

---

Cassie ran through her notes from the pathologist, cross-referencing them with the footage playing on Spencer’s laptop. It never got easier to watch the life stolen from someone, but at least they hadn’t suffered much. The slashing of the wrists and thighs had been overkill—important to determining a profile of the unsub, but redundant as far as cause of death. Both victims had had their carotid arteries severed, causing death between ten and thirty seconds after the laceration.

“Assuming it’s not a true given name, isn’t it a bit odd that the unsub would choose Raphael as their moniker?” She asked, perching on the side of the desk.

“Because he’s considered to be the Archangel of healing?” Spencer replied, still pouring over the video.

“Well, that and he’s not right fit for the role they’re playing. I mean, Micheal is the Sword, tasked with striking down the forces of Satan explicitly in the Bible. But Raphael only appears in the Book of Tobit. So if they’re pulling from Canon they’d most likely be of Eastern Orthodox or Catholic faith, since it’s part of the Protestant apocrypha.”

“Judging by area demographics it would be statistically unlikely for either to be Eastern Orthodox. Though I wouldn’t necessarily rule out a Protestant background just because Tobit is used as a reference.”

“It just seems strange to me. I mean, Raphael’s role is to aid Tobias’ journey and purge the demon, not punish sinners.”

“It could just be a coincidence that the name was chosen. Though if it isn’t then it does show a particularly high knowledge of scripture.”

“Seems like he’s picking and choosing what fits his mission.”

“They usually do,” he said, turning to look up at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just bothering me.”

“I mean other than the butchering Archangel. You just seemed off tonight.”

“I’m fine.”

“Cass—“

“I’m just not good with people. Living people, anyway. It’s a lot sometimes, you know?”

“You could have told me. I would have stepped out with you.”

“You were having a great time with everyone. It’s all fine, Spencer, really.”

“Just—just tell me next time.”

“Yeah maybe,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile before dropping her gaze. “You’ll have to drag me out again first, and I don’t envy your chances.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

She shook her head, opening her mouth to retort when Gideon appeared, looking grim.

“We have another body.”

---

“Why do they always pick Revelations?” Cassie asked as she crouched next to the body, examining the wounds. “I’d like to see someone justify murder through Psalms for a change. I mean, Leviticus would have been the book to pull, right?”

She glanced up to where Gideon was still examining the Bible page.

“Do we have any leads yet on where he took Mrs. Douglas?”

“Not yet. Though we can infer he harbors particular resentment towards women. That and he wants us to know the name Raphael.”

She sat back on her heels, looking up at him. “Out of all the archangels, I still don’t know why he would pick Raphael.”

“There has to be some sort of significance to the unsub. Have you talked to Reid about figuring out the meaning?”

“I mentioned it in passing.”

“Is there anything else to be learned from the body?”

“Always, but for our purposes, nothing of particular relevance.”

“Then let’s leave it to CSI and head back to Atlanta. We can see if Spencer and JJ managed to dig anything up in the complaints.”

---

Spencer lay frozen on the ground as Tobias Hankel pointed his own gun at him, flipping between personalities. Suddenly everything made sense, the calls, the opposing signatures, Raphael—

Raphael who was meant to lead Tobias in ridding the afflicting demon.

Even with that gun pointed in his face his thoughts flipped to Cassie, to the way her face had scrunched as she’d tried to puzzle out the connection. He thought about the way her hand had felt in his, the rush of warmth the simple gesture had filled him with.

He thought of how he’d never told her how special she’d become to him, how he’d begun to work for her smile, he laugh, for the moments she’d get that sparkle of mischief behind her eyes. That he was happy, just being close to her.

How cruel for it all to be ripped away before it had a chance to be anything at all.

---

Cassie hated feeling helpless.

She would give anything to trade places with Spencer, for it to be her up on those screens instead of him. He must be so scared, locked in that dark room, alone, with Tobias Hankel.

She couldn’t stop thinking of the blood on the side of his face, the obvious signs of beatings—

She picked up a rock from the garden edging and thew it as hard as she could at one of the trees that lined the perimeter of the property, wishing the loud crack of the impact made her feel better about anything.

She was so useless, she’d had eighteen years to find her parents’ killer to no avail—how did she expect to find Spencer before Tobias beat him to death? And now what was she doing instead of going through every frame of that damn video?

She cursed, dropping back down to her seat on the porch steps, her head in her hands. She sobbed, silently, her whole body trembling. She needed to get up, needed to wash her face and get back in there. She needed to find him, to bring him home—

She jumped at the feeling of a hand on her back. She looked up to see Morgan crouched next to her, her hand stilling on its path to her gun.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry, I’ll be back in in a minute.” She wiped furiously at her face, trying to hide the evidence of her tears.

“I just came to come and check on you. I know how worried you are about Reid.”

“We’re all worried.”

“Cassie—“

“I just want to find him. The longer he’s there—“ she broke off, running a hand over her face. The longer he was there the higher the chances were of him not making it. The harder it would be to work through the trauma if he did.

“He’s going to be okay, we’re going to find him.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Come on, let’s see if we can find anything in the other hundred journals.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before standing and offering her a hand.

She nodded, wiping her face one last time as she stood.

---

The drugs were preferable to the beatings, the choosing.

He’d seen Cassie on the monitor, after he’d chosen the defense lawyer and his wife—she’d looked haunted, hollow.

Was it because of his disappearance or what he had done?

Cassie wouldn’t have chosen, would have refused. He remembered the way she’d shielded that little girl in Montana with her own body, how she cried in Texas over those little kids strangled by their father—what would she think of him, after seeing his handiwork?

Gideon had said that it wasn’t his fault that he just needed to survive and pragmatically he knew that was true—he was just trying to make it out alive, buy enough time that he could be rescued. She would understand, he knew—

He looked up at the sound of the cabin door opening, unconsciously shrinking back in his bindings. Would it be Tobias who entered, or Charles, or Raphael?

---

Cassie stared at the monitor, silently willing Spencer to move, to twitch, have the slightest of inhales. She dug her nails into her arms as if to hod herself in place, forcing herself to keep looking at Spencer’s still, lifeless form.

“Come on. Come on,” she chanted, so low she barely realized she was speaking out loud. “Just a breath—“

But there was no breath, no movement. Every second of oxygen deprivation his cells were dying, his beautiful, brilliant mind withering. At four minutes there would be irreparable harm, at six—

She whipped around, fleeing from the room. She couldn’t keep staring at his slack face while her brain screamed at her, real-time, the stage of dying he was experiencing.

Would they find him before lividity set it, before rigor? Would he still look like Spencer? She gagged at the thought of his coffee-and-old-book smell mixing with the putrid sweetness of rot.

She couldn’t even remember the last thing she’d said to him.

She pushed out of the front door and cut behind the house back towards the barn. She didn’t know when she’d started crying, when her knees had given out and she’d slumped down, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

It had been a bad idea to go to the barn. It still reeked of blood, now mingled with the bite of decay.

She didn’t bother with any of her usual, grounding chants, instead just sinking her nails as hard into her flesh as she could manage. It was enough to stave off the worst of the panic, enough to keep rational thought. She still had to find Spencer, no matter what it took—

“Cassie!”

She didn’t look up at the sound of Emily’s voice, instead freezing, hoping that Emily would miss her in the dark.

She had no such luck as she heard hurried footsteps growing closer.

“Hey Cassie, he’s okay, he’s breathing.”

“What?”

“Tobias came back and gave him CPR.”

She looked up , her face a mess of tears. Emily crouched next to her, wiping away her tears with her thumbs.

“He’s okay?”

“We have a location. We’re going now. We're going to bring him home.”

Cassie nodded, swiping at her face as she allowed Emily to help her to her feet.

---

Cassie could have sworn her heart stopped at the sound of that gunshot.

She was always one to come in from the flank, to hang back in order to stay out of sight and make the shot its needed, but she broke out into a sprint, dropping her flashlight in the leaves as she ran.

She knew enough to stabilize a gunshot wound until the paramedics arrived, as long as it wasn’t too egregious and she would put down Hankel like a rabid dog to get there. She knew she wouldn’t be aiming to maim as she strived for, but to put a bullet between his eyes, make sure he never lay another finger on Spencer—

She saw him then, through the trees and crumbling gravestones. He was crouched over a body, a still body, as Hotch and JJ and the rest converged. They’d been closer and helped him up. He was unsteady on his feet, clearly favoring his right foot.

She didn’t know why she froze, watching the others swarm around him. Maybe it was shock, or the fact that they all had managed to maintain a level of professionalism throughout the ordeal that she’d found unattainable.

Maybe it was because he looked so fragile, so very breakable.

She watched him say something to Gideon and stoop once more next to the body. It was only after a moment when he glanced around that he spotted her, eyes going wide.

“Cassie?”

