#WAIT FOR THAT KID TO CATCH ME WITH MY CRUTCHES I NEARLY KILL PEOPLE WHILE USING THEM WITHOUT TRYING WAIT UNTIL IM ACTUALLY BLOODTHIRSTY

[yikes-ajax]

Thinking about how deranged this thanksgiving was.

I hit a kid with my cane. I popped so many painkillers. I hit a kid with my cane again. I went black Friday shopping and came back only with things that weren't on sale. I hit that kid with my cane so hard in the shin he's gonna need a cane, too. I had a religious crisis. I threw my cane at that kid in the passenger seat because he said I don't need handicap parking. Some dude dressed in a really nice santa costume was just standing at the end of his driveway waving at cars and I barked violently at him. I fucking punched that kid. I spent more money on a dog than my family. I still bought that kid ice cream because I hate him but I hate the company I took the money from more. At some point I just fell asleep under the dinner table. I played Minecraft with that kid and he's a fucking loser. I had a whole therapy session in the car trauma dumping for the two hour drive home. I'm going to ruin that kids life I'm just too tired right now. It's been days and I still feel hungover. I didn't even drink.

Needless to say I think the spirit of doctor House possessed me for thanksgiving. Either way 10/10 would do again and Christmas is either gonna put me in jail or back on Lexapro

[pickalilywrites]

i haven’t uploaded this onto tumblr yet b/c i’m lazy but it’s been on my ao3 for at least a month 😱

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When I Met You

GalliPieck. Canonverse. 

6766 words.

Read on AO3!

Pieck stumbles up the dirt path and wonders how she had managed to walk up this same hill every morning back when she was still a Warrior candidate. Back then it had been a struggle for her too - she never had the best stamina and was always one of the last people to arrive, her cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down her back - but now it’s especially challenging as she hobbles forth on her crutches, which don’t seem to be helping her at all. General Magath hovers behind her worriedly, hands stretched out behind Pieck as if to catch her in case she falls. He always does this, worries too much about Pieck despite the Devil blood that runs through her veins. The man has always been strangely kind even back when Pieck and her companions were still students training to be Warriors. 

“I won’t fall over, so stop looking at me like the wind will blow me away,” Pieck tells the general with a fake pout. She waves him away with a crutch, laughing at his scandalized expression. She turns back to the path, moving forward even though her arms ache and her feet are numb. “I don’t know why I let you lead me here, General. I feel like I have to walk slower just to stop those worry lines from permanently wrinkling your face. It might have been better to just go on my own.” 

“Go on your own?” Magath splutters as if the idea is unthinkable to him. It’s strange how fragile he sees Pieck when just days ago she was on the battlefield killing hundreds of enemy soldiers at the bat of an eyelash. As if she’s not a monster and just an ordinary soldier that needs to rest after a battle. Then again, the man has always been strange that way. Now, his frown deepens, Pieck’s lighthearted words doing nothing to lessen his concern. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t wait for Zeke or Porco to accompany you or wait a week or two until you’ve recovered. It’s not as if the academy is going anywhere.” 

Pieck fights the urge to sigh. Sometimes, General Magath acts more like her father than her superior, but she’d never say this out loud. Instead, she rolls her eyes and says, “Zeke is meeting with a few officials and Porco agreed to meet me here later. He’s grabbing snacks for the kids, but it’d take too long if he brought me along-” Here, Pieck leans over to pat her leg, ignoring Magath’s grimace. “-and today is the perfect day to visit, besides. They have their evaluations today.” 

“Ah, evaluations,” Magath says with a nod. He should know better than her. He had been an instructor for a good time before returning to the field, the new Warriors in tow. He must have evaluated dozens of children before the final candidates had dwindled down to Pieck, Marcel, Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner. “Anyone interesting?” 

Pieck nods. “Zeke might have mentioned them a few times. Zofia is good at working with others and doesn’t crack under pressure. She’s also quite clever; she does incredibly well with written exams. Udo is also quite good - at least on paper. He’s smart, but he lacks confidence.” 

Their last evaluations were quite impressive, if Pieck recalls correctly. Zofia, a slender girl with a thin nose and half-lidded eyes, had bragged to Pieck about her test scores the last time the Cart Titan had come to visit. Pieck recalls the girl making an effort to point out that not only had her test scores improved, but they were much better than the other candidates. Udo was a little more reserved about his accomplishments, but he had shyly offered his evaluation for Pieck to look at and his marksmanship scores and weaponry grades were particularly memorable. 

“And Grice’s younger brother?” Magath asks. “I believe his name is Falco. You know Colt’s brother, of course.” 

“Of course,” Pieck says, the corner of her lip turning upward into a smile. Of course, Magath would take the time to remember the name of a soldier’s younger brother. He’s the type to remember details like that even though other people in Magath’s position would think such information to be useless. “He’s …. well, he’s very passionate. He works hard.” 

Truth be told, Falco fades into the background when thinking about the other candidates. The boy is talented enough to be considered a candidate, but he’s not more impressive than the others in any way. His stamina is decent, his strength is passable, and his written exam scores are acceptable. Falco hadn’t seemed to inherit the strategic mind and perseverance that his older brother Colt possessed, which is a shame. Of course, it’s not necessary for him to become a chosen Warrior when his brother’s future as the Beast Titan is guaranteed, but it’s always an honor for a family to have someone be chosen as a Warrior. It’s even more of an honor to have two. It’s not Falco’s fault. He isn’t even bad, he’s just not outstanding like the rest of his peers. 

Still, Magath nods as if this is enough. “Character like that is hard to build. The instructors should continue to keep an eye on that boy.” 

Pieck doubts this, but she doesn’t say it out loud. Magath knows a thing or two about Warrior candidates after all, so maybe she should keep an eye on Falco. He might be a late bloomer. 

“I find Gabi Braun the most interesting though,” Pieck says. 

The general raises an eyebrow at the name. “Reiner’s cousin?” he asks. He hums when Pieck confirms with a nod. “Another Warrior in the Braun family. Perhaps it’s in their genes. They’d be lucky to have the Armored Titan handed down to a relative.” 

They’d have to call it luck. Gabi is the clear candidate for the Armored Titan. She excelled in nearly everything with the exception of written and oral exams. The young girl was a model Warrior candidate - something that her cousin Reiner never was. In fact, Pieck still thinks it’s a miracle that the Armored Titan had earned his position because she had never found him a formidable opponent when fighting for her spot as a Warrior Candidate. He lacked in nearly everything and his evaluations were poor aside from writing and oral assignments. Reiner was, in every way, the exact opposite of Gabi. Pieck had thought Porco would inherit the Armored Titan for sure, so she was surprised when it was announced that Reiner would be chosen as the inheritor. Some days she still can’t wrap her head around it. 

“Lucky indeed,” Pieck agrees with a murmur. 

They near the top of the hill where the academy is located. There are children outside, some running around and playing now that today’s lessons have concluded while others lie in the grass to rest. Most of them don’t notice Pieck and Magath strolling up the hill until they’ve reached the gate. It’s a girl that greets them first, shouting Pieck’s name loud enough to have the other children turn their heads and begin running towards Pieck. Pieck’s popularity must surprise Magath because he’s alarmed at the crowd of kids that rushes at Pieck. The kids throw their arms around her, hugging her with so much affection that they nearly knock her to the ground. 

“Ah, did you miss me that much?” Pieck laughs, struggling to stay upright with all these kids piling on her. She pats one affectionately on the head, ruffling their hair. She almost forgets about Magath for a second until she turns her head and sees the man, his forehead wrinkled as he wonders if he should pull the children off her. She grins widely. “No need to worry, General. You’ve left me in good hands with these kids. They’ll take good care of me.” 

At the mention of Magath’s title, the children quickly unstick themselves from Pieck’s limbs and turn towards the general, their hands held up in a salute. Their faces, which had been filled with smiles just seconds before, are now solemn as they look up at Magath. Pieck wants to laugh at the contrast. 

“I’ll leave her in your capable hands then,” Magath says, giving them a salute of his own. The general has the decency not to laugh, but Pieck sees an amused sparkle in the man’s eye before he turns to leave. He gets along well with children. Pieck thinks it’s a shame that the man stopped being an instructor. Nobody speaks until the man disappears from view. 

“That was General Magath, wasn’t it?” a boy says, his voice filled with awe. He turns to Pieck, admiration in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him up close before.” 

“Work harder and maybe you will,” a voice Pieck recognizes as Zofia says. The girl is in the back, her face smug. Zofia is a little thinner than Pieck remembers, but the girl still has the same half-lidded eyes and choppy blonde bangs that she had when Pieck first met her. “You have to get better if you want to be chosen for missions. You’ll never meet the generals and commanders otherwise.” 

Zofia is referring to the military operations that the candidates are sometimes picked for. Only top candidates are chosen; it’s a way to reward the candidates for their hard work and at the same time offer them experience on the battlefield before they acquire their Titan. It’s no use to have a Titan and not know how the battlefield works. Pieck herself had been on a number of missions when she had been a candidate. Zofia has as well, but not a lot of other children are picked for such missions. Not everyone gets that honor. 

“Miss Pieck,” the child whines, clearly offended. He tangles himself around her arm, sulking into her side. 

“You’ll get them soon,” Pieck says soothingly, patting the boy’s back. 

He looks up, surprised. Maybe even a little bit excited. “I will?” 

Pieck nods. “If you work hard,” she says, pressing her finger to his nose. 

The boy groans, his arms falling away from Pieck as Zofia snickers behind him. The other children laugh too, poking the boy and teasing him. A few have worried looks on their faces, probably worried about not being chosen for a mission anytime in the near future. Pieck used to worry about such things too when she was younger. She has other things to worry about now. 

Udo grabs Pieck’s crutches from her while other kids take her by the hand and lead her to the schoolhouse. They tell her about their day - some long-distance running, lessons on surviving in the wilderness, and history classes before their evaluations were handed out to them - and Pieck nods as she only half-pays attention to their stories. Some even show her their reports, although she only really pays attention to Udo’s and Zofia’s. They have high marks - much higher than their peers - and she makes a mental note to tell General Magath and Zeke when she sees them again. As they get nearer to the classroom, she notices that a familiar head of black is not here with them. 

“Where’s Gabi?” Pieck asks, looking around. It’s strange not to see the lively girl hovering around her with the others. Usually, Gabi is the first one to greet her, pushing her classmates out of the way to get Pieck first. She feels a bit guilty about not noticing the girl’s absence earlier. 

People look away at the mention of Gabi, their gazes fixed on their feet and the dirt road. Pieck isn’t entirely sure why, but she sometimes has the feeling that Gabi isn’t well-liked among her peers. It might be because of jealousy or perhaps the girl’s accomplishments intimidate the others. Nobody offers her an explanation of Gabi's whereabouts, so Pieck wonders if the girl had gone home early for a moment until Zofia speaks up. 

“She’s in the classroom right now. She told us not to bother her,” Zofia explains. Out of everyone, Zofia seems to be the closest to Gabi, although it was more like the two got along alright instead of being actual friends. Even now, Zofia’s voice drops to a whisper as they all approach the schoolhouse. “I think she’s upset about her evaluation.” 

That’s strange. Gabi’s incredibly well-rounded. Even with written and oral exams, the girl’s biggest weakness, Pieck can’t imagine Gabi scoring low enough for it to be worth nothing. 

“Do you know what her evaluation was?” Pieck asks. 

Zofia snorts and looks at the schoolhouse door with a pout. “Of course not. Gabi won’t share that with anyone,” Zofia says, rolling her eyes. It’s not something Zofia would understand, Pieck decides, because her scores were good all-around. Even if the girl had a bad score, she’d probably bounce back quickly. Gabi, on the other hand, takes every ounce of criticism to heart. 

They all stand there, Pieck at the door while the kids huddle behind her, wondering if they’ll actually go in. It’s like they’ve approached a dragon’s lair - half of them are too scared to enter while the other half is curious as to what awaits inside. Is Gabi fuming? Is she crying? Is she sitting in silent shock? Whatever it is, Pieck feels like it’s only polite to grant her privacy instead of trying to talk to her about her evaluation in front of a dozen uninvited children. 

“I’ll talk to her myself,” Pieck tells them with a smile. The disappointed looks don’t go unnoticed and Pieck almost laughs. Children are so strange when they’re competitive. Then again, she might have been the same way back when she was their age. 

The students leave, some a little more reluctantly than the others. Some even straggle behind until Pieck shoos them away, telling them to look out for Porco instead because he should have some treats for them when he arrives. The promise of food - snacks, sweets, and other goodies that they aren’t normally allowed - is enough to get them to leave, any thoughts of eavesdropping on Pieck and her conversation with Gabi forgotten. After the coast is clear, Pieck waits a minute before knocking. 

“Gabi?” Pieck calls. “It’s me, Pieck.” There’s no answer, but Pieck spots a lone figure slumped over a desk when she cracks open the door to take a peek. She raps her knuckles against the door frame to make her presence known in case Gabi hadn’t heard the first time, but the girl simply lets out an angry groan. It’s not exactly an invitation, but Pieck takes a seat beside the sulking girl anyway. 

Gabi doesn’t lift her head up when Pieck sits down next to her, but she does turn her head, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. “Hi, Miss Pieck,” Gabi says. Her tone lacks the girl’s usual abundance of energy. In her hand, she clutches a crumpled piece of paper. It most definitely is the evaluation that Zofia mentioned earlier. 

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Pieck asks. She touches Gabi lightly on the arm, and the girl doesn’t flinch away from Pieck’s hand. That’s a good sign. “Everyone else is playing outside and waiting for Porco to bring snacks. I told him to bring your favorites. You like those chocolate candy cigarettes, don’t you?” 

There isn’t even a hint of a smile on the girl’s face at the mention of her favorite snack. She continues to sit there moodily, rubbing the corner of her evaluation between her two fingers. “I don’t feel like eating.” 

“Are you sure? It might be a while before we visit again, and you know Reiner can’t afford to keep buying you snacks all the time.” Pieck lays her head down on the table next to Gabi’s. When she smiles, Gabi returns it with a scowl. “All your friends might eat the snacks before you get a chance to have even one.” 

Gabi’s frown deepens and she turns away from Pieck, hiding her face in her elbow. “Doesn’t matter. They’re not my friends anyway.” Her voice is muffled by the sleeve of her shirt. 

Pieck raises an eyebrow. Gabi’s never been incredibly sociable, but she’s never been this hostile towards her classmates. Curious, Pieck sneaks a peek at Gabi’s evaluations. There aren’t any horrible marks - they’re all in the nineties, a few high eighties, and even a hundred here and there - but there are a few subjects that Gabi’s elbow is covering. She purses her lips, finger tapping on the desk. After a moment, Pieck asks quietly, “Are you upset about your evaluation scores, Gabi?” 

