#after arson and old lace

[timeguardiansarchive]

“?”--Nancy from Troy/Rotten Apples

           Nancy had been industriously pouring through her father’s casefiles on a quest to clear the name of an old family friend, when a hauntingly familiar strain of an old movie flashed across the television on the other side of the room. An instantly recognizable timbre pitched above the eerie musical track. It was a voice she would never get out of her head, no matter how long she lived.

Muscles tense, growing so rigid that the papers in her hand sashed to the floor with a hideous shushhhhh. Six months had bled by with her helplessly trapped in that penthouse apartment with the delusional man, watching that same black and white feature until she knew every line. 

Lines that drained all the color from her countenance now. Wild sky blues flash upwards, ghosting in the direction. “Tur....turn it off.” She tremulously beseeched. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was only eighteen given her advanced maturity. Growing up motherless will do that to a girl, even if the girl grew up to be a detective.

She hazards a glance downwards where something captures her attention. It was a note upon her father’s desk. It bore the name “Greta” in big, bold, indissmissable lettering. A name she thought she had shed weeks ago.

Someone was sending her a message. The timing of the movie combined with the appearance of the letter could hardly be a coincidence. Frigid words not oft in departing her lips, peel out before they can be silenced. "Troy, I’m scared."

With her tension-laced inhale singeing the fathoms of her lungs, Nancy tacks on. “Tell me he hasn’t been released on good behavior....”

[bluejay-the-geek]

DC characters/moments as Tortured Poets Department songs/lyrics bc i have a light concussion and am very bored (in the album's chronological order)

(disclaimer before someone is triggered- some of the lyrics are taken out of context or interpreted differently than what they actually mean. this is just for fun don't come for me. also this gets pretty angsty towards the end so proceed with caution)

"I was supposed to be sent away, But they forgot to come and get me"- tim drake very obviously bc neglecting parents/boarding school

"I love you, it's ruining my life"- early harleen quinzel about joker

"My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys"- the whole song is just harley quinn idc (pre-harlivy of course)

"Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym"- nightwing def cried at the gym at some point

"I stopped tryna make him laugh, stopped tryna drill the safe"- dick grayson about bruce after moving out of wayne manor

"You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? I died on the altar waitin' for the proof, You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days"- remember the whole selena leaving bruce at the alter thing? yeah

"I'd rather burn my whole life down, Than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin', I'll tell you something 'bout my good name, It's mine alone to disgrace"- I'm just getting red hood vibes from this no specific reason

"Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you, Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to"- almost every gotham rouge to batman right after escaping arkham/prison. especially joker, catwoman and riddler lol

"At the park where we used to sit on children's swings, Wearing imaginary rings"- this one specific panel of tim and steph

"And this city reeks of driving myself crazy"- everyone who's ever been to gotham

"All my girls got their lace and their crimes, And your cheating husband disappeared, well, No one asks any questions here"- it's giving gotham city sirens

"Am I allowed to cry?"- maybe it's just me but i thought about clark kent discovering he had different biological parents and grieving about them even though the parents that actually raised him are alive and well

"So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, Crash the party like a record scratch as I scream, "Who's afraid of little old me?", You should be" red hood's debut

"The scandal was contained, The bullet had just grazed, At all costs, keep your good name, You don't get to tell me you feel bad"- jason todd about the whole making batman choose between him and joker at the end of under the red hood

"You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me"- this is 100% Bane bc he was born and grew up in prison for a crime he didn't even do!! also cassandra cain and damian wayne

(^this is actually the lyric that inspired this entire post lol)

"You caged me and then you called me crazy, I am what I am 'cause you trained me, So who's afraid of me? Who's afraid of little old me?"- kind of a stretch but remember that time they put jason in arkham?