His voice was so rough but it carried and she found herself moving again without her volition, holstering her gun without a second thought. She wrapped Spencer in a bone-crushing hug, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

He was there, he was real, he was alive.

“Spence, god—“

He tightened his grip around her, murmuring something she couldn’t quite make out into her hair. She just hugged him harder, glad that he couldn’t see her tears.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #multichapter #mutual pining #slow burn

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olivesjaw · 4 years ago

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#can 2021 be the year we normalize self harm scars and not just SH scars but all scars #I’m so sick of feeling like I have to die because I have self harm scars all over my limbs #y’all hear me bitch about it every year I know #but it’s just awful and it affects me in ways that most people wouldn’t ever think about #I’ve declined taking jobs because their work attire was a short sleeve shirt and I can’t wear those #I can’t ever go swimming again #I have to show medical ppl my scarry arms if I need a shot or my blood pressure taken or if I have to wear a hospital gown #I bail on dates and end relationships with people because I don’t wanna open up to them about my scars #I don’t casually fuck people because I have scars #I don’t go on dates during summer because it’s too hot for me to be outside in long sleeves and long pants #like I literally just stop dating altogether until fall unless I’m seeing someone exclusively #god forbid I reach for something up high and my sleeve rolls down my wrist and somebody sees my scars #it literally makes me feel like I don’t have a place in this world because nobody would accept me.#I meet people and I’m like wow I just know this person would think I’m absolutely crazy if they knew about or saw my self harm scars #idfk i’m just so fucking sick of it and i’ll never experience a day where i feel okay in my body because of this and 20000 other reasons #and all the shit about having to show doctors my arms for medical stuff is literally traumatizing for me. it’s so terrifying every time it #happens. you think I wanna show strangers my arms when my scarred awful arms are the last thing they’re expecting?#and opening up to people is terrifying too. I only open up about it to people who I know have mental health issues too and might get it and #even then I’m always scared they’re going to think less of me or not be attracted to / like / whatever me anymore bc of it #I don’t even know how to bring it up in conversations. like oh yeah just so you know I have these horrendous scars on my body. more than you #could ever count #because I’m batshit crazy and found peace in injuring myself with a blade for nearly a decade #oh and BY THE WAY I also have an eating disorder and a personality disorder!!#like #??!!!!#diary #dumb vent post

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deanstead · 2 years ago

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Pieces (20): New Surprises

Chapter 20: New Surprises

Chapter Summary: Confronted by a new surprise, Y/N finds herself trying to find the best way to tell Jay. Meanwhile, Jay has a surprise of his own.

Word Count: 1,841

Warnings: mentions of dizzy spells, general canon-typical mentions of being unwell

A/N: I kind of came up with the idea for 20 & 21 while talking to @i-like-sparkly-things and she was screaming at me so technically this was an unplanned idea that later kind of changed some stuff so I hope you like it! And if you do, you can say thank you to Kat :D

SERIES MASTERLIST || JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Chicago’s weather had been unforgiving recently, the heat was relentless and every time you stepped out of Med you wanted to go right back in to the welcoming air conditioning.

It felt like the heat was very literally zapping your energy out of you, bit by bit. You felt even more tired than you did when you were up at all hours of the night when Chloe was little, but you also reminded yourself that you hadn��t been working as an ED doctor then.

You brought the cold bottle of water to your lips, feeling the cold liquid slide down your throat before you put the cap back on, putting the bottle back down onto the counter as the room swayed.

You frowned, gripping onto the edge of the table and closing your eyes. The heat must really be getting to you.

You were so focused on trying to breathe through it that you didn’t hear Will and Connor coming in although they were talking loudly and on any other day you might have thrown a line at them about them announcing their arrival.

Which is probably why they quickly picked up on the fact that you were off your game.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t open your eyes despite hearing Connor call you but you answered him. “I’m fine. It must be the heat.”

“Here.” Will and Connor guided you towards a chair and you only cracked open your eyes when you felt your body sink into the chair, guided by one of their hands.

Will was already sitting across from you. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine.” You growled a little impatiently.

Will exchanged a look with Connor before he rolled his eyes and gave you a look.

You looked up slightly. “Fine, the room may be spinning a little.”

“Can we get you checked out, please?” Connor asked, peering down at you.

“No, I am not getting into a hospital bed. Not again. I had my first anniversary dinner date with Jay in the hospital. No, I’m not doing this again.” You said stubbornly.

“It’s been a year?” Connor asked, smiling and giving you a one armed hug.

Will glanced at Connor. “Missing the point here.”

You didn't even have the energy to remind Connor that another six months had passed since then.

Connor gave a small chuckle before he glanced at you. “Just dizziness? You feeling any other discomfort?”

You shook your head and Connor glanced at Will before he turned back to you. “Alright, compromise. We’re running tests but we’ll do it quietly and in here. No hospital beds.”

You opened your mouth to argue but caught the look on Will’s face. “Easy way or hard way, Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretty sure the hard way came in the form of him calling his brother. “You don’t have to tell Jay everything.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s not your ass he’s gonna kick.” Will muttered.

But you knew it was just easier to let them do what they wanted to do so you held your tongue as they fussed - Maggie was informed, they took your blood, and took your blood pressure.

Maggie practically threatened you to make sure you didn’t come out of the doctor’s lounge despite your protests that if this went on you’d get fired or all your coworkers would hate you because you kept bailing on your shifts. Maggie just rolled her eyes, pointing to Connor and Will. “These guys can’t live without you. Neither can the rest of us so it’s either here or I’ll open a treatment room for you.”

So you lay back against the couch now, looking at the ceiling. They’d brought in some snacks for you because apparently having some food was supposed to help and left with strict instructions for you to drink the bottle they’d shoved into your hand.

You wanted nothing but to go back out there to do your job but you could already see the look Maggie would give you and you knew she’d make good on her threat to put you in a hospital bed to make sure everything was alright.

The door opened and you looked up. Will had a weird look on his face, the iPad held in his hand.

“What?” You asked.

Will glanced up at you, pulling a chair and sitting facing you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Tell you what? What did the test say?” You asked, reaching out for the iPad but Will held it just out of your reach, like a typical older brother.

“Will.”

Will blinked back at you before a look of dawning appeared on his face. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?” You were getting irritated. “Spit it out, Will. You’re freaking me out.”

Will just handed the iPad over to you silently.

Your eyes scanned over the test results like they were trained to do, like you did every single day, but you were frozen now.

“Do you want me to call Jay?”

You couldn’t hear Will, not really. At least, you couldn’t absorb anything he was saying right now as you stared back at the test results. Your test results.

You knew what it was telling you, the numbers made sense in a weird detached sort of way and for a minute you might have forgotten you were looking at your own chart.

“Y/N?”

You looked up now as Will’s voice broke through your consciousness.

“No, don’t. I… Don’t say anything yet, please? I’ll tell him.”

Will glanced back at you with a concerned look. “Is this a good thing, Y/N?”

You didn't answer him immediately. “I don’t know yet. I need to know for sure before I…”

Will nodded back at you. “I’ll get you an appointment. Discreetly. My lips are sealed, I promise.”

You nodded, not really back to your normal self yet. “I’ll be back to get you.” Will said, before he left the room again.

As the door swung shut after Will, you felt the noise in your brain increase as you looked back down at the iPad he’d forgotten to take with him and the word bounced around in your skull.

Pregnant.

You hadn’t planned for this. Not at all. Things had been working out well between you, Chloe and Jay. You and Jay had been seeing each other for more than a year but things were going so well and naturally that you didn’t really have the talk about what it meant for the both of you. Not in details, at least.

Jay always knew what you and Chloe needed before you opened your mouth, as if he could see it in your eyes, or hear your thoughts. You could see through Jay’s facade as well, knowing when he was trying to keep it together for Chloe which was your cue to distract her with something else. That’s how well things had worked.

Now, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t know. You didn’t know how Jay would react to this.

You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or worried when the ultrasound confirmed the blood test. The dizziness you’d been experiencing had had nothing to do with the weather or temperature and more to do with the extra person you were now growing inside of you.

But it didn’t stop you from being absolutely terrified about how to tell Jay and what that would mean for all of you. So you were secretly glad that Jay had been kept busy with a case. He still made it a point to drop by your apartment, show his face to Chloe or at least leave a little snack surprise in the fridge for her but he didn’t have time to stick around for too long, so there’d been no long conversations or opportunity for Jay to figure out you weren’t telling him everything.

Even so, you knew you couldn’t put it off forever. So when Jay had finished up with the case and things seemed to settle back into the normal routine, you’d told Jay that you wanted to talk because you’d missed him. Jay didn’t seem to sense anything wrong and he’d smiled, nodded and agreed that the both of you should do a date night that night, not forgetting to add that he would bully Will into babysitting if he had to. You laughed, reminding him that Chloe had just as much fun at Will’s before he left.

You were glad you were on shift today though because it meant you didn’t really have the luxury to think about what you were going to say to Jay. Until it was time to go.