Gabi finally sits up, a terrible glare on her face. Her classmates were right to be afraid. Her face is flushed red, although Pieck suspects it’s from anger rather than embarrassment or crying. Gabi isn’t the type to cry about these things. “Did Zofia tell you?” Gabi’s eyes narrow as she glowers at Pieck. 

Pieck decides not to tell Gabi that Zofia had told her about the evaluations. If anyone can handle an angry Gabi, it would probably be Zofia, but Pieck doesn’t want her to deal with that if she doesn’t have to. Instead, Pieck rubs soothing circles on Gabi’s back. “Can I take a look at them? It probably isn’t as bad as you think it is.” 

The girl continues to glare at Pieck, but the Cart Titan just stares back, expression neutral. After a while, Gabi finally sighs and removes her elbow from the paper, allowing Pieck to look at the paper. 

Pieck takes the paper in her hand, her eyes scanning through the subjects and their corresponding scores. As expected, Gabi’s grades are stellar. Her lowest grades are in history and speaking, but even those scores are an improvement from last term. Pieck’s eyes continue to wander downward until she finds an anomaly among the high scores - cooperation. The box beside it is marked with a large 0, somehow angrier and more savage-looking than the other scores despite being written with the same red pen as the other numbers. Gabi’s teamwork skills have never been that high, but a 0 is abysmal. No wonder the girl is miserable. 

“...Do you have a problem working in teams, Gabi?” Pieck asks, trying to keep her tone light as she sets the paper down. She looks at Gabi cautiously, gauging the girl’s reaction. 

“I don’t,” Gabi says. Her thick brows furrow and she sucks in her cheeks the way she does when she’s angry. “Everyone else just sucks.” 

Pieck has to stifle a laugh, coughing behind her hand to hide her smile. She really shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior, but some of the things the kids say are so ridiculous she can’t help laughing. “I’m sure they’re not that bad,” Pieck says. She hopes that her stoic face is convincing. Then again, Gabi is too busy glaring at the 0 on her evaluation form to pay any attention to Warrior’s facial expression. 

“I don’t even understand why I have to learn how to work with others,” Gabi mutters. She leans back roughly against her chair, slouching with her legs splayed out. “It’s not as if I’ll be controlling the Armored Titan with others. It’s not like the Cart Titan where you have to work with other people to be fully operational.” She glances at Pieck for a moment and, as if remembering who she was speaking to, tacking on a mumbled, “No offense.” 

Pieck shrugs off Gabi’s words, not at all bothered. It’s true that the Cart Titan is the least capable Titan for combat. Its form made it too awkward to fight in combat and it was not anywhere near as agile as the Jaw or Armored Titan. Its strength lay in its ability to transport equipment and carry military weapons, requiring soldiers to work alongside it to operate the machinery. While the other Titans didn’t need extra equipment to be useful on the battlefield, that didn’t mean that cooperation was useless for them. 

“Do you think your cousin Reiner got where he was from doing whatever he wanted and not listening to others?” Pieck says with a laugh. 

Gabi has stopped glaring now, but her lower lip is still sticking out in a pout. Still, she looks at Pieck curiously, wondering what the Warrior has to say, so Pieck proceeds. 

“The only reason why the Warriors work so well together is because we’re able to work as a team. We listen to Zeke, our commander, as well as our military superiors. If we didn’t, we’d be a mess out there on the battlefield. The enemy would massacre us and it wouldn’t matter how powerful our Titan forms are,” Pieck says. She brushes away a stray lock of hair from Gabi’s forehead. 

The young girl’s brow is still furrowed and she looks as if she wants to argue with Pieck, but there isn’t anything to argue about. It doesn’t matter what Gabi thinks. Pieck is the one with more military experience and the one with a Titan. She knows better than Gabi. After a moment, Gabi asks, “How am I supposed to work with people if they don’t like me?” 

It seems like such an ordinary question to ask - not at all about how to get better in combat or improve stamina or anything about surviving during a battle - that Pieck almost laughs, but the girl is looking at her so earnestly that Pieck swallows her smile. “You guys don’t have to like each other, at least not at first,” Pieck replies. There are still people in the military that she hates working with, but she’s not going to tell Gabi that. That’s something the girl can figure out on her own. “Just try to work well with them - listen to them, take into account their concerns, be open to suggestions - and maybe you’ll like them better.” 

“That’s impossible,” Gabi scowls, arms folded over her chest. Her mind has already been made up about her classmates. The girl is incredibly stubborn. It’ll take a while for her mind to change about her classmates. Gabi sneaks a curious glance at Pieck and then, without warning, asks, “Did you get along well with Porco when you first met him?” 

“Porco?” Pieck isn’t sure why the name startles her so much. Maybe it’s because she was expecting Gabi to ask about someone else like Zeke, who Pieck has worked with much longer than Porco. 

Gabi nods. “My instructor said you two work incredibly well on the field together. ‘Perfectly in sync,’ she said.” As she says this, the girl looks almost envious. She looks at Pieck suspiciously as if the Cart Titan has been hiding some secret from her. “What did you think of him when you first met?” 

“When we first met?” Pieck says with a laugh. “That was so long ago though…” Her voice begins to trail off as she recalls meeting Porco. 

------

Pieck had, of course, met Porco before. They had been Warrior candidates at the academy and trained side-by-side. She had even had a few conversations with him back then - ordinary conversations about the weather and musings about the lessons they would have - but nothing they discussed was memorable. Of her classmates, Porco had been one of the more memorable of her peers. He was good on the field, skilled at fighting, and had an intellectual acuity for battlefield strategies, especially in large formations. She, along with many others, had thought Porco was the logical choice for the Armored Titan, so it was a surprise when Reiner Braun was announced in his place. The surprise didn’t last, however, and Pieck had been quick to accept it, her memory of Porco and his discontent scowl fading in the back of her mind. It was only five years later that she saw him again, only this time he was no longer Porco Galliard, the candidate that had failed to become the Armored Titan, but Porco Galliard, the one chosen to inherit the Jaw Titan. 

“Meet the Jaw Titan,” Zeke says as he introduces (or, really, re-introduced) Porco to Pieck. 

“We’ve met before,” Porco says at the same time Pieck is thinking it. Still, he offers a hand for Pieck to take and she shakes it, noting how rough and weathered it is in hers. He has a strong grip though, which she takes as a good sign before she lets go. 

“We trained together,” she explains to Zeke. 

“And fought together,” he adds. There’s an awkward silence between them - from Pieck because she can’t recall seeing Porco on the field and from Porco because he doesn’t know how to proceed from there. It must be that the silence is getting to him because Porco clears his throat and clarifies, “I was a part of the infantry.” 

“Ah,” Pieck says with a nod, pretending like she remembers even though she doesn’t. There are so many people on the field every day. The only people she really knows are the ones that work alongside her, manning the artillery on the Cart Titan’s back. 

The commander claps the two on the back. “Well, you two will be fighting side-by-side more often once Porco takes hold of the Jaw Titan,” Zeke says. He looks at Porco. “The ceremony is this weekend, isn’t it?” 

“Ah, yes,” Porco says, a bit startled at the attention. He offers up a bag that he’s been holding. Inside are snacks of every kind - sweet things like muffins and cookies and savory snacks like sausages and jerky. They’re the types of things Eldians can’t afford to buy unless their families had a member that inherited a Titan. Zeke and Pieck both stare down at the snacks and Porco clears his throat. “I bought them to celebrate. Er, if you want any.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Zeke asks, raising his eyebrow. He reaches in and plucks out a bag of jerky. He tears open the wrapping easily, snapping off a piece of the dried beef with his teeth. “Ah, but this is good. Thanks, Porco.” He ruffles the man’s head as if Porco were a child and not a man about to inherit one of Marley’s most powerful weapons. 

“No problem,” Porco mumbles, cheeks flushing at the simple words of thanks. He notices that Pieck still hasn’t taken anything so he offers the bag to her, holding it under her nose. “Take some.” 

Pieck looks down, observing the wide selection. There are only three of them, so there wasn’t really a need to get so much food. These are all snack foods besides, but maybe Porco enjoys snack foods or maybe he’s hoping to save some for his family later. After a moment she looks at him, frowning as she jokingly tells him, “You don’t have my favorite in here.” Behind her Zeke snorts, but Porco looks at her in alarm like he’s afraid he’s actually offended her. 

“Which one’s your favorite?” 

“Don’t tease him when he’s nervous enough as it is, Pieck,” Zeke says with a chuckle. He’s already halfway through the packet of jerky already. 

“Those little sweet crackers. The ones with the scallop edges and sprinkled with sugar. You know the ones?” she asks Porco. She feels bad immediately afterward because the man’s now frowning down at his bag of food. It almost looks like he’s trying to will one of the snacks to transform to Pieck’s favorite treat. Hastily, Pieck makes a grab for a random pack of food and pulls out a licorice wheel. It’s not ideal, but it could be worse. She makes a show of waving it in Porco’s face, a smile on her face. “Nevermind. These will do. Thanks, Porco!” 

He grunts in response but still seems troubled. Even as Zeke continues to talk to them - discussing future plans now that they’ve reacquired the Jaw Titan and the need to prevent neighboring countries from invading - he seems distracted, nibbling at a chocolate wafer nervously and nodding every once in a while. Watching him makes Pieck feel guilty and she almost wants to put down her licorice wheel and apologize, but doing that in the middle of a conversation with Zeke might make the poor man feel even more awkward so she unwinds the licorice wheel and eats it inch by bitter inch. It’s only after Pieck has eaten another licorice wheel - a raspberry-flavored one, which was more bearable than the black licorice wheel before - and Zeke has inhaled nearly all of the jerky and sausage that Porco abruptly gets up to excuse himself, mumbling something about coming back soon. 

“Do you think I made him uncomfortable?” Zeke asks before Pieck can. 

She snorts, nearly choking on her raspberry candy. “You? Why would you make him uncomfortable?” 

“Because,” Zeke says solemnly, “I am his superior, so I might intimidate him. Also, I’ve been told that I’m very handsome.” 

Pieck almost rips off a piece of licorice and pelts it at the commander. She doesn’t, of course. That would be a waste of food. She rolls her eyes instead. “I probably shouldn’t have teased him like that when I barely know him, but I didn’t think he’d be so sensitive.” Pieck takes another bite of her licorice, gagging at the strange mixture of artificial raspberry and bitter licorice taste. She probably shouldn’t have taken another licorice wheel, but she decided it would be an apt punishment. “Do you think we’ll get along well?” 

Zeke shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. He’s surprisingly unconcerned about all this. “It’ll all work out eventually,” he says before giving Pieck a wicked grin. “And if it doesn’t, we can say it’s your fault.” 

“You’re terrible,” Pieck grumbles, sitting back in her chair. 

“I’m sure you’re just overthinking it,” Zeke says reassuringly. He leans forward and looks through the bag of snacks, frowning when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “He’s probably just the shy, quiet type. He’ll warm up to us eventually.” 

“Or maybe,” Pieck says, pointing at Zeke, “he’s had enough of us already and ran away.” It seems to be the only logical explanation as to why the man hasn’t returned yet. 

“He probably just went to the bathroom.” 

“That’s an awfully long bathroom break.” 

“It happens,” Zeke says sagely. 

Just then the door swings open and in barges Porco, another bag in his hand. It’s not filled to the brim this time and Pieck and Zeke can only see its contents when Porco haphazardly tosses it between them, peering in curiously to find the sweet sugar crackers that Pieck had spoken about before. They look at him, eyebrows raised, but Porco simply slouches down in his chair, his head hanging so that he doesn’t have to look either of them in the eye. Pieck can’t decide if the man’s just shy or awkward. It could be a combination of both. 

Gingerly, Pieck takes a packet of crackers, holding it up and inspecting it as if seeing the treat for the first time. “Did you,” she asks slowly, “buy this just because I said it was my favorite?” 

“No, of course not,” Porco snaps a little too quickly. He must feel that his response is too harsh because he says, quieter this time, “I just started craving them because you were talking about it earlier. You can have some if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Pieck says, trying hard not to giggle. He’s both awkward and shy then, she thinks as she rips open the plastic wrap and nibbles on the cracker. And thoughtful. That’s a good trait to have in a teammate. 

Porco grunts in response, taking a pack of crackers of his own and chewing them silently across from Pieck. Zeke, however, does not take any. The commander just frowns at the bag a little unhappily and, after a moment, says, “You didn’t buy any more sausages on your way back?” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll go get some immediately!” Porco says, already getting up to run out of the room. 

Pieck grabs onto his shirt and yanks him back down before he can escape. “Relax, he’s just kidding!” She gestures to the unfinished crackers in his hand. “Eat up.” 

Confused, Porco looks from Pieck and then to Zeke who’s smiling at him rather apologetically. It’s only then that Porco truly relaxes, sitting back against the chair and eating his crackers a little less carefully now, crumbs spilling onto the front of his shirt. 

He’s most definitely awkward, Pieck thinks as she hides her smile behind another bite of cracker, but that’s nothing that she can’t work with. They’ll get along well for sure. 

----------

“When I first met him?” Pieck repeats. She looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, staring up at the boards that she used to stare at as a child. She then turns her gaze back to Gabi, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Cute.” 

Gabi’s surprised for a moment, the answer unexpected, and then her nose crinkles in an expression that’s almost like disgust. “Cute?” 

“Yes,” Pieck says cheerfully. She wants to giggle at Gabi’s scowl. She probably should have given the girl a more serious answer, but Gabi needs to learn to lighten up a little if she wants to work with others. “Some people think he’s quite handsome, you know.” 

“I guess,” Gabi mumbles, although the frown on her face says that she hasn’t really thought about it. Or maybe she just doesn’t think Porco is handsome. Pieck will have to tell Porco about this. 

“Well, it’s fine if you don’t get along with them immediately,” Pieck tells Gabi. She reaches out to play with the loose strands of hair that are falling out of Gabi’s bun, smiling fondly as she does so. “Just pick someone that you think you can work with well. Someone you can tolerate. And then maybe you’ll learn how to be a team with them. Who knows, you might even become the best of friends.” 

Gabi sulks for a bit and side-eyes Pieck. “Do they have to be ‘handsome’?” 

The elder snorts. “No. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” 

The girl sits there thinking for a bit, mulling over the possible candidates. Her brown eyes flicker over the empty desks in the classroom as she recalls all her classmates. After a bit, she finally says, “I think I’ll work with Falco first.” 

Pieck is only a little surprised. She probably would have picked Zofia - her skillset is more evenly matched to Gabi’s than Falco’s is - but it does make sense that Gabi would choose the boy over Zofia. He isn’t as headstrong as Zofia is and is less likely to clash with the stubborn Braun girl. The two might also make a surprisingly good pair, Pieck thinks. Falco could improve Gabi’s cooperation scores and might also get her used to working with others and Gabi might be able to help the boy improve in all the subjects he’s having trouble with. Pieck definitely approves of the match. 