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)- again the whole song is harley about joker

"Your arson's match, your somber eyes, And I'll still see it until I die, You're the loss of my life"- bruce about jason. out of all the robins that died, jason's death hit him the hardest. even now when bruce sees red hood, he still sees that happy little kid that he lost

"I can read your mind, "She's having the time of her life", There in her glittering prime, The lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night, I can show you lies"- bc we all know Nightwing is always dying on the inside, and it was very true in the discowing era bc it was right after he left the manor

"'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit"- jason pre-bruce

"I'm so obsessed with him, but he avoids me like the plague"- ok so we got joker about batman, cupid about green arrow, hush about bruce wayne... and a bunch of others but it's too many to write lol

"And you deserve prison, but you won't get time"- fucking tarantula that bitch

"The smallest man who ever lived"- the atom! not any of the messages in the song tho ofc he's just very small

"What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag, Worst sleep that I ever had, I circled you on a map ,I haven't come around in so long, But I'm coming back so strong"- joker to batman after escaping arkham again

"I haven't come around in so long, But I'm making a comeback to where I belong"- jason coming back to protect crime alley after being away from gotham for years after his resurrection

"Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you"- batman and catwoman<3

I Hate It Here- imagine the whole song as homeless jason todd taking shelter in the library💔

"I built a legacy that you can't undo, But when I count the scars, there's a moment of truth, That there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you"- bruce built a legacy as batman, and created a huge family he loves, and it hurts to think about but he wouldn't have any of it if joe chill hadn't murdered his parents

"Please, I've been on my knees, Change the prophecy, Don't want money, Just someone who wants my company"- kid bruce grew up all alone in a huge mansion, but he'd give all his billions away in a heartbeat if he could change his parent's fate

"So, they killed Cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst"- ok so you might think i chose cassandra cain for this only bc of the name, BUT- cass notices things others don't (like cassandra the prophet...), bc of her skills and abilities she is feared the most (Ik the song said "she feared" not "she is feared" but idc lol). like if someone knew so much about you just by looking you'd think she's some kind of a witch too

Peter- picture this: jason had a childhood friend back at crime alley. he left to live in wayne manor and become robin, and said goodbye to his old friend, promising they'd reunite again in the future. 3 years pass and his friend reads an article about jason's death. now listen to the song and try not to cry (if someone writes that fic send me the link IMMEDIATELY this has been haunting me) here's the link to the song with lyrics bc ik you're too lazy to look it up. also jason's middle name is peter:)

"Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless, Excellent fun 'til you get to know her"- brucie wayne vs batman

"Started with a kiss, "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" But it always ends up with a town car speeding, Out the drive one evening"- catwoman and batman of course<3 the town car is the batmobile speeding out the batcave to catch catwoman (to arrest her or make out with her? probs both)

Robin- ofc we have to go robins for robin! imo that's bruce to dick and jason's robins, and dick to damian when he was his robin. dick and jason- despite the hard times they went through that led to them becoming robins, they were still mostly happy curious kids that run around covered in mud while bruce tried (unsuccessfully) to maintain the innocence they had left. as for damian- it's more of a stretch than the other 2 bc he had no childlike innocence before robin, but dick tried his hardest to extract the child that was hidden inside the ruthless assassin the league created, finally allowing him to experience normal kid things. idk

"He said, "I'm not a donor but, I'd give you my heart if you needed it", She rolled her eyes and said, "You're a professional""-to me this is clark kent completely in love and lois with her sass

"And at last, She knew what the agony had been for"- almost every hero. they suffer, they sacrifice, they fight, and sometimes they want to give up- but at the end of the day, they save lives, so it's all worth it

and that's it folks! feel free to add more/share your insights!!

sorry for any spelling/grammer mistakes, English isn't my first language plus like the title said i had a minor head injury a few days ago and I'm tired soI'm not proofreading this bc I'm going to sleep rn goodnight to all✌️

[somewherebetweendisorder]

Soft Night

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, they make out a litte? that hardly merits a warning right?