“I’ll swing by in about half an hour to get her, alright?” Will said, the question lost on you. “Y/N?”

“What?” You looked back up into Will’s concerned eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever’s convenient.”

Will frowned. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“Alright.” Will conceded even though he looked like he didn’t really believe you.

You stressed about it all the way home, even as you got Chloe ready for Will to get her and even though you smiled back at your daughter as she chattered on about her day, it was nagging you at the back of your head.

But you kept your cool through the rest of the night. Jay had come in shortly after you’d finished with the steak and potatoes, setting the plates down on the table. You’d opted for a simple dinner date but Jay had insisted on lighting the candles from the last time the both of you had had a stay-home date.

As you sank into Jay’s company, you almost forgot your original intention for having the dinner in the first place. It was like the magic of being with Jay, but as time ticked past and the both of you finished eating, you knew you couldn’t really avoid it any longer.

You were sure Jay could hear your heart beating against your chest like it was desperate to get out. Jay seemed a little nervous as well but you figured that he was probably reacting to you since you knew if Jay had been the one to say that he had something to tell you, the anxiety would eat you alive.

Jay cleared the plates off the table before he joined you back at the table and you took a deep breath. You just had to rip the band-aid off.

Rip it off, Y/N. Just do it.

You opened your mouth but Jay beat you to it, reaching for your hand from where he was sitting next to you. “My whole world changed the day I met you, Y/N.” Jay whispered.

You blinked back at him.

“I love you, and I will never ever let you go. Not for the rest of my life.” The only sound in the apartment now was your quickened breaths, as Jay leaned forward even more, taking your hands in his.

“Marry me.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

Character taglist is open here

#resa.fics #resa.piecesfic #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead series #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fic #jay halstead fanfic #chicago pd #chicago med

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago

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Laisse tomber les filles 10

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon, pillow humping.

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: It’s Monday, ugh.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your curiosity got the best of you, more so your restlessness.

After your ride with Lee, you couldn’t settle down. You gave up on sleep, late nights not unknown to any student. You flicked on your desk lamp and sat on the chair with a blanket around your shoulders and read a few passages before that peculiar twang made you put down the book.

The flagrant language of the lewd acts made your core hot and you longed for any touch to stoke it. You fidgeted and picked the book up again. Just one chapter… Lee was right, you were learning. You pushed the blanket away as you felt yourself sweating and you recalled that night with the sheriff, his leg firmly between both of yours.

You shut the book again and flicked off the light. You had a few more hours before you had to get ready for class. You needed some semblance of sleep to function and you knew another long night awaited you.

You sprawled out on your thin mattress and sighed. You closed your eyes and tried to drift off, tried to forget the lurid excerpts that kept popping back into your mind. You rolled onto your side then the other. You gripped your head and squeezed your eyelids closed. Just sleep.

You brought a pillow down and hugged it as you tried to get comfortable. The corner rubbed along your panties and a ripple tore through your core. You mumbled nonsensically and ignored the urge tugging at you. You couldn’t…

You pushed the pillow down and clenched it between your legs. You started slowly, carefully building the pressure as you hugged it tighter and tighter. Your breath caught and soon you were panting desperately as you chased that strange plucking deep inside.

You got up on your knees and kept the pillow sideways beneath you and straddled it. You rocked your hips as the wooden frame creaked with each move and you smother your voice with your palm.

You bit down on the heel of your hand as you hung your head back and became the woman in the novel. You imagined a man beneath you, faceless, nameless, and the mountain rose before you. Almost there, just a little more--

You gritted your teeth as you came and slowed, nails sinking into the pillow as you shook and stifled the weak moans. You fell back onto your side, the pillow caught between your legs and let your arm hang over the edge of the bed. Breathless, you felt the heavy drowsiness setting in. You drifted off before the guilt could set in.

📚

The club meeting came to an end but you hardly kept up with any of the discussion. You couldn’t help but think of the last time you saw Lee and everything that came after. You didn’t know what you’d been thinking, why you did what you did. Curiosity, mostly as you tried to recreate that same feeling you got on the sheriff’s lap.

You didn’t realise your weekly session was over until the chairs scraped and bodies began to move. You stood and your purse fell over as you did. You bent to pick up your bag and scoop up the mess that spilled onto the floor. Another knelt across from you and snatch the red-spined book from amid the pile.

Andre held up the explicit novel and looked it over with a chuckle, “so this is what you like to read?”

“Hey,” you snatched it away and shoved it into your purse and stood, “no, I…”

You shrugged and dragged the chair back to the desk and shoved it beneath. You turned back to him as he watched you. You surpassed him as you headed for the door and heard him follow. Your skin was on fire with embarrassment.

“You know, it’s not really literature but it’s… expression nonetheless. I think it’s good that themes like that are being explored in writing--”

“It’s trash, I’m taking it to the donation bin,” you lied as you came out into the warm summer evening.

“Oh,” he said without conviction, “that’s too bad. You must be one of those prudish girls, then. I always thought so with the way you dress.”

“What?” you glanced over at him as he kept pace with you. You searched around for the cruiser but you only saw your fellow club members and the beaten up lemons they drove.

“Well, you’re not exactly pushing the envelope,” he intoned, “I don’t see you at any parties, either--”

“What does it matter?” you kicked a rock as you continued down the sidewalk. You kept your eyes peeled for Lee but you assumed he was waiting back at your residence as usual.

“Oh, I was just thinking you might want to come to one,” he suggested, “you know, loosen up a bit.”

“A party?” you asked as you turned onto Greek row, “I don’t know… I have plans and--”

“You have plans,” he scoffed, “are you that shy or that stupid?”

You were quiet as you didn’t know how to answer. Both, probably, you thought, but sniffed and kept on.

“I’m asking you out,” he said as you reached the corner of your street, “you know, maybe you can do more than read about fucking.”

“Excuse me?” you stopped short and turned on him, “I’m not lying. I have somewhere I’m supposed to be and-- and-- maybe I’m not interested in going out with you. You’re mean.”

His brows shot up and he tilted his head and laughed, “you’re such a precocious little thing, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, “but you should get out of here before--”

The siren whooped and you cringed. You heard the slow roll of tires as they drew up and the engine clicked into park. The door opened as Andre scowled past you and rolled his eyes. You stepped aside and looked over at Lee as he placed his hat on his head.

“What are y’all up to, tonight, huh?” he asked with half a smirk.

“Just talking,” Andre spat, “some bodunk cop like you can surely understand that.”

“Scuse me, boy?” Lee’s hand went to his belt, just beside his gun, “is that how they teach you college kids to talk to authority?”

“It’s how I talk to pigs when they oink at me,” Andre rebuffed, “now I was just having a discussion with this young woman--”

“Now don’t be uppity with me, boy, you out here making a public nuisance,” the sheriff stepped up on the curb.

“We were just talking, really,” you said quietly, “I was just saying goodbye.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Andre dismissed him with a wave and turned back to you, “well, why don’t you just cancel and come up to Delt--”

You gasped as Andre was hauled off his feet and spun against the side of the cruiser. Lee twisted his arm back and bent him over the hood as he reached for his cuffs.

“What are you--”

“You saw that, girl,” Lee snarled, “he swung at me. That would be attempting an assault on an officer of the law.”

“Ummm,” you blinked and clutched your purse, “I don’t…”

“That’s an arrestable offence,” Lee snapped a cuff around Andre’s wrist as he struggled, “don’t look good on your record, neither. Think the dean will stand for it?”

“Get off of me!” Andre sneered, “I didn’t do anything--”

“You sure did,” Lee growled, “out here harassing young ladies and disrespecting an officer.”

“You’re insane,” Andre’s tried to pull away as the other cuff closed, “don’t you have anything better--”

“Honey, get in the car,” Lee ordered as he wrenched Andre up then slammed his face back down against the hood with a sickening crunch, “I don’t want you to see this.”

“Lee--” you said weakly, “please--”

“You know… this pig…” Andre huffed in a nasally voice.

“Y’aint talk to her, pretty boy,” Lee warned, “or I’ll break your teeth.”

“You’re--”

“Shhhh,” Lee hushed him and glanced over his shoulder at you, “now honey pie, get in the front seat. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

You swallowed and cautiously went to the front door. You slid across the leather seat and closed the door. You heard them arguing before the back door opened and Andre was shoved inside, barely missing his head as he did. You peeked back at him as he horked up blood onto the floor.

The door slammed behind him and Lee got in on his side. He pushed into gear and took off from the curb with the squeal of tires. He glared in the mirror than looked over at you as his expression softened.

“Not exactly how I wanted the night to go but we drop him at the station real quick then we can have some fun, huh?” he smiled.

“You’re dating this creep?” Andre snorted from the back seat.

“Boy, you shut your mouth,” Lee barked at the rear view, “I ain’t tell ya again not to talk to the lady.”