“I think that would be a good idea,” Pieck says with a smile. She rubs the top of Gabi’s head. “Why don’t you go find him right now? Working on the field is good, but team building is easier if you get along well in your downtime too.” 

Gabi looks a little aggravated, but she gets up anyway. “Fine,” she huffs. The girl grabs her bag and tosses it over her shoulder, her evaluation crumpled in her hand. She maneuvers around Pieck and heads toward the door. She only turns back when her hand is on the knob. Her expression isn’t exactly happy right now - the girl is probably still focused on improving her scores for next term - but she gives Pieck a quick smile and a wave. “Thanks, Miss Pieck. I’ll let you know how it goes.” 

“See you later, Gabi,” Pieck says cheerfully. 

The young Warrior cadet leaves, the door just about to swing shut before someone’s hand reaches out to stop it. Outside, Gabi speaks to someone, but her voice is too quiet for Pieck to pick up the conversation. The other voice is much lower, much more mature, and Pieck realizes just who it is although she can’t hear a word that the speaker is saying. When the speaker steps in, Pieck greets him with a wide smile. 

“Porco.” 

“Pieck,” Porco replies. He raises a hand, showing her a bag that’s less than half-filled with treats. Her friend approaches, dropping the bag onto the table. He takes a seat on the desk, ignoring the many empty chairs around them, and folds his arms across his chest. “Those little gremlins nearly ate everything. I gave Gabi a few biscuits and chips before she left. You’re lucky I still have some things leftover for you.” 

Pieck purses her lips as she takes a peek inside. There are different flavored licorice wheels - strawberry, raspberry, and the original black licorice - and a few packs of sugar crackers. The Titan Shifter takes the crackers, ripping open the wrapper and biting a cracker. It’s nice and sweet and flaky on her tongue. “How blessed I am to have you as a friend,” Pieck hums.

Her companion rolls his eyes as he takes a licorice wheel and bites into it, not bothering to unravel it and eat it in a strand like most other people would. “Blessed is a word for it,” he mumbles. 

Pieck takes another bite, savoring the taste of butter and sugar on her tongue. Truth be told, sugar crackers weren’t really her favorite snack, at least not back then. She had only said that in jest and hadn’t bothered to tell Porco afterward. He had gone through all that trouble to bring the crackers for her that night. It gave her a deeper appreciation for the snack. After she polishes off a pack, she leans forward on the desk, tipping her chin upward so that she can get a better view of Porco. “Porco, what did you think of me when we first met?” 

“What did I think?” Porco repeats. He bites off another piece of the licorice wheel, chewing thoughtfully as he remembers their first meeting. He swallows and answers, “I thought you were weird.” 

Pieck wrinkles her nose. It’s not exactly the answer she was expecting. “Why weird?” 

“You ate, like, three licorice wheels when I first met you,” Porco replies. He finishes his licorice wheel and reaches for a pack of crackers. He pulls one out first and looks at it before licking the sugar crystals on its surface. “Nobody likes licorice that much.” 

“Hmm.” She supposes she won’t tell him the real reason she was eating the licorice wheels. Or the fact that eating all that licorice at once has given her a fondness for the snack now. 

“Why?” Porco asks. “What about you? What was your first impression of me?” 

Awkward. Shy. Endearing. Pieck grins up at him. “I thought you were perfect,” she says.

It’s a comment that might have made him blush in their earlier days together, but now Porco just shoves a cracker in her mouth. “Don’t be weird,” he tells her. He hops off the desk, grabbing the bag of snacks. “Let’s go grab some food now. This stuff is good, but it’s hardly a meal.” 

“Get me my crutches? I think Udo left them leaning against the schoolhouse,” Pieck says. She pushes herself out from her seat and grabs the arm Porco offers her, letting him help her up. She smiles when he reaches over to push her chair in as well as the chair Gabi had left out when she left, and leans against his broad shoulder. 

“What do you feel like eating tonight?” Porco asks as he leads them to the door. 

“Pork?” Pieck says, tilting her head to see how Porco feels about it. 

He nods. “Jägerschnitzel?” he asks. 

Ah, pork cutlets with a crispy breadcrumb crust and chopped mushrooms, a rich gravy sauce poured all over. It’s perfect with a side of steamed beans and mashed potatoes. Pieck’s hungry just thinking about it. She really can’t think of a better meal right now. 

“Perfect,” Pieck says, squeezing Porco’s arm. She looks up at him fondly. “We make a good team.” 

“Yeah,” Porco replies. He pushes open the door for Pieck, letting her go out first before he shuts the door behind them. He collects her crutches for her, handing them to her, and waits as she adjusts herself. “I guess we do.” 

[oliverstarked]

didn’t mean to let you go

a Buck/Eddie 3.06 coda, that starts with breakfast with Bobby

Summary:  Buck moves up, brushes the back of his fingers over the swelling on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie inhales softly.

“It looks painful,” Buck mutters.

“It’s not so bad,” Eddie says, just as quiet.

read on ao3

Buck talks and talks and talks during breakfast with Bobby. He tries not to, he knows he can be A Lot, but Bobby sits there with his mouth quirked up in an affectionate smile and he listens and listens and listens, and asks questions, and is more of a father-figure in that moment than Buck has ever had in his life. 

So he tells Bobby about the nightmares, about the loneliness, about not being able to get out of bed some days. He tells Bobby about his childhood — just a little bit, he doesn’t really mean to — and when Bobby says, “You’re more than the sum of your parents’ choices, Buck,” it’s all Buck can do not to launch himself over the table and wrap Bobby up in a hug. 

It’s a good morning, even though it started in the hospital. Buck is starting to feel like himself again, the pieces of him that had been drifting away beginning to slot back into place where they belong. But there’s still something niggling at him that he needs to fix before life can truly go back to normal — whatever normal even means.

Buck gets into his Jeep and swings out of the diner parking lot into the usual snarl of LA traffic. It’s early enough that rush hour isn’t in full swing yet, but it still takes an annoyingly long time to get across the city to Eddie’s place. By the time he arrives, the sun is pounding on his face through the windshield and he’s starting to sweat. Why did he have to pick a gray shirt, goddamnit. 

“Buck!” 

Christopher is standing just outside the house, school bag on his back and massive smile on his face. Something inside Buck nearly crumbles in relief. He’d thought maybe Chris would be mad at him, disappointed that someone he’d trusted had let him down. Yet there he is, grin on his face like there’s no one else he’d rather see at eight in the morning. Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve that kid’s affection, but he’s never gonna do anything to jeopardize it ever again. 

“Hey, little man!” 

The hug he receives is nothing short of perfect, even if he gets a crutch to the shin for his trouble. God, he’s missed this.

“Buck, what are you doing here?” 

Eddie looks confused, but it’s the fresh bruise along his unshaven jaw and exhaustion ringing his eyes that grabs Buck’s attention. He thinks about the pained way Eddie pulled away from him the night before and swallows the million questions he has. Whatever discussion they need to have will have to wait until Chris isn’t around to hear it.

“It’s our day off, thought I’d come see the Diaz boys,” he grins. 

Eddie steps further out of his house, pulling the door closed behind him. He’s got his keys in one hand, a travel mug in the other, and Chris’ gym kit slung over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, one of these Diaz boys has school.”

Chris puts his hand on Buck’s leg and looks up at him with those big puppy eyes. “Will you come with us, Buck?” 

Buck glances at Eddie, who just shrugs, so he says, “Sure. Why don’t I drive? Your dad can drink his coffee and you and me can talk Transformers.”

Eddie remains quiet for the twenty minutes it takes to get to Chris’ school. He’s not hostile or mad, but he looks resigned, like he knows Buck wants a Conversation and knows there’s no more putting it off. Sure, he’s chipper as hell when he says goodbye to Christopher, but the minute he and Buck are alone together in the car he sinks into the seat, eyes closed as he tips his head back. The bruise on his face is a sickly shade of purple.

“So, I had a bit of a night,” Buck says brightly, because he’s not gonna ask Eddie what’s going on while he’s driving. “This lady hit a guy with her car two days ago and had no idea she was driving around with him sticking outta her windshield. The hospital said she had a brain bleed and it confused her? Anyway, he’s still alive. Thanks to me.”

He winks, playing it up, and Eddie smiles. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh. And the driver.” He should shut up, but Eddie’s still looking at him with that soft, quiet look on his face, and it makes Buck keep talking. “Y’know, I always thought it was the uniform that made me the guy who’ll crawl over broken glass, literally, to help people. To make a difference. But, I dunno man, I think I’m starting to realize that it’s just who I am, uniform or no. When Bobby came to get me from the hospital, he said—” 

“Wait, you were at the hospital? Last night?” Eddie looks stricken and it makes Buck’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Uh, yeah. Kinda.” He shows Eddie the bandage on his arm. “I got scratched on the broken windshield. It’s nothing, I swear. The paramedics wanted me to get checked because of, y’know, my history. Honestly, Ed, I’m fine.”

Eddie scrapes a hand over his face. “You should’ve called me.” 

“Would you have answered?”

“Of course.” But even as he says it, Eddie doesn’t sound like he believes the words. 

This time Buck doesn’t say anything. He just drives, glancing over at Eddie every so often. Each time he does, Eddie looks back. Like they’re attuned to each other. They definitely used to be, before Buck went and messed it up. Now it’s time to sort it out. 

But when they get back to Eddie’s, Buck decides he’s gotta pick the right moment. He really doesn’t want to fight again, and Eddie’s looking pretty pathetic anyway, slumped at his kitchen table with his head in his hands. 

“Have you eaten breakfast?” Buck asks, already pulling open the cupboards. 

“Cereal,” Eddie replies, gesturing blindly to the empty bowls left in the sink and the box of Cap’n Crunch on the counter. 

Buck snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna make you a proper breakfast. Go shower, I’ll have it ready by the time you’re done.”

Eddie huffs, looking up and raising his eyebrows. “Is that a not-so-subtle hint?”

“No, man, you just look like you could do with taking a load off for a few. A shower will make you feel better.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to actually discussing the fact that there’s something wrong with Eddie, but he doesn’t rise to it. Just takes Buck’s advice and trudges down the hall, disappearing into his bedroom. 

Buck heaves out a breath and sets about making one of Bobby’s specialities: the perfect French omelet. He’s gonna have to improvise a little with the filling based on the sparse contents of Eddie’s refrigerator but he finds spinach, mushrooms and cheese, so it could be worse.

When Eddie comes back, dressed in dark jeans and a henley, Buck is just setting two plates piled high with omelet on the table. So what that a couple of hours ago he ate his weight in pancakes with Bobby? He’s always got room for more.

“You cleaned up in here,” Eddie comments, “and dios, it smells amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck smiles, and refrains from pulling Eddie’s chair out for him like he would a date at a restaurant. Instead he sits across from Eddie and raises his glass of OJ. “Here’s to you forgiving me, and to us being friends again.”

Eddie clinks his glass against Buck’s, but does so with a roll of his eyes. “We were never not friends, Buck. It was killing me that I couldn’t talk to you.”

A memory floats to the surface of Buck’s brain, something Eddie said that time in the grocery store, that makes him say, “Yeah, talk to me and to, what was it? Oh yeah, ask me to bail you out of jail. Hypothetically, right?” 

Oh yeah, that hit a nerve. Eddie slowly chews and swallows his mouthful of egg, but his eyes go shuttered and Buck knows that this is it, no more lies. 

“Not so much, actually,” Eddie admits, and when he looks back up Buck is shocked to see that his eyes are wet. “Buck, I think I’m in trouble.”

It’s not a surprise. Neither is the way every fiber of Buck’s being wants to get out of his chair and gather Eddie into his arms, hold him close and promise him that everything is gonna be okay. Except he won’t, though. He doesn’t know if it will be okay, and it sounds like he’s gonna have to be the grown up one in this situation. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head. “Tell me.”

To his credit, Eddie looks Buck right in the eye when he says, “I’ve been street fighting. For money.”

Nausea fills the pit of Buck’s stomach. Images fill his head unbidden of Eddie getting pummelled by some great ugly brute with no teeth. With no one there to support him, patch him up afterwards and make sure he’s okay. 

“Jesus, Eddie. And I thought I was supposed to be the stupid one.”

Eddie hangs his head. “Yeah, well.”

“I mean, what were you thinking?” Buck bursts out. “You could have been seriously hurt, man, or worse. You’ve got people here who need you, Eddie. Chris needs you.” He pauses, swallows. “I need you.”

The chair skids back with a screech as Eddie jumps to his feet. “Don’t you think I know that? I can’t help it, Buck! I’m just so — so angry, all the fucking time. At everyone! Shannon — she died. She told me she wanted a divorce, and then she fucking died. That’s my fault, if I hadn’t brought her back into our lives only to turn around and change my mind, she wouldn’t have even been on that road to get hit by that car! Chris has lost his mom for good, because I was so goddamn selfish. And then you — and your leg — and I know how hard your recovery was so I wasn’t gonna make it about me and my issues. And the tsunami just — dios, I still have nightmares about losing Christopher. About losing you. Except then I did lose you to that stupid stupid lawsuit, and I just needed to punch something so badly.”

He stops, shakes his head, sucks in a shuddering breath. Buck can’t even move, doesn’t even know what to say. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this far, Buck,” Eddie finishes, voice nearly a whisper. “It’s the only thing that made me feel in control. Please help me make it stop.”

Buck looks at Eddie, really looks at him. His brown eyes are sad and awful. So Buck gets up out of his chair and in three strides he’s right there in front of him, his hands on Eddie’s biceps, reaching out to pull him in and curling his own arms firm around Eddie’s broad shoulders, like a protective band around him.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. You were right, last night. I was too focused on myself to see that you were hurting.”

“No,” Eddie says. He makes to pull back, but Buck refuses to let go so Eddie just talks into his shoulder instead. “You went through a lot—”

“We all went through a lot,” Buck corrects him gently. “And none of it, none of it, was your fault, Eddie Diaz.”

Eddie’s arms come up around Buck’s waist, slowly squeezing back. Buck scrunches his eyes shut so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry. He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Eddie’s hot breath fanning against the side of his neck, wrapped around each other so tightly, breakfast long forgotten on the table, but when they finally disentangle Eddie’s face is dry although his eyes look red and sore. 

“No more fighting,” Buck tells him, no room for argument. “We’ll go in the boxing ring, I’ll hold a punching bag for you, I’ll take you to the rage room, whatever. If you need help with money, I got you covered. If you wake up in the middle of the night and wanna talk, you call me. You want me to come to therapy with you, I’m there. But fight club is done.”

For a second, Buck thinks Eddie is gonna argue. But then he sags, his shoulders falling, and nods. 