A/N: as usual, or as the past few have been this was originally posted on my old blog basicallybats. Thank you for liking and reblogging! It means the world to me :))))))

~~~

You and Eddie have a routine. This flow that you both melt into without speaking or thinking, following suit naturally to coexist in a saccharine ambiance. It tastes like the beach and feels like cotton candy; soft, calm, a little sticky, like skin after a day under the sun.

You set the bag on the table, brown paper crinkling as it hits the old, worn cherry wood. The hand-me-down was a gift from your grandmother when you and Eddie got your first apartment together. Pulling out the giant sub sandwich, you begin to unwrap it as Eddie grabs plates from the cabinet, laying them on the table with a soft clink, moving next to you to take the small bags of chips out. You set two sections of the sandwich on his plate, passing it to him with a honeyed smile, putting the remaining two on your own plate.

Eddie pops the bag of chips, chuckling to himself as he dumps them on your plate, stealing one with a wink. You slap his hands away, scoffing. "You have your own bag!"

"Yeah, but why eat mine when I can eat yours?"

His logic is flawed, boyish, but it makes you giggle all the same. When he's not looking you snatch a piece of bacon off his sandwich, shoving it into your mouth, enjoying the smoky, crunchy bite, salt, and a little bit of grease staining your lips.

"What did you take?"

"Hmm?" You play dumb, chewing faster. Eddie eyes you suspiciously, grabbing his plate and holding it close to his chest. "You took something, I can see you eating it, you little thief."

"You started it, Munson."

"Fighting fire with fire will get you nowhere, princess."

"That's debatable. Arson would probably get me in jail."

"Smartass."

Standing on tiptoes you press a kiss to his cheek, grinning against his skin, lips squishing his face comically. He groans, pulling away, lacing his fingers through your free hand, guiding you to the living room.

The couch has two permanent idents in the fake leather, little dips that sort of overlap one another, the well-loved spots where you and Eddie collapse, you leaning on his shoulder, halfway on his lap. It's relatively silent as you eat, the only sound disturbing the still your chewing and Eddie's. A door slams, your neighbor's puppy howling in response, likely excited to see old man Collins back from work.

Your sandwich is gone first, and you look at Eddie, pleading with him to be nice, give you the last bite of his and his leftover chips. He scowls theatrically, holding his plate high above his head, out of reach, huffing in frustration.

"You eat like an animal and then wanna steal my food? The hell is up with that, dude?"

"C'mon Eds, please? I'm a growing girl!"

He snorts, coughs, nearly chokes on the bite he's taking. "Yeah right," he says around a mouthful of food, a smear of mayonnaise on his lip. "You haven't grown since like, ninth grade. You capped off, sweetheart, sorry to tell you."

He's unprepared for your attack, taking the pillow right in the face, arm jerking, chips spilling off his plate and into his lap. You snatch one and shove it into your mouth, leaning over to crunch loudly right in his ear. Playfully, gently, Eddie shoves you away, immediately offering the last bite of his sandwich up as an apology. Mouth open, you take it from his fingers, lips brushing his rough skin.

The mayo on his lip is really distracting. You finish chewing and wait, hoping he'll realize, lick it away for you, save you some trouble. He doesn't. Eyes locked, his brown an inquisitive melty chocolate color as you take his plate and set it down with a thump on your coffee table, crawling fully into his lap.

"I'm sorry I hit you in the face with a pillow, Eddie."

"Yeah?"

"No."

Hot air fans your face, the warmth accompanied by an eye roll. "Of course not." You don't wait any longer, you can't, the temptation is just too much. Tongue on his lip you lick the offensive smudge away before placing a chaste kiss to his lips, an explanation, pulling away like nothing ever happened.

Eddie doesn't say anything, just stares, it's enough acceptance, enough permission that you release your captive breath and lean back a bit. "I got a new dress."

It's rare, the buying of something for yourself, much less something as indulgent and feminine as a dress. He's intrigued, more than curious, eager to see what captivated your attention so much you couldn't pass it by.

"Can I see?"

Wordlessly, you climb off with a happy nod, running to the bedroom to change. The dress is still tucked away in the gray package, tossed carelessly on the bed. You tear it open, and pull out the dress, using your teeth to remove the plastic tag.

You toss your shirt at the laundry basket, watching it land haphazardly across the side, half in half out. No matter. You slide the dress on, over your athletic shorts, turning to face the full-length mirror, appreciating the simple cut of the skater dress, the way it flatters your features.