Andre snickered darkly and shook his head as he hung it. He leaned against his cuffed hands and shifted.

“Fine, take me to the station,” he said blithely, “my father will have me out on the hour. Bail in these parts can’t be more than a penny.”

“Oh,” Lee sneered at the road as he drove through campus, “is that so?”

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #laisse tomber les filles #the devil all the time #college au #au #series

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springgirlwaiting4fall · 2 years ago

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Hey lovely,

I know I've just sent you one of these, but I am a little grumpy today (for reasons unknown), so your answer will cheer me up!

Imagine having a case of the grumps like I do now. Pick an AEW Talent and make them try to cheer you up. What would they do? Would it help or make things worse?

(But wait, there's more)

Now imagine the situation being switched. Now they are grumpy, and you qant to help them feel better. What do you think might work? Does it in the end?

Love ya!

Uh being grumpy is the worst and honestly I’m never just grumpy. I go to 0 to 200 in a half a second. I pity those who have to be around me when I’m mad, unless I’m in a bad mood because of them…than f those fools.

I’m going to have to pick Santana for this one, I have not been focusing on him as much as he deserves. 😂 And look at him he is adorable and he needs all my love

Okay So here is the thing about me, things that should make me angry don’t actually make me angry. Instead I let all the little things build up into I explode. Santana was luckily able to notice this pretty early in our relationship.

Today was just one of those days, the night before I ran the dryer and for some reason it didn’t actually dry my work clothes. So in the morning Im late to work waiting for my clothes to dry. I have to work through lunch, and a couple other things just keep adding on to my day. My blood pressure tips over when I get home and trip over Santanas bag he left in the hallway.

If this was in our first 6 months of dating, he would have laughed and told me it wasn’t that a big of deal. But now he sees that my light brown are darker. And they are tearing up. Because when I’m at my breaking point I start to cry, which only makes me angrier.

“I’m sorry baby girl,” Santana apologizes and moves his bag. Than immediately wraps me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. “Go get change and let me take care of you.” I use the breathing techniques my therapist taught me, while I’m pressed against him, inhaling his scent.

When I’m changing he orders way too much delivery and makes sure they have coke and dessert. Those two are the most important part of my angry binge eating meal.

While we wait for our food, Santana listens to me complain about my day while he cracks my knuckles and toes. (Because I am a dumpster on fire disguised as a human being and I love it). He also just listens and let’s me vent. He doesn’t try to fix my problems either. He just listens.

After the food gets here and I eat all my problems away. While I make Santana cheat on his diet and work out plans. We spend the rest of the evening talking, watching a movie or one of our shows. If it’s been a lot building up he sets up Mario party or plays one of my 100 different versions of Monopoly I own.

By the end of the night I am feeling a lot of better but still have a lot of left over adrenaline. And if this is too much Information sorry I’m advance, but when I get angry I also get horny. So when Santana and I go upstairs for the night, he knows exactly what it I need. To be dominated and put back in my place.

Santana doesn’t let the little things bother him or let them build up. It honestly depends on the day, one day someone could come up to him and punch him in the face and he would laugh about it. Other days I could be bailing him out of jail.

It’s pretty obvious when Santana is pissed off or just having a bad day, because he gets so quiet. Santana is pretty quiet on a normal basic, but this is different. An uncomfortable silence, where he is just zoning out.

And you know how I am with uncomfortable silences, my skin practically burns to say something…anything. So when we first got together it was BAD. My go to was to try and make him laugh. Be obnoxious, loud, say silly things; this however only made him more annoyed and withdrawn.

We were dating for 4 months when he picked me up for a date and as soon as I got in his car I could just tell something happened. So I tried my usual technique and kept trying and trying, until he exploded at me. We than had the most uncomfortable dinner at the Olive Garden. We all seen the couple at a restaurant that just look like they hate each other, but they invested too much time until the relationship to break up. Yeah that’s what we look like and we didn’t talk when he dropped me off. The next day I called him crying telling him I’m sorry and what should I should do next time, because I still want to be with him bad days and all.

“I just need you to be there with me, even if its just sitting there being quiet.” It started to get a lot better after that. And now when Santana is pissed off I know exactly what to do.

So when he came home one day from the gym, we had breakfast together and he was completely in his head, I asked him to go on a walk with me. He held my hand and I rested my head on his shoulder while we walked around Brooklyn in silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked when we were on the way home.

“Not yet baby girl,” and he squeezed my hand. A little sign that he didn’t want to talk, but he also didn’t want to be in his own head anymore. So I spent the rest of the walk telling him about my morning and about a book I was reading.

By the time we get home he is telling me what happened. I listen and give my opinion and advice. Sometimes he takes it and sometimes he doesn’t. Santana is his own man with his own morals and experiences so I know he will do what he thinks is best.

Together we go upstairs and make slow passionate love. It’s his way of showing me that just because he is moody, that it has nothing to do with me.

I know you sent me this awhile ago, so if your still in a grumpy mood I’m just going to have to fly to Germany and put my foot up whoever/whatever is bothering you.

#aew #aew fanfiction #aew santana #santana and ortiz #proud and powerful #the grumps

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iridescentlemoncandy · 2 years ago

Text

Trajectory - Raising Hell [Osborn]

Part 2: 10 Years Ago, Midsummer

"He would eventually abandon me, too."

TW: Sexual Abuse, Death, Gun, Blood, Knife, Violence

It had been four years since I first moved in with Ye Chuan.

When a mother and son moved into the neighbourhood not too long ago, the rumours around me began to circulate again. They said I was an orphan and a monster that no one wanted. My parents supposedly gave up on me because I am so incredibly bad-behaved, as they put it.

I've always ignored the disdainful glances people have cast my way. They couldn’t hurt me. I realised that the ones at fault were not myself but rather the others. But I couldn't help but think about the rumourmongers right before bed. It made me think about the people they mentioned in those rumours. Over time, I began to feel angry at myself for even considering it.

Did I not just say that we would have nothing further to do with one other? How come I kept having dreams about them? Were those years of happiness with them the reason? If complete strangers heard my story, I figured they'd be furious and condemn them as unfit to be parents. Their departure was, in any case, greatly anticipated. It would be fitting if there were reports of their unfortunate demise one day. In no way could I afford to miss them.

For this reason, I would always feel an immense amount of self-loathing whenever I woke up from a dream involving them. I despised my own contradictory nature. Morally, I should despise them, so I couldn't tell anyone else. The more I isolated myself, the less I wanted to talk to anyone. I was on the lookout for a safe haven where I could either completely conceal myself or feel safe enough to reveal any and all details of my life. Sooner or later, I'll get out of here and find that place of freedom.

Hence, even after Ye Chuan repeatedly asked that I call him "dad," I proceeded always just to call him by his name.

I knew, deep down that he would abandon me soon after. I wasn't under any pressure to try extra hard to win his approval out of fear of being abandoned. But I know that he might not love me if I didn't act this way. Over and over, I assured him that if he ever had second thoughts, he could always get rid of me. Because I didn't want to come home to an empty house after school.

These four years, I had been counting down the days until that day finally came—until I was in junior high.

In regard to my education, I'd never let Ye Chuan have any say. He was quite conscientious, acting as a responsible parent figure. Even if I got myself into some serious problems, he wouldn't be there to bail me out. There had never been a feeling of freedom like it. And the more they told me to stop being such a wild monster, the more satisfied I became. It was as if I was no longer held hostage by this world.

When I sat on the school fence and took in the sky at twilight, I was able to let go of the remembrance of aimless wandering and the irrational desire for mutually assured destruction. I managed to get through it.

A piano tone suddenly came into my ears. It sounded rushed and discordant. Listening to it for too long will make you feel like you're being suffocated.

I had to get in there and see what was going on. It was the school’s music room. There was a tiny gap between the door and the frame, so I peered inside. Despite the passage of time, I could still vividly recall the scene. I could see an opened piano lid. The principal was sitting on the stool. There was a female student in school uniform in his arms.

The student's cries were muffled as the notes he played built to a crescendo. Suddenly, I recalled the boys’ discussion from this morning's class: "The Piano Room Game." Whenever they mentioned it, they would cover their mouths and laugh in a sleazy manner. Finally, I was starting to get it: this is what they meant by the piano room game.

All of a sudden, my throat felt constricted. With a feeling of nausea rising in my stomach, I hurried to the nearest sideway and almost threw up from disgust. I hadn't given Old Man Chen much thought lately, but I immediately recalled the night he became a corpse, where there was festering frostbite on his face. According to the two persons, Old Man Chen passed away before they were there. His body succumbed to the cold.

I dragged him to the hospital door by pulling on his empty sleeve as if I were pulling on two ropes. The distance, thankfully, wasn't too far. I couldn't help but turn around and take one more glance as I left. I noticed the two trailing footprints on the ground, leading to Old Man Chen's shoulder from his head as if he hadn't lost his arms. As I continued to look at it, I imagined them rising and clasping the principal's throat in a death grip. It was so constricting that it turned crimson and eventually collapsed.