“I’m not gonna feel better until I’ve checked you over,” Buck adds then, concerned about injuries he can’t see. 

Eddie rolls his eyes to the heavens, so much like his usual self Buck nearly laughs in relief. “Buck, I’m fine. I’m a medic. I know this to be true.”

“Please,” Buck begs, because he needs to see for himself, needs proof. 

Sighing, and looking extremely reluctant about it, Eddie plucks at the bottom of his henley and peels it off over his head. 

Ugly smudges of blue, purple and yellow marr the landscape of Eddie’s torso like stormclouds. His ribs look awful, half-healed and scabbed over where the skin has been split from the sheer force of the beating. Buck places his hand gently over the worst of it, feels Eddie’s ribcage expand under his palm. 

“Not broken,” Eddie whispers. “Just bruised.”

Buck moves up, brushes the back of his fingers over the swelling on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie inhales softly. 

“It looks painful,” Buck mutters. 

“It���s not so bad,” Eddie says, just as quiet. 

Despite popular belief, Buck’s not actually an idiot. He knows what’s happening here. His feelings for Eddie are an ever-present feature of Buck’s everyday, always just under the surface, bubbling up every time they share a look or a touch, however innocent. Right now Buck feels like they’re boiling over, faced with miles and miles of Eddie’s soap-clean skin and those eyes staring right at him and the emotional vulnerability that has left them both a bit raw. 

When Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, Buck thinks he might actually combust. 

“Te he extrañado,” Eddie breathes, “I missed you.”

And that’s it, he can’t take it anymore. Buck swoops forward and presses his mouth to Eddie’s in a kiss that’s not gentle at all, but demanding and desperate and so, so good. 

It gets even better when Eddie tongue traces the seam of Buck’s lips — it gets hot and fierce then, wet and open-mouthed. Buck’s hands are on Eddie’s face, cradling his jaw, but Eddie’s hands can’t seem to decide what to touch first: first Buck’s waist, then up his chest, over his shoulders, smoothing down his back until they settle on his waistband. 

“I always thought —” Buck murmurs, lush against Eddie’s mouth, “that it was — it was just me who — God, Eddie.”

Eddie slides his fingers around Buck’s belt to the front, easily slipping the leather through the buckle.

“There was never a good time,” Eddie says, kissing him again and sucking lightly on Buck’s bottom lip, like his fingers aren’t unbuttoning Buck’s fly and driving him absolutely fucking crazy. It’s not fair that he can string sentences together when Buck’s feeling so deliriously drunk on this already.

Then he remembers that hey, he’s good at this. Eddie is far from the first guy he’s been with, although he is the first in a while, and he knows sex. Knows all the best knee-trembling, breath-taking, shiver-inducing moves. Part of him can’t believe that he gets to do them all with Eddie, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop now.

Buck presses kisses down Eddie’s neck, stubble burning his lips in the best way. He can’t resist leaving a hickey on his collarbone, more on his chest, scattered among the bruises there.

“Buck…” Eddie groans, his hands fisting in Buck’s hair now, not-so-subtly trying to guide him lower. 

Smirking against his skin, Buck heads back up instead, nipping Eddie’s ear as he whispers, “If you weren’t injured, we’d be on this kitchen floor and I’d be sucking your brain out through your dick.”

Eddie’s hips jerk into Buck’s and Buck can feel quite clearly just how much that idea appeals. 

“But you are injured, so we’re gonna take this somewhere a bit softer,” he adds, grabbing Eddie’s hand and dragging him into his own bedroom. Eddie’s grip is tight but sweaty, and Buck’s glad that he’s not the only one feeling slightly overwhelmed here. For all his blustering and confidence, the fact that this is Eddie means it’s important. Possibly the most important thing Buck has ever done. He really, really hopes this isn’t going to be a one-time thing. 

As soon as they’re in the bedroom, Eddie pulls Buck’s t-shirt up and over his head before pushing him down on the bed. Grinning when he bounces, Buck sits on the edge and yanks Eddie in by the hips, making quick work of his fly and yanking his jeans and boxers down his thighs. 

Eddie is so hard already, so wet that Buck can’t help but take him into his mouth. He sucks, kisses and licks until Eddie is gasping for breath and pushing him away. 

“Too much?” Buck pants, laying on his back and bringing Eddie down with him. 

“Not enough,” Eddie says, kissing him again like he can’t get enough of Buck’s mouth. The weight of his body pressing Buck down into the mattress feels so good that Buck can’t help bumping his hips up, only to be impeded by his own goddamn pants. Desperate, he tries to wriggle his way out of them until Eddie takes pity and tugs them over his ankles. 

“You’re kind of a dork,” Eddie laughs, kissing the smooth skin of Buck’s inner thighs, the vibrations doing things to him.

“Fuck you,” Buck retorts, breathless. “I’m a goddamn sex machine.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, too easy, and Buck yanks him back up to crush their mouths together again. Now that he’s started kissing Eddie, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to stop. He prays to a God that he doesn’t really believe in that he won’t ever have to.

Buck’s had a couple of near-death experiences, but right here with Eddie on top of him, rolling their hips together, his legs wrapped tight around Eddie’s waist? Definitely the closest to heaven he’s ever been. 

He pushes up every time Eddie pushes down, fingers roaming over Eddie’s back, feeling the muscles ripple each time he shoves against Buck. Eddie moves one of his arms from where it’s braced beside Buck’s head and uses his hand to grip both their dicks together, and that’s when it gets hot and fast and intense, and kissing becomes nothing more than panting against each other’s mouths, and Buck tenses and finally comes undone, unspooling like a livewire, sparks firing under his skin, leaving him unable to do much more than keep his grip on Eddie’s shoulderblades and hang on while he rides it out.

Eddie is swearing fiercely in Spanish, losing his rhythm, but he drags his hand through the mess on Buck’s stomach and wraps that hand around his own dick, the image of which is so unreasonably hot that Buck groans and shudders. 

“Yeah, c’mon, baby,” he blurts out, “come on me, mark me up, make me yours.”

“Dios, Buck, fuck,” Eddie grits out, hips stuttering, and then he comes with a drawn-out moan, only making Buck dirtier, and God does Buck love it. Love him. 

They kiss again as they come back down to earth, softer now, slower. Buck’s mouth keeps doing this thing where he can’t stop smiling, until Eddie catches it too, and then they’re laughing. Eddie collapses into the space next to Buck, and he feels cold now where their skin isn’t touching. He reaches over the edge of the bed and comes back with his shirt which he uses to wipe his stomach before throwing blindly back to the floor. 

“So…” Eddie starts, tipping his head to look at Buck. 

Buck just grins at him. “Told you I was a sex machine.”

Eddie glares at him without any heat in it, then rolls onto his side and rests his palm over Buck’s chest. His face gets serious and for a heartbeat Buck thinks he’s about to be kicked out of bed. 

But, “I want you to know this wasn’t some sort of… gratitude thing,” Eddie says, “Or — or another outlet for my anger. That meant — you mean — a whole lot to me, Evan Buckley. And if this is going to jeopardize our friendship then—”

“Hey,” Buck interrupts, grabbing onto Eddie’s hand and clutching at it. “In case you couldn’t tell from everything I’ve said today: I love you, you idiot.”

A huge smile breaks out on Eddie’s face and Buck can’t help but mirror it, reeling Eddie back in. They make out like teenagers until their lips go numb and kiss-swollen. 

They only stop when Eddie’s stomach grumbles, reminding them both that he never did finish his breakfast. 

“C’mon, shower and then brunch,” Buck decides, running his hand over Eddie’s side and down to his ass, where he squeezes. “What d’ya reckon old man, ready for round two? Shower sex, easy clean up?”

“Not if you’re gonna call me old,” retorts Eddie, and he jumps out of bed like he doesn’t have several bruised ribs, as if to prove a point. “You coming, or shall I start without you?”

Buck might give his right arm to see that, but right now he just wants to be pressed as close to Eddie as possible, to make sure nothing hurts him ever again. 

There’ll be time for everything else later.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block. 

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. I believe that is all.

Word Count: Roughly 3,200

“Jared!” You screeched just in time to find your body thrown in the air. You didn't let go, tugging the large, heavy weight in after you. The water rushed around your form. Cradling your fall. An angry cry left your lips as you surfaced. Glaring at your friend as he shook out his shaggy, dark hair. “You're such a shit.”

The sound of kids shouting out their own war cries sounded before they followed. The noise was enough to diffuse the mini war for a moment. They were careening their bodies into the water one at a time. Six cannonballs of various sizes.

“Teach you to sass,” He cackled, wincing every so slightly as you splashed at him in mock outrage. You dodged Shep as you bolted away from him; kicking your feet hard enough that Jared couldn't see well enough to dive at you until you had some distance between your bodies.

“Gen!” Before you could bring his wife into the mix, you were tackled again. Losing your shout in the liquid. Jared's unnatural length had given him the advantage. Again.

“They're going to kill each other,” Jensen muttered to Genevieve at the grill. Watching the scene from the corner of his eye. He'd refused to bet on who would come out on top. Both of you were too determined to end the mutual torture amicably.

“The kids will break it up before it gets there.” She answered with a grin as she watched your leg hook Jared's. The towering height was a disadvantage for the first time as you yanked the limb upwards with your entire strength. It slowed him down. His arms couldn't quite reach you before you threw him off balance. Crashing his bulk backwards. Creating waves that all six kids rode out. The high pitched betting on who would be winner making the brow rise towards his friend's wife. “Or maybe not,” The devilish smile on her love's face made her tsk in shame.

The hiatus-bearded forty four year old beside her stopped watching the meat for a moment. Focusing on his best friend and his nanny. You had promised yourself wouldn't leave. It had been just over two years since Danneel had passed away, and you'd kept your word.

For not knowing how to care for other people full time, you'd figured it out in a hurry. Ouchies were bandaged. Homework was helped. Food was prepared just in time for everyone to slink out of the rooms. You'd gone above and beyond. Taking up a housekeeper role, even. No one could have asked for a better person to fill what had been needed.

“He takes her out? He has kid duty.” Jensen warned; his own grin covered as he took a swig of his beer to compose himself. A recent habit he'd invested in when it came to anything involving you. Too many people found themselves asking questions. He didn't want to answer them.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged as she watched Jared toss you like you were a rag doll. “Overgrown children. The both of them.”

“Keeps life a little interesting,” He acknowledged easily. It really had. Helped keep it all lighthearted when things were anything but. It'd helped him survive the worst thing he'd ever experienced. “They're too busy pranking each other to turn their wiles on us, nowadays.” That brought up Gen's brow.

“She's given you wiles, huh?” Her own drink was brought to her lips to keep her face as neutral as could as she watched her friend turn the deadly chromatic gaze her way. Looking for a sign that would tell him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't find anything. Being in the acting business had its perks, and cons, when it came to their friendship.

“She's decided that I'm too serious, lately,” He grumbled. Finger quotes and all. Pulling on the years of playing Dean Winchester for a way to express his displeasure with adequate emphasis. He'd long ago accepted that the Winchester would pop his head up whenever he needed him to. Almost eighteen years on the job did that to a man. “She gets the kids in on the plots. Got Jared in on a few before they turned on each other.”

Jared had eagerly adopted a new victim in his favorite sport. Jensen had lost the urge to get down and dirty years ago. After an incident that may, or may not have, involved stink bombs in a trailer. He reserved his angst for Misha and other cast members. However, that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy watching his best friend meeting his match.

It was nearly as explosive as when him and Jared had been younger. The only thing that prevented a forced truce was the amount of space and time apart that you two experienced. It never had a chance to build up and become deadly. Or, that's what everyone was counting on, anyway.

“Did it work?” The Winchester's bitch face was turned her way. Two could play the acting game. She just read it better, “So, it did.”

“It's been two years. I don't need checked on, constantly,” He grumbled. Taking another swig as he flipped the burgers and hot dogs. She wasn't quite sure if he was talking about you or her nosing about.

“Jensen-”

“I'm fine, Gen...Really...I'm great.” She didn't look nearly convinced. Impatiently waiting for him to continue. He didn't disappoint. Unleashing the verbal diarrhea in a torrent after a moment of silence. He'd been stewing for too long. “She just...she's something else.” That seemed to catch her attention even more.

“Are you two fighting?” The question was carefully let out, ensuring that he knew she wasn't trying to push too hard. Simply expressing a bit of concern.

“No,” He scoffed. Despite that it's actually what he'd tried to enact more than once. You were just unshakeable. “She's just...she's always there, you know?” He sounded weak to his own ears, but that didn't stop the word vomit leaving his lips. “And she's always... on top of everything. God forbid I tell her what to do.” Every thing that had been itching at his nerves burst forth. “That's another thing! She isn't intimidated. At all. I told her to take a day off, or she's canned. What'd she do? She laughed. Laughed!” He was going to lose his mind over the saucy nanny. That much he was sure on.

“And you don't like that?” Gen's teasing tone made him mentally kick himself in the ass. His long suffering parent face came out at that. She missed the point. “Sounds like the perfect nanny if I'd ever heard of one.”

“She's not just a nanny,” He was aware that he sounded like a sulking child. It made his shoulders straighten even more. His voice deepening in frustration. “She joined the damn family. When she shouldn't've had to. Y/N was supposed to get back on her feet, and moved on.”

The lingering guilt came forward. You hadn't wanted to be trapped in role. Yet, there you were. All for his family's benefit. His benefit.

“Doesn't seem to bother her,” Genevieve noted, nodding her head subtly towards the scene in the pool.

You'd gathered reinforcements. Jensen's three helped you knock Jared under the water again while his own children simply cackled around the attack zone. All it took was a simple bribe from their chief to get them to join in on the battle. Suddenly, the pool erupted into full blown war fare.

Waves crashed over the edge. Floaties went flying through the air. But, everyone knew their limits. Tenderly, you all rode the thin line that would lead to death as you wrestled in the chlorinated pit.

“It should,” He grumbled. It had at one time. The memory of you insisting that you couldn't fill the void echoed in his brain. People didn't change that much. No, if you were okay with it? There was a reason. And there was only one he could piece together enough to make some kinda sense. “She's using us for a crutch. She should be out there. Looking to start her own family.”

He'd painted the image in his mind. Clear as day, it danced there. He could see you in a bar, taking a down night. Later, with your own family after you'd stumbled into some nice good looking chap who'd appreciate you. God knows that you'd earned it.

“Ever think that she doesn't want to?” The idea was dismissed before she even finished it. After all, what woman didn't want someone of their own? “She's a big girl, Jensen...She can decide when she's ready.”

“You don't always get to choose,” His answer was softer that time. Thinking of the turn his life had taken. “You don't always get time.”

His own lack of time still haunted him more than he'd acknowledge. Jensen had wanted forever. Instead, he'd gotten a sliver of it. Best damn sliver of his life, but still. It hadn't been enough. He wanted his wife back. Wanted the life they'd been denied.