The moment you step out of your bedroom you feel inexplicably shy. When did Eddie last see you in a dress? Is this silly? The tired floor of the trailer creaks beneath your bare feet. No turning back now. Stepping softly you make your way back around the couch, eyes downcast, cheeks a ruddy pink, pretty and shy. You mentioned it, you brought this up, brought this upon yourself, but the concept of facing him now feels impossible.

"My God."

His voice is treacly, syrupy, dripping, and sticky, it coats you, demanding you peek at his face. His hand is over his mouth and there's something in his eyes you can't quite place. "You like?"

The uncertainty in your voice has him on his feet in an instant, finger knocking gently against your chin, tipping it up, asking for your attention. "I love it. Honest to God it's- I love it."

And fuck, he swears the sun is in your smile, eyes reflecting it like moons of your own orbit. It's all he ever wants to see. You step back, dance out his arms, and spin, dress flaring around your legs. An idea strikes you, juvenile and stupid, but once again, you have no willpower to resist. You make sure he's watching you as you grasp the hem of the garment and begin the slow drag up your thighs, revealing more of the supple flesh.

His eyes take in every inch, growing darker by the second, enraptured, bewitched. Your shorts end just below your butt and there's still a ways to go, a secretive smile tugging at your lips. When the hem of your shorts comes into view Eddie groans, chuckles more to himself than you, and tackles you onto the couch.

"Oh, you tease."

"What?" you ask innocently. "Now what you were wanting to see?"

He pulls away, braces himself above you, arms bracketed on either side of your head. "It's all I want to see."

"Then never mind what's underneath this."

He laughs now, a real laugh, deep and wracking his shoulders, scrunching his nose up.

"You are fascinating. You know that? You deserve all the good things."

"Hmm. I dunno about all the good things, but I definitely deserve a kiss, yeah?"

"All the kisses," he mumbles against your lips, all hot and serious, before focusing all his attention on the task at hand.

Minutes pass, or is it hours? Neither of you knows, breathless when he finally pulls away, your skin practically glowing from his love. He likes you like this, all starry-eyed and swollen lips.

"So…"

He hums in response, tucking wild hair behind your ear.

"You really like the dress?"

"I thought I made that clear?"

"I don't know. I'm still kinda getting mixed signals. I think you might need to clear it up again."

Eddie grins, a heart-stopping, dimple-ridden smile before diving back in, sealing his lips on yours. It's confirmation enough that he likes the dress. You won't doubt buying another in the future if he reacts like this every time.

[stardust-sprinkler]

i loooveee ur college! touya headcannons sm. they make me so happy he would be the best boyf ever. In one post u mentioned how often he gets into fights for u (which is so true) so i'm also thinking it's the other way around. like if any girl tried to flirt w/ him knowing ur together or hookup with him, obv he is rejecting them immediately but i'm imagining reader see's and just backhands the girl so hard 😭

Oh my god, I’m so happy my hcs make you happy!! 💖 I’m honestly feral for College!Touya, my personal pet project over here! Lol

Such a good prompt too! Enjoy~

College!Dabi AU

“Bad Boy Who’s Always Good to His Girl” Series~

• You’ve only felt jealous a few times in your long term relationship with Dabi. Once was when an old flame of his got a little too friendly with him in public. The way they looked at him and tried to tease him despite your boyfriend brushing them off every time—it p!ssed you the fuck off.

• You spent the evening stewing in your thoughts before he pried it out of you in the common area of his dorm. When you finally told him, he blinked twice, shook his head, and hoisted you up to wrap your legs around him. You were complaining and telling him to put you down right now, and he just positively ignored you.

• Boy carried you to the elevator and up to his room before tossing you (safely—this man is obsessed with protecting you so he’s not about to let you crack your head on the headboard) on the bed. He rustled through the top dresser drawer before throwing you a silk rope that he usually used on you and told you to do whatever you want to him for the night. Stake your claim however you want.

• Our boy ended up with bites and hickeys trailing from his neck down to his Adonis belt and claw marks on his back and thighs. No complaints were heard.

• Another was when you were far less restrained. It was a Friday night, this time the party was actually being hosted at the Todoroki’s goddamn mansion—his younger brother was throwing it while the old man was away, and Dabi thought it would be funny as fuck to crash it (maybe cause some property damage, maybe commit some arson—the possibilities were endless).

• Well, eventually (read: inevitably, considering the venue) something had pissed him the f*ck off and he stormed to an outside patio for a smoke. You followed, kissed his cheek while he grumbled & fished a cigarette out of a carton, and then left with the promise of returning with some more drinks.