When I told a teacher, he gave me a reassuring look and said that the whole thing was merely a mentorship. I stood there for a long time before realising that something was seriously wrong with this establishment. It was rotten to the core.

And they can rot all they want; I will never submit to such idiocy.

Later that evening, I made a choice. I emptied the chamber of Ye Chuan's homemade wooden rifle. It looked remarkably similar to the appearance of a real gun.

I scaled the fence surrounding the campus. With the gun in my hand, I picked up the pace. The sound of the waves striking the window made me feel increasingly rebellious. I will use my own flesh and blood to sever this tendon in its entirety, reversing the balance of power, exposing their corruption, and leading them to their demise.

“Don’t move!” I pointed the gun in his direction and gestured to the table, telling him to write down his offences.

To my surprise, he didn't put up much of a fight and just did what I asked, clearly convinced that my gun was real. The shock made him appear helpless, leading me to believe he was. Maybe he was simply having a moment of confusion and would come to his senses soon. As I reluctantly put the rifle down, blood spurted from the back of my hand. Behind the knife is a satisfied look, indicating that it was a deliberate act.

There was a cost to my compassion. When I was forced to the floor, I considered the situation amusing. Even though the other party's intention was clearly to kill me, I still thought about the possibility of forgiving them.

I was trampled so hard it hurt, but it awakened me more. Only one thing came to me when I thought about regrets. No, I refused to destroy myself. I will take up my spear once more and vanquish them.

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

#light and night #osborn #xiao yi #光与夜之恋 #萧逸

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paperpocalypse · 4 years ago

Text

neodymium.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 49. You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out + 50. I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,572 words

Warning: Swearing, science applications that would probably shame your physics teacher

It’s starting to snow.

You keep your hand on the cold, metal cross bar, pressing down but unwilling to open the door. The thin, plastic bag in your other hand rustles as you twist it up in your fingers, pills rattling around in their bottles as you swing it back and forth. A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth.

Winter is here, and you don’t like it. You used to. But that was back then, when you were allowed to wear winter jackets and gloves and scarves and thick, fluffy hats to protect your ears from the biting cold. The snowflakes were a lot prettier when you didn’t have to feel them melt through your hoodie, cold and wet, every time you had to go outside.

Now you have to toughen up because heroes deal with the cold.

“Warm thoughts,” you mumble to yourself, gritting your teeth and pushing the door open. The bell jingles as a freezing slap of air greets your face. “Warm thoughts.”

You step out of the drugstore and into the night, pulling your hood on and tugging the drawstrings taut. The streetlamps light a path across the road and down the sidewalk towards home. At least it’s just a fifteen-minute walk.

For the past few years, on account of you attending the Umbrella Academy, you’ve never felt unsafe walking through the City alone. One of the pros of being trained as a hero, though you’re not quite sure if it outweighs the cons of Mom selling your warmest clothes and the grueling, rigid routine of training and missions during the week. The crime rate in this part of the city isn’t that high, anyway, on account of it being one of the nicer, richer areas. Mom had been delighted when the two of you moved here to be closer to the Hargreeves mansion. (The fact that your stipend’s now enough to fully cover it this year is even better.)

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you press the crosswalk button with your elbow. Cars screech to a stop and honk at you to hurry up as the traffic lights turn red. You scurry across, legs stiff.

(Halfway there.)

But just because you feel safe walking alone doesn’t mean you like it. Being alone means that you have to deal with your thoughts without being able to share them, and it stinks. You prefer the nights when you sneak out with Klaus, buying a tub of ice cream from the drugstore and eating it outside the 24-hour café nearby until the owners shoo you away, or going to the movie theater with everyone when Sir Hargreeves is gone on a trip. You like walking home with Five or Klaus after your Mom started getting too tired to pick you up for the weekends.

Somberly, you step out into the street towards your apartment complex.

You like being part of the Umbrella Academy when you don’t have to think about being a hero …

BEEEEEEEEEEEP

As if in a dream, you turn your head toward the sound. Your bag falls gently to the ground.

It’s a car horn. Loud, deafening. Distorting, blurring. A car.

It’s not slowing down.

You should move.

You raise your hands instead.

The force hits you like a giant fist. Your blood burns hot as you push, and push, and push, jaw clenched so tight you think your teeth might shatter. The air is getting squeezed out of your lungs. The tires screech. The horn screams. They’re all you can hear.

Push! PUSH!

The pressure rises and rises –

And then it’s too much.

The fist shoves you back. Your back hits the ground.

You don’t even have time for last thoughts. But before you can catch one last glimpse of the tires that would dash your brains across the road, something grabs you, and the next thing you know, you’re somewhere else.

The engine roars, and the car speeds away. What’s left of your lunch promptly ends up on the ground next to you, and that’s when you start crying, nauseous and cold.

“Am I dead,” you choke out, eyes screwed shut. Whatever had grabbed you is still there; you can feel their weight on your shoulders. Your mouth tastes awful and sour and bloody. “Am I …”

“You’re not dead.” A breathless voice pierces through the fog in your head. It’s familiar, and close, and you pry your eyelids open to see –

You see Five.

His face is stiff and pale, his voice even, but as you blink away your tears, you see unbridled panic just beneath the surface.

“Shit. Shit,” he hisses as you close your eyes again, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Why is Five here? How did he – “[Y/n], don’t close your – don’t go to sleep, for fuck’s sake …”

You do your best to listen as he shakes you a bit. Don’t cry. You’re okay, you’re fine … your … “My pills,” you slur out, hand feeling around for his arm so you can sit up. Looking at the road, you see the limp plastic bag, ghostly white against the dark asphalt. Your stomach roils again. “Ugh, I feel so sick …”

“I wonder why.” Five looks at you, mouth pressed into a thin, grave line, before blinking to the middle of the road to grab your things. He blinks back immediately. “Can you stand?” he asks tightly.

You swallow, wincing, and nod gingerly. You’re fine. “Yeah.”

The snow is falling harder now. Five helps you stand, and after a few minutes of regaining your bearings, the two of you slowly make your way up to your apartment. When you fumble with your key, Five takes it and unlocks the door himself.

“Couch or bed.”

“Bed,” you mumble as you scrape off your shoes. Thankfully, Mom isn’t home. You’d hate to have to explain all of this – she’s been so stressed lately …

The nausea is pretty much gone now, but the prickling fuzziness in your every limb remains. A little steadier on your feet, all you have to do is hold onto Five’s arm as you shuffle towards your bedroom.

“Get changed and wait here.” He fixes you with a steely gaze before disappearing. A few moments later, you hear the sink run, followed by the sound of the microwave opening and closing.

Is he mad at you? Biting the inside of your cheek, you take off your wet hoodie, putting it in your laundry hamper. Then you peel off your socks, and after closing the door, everything else that the snow had soaked through.

A few minutes after you change into your pajamas and settle onto your bed, Five knocks on the door, and you tell him to come in.

He hands you one of two mugs, this one filled with water. You take it. The other, filled with hot chocolate, is set on your nightstand.

“Are you mad?” Your voice is small.

Scoffing, Five glances away from you, a bitter smile on his lips. “I’m wondering what the fuck you were thinking,” he mutters.

“I almost did it,” you say. “That was the most I’ve ever done.”

“And you almost died.”

You look down into your mug. “It’s not that much different from a mission.”

“Actually, it is,” Five replies, his smile spreading – it doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s beyond ticked off – “because there are people looking after you during a mission. Who would’ve saved your ass if I hadn’t happened to be there? Nobody.”

“Maybe that’s what I needed,” you mumble, taking a sip of water.

Five narrows his eyes at you.

“What?”

You speak louder, a little indignant. “Maybe I needed to know that nobody could bail me out so I’d actually try.”

“You’re always trying!” he snaps. “Wanting to improve your ability doesn’t warrant a goddamn near-death experience, because as I’ve said before, you almost died!”

His chest is heaving when he finishes, and as you gape at him, startled by his loss of composure, you realize.

“I scared you,” you say, voice soft and wondering. “Didn’t I?”

Five just stares back at you. That is answer enough, but you set your water down anyway, stand up, and take his hand.

“Five?”

“I almost didn’t make it.” All the anger from before trickles out of his tone, and all that’s left is something quiet and uncharacteristically desperate. He clutches your hand until it’s almost painful. “That split second before I blinked, I thought …”

You step closer. “I’m okay now.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“Okay.”

“Please,” he says.

“Okay,” you murmur, a lump in your throat. “I won’t.”

Five looks at you, searching. Then he closes his eyes and sighs a very old-sounding sigh, and as he does so, you lift your free hand to brush his cheek.