“I know,” She would have offered him a hug if his expression hadn't turned back to the mulish expression that often resided in his character's face at the soft words.  It was his way of coping. Emotions turned deadly. He wouldn't- couldn't give into it. Not in front of the kids, anyway. Alone in his room was a different story. “Have you tried actually talking to her?”

“She treats me like one of the kids,” He muttered with a soft scowl that made Gen bite back a laugh. “Actually, that's not true. I get lower. She gives the kids more attention when they take up a problem with her.” The sulking was back in full force as he nudged at the meat, once again. It was the one trait of yours that drove him crazy. That easy dismissal of his concerns.

“I can talk to her-”

“No,” His head jerked her way in dismay. He didn't want anyone fighting his battles. Didn't want you to feel that he was forcing you out. “No,” He cleared his throat; this time speaking more calmly. “I'll figure something out...providing Jared doesn't kill her.” His eyes locked onto your form as you tried to tackle the bigger man, and failed. Laughing as you were tossed around like a rag doll.

–

“I still have water in my ears,” You grumbled back at the Ackle's fortress. Trying to dislodge the liquid by shaking your head. It was useless. You'd have to pull out the cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to try and draw it out. “Your friend is wicked.”

“You started it,” Jensen shot back, setting the dish he'd dried back into the cupboard.

They'd been discarded from that morning, before the small get together. Going to sleep with a dirty sink had turned into one of your pet peeves. So, there you were. At midnight. Cleaning dishes next to your employer and friend...of sorts.

“Fair point,” You relented, passing him the pan you'd just rinsed.

After nearly three years? You'd had no problem taunting the man who'd once intimidated you. The puppy-like beast could truly do damage if he wanted. Jared simply never had the desire to inflict permanent harm. Rather stuck to temporary discomfort.

And, you loved every bit of it. It made you feel welcomed. Placed on equal footing, despite the fact that you were the furthest thing from famous.

“I think it's time to replace this thing,” Jensen muttered as he shifted the thinning towel to a dry spot to work on the metal more.

“I can do this on my own, you know.” You pointed out without malice. After all, that's what you were paid to do. A job that you didn't particularly mind, either.

“Figured Jared kicked your ass enough, today.” The wry grin made your eyes roll before you turned away. Ignoring the way his chuckle made your stomach knot.

It wasn't a new feeling. Simply one that you couldn't focus on. He'd had that soul deep kinda connection that you longed for before. So rare that you doubted you'd ever find it. Not only was he still madly in love with Danneel. But, there was also the issue of him handing over a paycheck weekly. Even if you were willing to bend the rules a bit? He wouldn't. So, you turned back to what you could focus on. The dishes.

“I can take it from here,” You returned when you gathered your wits back to where they belonged. It took longer than you had liked. “Besides, you have a flight in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“Sure thing, mom.” His dry tone was telling enough. You were being blown off. “You sure you can handle them on your own?”

His anxiety over the trip was both endearing and frustrating. On one hand, you understood it. The kids were his everything. He hadn't left their side for longer than a few hours since they'd lost their mother. On the other, it almost hurt that there wasn't enough trust built up to give him relief for a single weekend. To let you step in and care for his family as if they were your own. Hadn't you already proven your worth?

“I'll be fine,” You waved him off with a sudsy hand. Blowing him off as easily as he had your concern. He and Dee had raised some pretty fantastic kids before you'd stepped in. They'd stay that way over two days without their dad. You'd make sure of it. “You need some time to yourself, Jay.”

“When do you ever get that?” He pointed out, jumping on his opening. Your eyes rolled back so far that it was painful. Rehashing the now familiar argument.

“I'm starting to think that you're trying to get rid of me,” His horrified look your way was ignored as you pressed your point home. Making him understand exactly how it was coming across each time he pushed. “If you don't want me around-”

“Did I say that?” The answer was so Dean that you had to bite back the chuckle. He'd only get more worked up, again, if you did. So, you resisted the urge. The kids were out. Neither of you wanted to wake them. “I just think that you need a getaway- one that doesn't include my kids.”

“Are you kidding? What fun is it to go to the beach on your own?” You'd joined the family on their excursions. Everything from the family vacations to trips to conventions. You'd even stayed in Toronto when it came time to film Supernatural. Ensuring that Jensen hadn't needed to worry for a second about his children. Instead, he'd begun to direct it towards you. “I'm not missing much. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”

“Are you still hung up on-”

“I should have never told you that story,” You muttered before he could finish. He'd never forgotten. Or let you forget that you'd confided in him. It was the first thing that had made him give you a second look. “I have bad taste, Jensen. Notoriously bad taste.” He wasn't going to argue there. The guy in question was a douche. “I'm not bringing anything like that home with me, again. There's not enough sage in the world to get rid of that kind of energy. You really should thank me.” A sad smile lined Jensen's face. Danneel had been known to burn a bundle as needed. The tradition had lived on, even just for memories sake.

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. Taking the hint, finally. “I shouldn't push.” The look on your face said that you agreed. Silence ensued as the nightly chore was wrapped up before you went your separate ways. The issue only held away for another day.

–

“We're good. Go have fun,” You winked over the snapchat. Jensen could see all the girls in the back. Odette had taken the place of Zeppelin for the night. The boys were all with Gen. The children's own request.

You pulled away from your face to record the dance party that was taking place to Little Mix's Salute. Makeup covered all their little faces haphazardly. Your own face carried the telling marks of a young child's heavy handedness. Boas and frilly pink pajamas filled the room. All had embraced their inner female, looking remarkably fierce as they yelled the lyrics.

You ended it with a little lip sync action and your own, half-assed salute. He found himself replaying it for the simple, wide smile on your face as you turned away in the end. You'd seemed happier than he'd expected. His fingers rubbed over the bridge of his nose. Maybe you and Gen had a point.

“Dude, you okay?” Jared's shoulder jostled his best friend lightly, making the shorter one jerk away from his phone. When he glanced back, his reflection stared back at him. A flower crown rested over his forehead. His back straightened as he locked the screen, and tucked the device back in his pocket.

“Fine,” He answered easily. His hand ran through his hair. A simple tell. “Y/N was just checking in.”

“It's hard to be away from them,” The understanding tone made Jensen's tension fall a bit. It was ridiculous to even try to hide it from Jared. “I get it, man.” The large hand clasped against his arm. “If you want to bail, I'll find a way to cover-”

“I can't do that to the fans,” He shook his head. They'd all been so patient. So damn sweet after he'd lost Danneel. They deserved more than him flaking out. Again. “No, she's got it.” A crooked side smile pulled up his face, “Besides, Gen would kill me if I left you alone. You're practically bursting at the seams.”

“Am not,” The little shit eating grin said otherwise. A look that called bull was the only response he got. “Okay, but number four being on the way is kind of a big deal.” Fatherly pride was contagious.

“Yeah, man, it is.” With a sigh, Jensen pulled himself together. Determined to fall back into old patterns as much as he still could.

Years ago, Danneel and him had said they were done. Hell, even on live TV. Yet, so had Jared and Gen. There was no predicting how life would go. What turns would come forward.

Jensen was happy for his friend. Hell, his brother. He'd be there for them and the kid. Just as they had for him and his brood. But, it didn't settle the pit in his gut.

His focus lingered on the what ifs that life had left him with. Where would they all be if that car accident hadn't happened? Would the man who'd hit her be behind bars for someone else? He even found himself wondering if he'd have a fourth baby if Danneel was still alive...

Part Three

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14​

[alexthepartyman]

Fine Line

Chapter 4: Take me back to the light.

“Easy there, tough guy, have some coffee with your sugar,” Derek teases, grabbing a mug. 

“I need something to wake me up.”

“Same. I feel like I’ve slept for five years,” I joke.

“You had brain surgery a couple of weeks ago, it is normal to be tired.” I sigh, rolling my eyes as my phone vibrates against my ass. 

“Back pocket,” I groan as Derek pulls my phone out of my pocket. “It’s probably more get well soon wishes.”

“Oooh, you had a late night?” Derek asks, handing me my phone before going back to make coffee. 

“Very.”

“My man.” Oooh, it was probably with Grant, too. Oooh. I slowly type, trying to remember how to spell certain words.

“Not that kind of late night.”

“Really? I was rooting for you,” I groan as Derek chuckles.

“Okay, so tell me, what does keep young Dr Reid awake at night? Wait, let me guess. Memorising some obscure textbook. No, no, no, no,” Derek teases. “Working on cold fusion. No, I got it. I got it. I got it. Watching Ster Trek...and laughing at the physics mistakes.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made.”

“Did his face just fall?” I ask with a big smile on my face. 

“There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors.”

“Right.” I laugh lightly as Derek walks away awkwardly, holding my head in my hand. 

“Hey, Morgan?” Spencer asks, following him. I grip my crutches and turn myself, slowly following along. “Uh, do you ever have dreams?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“I guess nightmares would be a more accurate description.” 

“Is that what’s keeping you up?”

“I used to get them occasionally, but lately it’s like I have them every night.”

“What are they about?”

“This. What we do. Do you have nightmares?”

“When don’t I?” I remark. 

“Reid, I’m not sure I’m the right person for you tot alk to about this.” 

“Why not?”

“It’s just, uh...did you ask Gideon about it?”

“No.” 

“You should. Both of you.”

“Hey, Hotch wants everyone in the round table room.” 

“Derek, carry me. I’m not getting anywhere with these things,” I retort as Elle walks away from us.

“Nuh-uh, little buddy. You gotta do it yourself. I ain’t gonna be around to carry you everywhere.” 

“Fuck...I take forever!” I groan, stumbling towards the staircase. 

“Something up with you three?” Elle asks.

“No.” 

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

“McAllister,” JJ says as we head in. “Western slope of Massanutten Mountain in Virginia. Two bodies discovered in the woods, both with apparent bult trauma to the head.” 

“Skeletons?”

“Skellingtons?” I ask, approaching the table and looking at the picture in Spencer’s hand. 

“One of them. The second victim was just killed this morning.”

“How do we know there’s a connection?” Elle asks. 

“Found about seventy-five feet apart with nearly identical head wounds.” 

“Where’s the rest of the case file?”

“There isn’t one. The sheriffs are on the scene waiting for us.” 

“Their location is only half an hour away by plane.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Well, there was evidence on the scene that could cause a bit of public uproar.” 

“Satanic cult.”

“But...killer satanic cults...those don’t exist…” 

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

“JJ, we obviously need to keep this out of the press for as long as possible.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Why is that so important?”

“There was a nationwide scare in the 1980s involving Satanic ritual killings and abuse. The Satanic panic, it was called. It began after the publication of a book about repressed memories being recovered through hypnotherapy. Memories of growing up with devil worshippers who use children in their rituals and ceremonies.” 

“Most of the claims were later found to be false or just impossible.”

“Still, numerous therapists accepted the assertions as true and began searching for similar signs in their own patients. After one year, thousands of people reported the exact same repressed memories.”

“But the bureau conducted an investigation and concluded that most of the ritual killings or abuse were more urban legend than anything else.”

“You’re saying that there’s no such thing as Devil worshipping?”

“Not at all. But most of the Satanism we’ve seen is juveniles damaging property, descerating churches, cemeteries. To my knowledge, there’s never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States,” Uncle Jason says. 

“Well, maybe there is now.” 

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

“Morning. John Bridges,” the sheriff greets us. 

“Yeah, we spoke on the phone,” JJ shakes his hand. “I’m Agent Jareau, this is Agent Gideon, Dr Reid, and our intern James Rossi with the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit,” JJ introduces us.

“What’s with your intern?”

“Concussion. Can’t walk on my own yet. Hi.”

“Thanks for coming out so fast, all of you.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“There was an in-service in Charlottesville last year, said if we ran into any unusual homicides, we were supposed to call you folks soonertather then later.” 

“They were right.” 

“So is this unusual enough?”

“It’s certainly interesting. Is that blood or red paint?” I ask, nodding my head towards the carving in the tree.

“You guys must get a lot of this, huh? Satanic stuff?”

“Not really,” Uncle Jason answers. “Who found the body?”

“Hikers found the first one at the trail, my deputies located this one while searching for evidence. Don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman.”

“It’s a man. The male pelvis is more narrow, and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval,” Spencer rambles. “Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ asks.

“Candles are used in rituals.”

“Also used on birthday cakes,” Uncle Jason says, watching my feet carefully.

“Actually, they were orginially used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a pagan ritual.” 

‘What kind of doctor are you?”

“One that knows everything,” I quietly comment.

“Does LOD mean anything to you?” 

“I don’t know of any significance in Satanism, either.” 

“Well, I’d have Garcia research this LOD thing, if I could get a call out.” 

“Not much of a chance of that out here.”

“Are there any cults in the area that you know about? Secret groups? People you see you don’t know much about? People who stay to themselves mostly?” 

“This is a very religious area. Church on Sundays, fellowship on Wednesday, bible classes. If there was a secret group, I’d probably know about it.”

“That’s an inherent contradiction,” Spencer chuckles. 

“Excuse me?”

“Spencer,” I hiss, picking up the tip of my crutch and stomping his foot with it.

“Ow…”

“He means if there was a group being secretive, you probably wouldn’t know.” 

“Look, people out here just want a quiet place to raise their kids. What I know is that none of them are capable of doing this.”

“Rethink that statement,” I comment. 

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

“Here you go,” Jason says, setting me back down on the ground after carrying me back up the road. 

“Thanks, Uncle Jason.”

“It’s no problem, Jamie.” 

“Find anything interesting down there?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, it does look like some kind of ritual site,” Uncle Jason answers. 

“Have any of you ever heard of LOD or the acronym L-O-D?” Spencer asks as Elle helps Spencer up onto the road. 

“Not me.”

“Cherish? Cherish? Sheriff Bridges!” A woman yells, being blocked off by an officer behind the yellow tape. 

“It’s okay, Harris. Let her in.” 

“Was Adam Lloyd killed out here?” She asks, marching up towards us. 

“Who told you that?”

“Was he? My daughter was with him. They were out running together this morning. Oh my god, and I can’t find her. Cherish is missing. Cherish is missing! Help me, please.” She starts to cry. 

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

“Take her home.”

“I will.”

“Who are we looking for?” I ask as we head back to the team. 

“Someone who can overpower our victim, abduct a girl from a traveled path without being seen.”

“A local would know their way around here,” I add. 

“It certainly fits with the cult theory. More than one unsub to control multiple victims.” 

“But if the attack were ferocious enough...a single unsub could do it too. Kill Adam and grab the girl while she’s still in shock.” 

“This is some rough country. I don’t think Jamie could do it right now,” Elle comments, walking back to us with Derek. “We only went a quarter of a mile, and we almost got lost.”

“Jamie was right. The unsub is a local. You don’t just stumble onto a place like this.” 