• It was then that some hot shot spotted Dabi alone and got real up close and personal while they flirted, despite him telling them off several times in a row, “Holy shit, are you stupid or something? I said screw off!” His drag was deep after what he considered his final warning, but they unexpectedly pushed themself up against his chest and immediately his hands shot up into the air and he stumbled back slightly, determined to communicate to anyone who might be watching that he did NOT want this dumbass touching him.

• Fucker made him drop his cigarette.

• He didn’t end up having to do anything further, because next thing he knew, you had your fists balled up in the back of their jacket and yanked them backwards, letting their own weight knock them back on the sprawling lawn. By this point, a small crowd was forming, but you had tunnel vision.

• “Touch him one more time, dipshit, I dare you. I’ll shove this stiletto so far up your ass that I can lace it up through your goddamn mouth, y—!! Hey, where are you taking me??”

• Dabi was grinning like a crazed lunatic as he hoisted you up onto his hip, pleased as gd punch that you were getting in a fistfight over him. The only reason he stepped in was because he wanted you safe more than he wanted to see the mf get their ass handed to them. He never let you as much as bruise a finger if he could help it.

• “C’mon, Matchbox, let’s go steal something out of my sperm donor’s office.”

[kinardsheart]

the swat tommy ex bfs au :3

“Buck! We’re done here, pack it up! We leave in 15!”

With a relieved yawn, an empty hose was tossed into it’s desired compartment and Buck finally stretched his limbs out, ignoring the spasm of pain that ran through his exhausted limbs after 3 hours of gruelling labor. He sat down on the floor, trying to catch his breath for a minute.

It was a big call with 2 houses combined efforts. A hotel had been lit on fire, arson, with 208 people still inside. To make it worse, the arsonists were armed. The 118 had been sent out first, then the 217. Efforts were at first directed clearly on getting as many civilians out and containing the fire, before SWAT was deployed to take down the shooters. After the whole ordeal, it had just been snuffing out the last of the flames.

An ice pack and a bottle of water being offered to him interrupted his zoning out, looking up to meet familiar crystal blue eyes laced with worry.

“Sargeant Kinard! For me?” Buck grinned teasingly, reaching out to take the water. Big warm hands pressed the icepack to a bruise on his cheek as he eagerly gulped down the liquid, trying to ignore the flush that threatened to rise at the contact.

“You took a big fall. You sure you’re okay?”

His head throbbing in time to the music played by the 217 was probably a sure indicator he wasn’t, but alas. He had a job to do.

The fall the SWAT sargeant was referring to was the dive he took out of a 2nd story window, shooter in his arms right infront of Tommy. The shooter, a 19ish year old kid with manic eyes and shaking hands holding a pistol far too big for him, had pointed the gun at an innocent woman with the clear intention to shoot. Buck really had no other choice than to tackle him out the window, much to the surprise of the older man beside him when it happened.

“I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I do, Evan. I always do.”

The tension thickened as he twisted the cap back onto the bottle, pushing it back into his ex boyfriend’s hands with a force that wasn’t needed.

“Too bad, sargeant. You gave up that right.”

Tommy’s eyes softened, eyebrows furrowing in concern as the firefighter attempted to get up with a stumble to his step. Even in his SWAT getup, he somehow looked so small.

He sighed sadly, wrapping his muscled arm around Buck’s waist to steady him while his flew up onto the other’s shoulders to secure himself. Tommy had been working out. Maybe with Eddie. He felt sick, hand tightening it’s grip on broad shoulders.

“I know, love. Let me take you to the hospital.”

[pastelsapphy]

Inferno

"I wanted to bring here everyone that should get on their knees for Saeran. Me, that woman, and V..." Saeyoung Choi is not a man of mercy. He is a hellbound force of retribution with nothing left to lose. Those who hurt his brother will pay for it in blood. What if Saeyoung had brought V to the cabin too? Warnings: Major character death, murder, suicide, arson, death by fire, unhinged Saeyoung. Read on AO3 A/N: "Hey Luc, didn't you post this already?" Yes. And then I edited the post fifty times and added an AO3 link, so I wanted to make a neater post. Anyway, I wrote this at midnight because the thought wouldn't leave me alone. I wonder what Saeyoung's plan was if he'd gotten all three of them to the cabin like he'd wanted in VAE. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty. And I think seeing both of the people he blamed Saeran's death in front of him... the thought that Saeran wouldn't want revenge wouldn't stop him. Not this time. The world needs more unhinged Saeyoung. Let him be angry and terrifying. I'm normally not a fan of unhappy endings, so maybe a miracle happens. Maybe Saeyoung ends up with a cool scar to match his brother's. Maybe not. Who knows.