“Sorry,” he eventually murmurs, and you can tell, by the way he looks down and says it quietly, that he’s not quite used to using the word, “for shouting.”

You smile. “I forgive you. Sorry for scaring you.”

“You should be.”

“Aw. Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Five.” Feeling very warm, you take his other hand, chuckling at the awkward look on his face. (Honestly, the two of you are a mess, aren’t you?) “I love you a lot. You know that, right?”

At your words, his eyes soften. You wonder if he knows.

“I know.”

“Okay. Good.”

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multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

The War Within (Anakin x Reader)

Author’s Note: I hope this is what you wanted, anon! I had a lot of fun writing this & all the angst in it :) let me know if you guys have any other requests or feedback for me! You’re all amazing <3

Requested?: Yes, by anon- “hi dear, could i request an oneshot where the reader was anakin's wife before he turned into vader,and when we turned (he comed to the dark side,but don't burned in mustafar,like he don't use the suit) he thought she was dead but in fact she joined the rebelion, and now she is Captured for interrogation and he finds out that she was alive and had the twins (leia and luke). Srry if it's too long or confusing, english is not my first language and it's very hard write complex things. have a nice day ( ˘ ³˘)♥”

Summary: You deal with the repercussions of your husband turning to the dark side while you join the rebellion.

The War Within

Anakin Skywalker x female!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: depictions of canon-type violence & torture, like one curse, and a lot of angst (but also fluff!)

“Anakin has turned to the dark side,” Obi-Wan tells you, sorrow dancing in his expression as he looks at you. You stare back with defiance.

“You’re lying! Anakin would never do such a thing. He’s sworn to defend this galaxy.” You sneer, turning away from Obi-Wan. You’re a couple of months pregnant with Anakin’s child, as he has been your husband in secret for a while now. Your bump hasn’t shown yet, luckily.

“He was deceived by a lie, (Y/n). We all were. Listen to me, when did you see him last?” Obi-Wan asks, stepping in front of you again.

“That’s unimportant! Anakin would never turn to the dark side, he’s the most caring person I know!” You scream, tears pricking at your eyes.

“I saw it myself. There’s...a security hologram of him killing...younglings. In the temple. You were away, but...he’s gone mad, (Y/n). He’s a danger to himself and everyone around him. Help the Jedi. You’re one of us. You know what the right thing to do is.” Obi-Wan tries to convince you. You look up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks by now.

“Do I? Your Jedi order is the one that got us here- he- I don’t…” You sob, sitting down on the nearest thing as the emotions start to overwhelm you.

“Reach out to him, (Y/n). Through the force. Then you’ll know I’m telling the truth.” He murmurs to you.

You do as he says, confident that Anakin won’t prove you wrong. Your Anakin could never turn to the dark side and do such horrible things.

Then you feel it.

“Ani!” You gasp, breaking out of your trance as your hand flies to your stomach to hold your barely-there baby bump. More tears spill down your cheeks as you feel the darkness that surrounds Anakin’s force signature.

“You know it, now. Please, do you have any information on where he might be?” He asks. You put a hand over your mouth to trap the sobs, one hand still resting on your stomach.

“Are you going to kill him?” You ask, looking up at Obi-Wan. His eyes glance down to your hand cradling your stomach.

“...You’re pregnant, aren’t you? And Anakin’s the father?” Obi-Wan asks. You don’t answer him, just look down as the salty tears drip from your chin onto your robes.

“Please don’t kill my husband,” You whisper.

“I will do what I must,” Obi-Wan says and turns around to make his exit. He turns back around to look at you one last time and says, “I’m sorry.”

Then he’s gone. And so is your hope of living a happy life.

~+~

It’s been four years since you gave birth to Luke and Leia. During that time, you had helped establish the rebellion against the empire. You’re the current leader, dedicating your time to fighting against the evils that haunt the galaxy. You know Anakin is out there, and he calls himself Darth Vader now. You honestly hope to never run into him, knowing that you won’t be able to face the consequences if you can’t turn him back to the light. If he stays dark and rejects you, you’re not sure what you’ll do then. It’s the ultimate slap in the face for you.

“General Skywalker, we’re under attack!” You hear from the entrance of the rebellion base you’re currently hiding out at. Your head whips to one of your men being shot down by a stormtrooper at the entrance.

Your body kicks into action before your brain does.

“Get Luke and Leia out of here!” You yell, gently pushing your children toward a group of the men you had been leading.

“But general, what about you-”

“I can handle myself. Get them out of here, I can’t have them getting hurt. I’ll be right behind you guys and I’ll catch up with you later.” You hurriedly rush everyone out of the back of the base.

“We’re not leaving you behind, sir!” Your right-hand man and closest friend, Bail Organa, insists. You hear the stormtroopers getting closer.

Turning around, you give the group a small sad smile.

“You don’t have a choice.” You use the force to slam the door shut and crunch the doors into place so that they are harder to move.

“Freeze!” You hear a modulated voice behind you. You raise your hands slowly and turn around, coming face-to-face with a platoon of stormtroopers with their blasters aimed at you.

“How unfortunate that it must resort to violence,” You sigh, obviously not that disgruntled about the situation.

“Remove your weapon slowly.” The stormtrooper at the front commands, gesturing to the lightsaber at your waist.

“What, this old thing? Oh, please, I don’t know if it even still works,” You scoff, unlatching it from your waist. You twist it around in your hand for a second, not making a move to set it down yet.

“Put it on the ground!” The stormtrooper demands.

“Relax! It’s not like I’m going to do,” You ponder for a moment, looking at the weapon, “this.”

In less than an instant, you’ve lunged at the first stormtrooper in the front and cut him in half with your lightsaber. You cut through men left and right, dodging the blaster fire or deflecting it back onto them.

However, the more stormtroopers you get rid of, the more stormtroopers flood in. Eventually, you’re corner into a wall as you try your best to keep the upper hand.

“We have an order not to kill! Drop the weapon!” There’s a frenzy of orders as you try to fight your way out, but it’s no use.

After a few more minutes of fighting, you get hit with a shock that sends jolts through your body until everything goes dark and you feel your body hit the ground.

~+~

You wake up to a dingy, dark cell aboard an unknown imperial ship. You’re currently on both your knees with your hands and feet chained behind your back.

You know where you are. You’d heard descriptions from spies about this ship before. No one has made it back alive. Yet.

The cell door opens, causing you to wince at the sliver of light it blinds you with. Two stormtroopers walk in with blasters aimed at you and a cart behind them.

“What are you gonna do with those fancy tools, hm?” You crack a smile, eyeing the silver cart behind them with curiosity. They stay silent, picking up a small blade from the cart.

“Tell us about the rebellion. What are your plans to overtake the empire?” One of the stormtroopers, the one not holding the knife, asks you. You stay quiet, making as much eye contact as you think you can through the visor of his helmet.

“We know you’re the leader of the rebellion! You should talk before your information hurts you.” The other trooper demands. You glare up at them from your kneeling position.

The first one, without the knife, kneels next to you and puts his blaster to your head.

“I could pull the trigger right now and no one would even care.” He gets close to your face, taunting you. You look at him directly and do something you’re not sure anyone’s ever dared to do on this ship before.

You spit on his helmet.

Immediately after your spit makes contact with his helmet, you feel a knife slash across your left ribs. The wound starts bleeding viciously, indicating that the cut is probably pretty deep.

You cry out sharply at the new pain, but immediately clench your jaw shut to keep as much satisfaction from them as possible.

“Need to rethink your answer?” The knife-wielding stormtrooper asks.

“Never.”

“I guess we’ll have to get to work, then.”

~+~

That continued for a few hours. Then a few days. After about a week and a half, they were getting frustrated. You’re guessing it’s because their superior is starting to pressure them more. That pressure is probably life or death.

“Listen, bitch. You’re going to talk or you’re going to get someone new in here and you’ll like him a lot less.” The first stormtrooper, whom you’ve nicknamed Blaster, threatens you.

“Try me.” You growl. This earns you a sharp slap across the face and some blood on the floor.

“That’s it, man. We’ve been at this for over a week. I think it’s time to call the boss.”

“He won’t be happy.”

“We don’t have any other choice.”

“Fine. Let’s go get him.”

~+~

That was the last thing you heard for three days. You went the next three days without light, food, or contact of any kind. Luckily, they had given your chains a little slack so that you could change positions occasionally.

Currently, you’re facing the wall and meditating. You had gotten good at meditating after Anakin turned to the dark side. You were constantly trying to reach out to him, but he would never let you. There was a wall in the way of some kind, he couldn’t even tell you were there.

Suddenly, you hear the door slide open behind you and you see the lights turn on. You grimace at the light but try not to let it distract you. There’s an especially dark force behind you, but you can’t tell who it might be.

“Well? Don’t think you can intimidate me by just standing there in the darkness. Come in here if you really want to make me talk.” You scoff, knowing that the hall light is still off. You can feel it. Whoever this is, they want the effect of a dramatic entrance.