“JJ, where’d the sheriff go?”

“He’s setting up a search party.” 

“Tell him I want him to use volunteers from the area.”

“Do you want him to know why?”

“No, not yet.”

“Is it wise to alienate him?”

“Well, he thinks we’re looking for a monster. If we tell him we’re looking for volunteers so we can profile who shows up, he might call the whole thing off.” 

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

“State won’t be here for over an hour. We’re not gonna wait. I want you to gather everyone up, and I’m going to assign grid locations.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You have a moment, sheriff?” JJ asks. 

“I’ve got a missing girl, a hundred square miles of woods, not enough men, and in a couple of hours, it’s gonna be dark.” 

“Have you considered using the people that live in the area?”

“I’m not gonna have civilians messing up the crime scene.”

“We can instruct them not to touch anything until a member of Law Enforcement arrives.”

“What if they get lost, too?”

“We can have them sign into a volunteer sheet and keep track of what grid square they’re in. Look...I grew up in a small town. You have the state police coming in?”

“Yeah.”

“Your locals can do a better job of finding this girl than any statie. Especially in these woods,” I cut in. “You know that.” 

“You’ll keep track of them?”

“She’s coordinated searches across the country.” The sheriff nods, and we head towards the vehicles.

“Let’s go. Harris, I’m going downtown. Don’t do anything until I get back.”

“Hey! Can I come with you guys?” Spencer calls out, catching up to us and nearly knocking me over. 

“Spencer, I will hit you again,” I threaten. 

“Sorry. I need to call Quantico and have them research that whole LOD thing,” he says, stumbling after us. 

“Yeah, sure. Hop in.” JJ helps me carefully climb into the back of the truck, and Spencer hops in after me, holding my crutches. 

“No bickering, you two,” JJ scolds us both from the shotgun seat. “Sorry, they get along like cats and dogs sometimes.”

“I wanna be the dog,” I whine. “Spencer can be the cat.” 

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

JJ helps lift me out of the truck, and I grab my crutches from Spencer. 

“What’s happened, John?” A man asks, stopping them and giving me a moment to catch up to them. 

“Reverend Paul Burke, this is...I’m sorry, I forgot your names.”

“I’m Agent Jareau, this is Dr Reid and our intern James.” 

“They’re with the FBI.”

“FBI? It’s true, then? Adam’s dead?”

“Cherish Hanson’s missing, too.” 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, yes,” the sheriff answers. “We’re putting together a search party. Could you call the congregation?” 

“Of course. I’ll go make some calls.”

“Thanks, Reverend. This way.” We follow sheriff Bridges into the station. “You can use any phone you want, Dr Reid, just dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ve got an emergency phone list back here in my office.” I see Spencer wander off to the corkboard, and so I redirect myself to follow. 

“Why is there a football?” I ask.

“Did you play ball?” A boy asks, coming up to us, donning a letterman jacket. 

“No,” Spencer scoffs.

“You hold that thing right, or I swear to God-” I reach for the football. 

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have either, if not for my father. I’m Cory.” 

“Spencer Reid. This is Jamie, he played.” 

“You’re talking about me like I’m dead. I would play, if it wasn’t for these crutches and my three month ban from sports. Who’s that, Nietzsche?” I ask. 

“Thus Spake Zarathustra is rather antagonistic of the Judeo-Christian world view for this town, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think too many people here would’ve bothered to read it. If they had, they wouldn’t understand it. Might as well be a Hawking essay on quark theory.”

“People don’t typically read Nietzsche.” I look to Spencer, who laughs to himself.

“Hey, nobody ever got that reference before. Is my father around? The sheriff?” 

“He’s in his office with another agent.”

Agent? Hey, uh, Jamie. Why don’t you sit down? You should give that leg a rest,” Cory says, pulling out the closest chair. 

“Leg? Am I…” I look down at my legs. “I’m limping again, aren’t I?” 

“I didn’t notice. We’re with the FBI, the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“Profilers?” We both nod. “This is mad cool. I got, like a hundred questions I go...wait. Why would FBI profilers be here in McAllister?” 

“There was a murder outside of town on the mountain,” Spencer explains. 

“A murder?”

“And a girl’s missing.” 

“It’s Cherish, son.”

“Cherish Hanson?” 

“We’re putting together a search party. I need you to get the rest of the team together and meet us out at the trail about half a mile south of the point.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Spencer, can you get me my drink out of my bag, please? Thank you.” Spencer hands me a bottle of Mountain Dew, and I screw open the bottle and gulp it down. 

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

“Man, this is one Peyton place of a town.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Most everyone lives well above the median income of the country. You have doctors, lawyers...one guy owns a bunch of shoe stores up and down the Eastern seaboard.”

“Is he married?”

“Yep. Story of my life, sunshine. Reverend Paul Burke, looks like he became born again in prison.”

“Love that. What was he in for?” I ask. 

“Yeah. Two years as a guest of the state of Ohio for embezzlement.” 

“JJ, what’s embezzlement?” I ask.

“It’s when people steal money from their jobs.” 

“I’m seeing a lot of tax sheltering and various hanky-panky here, but I’m not sure what would suggest potential Satanic cult members. Hold on.”

“You got something?”

“Yeah. I got a guy with a ton of debts, spotty work history, his house is in foreclosure. He’s got a record, too. Assault with a deadly weapon three years ago.” 

“Wait, does it say what the weapon was?” JJ asks.

“Baseball bat.”

“Our unsub used a blunt object.”

“Bats are blunt, aren’t they?” I ask. 

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Dent. Henry Dent.”

“Apt name.”

“Jamie, where is he on the list?” 

I look over the list of names, quickly finding it. “Grid B-5. That puts him with...Elle. JJ? Should we let her know?”

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

Spencer yawns. “Tired?” Aaron asks.

“I’m fine.”

“We all get them sometimes.”

“Get what?”

“Nightmares.”

Spencer looks straight at me. “I didn’t say anything,” I recount. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“If you want to talk about it, you know where I am.” We watch Aaron walk away from us.

“Uh, they’re ready,” JJ says. 

“Okay.” I look to the crowd gathering near one end of the station. Wait, when did they start showing up? What? 

“When did they show up?”

“Why don’t you catch another nap, we have to deliver the profile.”

“Hell no, I’m not napping right now.” 

“Contrary to popular belief,” Aaron begins, “there has never been a proven case of Satanic ritual killing. Never a verified human sacrifice. Having said that, there have been isolated cases of animal sacrifice…and many, many cases of vandalism in the name of Satan.” 

“Now, that doesn’t mean that ritual satanism is impossible,” Derek adds. “More importantly, for our purposes, there have been cults that killed, just not in ritual fashion.”

“The Reverend Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple...his followers killed a US congressman and three people before committing mass suicide, leaving over nine hundred people dead.”

“This also happened with the Order of the Solar Temple and Heaven’s Gate, and perhaps the most notorious of the killer cults, the Manson family, they, uh, killed nine people in a four day period in an attempt to initiate a race war,” I cut in, getting up from my chair and onto my crutches.

“Killer cults do exist, and they all have one thing in common. Invariably, they’re headed by charismatic megalomaniacs.” 

“You’re looking for that leader. He’s who will stand out. He’ll be memorable to somebody, people who aren’t in his group will see him as strange, weird, scary.”

“Since we’re dealing with professed Satanists, which is often practiced by younger males, we may be looking for teenagers. Heavy metal music is often associated with satanism, and these kids and their leader may reflect that in their look.” 

“Most likely, there’ll be sex, drugs, and alcohol. Now, the leader, he’ll be older. It’s part of his charm.”

“And he is from this area. He’s definitely local. These woods are too thick and confusing for a visitor to get around in.”

“You think one of our own people is doing this?” An officer asks.

“I believe that anything is possible,” I simply answer. 

“I would know if someone was capable of doing -”

“Dad. I know somebody like that,” Cory says.

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

 “His name’s Mike Zizzo. He graduated about five years ago. He’s in his twenties, but he still hangs out with high school kids. He’s got a group of them. They follow him everywhere. They all get high and listen to heavy metal. He calls them the Lords of Destruction.” 

“LOD,” Spencer and I say in unison before staring at each other. 

“How do you know this, Cory?” Silence. “It’s alright, son.” 

“I’ve been there, where they hang out drinking beers. He talks about Satan all the time. Says he’s the one true God.” 

“Where is this place?” Uncle Jason asks. 

“On the other side of the mountain. The old Jenson house.”

“It’s out of my jurisdiction.” 

“Not ours. We’re federal.” I look up to see Spencer, Jason, and Aaron get ready to leave.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“It’s okay to let loose once in a while, Cory,” I say. 

“It’s alright, son,” the reverend says, and I walk myself out of the office and station, seeing the team load up into the SUVs. Uncle Jason stands outside of one, and I head over as fast as I can. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, turning to where Uncle Jason is looking, a girl stands on the other side of the road, staring at us. She watches the SUVs drive off, lights blaring, and I turn my attention back to find Uncle Jason crossing the road to get to her. God, what is with you people? Move slower, all of you! Fucking assholes. 

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

I look around and inwardly groan at the fact that I had followed Jason into a church. Of all the fucking places? A church? He unwraps his scarf from around his neck and sits in the front pew, next to a silent girl. Ignore the pain, ignore the pain.

“Do you believe in God?” She asks, I stop next to the pew behind them, gulping and ignoring the sharp pains in my chest.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe in God?” She asks again.

“Yes.”

“How about the Devil?” I look away, taking in how red the interior of the church is. Why is it so red in here? “You’re one of the FBI agents, aren’t you?” 

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Do you think God is vengeful?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t think he punishes us?” Well, I have a lot of reasons to be punished, if that was the case.

“After Hurricane Katrina, I read some essays by religious scholars. One writer said God was punishing America for its immorality. New Orleans was a wicked city, like Sodom and Gomorrah. Another one, a priest from New Orleans, he thought the hurricane was proof of God’s love.” Sure, show them you love them by killing them. Nothing like sending a fucking hurricane to prove your undying love. “Those levees didn’t break until after the storm was over. If they’d broken sooner, thousands would’ve died. So...I guess the answer to your question depends on whether or not you think you have something to be punished for.” Uncle Jason looks past her and right at me. I hate you so much. 

“My friend Cherish...she’s missing. And it’s my fault. The skeleton under the tree, he died a year ago. He fell off the trail, cracked his head open. He was just some tourist or something.”

“How do you know that?”

“We went to see the body all the time. We watched it decompose.” 

“Who did?”

“We did. Everybody, the whole group. At first, we were just curious, you know? We’d go, a couple of us at a time, show each other. None of us had ever seen a dead body before. And then it kind of became our thing.” Uncle Jason nods along. “Something we had that our parents didn’t know about. It was ours.” 

“This was a human being.”

“I told you that we’re being punished.” 

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

“I’ve been with Brandi Dreifort. Do you know her?” 

“Yeah. She’s a friend of my son’s.” 

“She’s a friend of Cherish’s, too.” 

“And?”

“They all knew about that skeleton,” I cut in. 

“Who did?” Sheriff Bridges asks. 

“The kids. Football team, cheerleaders, everyone. They all watched him decompose...like a game…”

“What?” Elle aks. 

“Far as I can tell, the only kids in the area who didn’t know were Mike Zizzo and the LOD.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“Sounds impossible, it’s unbelievable, but she told Jason all about it. Guy was a...a hiker. He’s probably listed, missing person somewhere…” 

“How do you know the LOD wasn’t involved?”

“She said the pentagram and the candles, they weren’t there a few months ago.”

“Which means?”

“Someone’s framing the LOD. Somebody wanted us to believe there were Satanists here.” I answer. 

“Jamie, you should sit down. You’ve been up a while-”

“No, no, no, I got more. Unsubs like to...insert themselves into investigations. Who gave us the LOD? Who gave us Zizzo?”

“You’re talking about Cory?”

“Con...con...convin...convien…”

“It was convienent, wasn’t it? Lucky we had a kid right in the room who could tell us where the LOD was. A group of fringe kids nobody in the town would like.” 

“But-”

“You called us here to advise you. My advice would be to get in front of this before yourson hurts himself or anybody else. You know where he is, Sheriff?”

“He went up to the Jenson house to see if your guys found anything on Cherish.” 

“Morgan and Reid are out there right now.”

“Hey, Sheriff. DId you open the gun locker?” An officer asks. 

“No.”

“Someone did. There’s a revolver missing.”

“Cory,” I solemnly answer. 

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

I stare at Spencer, who just zones off at the wall behind me. “Stop staring at me, Spencer,” I whine. “I can’t exactly go anywhere without the damn crutches.” 

“Reid,” Uncle Jason says, bringing the beanpole’s attention back to reality. “Deborah Louise Addison. Her husband Tim. The kids are Amber and Kieth. Eight and six. In 1985, Deborah Louise was walking home from school. She was abducted. She was thirteen. We profiled the unsub, and we were able to locate her before he harmed her. She writes a letter to the BAU every year. She updates us on her life.”

“It’s nice, but -”

“We all have bad dreams. Everyone on the plane. Even Jamie. Jamie, do you remember that one recurring dream where Hotch’s neighbour killed you and your dog?”

“No?” 

“Who wouldn’t have nightmares? We hunt the worst of humanity, we see the depths of depravity, we dream of monsters…”

“Inmy dream, there’s a baby in the middle fo a circle and there’s someone on the other side. And I can’t get to her before…”

“Every night I look at Deborah, helps me go to sleep thinking of the victims we’ve saved. We don’t always beat the monsters to the babies, but we do enough to make the job worth it, keep the nightmares bearable. Jamie, you should catch some sleep before we land. I’ll take you straight home to your dad.” I nod and lay my head down in his lap, staring at blurry pictures of my friends from the last play we were in.

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

“Your show sounds lovely. I’m sure if you tell Jordan how much you want to be in the show, then he’ll find a way for you to be in it,” Jason advises as he pulls into my dad’s mansion driveway, driving me up to the front door. 

“Jason? What if nothing ever goes back to the way it was?” I ask. “What if I’m stuck on these stupid crutches forever? I’d have to rethink everything-”

“We’ll take it a day at a time, remember?” He cuts me off immediately. “I’ve known you all your life. You have tendencies to over worry about things. It’s going to work out okay.” 

“Will it? I can’t go back into school until next semester, I lost my hair again, I lost all of my activities. I can’t even watch music videos without getting a massive headache. All I want to do is everything I’m not allowed to do! It’s so fuck-”

“Don’t. Your fracture is still healing.” 

“I can’t even get my anger out, cause I’m not allowed to box or wrestle! Fuck this!” 