“You sound familiar...did I know you?” The voice finally speaks behind you. The realization makes you go cold.

It’s Anakin.

You don’t know how to respond for a moment, whether to turn around and cry out for him or to stay cold and unforgiving to this man you no longer know. You opt for the latter option.

“You did...at one point.” You pray to the force that your voice stays even, not showing any signs of weakness. Your heart is the complete opposite, hammering in your chest like you’re on the brink of death. You honestly might be.

“What is your name?” He asks, and you hear him step forward into the room. You take a deep breath and steel your nerves.

“(Y/n) Skywalker.” You finally turn around and stare into the cold eyes of the man you once loved.

She sees the posture of Darth Vader go slack as he stares into her eyes. His own eyes lose their anger and his pupils dilate slightly, taking her in. You see the yellow of his eyes start to fade already.

“(Y/n)?” He asks and the edge in his voice is gone. You hear the old Anakin through the façade of the powerful man in front of you.

“It’s me, Ani.” You smile slightly. You’re getting to him just by him seeing you, which is better than you ever imagined.

“I...You...You’re dead. Obi-Wan told me that...you died. I thought...I thought the Jedi got rid of you.” He seems completely breathless from just the sight of you, questioning everything he’s been working on for the past four years.

“Why would they do that? I was one of their best assets. Besides, did you...did you never look for me? At least for my force signature?” You ask, eyes softening as the old Ani comes back to you. The Anakin that you knew and fell in love with. Your husband.

“No, I...I lost all hope...You…” He screws his eyes shut. You can feel the internal battle he’s having currently. The struggle between the light and dark raging just beneath the surface of him. He was so wrapped up in the darkness but the mere sight of you has awakened the light he didn’t know he still had in him and it’s torturing him.

“Ani…” You murmur, wanting so badly to be free of these chains so you can reach out to him and help.

“No.” his eyes open forcefully and the yellow iris of the dark side has returned, staring coldly at you in front of him. Your heart aches but you know that this isn’t easy for him. It’s not just a switch he can flip, but you’re willing to keep trying. If the first appearance of you is anything to go by, he’s now teetering on the edge and you just have to gain enough traction to push him over to the light side.

“Anakin, I’m alive. Look at me,” You plead, looking at him with love adorned eyes. The love you had for your Anakin never faded. After all, Darth Vader is not your Anakin. But he can be your Anakin again.

“You may as well be dead to me now. After all this time, you knew I was alive and you plotted against me. You turned against me.” He growls, and you see his fingers twitch. You had heard about the infamous force-choke that he was known to subject people to if he was angry. You’d have to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

“No...Anakin-”

“That’s Darth Vader to you!” He yells, lashing his hand out to grip your throat with the force. You notice that he does not immediately choke you or lift you off the ground, just leaves the force there as a threat.

“I turned against Darth Vader. I never once turned my back on my husband, Anakin Skywalker. I never will, either. Anakin’s legacy will live on through me and our children.” You promise, staring defiantly at him even though he’s threatening you. The force leaves its grip around your throat and you see his body go slack once more at your words. His hand drops to his waist.

“Our...children?” He murmurs, the softness returning to his voice. Once again you see the battle ensue in him. The storm batters his mind endlessly as the yellow starts to fade again.

“Yes. I gave birth to Luke and Leia Skywalker. They’re beautiful, Ani. They’re ours. I love them. And your storm troopers almost killed them.” You tell him, hoping that he sees the light through this. Through your little family.

“Almost...killed…” He trails off, and through the force, you can see how wretched he feels. He’s so torn between the two sides that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself at this moment. You watch as he drops to his knees and lets out a feral scream as he clutches his head in his hands. You want so desperately to hold him at this moment. More than anything else you just want to hold him and help him.

But you can’t. This is his battle, not yours, and you’re currently chained to a wall.

“Come back to me, Ani. Return to me. Please. Together we can rid the galaxy of evil and restore it to peace and justice. Help me. Help me raise our children….help me live a full life with you. Let me love you.” You beg, struggling against your chains as the tears start to fall down your dirty and battered cheeks. You hurt for him so much, the force and your bond only intensifying the pain you feel for him.

“Join...Join me, (Y/n). Join me here. We can be more powerful than you ever realized. We can rule the galaxy together. Me and you. Side by side. As it’s meant to be. Free of the Jedi on your side.” Anakin grits his teeth and looks up at you again. His demand is less of a demand and more of a plea. His eyes fade in and out of yellow, and you can see that the light is starting to win. The dark is desperately clinging onto him, but it’s not dominating anymore. You can do this.

“The Jedi are no longer. You made sure of that, Anakin. I...I only know of a few left alive. A few that you didn’t kill. The Jedi order has disbanded. There is only the rebellion left. The rebellion that I formed. The rebellion that we can lead to victory, to a new world, side by side. Obi-Wan is there. Your friend, your former master. Ahsoka is there, your friend and former padawan. Together we can lead in the light, it doesn’t have to become dark again. Please. Join me with our friends and our family.” You ask of him, straining hard against the chains that keep you away from him. He clutches his head in his hands again, breaths coming out labored and in pain.

“Side by side?” He asks, almost shaking from the utter pain he is in.

“In the light. We’ll be powerful together just not here. You don’t need the dark side to be powerful. As long as we have each other we’ll be fine. I’m not dead. Nothing’s been able to get rid of me yet. Maybe this has been my destiny all along. To bring the chosen one back to the light side so that he may restore balance to the universe. Maybe my destiny has been to love you all along. We were never meant to be a bad thing.” You murmur, eyes searching his figure for any sign of the light as he battles his instinct versus his feelings.

Then he goes still.

“...Okay.” He looks up at you, his eyes shining a bright blue. More tears stream down your face, but this time they aren’t in pain. They’re tears of joy.

You reach out with the force, brushing against his force signature and feeling the light force that emanates from him. You let out a happy sob, wanting to embrace him. He crushes the chains that keep you from him, freeing you from your captivity. You run to him and he envelops you in a deep embrace. Your face presses against his chest as your tears ruin his former uniform. Oh well, he won’t be needing it anymore.

“I love you. I never stopped.” You whisper into his chest, clinging onto him like a dying woman.

“I never stopped loving you. It’s...it’s what fueled my anger. Your supposed death.” He admits, holding you close to him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re back. We’ll never be separated anymore. I’ll make sure of it.” You promise, looking back up into his beautiful blue eyes.

“We’ll make sure of it together.” He cups your face, tilting it up and pressing his lips to yours tenderly but hungrily. The tears mix into your kiss, creating a salty taste. But neither of you cares. You had both been waiting for this moment for much too long to care about tears in the way.

When you finally break away, you let out a half-chuckle that gets caught in your throat. This is certainly a situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Now, how are we going to get out of here?” You ask, not daring to let him go even now.

“Leave that to me.” He tells you, brushing the hair behind your ear as he gazes at you lovingly.

Within moments, you’re back in chains and he’s leading you down the hallway, an angry façade on his face.

“Sir!” The��stormtroopers salute him as the two of you walk down the hallway.

They’re terrified of him, you realize.

“Sir, where are you taking the prisoner?” A stormtrooper dares to ask, to which Anakin shoots him a glare and raises his hand threateningly.

“Imperial business, trooper. Know your place.” He growls, pushing you forward. You realize that Anakin has had your lightsaber strapped to his waist this entire time, making you smile. He knows it’s yours and he probably planned on asking you how you had gotten it before he realized who his prisoner was.

“S-Sorry, sir.” The trooper backs down immediately. The two of you make it to the docking area with no problems. Until one stormtrooper has some audacity.

“Sir...are you feeling well? You don’t look normal...wait a second, men! He’s not on our side-” Before he can finish, Anakin has cut him in half with his striking red lightsaber. The other troopers caught onto the cry for help, though, and are now aiming their blasters at the two of you.

“Well, I suppose we couldn’t have a clean getaway, could we?” You give Anakin a small mischievous smile that he returns.

“Not likely with the two of us,” He chuckles. The two of you spring into action. You realize you’re still bound by chains at the wrist so you put it over a trooper's head and start choking him, using his body as a shield until you can’t anymore.

“Saber!” You call out to Anakin. In a moment, he’s throwing your lightsaber to you. You catch it and activate it, cutting your chains in half. Now you’re ready to battle.

The two of you weave through troopers with ease, fighting back to back as if nothing had changed. You deflect blaster shots left and right, swinging through troopers as you make your way to the getaway ship.

Within mere moments, the two of you are on the loading ramp of the ship. Anakin goes to turn the ship on and the ramp starts to close. You lower your saber, thinking the fighting is over. Before you can react, Anakin is pressed against you again and deflecting a shot behind your back with his lightsaber. You turn just in time to see him crush the trooper that tried to kill you with the force. You frown slightly, knowing that there’s still a hint of aggressiveness and probably darkness in Anakin, but it’s nothing you can’t work on.