“Jamie, Jamie. I need you to look at me right now.” Jason rotates my head towards him. “You’re allowed to be mad about this. You are a fighter. You overcame a cancer scare, numerous spinal injuries and concussions. Your conditions don’t hold you back. Just because you’re going through a set back doesn’t mean it’s time to give up. Come on, I’ll walk you in and put you to bed if you want.” Jason climbs out of the drivers’ seat and rounds the front to help me onto my feet and position my crutches so I can use them. “I think you worked yourself too hard, and you should rest some more.” I groan in pain, wincing at the throbbing in my head. 

“Headache?” I nod weakly. 

“Here, I can carry you in,” Uncle Jason offers, swinging an arm under my knees and sweeping me into his arms with a groan. “You’re getting too big for me to carry you.” 

“Mio bel ragazzo,” I hear Dad exclaim from up ahead. 

“Dad,” I quietly answer back with a smile. 

“He tired himself out. Headache right now, Spencer almost tripped him a few times.” I hear Dad groan as a door closes, and dogs start barking. “Oscar, Mudgie, down,” Dad commands. “Go put him in bed, I’ll get his medication ready.” I nuzzle my head into Jason’s warm chest and whine, scrunching my face as the throbbing gets worse. 

“I know, I know. You’ll be in bed soon.” It feels like a lifetime before I feel my mattress dipping under me, my soft covers enveloping me. “There. Your dad’s gonna be up soon.” I hear a dog whine as I bury my head into the bed. “Here you go, Oscar. Cuddle up nice and tight, will you? Here’s your blankie and your turtle.” I make my grabbie hands as the items are handed to me, Jason wraps me in my favourite bright green blanket and puts my turtle into my arms. I nestle my head into the crook of the turtle’s neck, squeezing it tightly against my chest. Rough fingers run gently through my hair as I feel a small dog walking up and starting to lick my neck. 

“Oscar…” I whine. Jason chuckles as my pup moves to lay on my stomach. 

“Goodnight, Jamie. Your dad’s here now.” 

“Daddy…” I mumble, pouting my chapped lip. 

“Here, it’s time for your meds,” Dad whispers, gently helping make sure I don’t choke on pills or water. “There you go. That’s my boy.” I smile, breathing deeply and gently opening my eyes as Dad plays with my hair. “You must have tired yourself out, huh?” 

“Daddy...stay…” I reach out, grabbing his rough yet gentle hand. 

“Of course. Anything for you, ragazzo.” My other hand rests on Oscar’s soft curly hair, my thumb gently cascading the soft, gentle skin. “Sssh, it’s okay. You can sleep now. I won’t go.” 

“Hol...hol...hol me…” I murmur. 

“You want me in bed with you?” 

I gently nod.

“Okay. I’ll be right back, I just have to get ready for bed. Don’t wait up for me, okay? Ti amo.”

[tessatechaitea]

Team Titans #20

Is it sexist to point out cameltoe?

It's been about two weeks since I read a Team Titans comic book so I can't remember what was happening, which is probably a good thing. It's nice to see that my brain apparently has some kind of organic Roomba that cleans up after I've soiled my mind with terrible media choices. Revamping my old Patreon page has kept me away from re-reading terrible old comic books. If you enjoy my take on comic books perhaps you'll enjoy my take on The Bible? Or if you don't like reading astoundingly insightful and probably pretty funny commentary on The Bible if it costs you as little as one dollar per month, you can still bookmark the site because you'll get three free song reviews each week too! But if you want me to review a particular song, you'll have to give me money. I don't give my wisdom away for free! I mean, I do! But only in certain circumstances. I think what was happening in this comic book was a right-wing corporate and media conglomerate asshole (much like Rupert Murdoch) was preparing to time travel into the future where he could take the place of Lord Chaos and rule the world. It's the kind of plan only an idiotic super villain in a comic book could come up with. Any real life super villain would think, "I have so much money and power right now in a world I recognize, why should I risk everything by traveling into an unknown future where my biggest enemies await? Better to just buy a private island in the present and look at porn all day." But for some reason, comic book super villains are never satisfied. They never think, "I could retire with the amount of money it's going to cost me to create this death satellite!" The always think, "Man, having lots of money really kills your ambition. Maybe I should use it to endanger my freedom and possibly my life?" Idiots!

Based on these silhouettes, one of Lord Murdoch's henchman is just a gigantic sentient penis.

The Team Titans leader for the future narrates the big battle so maybe we'll soon find out who the mysterious leader really is! I think I've been guessing Terry Long throughout most of this re-read because who else could it be? Unless Terry's kid has one of those comic book experiences that ages him quickly, he probably won't be leading the team as a nine year old. Although I can't think why I'm ruling that out when I easily accepted Nightwing once driving a motorcycle straight up a skyscraper and Starfire falling in love with Wolfman-written Nightwing. A few pages into the battle, a bunch of Team Titans members (not from the titular and most important team!) begin to die. First killed is Gunsmoke. You might not remember Gunsmoke because Gunsmoke was a terrible name and Gunsmoke never did anything except help provide some context on the plot. We learned from Gunsmoke that the Team Titans were spread out all across history because the Team Titans leader created a truly inept time machine. Gunsmoke's last words (aside from "Arrrggghhhhh!") are "Great. Don't tell me y'all saved my butt in the Old West just so I can get it kicked in 1994." I guess in 1994, creating a character that's simply a guy dressed like a cowboy didn't cut the editor's mustard. The second character to die is Monsieur Poniard of Judge and Jury. He should thank his terrible name for cutting his comic book career short. "Mister Dagger," even in French, just isn't going to inspire the kind of terror that a super villain should inspire. And, yes, I'm aware of how many terribly mundane and crappy names exist within the DC Universe! I'm just saying, "One less is a good start." The third Team Titan to die is a nameless Titan in the background of Monsieur Poniard's death. She (or he) has orange hair and wears a purple costume so I think we can all agree why he (or she) had to die. You know, because Starfire already had claims on that terrible color combination. After Lazarium (Lord Murdoch's super villain name) takes down the main Team Titans in one blast, he jokes, "I love the smell of ozone in the morning." I know that's supposed to be a joke because he says, "Heh heh," immediately after. Earlier, Blue (unless it was Green or Purple or Yellow. Remember, the colorist of this current story arc is an idiot) quipped, "Yeah, and monkeys might fly outta my -- OOOOF!" So we have all the evidence we need that Jeff Jensen's main writing crutch is movie and television quotes. The fourth Team Titans to die is Two Gallon Hat.

I often come up with characters for my stories that I know are stupid but I insert them into it anyway simply so that other characters can call them stupid.

While all of the other Titans from throughout history are being slaughtered by Lazarium's henchmen (where did he get henchmen who put such effort into henchmanning?! I bet he pays a living wage, offers great health care choices, and provides a hefty pension), Mirage remains stuck in traffic on the streets below.

If only Mirage could easily do something to keep from being recognized!

I don't know what she did with Deathwing but I hope it involved a hedge clipper and a blender. Mirage steps out of the cab to find Cokie Walters staring at the corpse of Two Gallon Hat. Cokie apologizes for some reason which leads to Mirage threatening Cokie if she doesn't help Mirage save the Titans. Now how the hell is a bubble gum gossip reporter supposed to help with that?! "Mister Lazarium! Mister Lazarium! Is it true you pee through the gate instead of over the fence?!" Realizing that the Titans have met their match, Terra resorts to pleading her case: "Lazarium! No! Please — you can't just kill us like this!" Lazarium, who is a super villain who has really thought out his plan and understands the power of a truly great one-liner, replies smartly: "Oh, yes, I can, Terra — especially you!" I just got goosebumps reading that! Although after the Wayne's World and Apocalypse Now lines from earlier, maybe Jensen stole this retort from a movie too. Wasn't this the great line from the end of Die Hard 2: Dying Ain't My Thing when Bruce Willis sets the airplane fuel alight? Five hundred and thirty Titans got there asses handed to them by Lazarium and his goons. But not to worry because Prester Jon, Redwing, Battalion, Donna Troy, and just-out-of-a-coma Nightrider have arrived to save the day! And don't think they're going to do it silently! Battalion has a new battle cry that I can't believe didn't catch on with the youth of 1994.

How was this not one of the best selling DC posters of 1994?

Battalion goes down in one shot. Most of the characters will probably go down in one shot because Killowat will probably need to prove himself. Will saving the world from Lazarium be enough to make Mirage forget he's a racist jerk? Hopefully not! The first person to nearly put Lazarium down is called Liquid Joe. Being that he's called Liquid Joe, you know he's not going to wind up being the hero. His blast of slime doesn't even faze Lazarium. Time for Cokie and Mirage to save Killowat so Killowat can save the day! Cokie knows where Killowat has been restrained because she's a tabloid journalist. This was the era where we all believed Geraldo was going to discover the secret of the universe. Now we know Geraldo's only goal was to uplift Geraldo. That fucker will say anything for praise and a paycheck. I suppose you can say that about anybody who appears on Fox News though. After losing dozens of Titans, I have to admit that my plan would be to give Lazarium the time travel device so we could be rid of him. If he time travels into the future, he's not our problem anymore! Heck, he probably won't ever be our problem! The future no longer contains Lord Chaos so who knows what he's going to find in 2001. If in 1994 I were told that 2001 would be the beginning of some truly inspiring xenophobic bullshit masquerading as patriotism, I would have been all, "Yeah, I can buy that." Maybe that wasn't a good example. Killowat defeats all of Lazarium's henchmen with one push of a button. Then he goes after Lazarium. Lazarium believes he'll win for the same reason all bad guys (and Deathstork (who is a bad guy but sometimes people begin to think maybe he's a good guy who was never actually convicted of statutory rape so is it really rape? (Yes. The answer is yes. I'm answering on behalf of a large percentage of male Americans who would get the answer to this question wrong))) believe they'll win.

Technically it's not rape if you say, "Here! Take it!" I'm just judging by American legal standards which have an even lower bar than that to declare something isn't rape.

Killowat gives Lazarium a bunch of his power which causes Lazarium to overload and explode into a smoking scorch mark on the roof. But we can't believe Killowat has just killed somebody (even though his name depends on the idea that he kills) so he makes sure to think, "The overload couldn't have killed him. His corporeal form must be around here somewhere." Well, wherever Lazarium went, it's clear that this story is winding down, so he's technically defeated. But he would have been back if this comic book hadn't been cancelled in a few more issues! Oh wait! He's back a few pages later so Nightrider can feast on his blood. Now nobody has to worry about Lazarium anymore and nobody cares if Dagon murdered him because what's a vampire supposed to do? Not eat people?! Anyway, the time machine simply opens a black hole in the sky which consumes hundreds of the poorly named Team Titans. Preser Jon shuts it down and now the Titans have to deal with being part of 1994 forever. I mean, at least until the end of the year when they'll have to deal with being a part of 1995 forever. Or for a year, anyway. The final page of this issue reveals the leader and it's definitely not the leader anybody working on this comic book had planned it to be. Instead, it's Monarch because — guess what, motherfuckers?! — it's Zero Hour time! Team Titans #20 Rating: A-. I'm only giving it a high grade because this issue was the start of Zero Hour. Not that Zero Hour isn't a completely flawed premise that was just another gimmick to allow DC's editors to fix shit that the fangenders kept haranguing them on. But it is interesting that this terrible little Titans off-shoot comic book is where DC decided to begin the entire Zero Hour premise. My other favorite part of this is how we find out that Monarch is the Leader. My supposition is that Zero Hour was thought up long after The Leader was already a mysterious presence in this book. I'm sure the writers and editors of this book had an idea about who The Leader should be. Maybe it was Dick Grayson, or Terry Long, or Starfire, or a reintegrated Danny Chase. But it certainly wasn't Monarch which meant they changed the goal line as the story proceeded. Which is a microcosm of what happens during the Zero Hour event! It was obvious throughout much of Zero Hour that Captain Atom was going to wind up being Monarch. But since so many fans had guessed it and expected it, DC decided that instead of continuing with a plot and character arc that made sense, they would simply reveal that Monarch was Hawk. Sure, it was a surprise! But it didn't make any fucking sense. Fucking comic books!

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Home

This is the last one, folks ... hope you enjoy it ... I have had the best following ever for it :) ... the readers are wonderful, the comments are fantastic, the tagging warms my heart and the reblogging is phenomenal ... I love you all more than you know ...

I started this insanity in October for FicFest and it was only going to be two or three stories at most ... finished #47 in November for NaNoWriMo and have been holding myself back from posting the whole damn thing at once for nearly two months ... I need a drink ...

I have another series in the works to follow up my Undercover post and I’ll start those in a few days ...

Right now, my editor/cousin Dave is demanding I do my book edits so off I go ...

______________

The series is as follows :

Mama Scully’s Party …. Morning … Underwears … Maps … Nachos … Foul Ball … Promises … Stay … Phone Calls … Flannel Interruption … Awakening… Friendly Compromises … Scrabble … Apart …  A Long Week … Lightning … Missing You … Interim … Stuff … Waiting … Going … Hands … Unsteady … Fear … Fast … Slow … Regardless … Into the Dark … Light … Surfboards … Curbs … Showers … Borders … Canyons … Soaked … Ice Cream … Never Happened … Deep South … Almost … Blue-Suede Shoes … Unwelcome … Remarkable … Stars … Doorbells … M&Ms … Knees ... Home

___________

He tried to catch her one more time as she changed the next morning but in his zeal to get around the corner quickly, he stumble-hopped into the wall, crashing gracelessly then slid to the floor. Scully appeared in the hall immediately, fearing he’d finally killed himself but instead found him grinning on the ground, rubbing a goose egg on his forehead, “I should probably stop trying to sneak a peek at you.”

She shook her head, then crouched down beside him, “just can’t wait a few more days, can you?”

Unabashedly ogling her breasts, rounded and smooth under the Lucky Charms t-shirt she stole from him five minutes earlier, “Lucky Charms indeed.”

She stood, leaving him prone, “I’m going to take the bags down while you think about what you’ve done, young man.”

He bit his tongue from firing back with ‘and more about what I haven’t done yet’ because he was a gentleman, after all, and sitting with a smile, he gave her a minute or two before he began scooting down the stairs, dragging his ever-present crutches behind.

She had the car packed within the hour and once done, she came back in, grabbing them the two granola bars and the pudding cup with disposable spoon she’d left on the counter, then beckoned him out to the back porch. They both settled on the steps, eating the bars and sharing the pudding. Eventually holding out the last spoonful to her, “I wonder what your mom is making for dinner?”

“Should we tell her we’re coming back today,” he watched her lick the spoon clean, his fingers bobbing under the pressure of her tongue against plastic, “or just drop on by and surprise her?”

He went full-on male for a moment and never heard a word she said, the processing power needed for what he just witnessed demolishing any rational thought capabilities he had. It was only when he saw her lips curve into a radiant smile to rival the sun rising overhead that he woke back up, “what?”

Her smile grew exponentially, “you are totally my Mulder, aren’t you?”