He’s back now, and that’s what matters.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Anakin asks, sitting down in the pilot’s seat and offering you a wide smile. This is probably the most he’s smiled in four years.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.” You smile back at him.

~+~

Once you’re back to your lead rebel base, you’re immediately greeted by a crowd. Out of the crowd emerges three figures: Bail Organa, Luke, and Leia. You crouch down as Luke and Leia run up to you and hug you.

“Mommy!” They cheer, laughing as you stand up and twirl around with them in your arms. They giggle as you set them down, clearly happy to see you again.

“You’re back. Congratulations, I didn’t know if we’d see you again.” Bail gives you a chuckle of relief as he gives you a clap on the back.

“Well, it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t found someone…” You trail off, looking behind you to see a sheepish Anakin step out. You sense the nerves radiating off of him. I mean, he is entering the camp that less than twenty-four hours ago he had promised to destroy.

The crowd of rebels takes a nervous step back, not sure how to react to your news. This was their sworn enemy, and now you’re claiming he helped you?

“How can you trust him?” Bail asks, sizing Anakin up with one hand ready on his blaster.

“He’s my husband.” You state plainly. This shocks the crowd.

“Your husband?”

“When did you two get married?”

“You’ve only been captured a couple of weeks!”

The crowd’s responses make you chuckle.

“I was married to Anakin Skywalker much before he became Darth Vader. He thought I was dead but...the sight of me made him abandon his sith side. He’s back to being Anakin Skywalker...my husband. I love him, and he will be accepted here.” You all-but-command. The crowd seems to ease just a little bit, but not much.

“Daddy?” Leia asks, a small look of skepticism on her face as she looks at Anakin. You see Anakin’s eyes shine with tears as he looks at his daughter, hearing her call him dad for the first time ever.

“I thought you said dad died.” Luke tugs on your leg, almost hiding behind you. You chuckle lightly.

“He did for a little bit, but...he’s back now. And he’s going to be a part of our life. We’re going to be a happy family now, okay?” You smile, tears pricking at your eyes for the third time that day alone as you look at your little family. The family you finally get to have.

“Okay…” The two of them cautiously approach Anakin. He kneels down, and they start to talk. You know they won’t be welcoming immediately, as he’s a stranger to them, but given time...you know that you can be a happy family again.

And with this thought, the hope of living a happy life returns to you. And this time, you know it’s here to stay.

~~~~~

Tags: @thesmallestalien @rowley-with-ackerman @official-hitmxn

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sonoda-oomers · 3 years ago

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general tips to not increase you and your teammates’ blood pressure in monhun rise

there are certain materials that can’t be obtained if you capture so DO NOT CAPTURE IN SOMEBODY ELSE’S HOST IF THE HOST DIDN’T SPECIFICALLY ASK FOR IT i swear to god

on that note go to hunter’s notes and you can see details on how you can obtain certain mats. focus on attacking and breaking the parts that would give you what you want. and break all parts you can after that

watch out for your health and bail to use a potion whenever it’s down by half

in general it’s good to bail to heal or sharpen in a safe location. it’s more important to keep yourself from fainting than to be there for the action i promise

make a brace decoration so you don’t get constantly interrupted when the whole gang is focusing their attacks on a collapsed mon

make use of the items!! traps (WITHOUT the tranq bombs) and flash/sonic bombs are really good to restrict monsters’ movements and give your team an opportune window. a well timed flash bomb when a monster is about to attack will impair it and cancel the attack, and will bring flying wyverns down from the air. don’t use flash bombs on khezus they don’t got eyes

traps don’t work on elder dragons At All stop trying to trap kushala youre making me sad for you

when the monster is asleep attacking it will wake it up. instead of doing that consider making use of that time to put down some barrel bombs, or sharpen your weapons/heal/do whatever when somebody’s placing down bombs. (one person can put down 2 bombs max, so that’s 8 bombs with a full team I Think i’ve never had a full team placing down bombs bc nobody uses bombs and it hurts my heart)

consider bringing craft ingredients for flash bombs or coatings or anything you might use into quests. you can register a crafting resippy to radial menu

sometimes wirefall (ZR + B) will fly you right into another attack. usually it’s good to wait for a bit and observe if it’s safe to wirefall away. or just stay down as you’re invicible during the get up animation

aside from the dodgeroll every weapon has a block or invicible frame (iframe) skill, and you’re gonna benefit a lot from learning the timing for them, even if only to skip the monster roar flinch animation

take the time to collect spiribirds and you’re gonna be chugging potion way less often. it’s also gonna really benefit weapons that use stamina like bow or glaive

drink demondrugs and armorskins for harder hunts. Please. they last a long time

palicos can fetch extra drops and also provide buffs and big heals so they’re something to consider if you can go without the mobility palamutes provide

once a hunt is done and you’re about to return to town, if you wirebug up and press A to suspend in midair when there’s around 5 seconds left on the timer, the little B-roll animation will be skipped. this also applies to things like jumping off of walls, as long as you’re in midair by the time the timer runs out

please press on the right stick to set yourself as ready in rampage quests so the whole room doesn’t have to wait a full 60 seconds doing nothing

you can choose where your cohoot lands on by standing at the right place and pressing ZR (the landing spot will be marked with a red arrow). you can do this to send your bird to bully my wife, utsushi. this has nothing to do with gameplay i just want you to know that you can use cohoots to bully my wife, utsushi.

add more if you want i mainly just want to hammer in people’s skulls that you shouldn’t capture on other people’s hosts and that you can bully my wife, utsushi

#monster hunter rise #long post #spud.txt #certified gaming gamer kas #monhun #i want to stress not only that you can bully utsushi but also that he is my wife

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ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years ago

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home. tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours.

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.”

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?”

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.”

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.”

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents.

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.”

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.”

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks.

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.”

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue.

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.”

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…”

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.”

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on.

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now.

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.”

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.”

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.”

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.”

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.”

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…”

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.”

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again.

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?”

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.”

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.”

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?”

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?”

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold.

“...Are we interrupting?”

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong.

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…”

“...Did I scare you?”

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!”

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.”

“What, you thought I’d bail?”

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.”

“...You’re really okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.”

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.”

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling.

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.”

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.”

“What is it?”

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!”

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.”

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?”

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.”

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.”

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.”

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.”

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.”

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.”

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.”

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it.

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby.

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her.

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River.

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.”

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.”

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.”

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.”

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.”

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last.

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is.

“Mike!”

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back.

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.”

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?”

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.”

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls.

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck.

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.”

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns.

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while.

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.”

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?”

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.”

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.”

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.”

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs.

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!”

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room.

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room.

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey.

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.”

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.”

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.”

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit.

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.”

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair.

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’”

My story prompts the expected laughter.

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.”

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.”

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…”

“...That one time what?”

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…”

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?”

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory.

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks.

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.”

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either. ...We all know this ain’t over.”

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers.

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead.

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first.

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna.

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs.

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.”

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.”

“...I love you, too.”

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms.

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks.

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.”

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?”

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.”

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile.

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.”

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in.

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here.

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too.

...Except it’s not. Not entirely.

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear.

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half.

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below.

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.”

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half.

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.”

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate.

“...I have nightmares, too.”

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly.

“...You want to talk about it?”

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.”

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?”

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.”

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.”

“...But are you safe with me?”

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me.

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?”

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!”

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.”

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well.

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them.

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway.

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to.

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!”

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter.

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom.

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter.

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world.

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home.

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia.

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal.

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally.

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back.

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie.

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real.

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply.

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?”

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?”

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.”

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.”

“Yeah. I bet you do.”

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?”

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.”

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.”

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now.

“...Diego…?”

“Yeah, Allie?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…”

“We love you, too, Allie.”

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?”

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…”

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.”

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.”

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.”

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend. “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?”

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.”

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.”

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.”

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?”

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #hero

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dothwrites · 4 years ago

Text

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness.

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes.

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound.

---

“Cas, we can fight this!”

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this.

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name.

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay.

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room.

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that.

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room.

“Cas, no--”

“But you can’t fight for me.”

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--”

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time.

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room.

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...”

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf.

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?”

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs.

“I love you.”

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth.

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is.

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips.

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then.

Empty.

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams.

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat.

“Jesus. So much for helping.”

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him.

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself.

That’s not Ruby.

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery.

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.”

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.”

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks.

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.”

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.”

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.”

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest.

“The one and only,” she assures him.

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons.

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.”

Make that three dead demons.

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes.

The demon looks exactly the same as he did the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?”

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.”

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.”

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.”

“I woke it up.”

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.”

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.”

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?”

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?”

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise.

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present.

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack.

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you.

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for.

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom.

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice.

“We’ve got work to do.”

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