“Was there every any doubt?”

&&&&&&&&&&&

The drive home was easy; traffic was easy, food was easy, music was easy, his hand in hers was easy, her palm on his thigh was easy …

The mini-make-out session they had in the back of the rest area parking lot was very easy.

It was nearly five when they pulled to a stop in front of Maggie’s house, the pair recognizing Dave’s car as well as Charlie’s. Scully turned the car off but didn’t get out, her fingers around the steering wheel, “are we actually doing this, Mulder? Are we going to go in there and proclaim whatever the hell we are now because honestly, I really don’t know and it makes me nervous to think that Dave and Charlie and Sarah and Joanna and my mother will be the first witnesses to the train wreck that is ‘Mulder’n’Scully: the Early Years’.”

Peeling her fingers from the fake leather, he held her hand a minute, “first, we are well beyond ‘The Early Years’. Everybody who has ever seen us interact and is not your older brother is expecting this. They’ve witnessed the flirting and the near-death hospital bed vigils and the quarantines and the card games and plenty enough Sunday dinners that at this point, Charlie or Dave are going to beat me if something doesn’t happen between us.”

Finally turning towards him, “can we maybe just sit on this a little longer? Possibly … pretend we haven’t exchanged spit and red M&Ms?”

“Is this the freak out I should be expecting or is this just the tip of the iceberg?”

There was no annoyance in his tone, his demeanor still relaxed, still perfectly Mulder in every way and she was grateful for it, “I would just like to get us together in some ordered fashion before we bring in the masses, all right?”

“So … right now … we’re just … two friends who’ve spent six weeks together in two countries surfing, breaking shit and getting drunk?”

One side of her mouth pulled up, her eyes crinkling in amusement and memories, “maybe substitute ‘shit’ for ‘stuff’ given there will be kids present.”

Kissing her knuckles, he knocked them against his chin, “come on, woman, I’m hungry.”

Scully got out, grabbing the bag of souvenirs from the backseat before meeting him beside the bumper, “ready for some chaos?”

“When am I not?”

Starting across the lawn, the front door of Maggie’s house opened, several children tumbling out, racing towards the pair, yelling ‘Aunt Dana’ and ‘Mulder’ as they surrounded them, demanding stories of sharks and aliens and asking about presents. Once Scully had shoo’ed them back inside with promises to answer all questions, Mulder tugged on her arm, “Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“They just answered your question.” When she gave him a confused look, he shrugged and nodded towards the house, amusement playing on his face, “about what we are? We’re ‘Aunt Dana’ and ‘Mulder’ and that appears to be damn good enough for them so it is damn good enough for me.”

“Is it damn good enough for me?”

“Damn right.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Maggie just shook her head when they wandered into the house a minute later, hugging tightly first, then, “leave it to you two not to call. Luckily I made extra food.”

Mulder kissed her on the cheek, “I could have invited a platoon with me, Maggie and there still would have been leftovers but it was your kid’s idea not to call so yell at her while I go sneak something from the oven.”

The rest of the time before dinner and the entire meal showcased Mulder at his finest storytelling abilities. Scully hadn’t really sat and thought about everything they’d been through in the last month and a half and listening to Mulder, she realized tonight would just be the beginning. At one of the few moments Mulder stopped to breathe and everyone calmed enough to hear her, she promised plenty of pictures the following Sunday, complete with more adventures she couldn’t remember at the moment but she was sure Mulder had managed to document on his ever-present camera.

Eventually, they had finished dinner and were in the living room, discussing who was hungry for the waiting dessert of pie and ice cream. About to make a joke about Scully still looking for a piece of pie she might like, instead Mulder watched her cup her hand under her nose to catch the flow of blood streaming down. Grabbing the dishtowel from over Maggie’s shoulder, he held it up, moved it under Scully’s now dripping hand and seamlessly helped her scoot it below her nose. She turned towards the stairs to go clean up, hoping most people hadn’t noticed and shook her head, motioning him back when he tried to follow.

After she’d disappeared, he rotated on his good foot, knowing what he’d find; a roomful of silent people staring after Scully, looks ranging from confused interest by the kids to fear from the adults to downright terror from Maggie. She looked like she was going to faint, going whiter than eggshells and Mulder shifted to guide her to sit in the nearest chair, which Charlie vacated promptly, “she’s fine, Maggie. She’s perfectly fine.”

Looking like she didn’t believe him, “that hasn’t … that hasn’t happened since … she was sick.”

“She’s fine. I swear to you, she’s fine.” He knew there were other words for fine but at that very second, he couldn’t think of any, relegating himself to sounding like a parrot, regurgitating the same word over and over. Taking a deep breath, “the same thing happened at the beginning of vacation and when we got to San Diego, we went to the hospital and they ran tests and gave her an MRI and everything is fine. Honest to God, everything is fine.”

Maggie stood, then stopped, hovering over her chair, trying to decide whether to follow her daughter, “you are telling me everything?”

“I swear to you. It’s happened a few more times but she really is okay. I would not lie about this to you, I swear. She really is fine. All the tests and the scans came back clear. They told her her iron was low. That’s it.” Watching carefully, Mulder put his hands on Maggie’s shoulders, leaning over to look her square in the eye, “if you are feeling the same thing I did for that three days, there is no earthly way I would keep you in the dark about anything, I promise you.”

He could see the relief creep in, taming the panic somewhat until she nodded, “all right. Should I go up?”

“I’ll go. Sit back down and take a deep breath, all right?”

Deciding he’d just defined them as a pair, he waited until Maggie sat down, then hopped to the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the bannister, one on the railing, “Scully!?!”

His yell startled her as she struggled into one of the t-shirts she’d grabbed from the stash she always left behind, and coming to the top of the steps, “what?!”

“I love you!!”

Nearly falling down the stairs, she held onto the railing at the top, looking at him, eyes wide, “what?”

Dave, lovable, pain in the ass cousin Dave, from his place lying on the floor, “He said he loved you! Are you deaf now or something? Answer him back, for God’s sake.”

“Yes, I heard him, Dave, thank you!”

“Welcome!”

Shaking her head, she gave Mulder a tilting, serious look, “why do you say that now?”

“What’d she say?”

“Shut up, Charlie!”

“Kiss my toe, Dana!”

Maggie smacked her son on the knee, “quiet.”

Grinning at his mother, “well, she needs to talk louder, Ma, or else we’re never going to hear anything.”

Mulder, his own smile wide, looked up at his partner, “get down here, Scully.”  Giddy to her core in a sudden rush, she smiled at him, then hiked up her shirt and bra, flashing him for a moment before settling the cotton smooth and walking down the steps. Mulder let out a laugh that made the room smile but by now, he’d forgotten about them, only having eyes for her as she stopped two steps above him, lined up perfectly with his mouth, which he stared at for a long moment, “What was that for?”

Leaning in, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, “you’ll never catch me otherwise so I thought I’d help you out a little.”

Eyes shutting, “I would give you every red M&M in the world if I could.”

“I love you, too. You have no idea how much.”

This time, it was Maggie who chimed in, totally out of character and not caring in the slightest, “would you just kiss her already? Some of us have ice cream and pie to serve.”

So, he did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

________________

a/n: yes, I know ... The Sex has not happened == not yet anyways ... but I wanted to make something that my 12-year old kid could read and enjoy ... 8^) ... there will probably be a more serious toned follow-up (with The Sex) to this but it’ll be a little while in the making ...

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Vice| Chapter Eleven

"Grace, wake up huh?" her voice was in a sharp whisper, her cold hand on my shoulder as she tried to shake me from a slumber that was anything but peaceful. My stomach immediately lurched from the thick scent of antiseptics and Clorox as my senses began to burn into life.

I rolled my shoulder around, hearing a dull snap as my bones roared to life as I opened my eyes to the almost empty waiting room. My jaw ached, every part of me wishing that I was in a bed- or even on the floor. Not slumped up against Hannah who looked equally as miserable.

"Mom," I grumbled, pushing myself into the plush chair, my neck protesting as I moved it around as much as I could "what time is it?"

"Almost three," She shook her head as she adjusted the leather strap to her bag. "Wake Hannah, I'll go warm up the car, okay?"

I nodded groggily as I tried to keep my mind from anything but what I would find at the house once we went back. I didn't know what to expect in this situation- or any at this point. My thoughts had detoured to Mamrie and that code. How I wasn't there. How someone had been killed, with a 50 percent chance of it being her.

I couldn't lose our relationship before it even started.

"Han," I shoved her shoulder roughly, giving off a yawn as I watched the shorter girl jolt awake like I had, her bright blue eyes sparkling a dull grey in the neon lights of the waiting room. She blinked them rapidly, placing both booted feet on the ground as she gave me a quick glare.

"Where-" She blinked again "Oh... Where's your mom?"

"Ready to take us home," I grumbled, getting to my feet quickly, but crumpling back into the seat as soon as a long shooting pain shot up the base of my leg, ringing through my kneecap as I grunted.

Hannah caught me quickly, wrapping her arm around my mid-section, her embrace warm against the thick cold that wafted from the automatic doors to our right.

"Befriend the new kid they said," Hannah began to grumble as she supported half of my body weight "let her refuse the crutches, they said."

"You're a good friend, they said." I finished for her in a tired voice as we made our way out to the car, that was conveniently moved up to the front of the hospital, making it easier on both of us.

The room was hot, but not stifling. The heat wasn't something that pressed down on my chest, or make my skin burn. None of that affected me. My eyes however, were worn and strained. My gaze being skillfully trained on the ceiling, my arms stretched behind my head as I listened to Hannah snore gently to the left of me. The room was mostly dark, aside from the low lull of blue and red lights that shadowed across my wall and stretched down the length of my ceiling. Each new flash made me think more than I should be at this time a night.

How long had the cops been over there? It must have been eight hours at this point. If what they found at Mamrie's house had been Mamrie... if there was something big enough to keep them there, it was big enough for me to find out. Even if I did have to limp my way over to the house.

"Get some sleep," Hannah's drowsy whisper brushed against my forearm as she turned her head slightly "Whatever you're thinking. Don't."

"You can't expect me to just sleep." I blinked a few times, not moving my gaze from the red and blue flashes that began to almost blur together with the dark corners of my room. "Hannah, what if she's dead, you said that code-"

"It means body, Grace." Hannah said, her voice strained "the code didn't say it was human. Or female. I learned a long time ago to just.... Worry while waiting is not healthy. You worry about the what if's and the who saw's. Not the solid facts."

"What if the solid facts are bad?"

"you hear that?" Hannah clenched her jaw, keeping her eyes closed "That was a what if, Helbig."

I nodded, knowing she couldn't see the gesture, but also knowing that she was too tired to care. She was right. There were a lot of what if's, but each what if, drove harder into me than the last.

Letting out a small sigh as Hannah's breathing slowed again, I began to stand up, regretting the decision as my body protested against me, my whole lower leg stiffening as I attempted to put pressure on it. I winched, but clenched the edge of the bedframe to keep me standing.

Every single thought I had told me to sneak out again, somehow get over there, but I had no real plan of action. Hannah's father would drag me right back to the house, putting a pad lock on the doors and confining me to the bed rest that the doctor prescribed. I didn't want any of that.

I just wanted to know that Mamrie was okay. I needed to know that Mamrie was okay.

She had to be okay.

The news was kept quiet, quiet enough for me not to hear a word about anything that happened in Mamrie Hart's house for over two days. She wasn't in school. She wasn't at home. She just wasn't.

I couldn't focus on my classes, which I shouldn't have been attending in the first place. Much to the protest of Hannah and my mother, I ignored the obvious danger of fracturing my ankle by using it like normal. I didn't care about the pain; it was stifled by the immediate fear that didn't seem to be immediate anymore.

"Why are you limping?" Jocelyn's voice cut through the air as I kept my hand on the edge of my locker, feeling more pain than usual as I shoved my history books into the cold space. Her words were careful, as close to kind as she could get I suppose. "Huh?"

"I fell," I said, slamming my locker door shut. It was a quick gesture that blew her brown hair from her equally as dark eyes. They were narrowed, her arms crossed over her chest as I moved my backpack over my shoulder. "What does it matter to you?"

"Where'd you fall from?" she knit her eyebrows together, the corner of her lip threatening a scowl. I blew out a puff of hair and shoved past her, walking towards the doors, albeit slowly.

"I've fallen off a roof before too," she called out.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling a few strands of hair fall from behind my ear as I glanced her way, wanting to run out of there as fast as I could. We both knew that was next to impossible. I was cornered in a nearly empty hallway, most of the students clearing out as soon as the final bell had rung.

"What makes you think I fell off a roof?" I cocked any eyebrow, shoving my hands in my pocket as I faced her fully. Her flowery scent was sour compared to Mamrie's, its bitter odor burning my throat and biting at my eyes.

"Just a wild guess." She flashed a devilish smile "usually people who get hurt falling off roofs are guilty of something." She stepped closer "9 out of 10 times, they're fucking someone they're not supposed to."

My jaw opened slightly at this, a small anger soothing over my erratic emotions. The rage almost drew them in. For once in the last week I knew exactly how I felt. "You're not even worried are you?"

"Excuse me?" she turned her head to the side at my words.

"About her." I swallowed "About Mamrie."

"What makes you say that?" She hissed, her words sharp "She's my best friend. Of course I'm worried about her. I just couldn't figure out why you were. Not until just now when you confirmed my suspicions."

"Okay, fine, whatever." I practically snarled, throwing my hands up in the air "Congrats Nancy Drew, you solved the fucking case."

"Grace, I didn't-"

"No," I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose "you can go ahead and do your worst, Jocelyn. Frankly I'm done with the petty insults and the detective work. If you're so good at it, why don't you figure out where the hell Mamrie is?"

She looked at me, her dark eyes flicking with something I hadn't exactly seen in her before. She was guilty, she was pained. She was sowing human emotion while I stood here wallowing in mine. The anger slowly fading from my veins as I unclenched my hands, my nails leaving small stinging marks in my palms.

"I don't know," she finally let out a breath. "I don't know where she is, and now I know that you don't either." She swallowed, looking down at the ground "You think they would tell us if she was dead."

"She's not," I shook my head, finally bringing my voice to the same level as Jocelyn.

"She was happy," Jocelyn looked up at me, running a hand through her hair "when I took her out or breakfast. She was happy."

I nodded, letting out a shaky breath "So was I."

"Girls."

The two of us were quick to whip our head over to the edge of the hallway, just now noticing the officer that stood with his back closest to the doorway. His hands were shoved in his cow hide belt, he badge catching the lights that hung over the hallway.

"What's up Rick Grimes?" Jocelyn lifted her chin, obviously knowing the man who stood in front of us- his hat was tipped slightly, shading his gaze.

"I need you two at the station." He let out a sigh, his voice cold and detached "It's about Mamrie hart."