There is an old clock in the cabin. Saeyoung isn't sure how it still works--it's not like anyone who comes out here is about to change the batteries or anything. Yet it works, filling the tiny wooden building with a steady tick, tick, tick as the seconds go by.

It's fitting, really. It's as if the universe is counting down the minutes. How many more does he have? Maybe it's only a few. Perhaps as much as an hour. Certainly not much more than that.

Tick, tick, tick.

He had already sent Vanderwood outside. Well, forced them out might be more accurate--they could tell something was wrong with Saeyoung. Of course, they knew about his brother by this point; they knew he was going to grieve, and grieving people do weird shit to cope. And Saeyoung is a weird guy to begin with. But something was just... off. It was a feeling in their gut. Something snapped in that kid's brain and Vanderwood wasn't keen on leaving him to his own devices.

"I'm not leaving you by yourself so you can do something stupid," Vanderwood had said.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Vanderwood." Saeyoung did not shift his gaze away from the cabin's other two occupants. "It's in everyone's best interest if you wait outside."

"I told you I'm--"

"Get the fuck out!" Saeyoung snapped, briefly looking away to shoot a glare at the other agent.

Vanderwood had been momentarily stunned into silence. They yelled at Saeyoung on a regular basis--the kid had caused them so many headaches over the years--but never had Saeyoung snapped back like that. He would make smartass remarks, god knows he was full of them, but he never yelled. If he had ever been truly angry with Vanderwood, he had never shown it.

There was a long silence, broken only by the ever-present tick, tick, tick of the old clock. Then, Vanderwood had sighed and stood from their chair. "Fine. But if I think you're about to do something that will endanger both our lives, I'm coming back."

"You don't have to worry about that. Just wait outside, Agent."

Something about the way he said that sent a chill down their spine. Maybe it was his tone, now constantly laced with barely-restrained rage. Maybe it was the fact that he called them Agent. Maybe it was instinct. But after another moment's pause, they stepped outside the cabin. They reached into their pocket for their cigarettes, only to find them gone, along with their lighter. Must have left them in the cabin. By the time they turned around to check, Saeyoung had already latched the door behind them.

So now it's just the three of them, three people tied together by one unbreakable thread. Three people who weren't human anymore. Three monsters. Three killers with blood on their hands. The worst kind of scum, all responsible for taking the life of an innocent--someone too kind and pure for this world.

Saeran may have been the one to detonate the bomb that destroyed Magenta, but the three who sit in the cabin--Saeyoung Choi, Jihyun Kim, Rika Kim--are the ones responsible. They all killed Saeran. Saeran's blood coats their hands and would never, could never, be washed away.

Tick, tick, tick.

V, ever the mediator, is the first to break the silence. "Luciel--"

"Why?" The word tears itself from Saeyoung's throat, finally pushing past the lump of rage and guilt that threatens to strangle him.

"I'm sorry, Saeyoung," Rika says. "I'm so sorry for everything that happened. If I could go back, if I could trade my life for his--"

"You have no right to say that." Saeyoung spits, standing abruptly. "You have no! Right!"

Rika falls silent, her hollow-eyed gaze dropping to the floor. Saeyoung hates it. Her demeanor only angers him further. How dare she play the victim? Maybe the 'it's all my fault, I'm the worst, I deserve retribution' thing would garner sympathy from other people, but not Saeyoung. He, in fact, wholeheartedly agrees. It is all her fault. She is the worst person in the world. She does deserve retribution. The same goes for V and himself.

"Luciel--" V tries again.

"And neither do you!" Saeyoung's venom now turns to him. "Don't you dare say anything about sacrifice. It means nothing. It won't bring him back. It won't change what you did to him."

Tick, tick, tick.

"I trusted you," Saeyoung says. "I. Trusted. You. You promised me--you swore to me that you would protect him! How could you--" his voice cracks. "How could you do that to him? Saeran was good. Saeran was innocent. Saeran was kind, and gentle, and he deserved to be loved. But you--you--"

He lets out a frustrated noise, unable to turn his thoughts into words. His mind is nothing but a loop of rage, rage, rage. Rage and vengeance and shame and guilt.

"You killed him," he finally growls. "Both of you killed him. And... so did I. Every one of us is responsible for what happened to him."

"Luciel," V tries again. "We--" he sighs. "Please, Luciel... if anything, do not blame yourself--"

"How?" He snaps. "How?! I trusted you both to look after him. To care for him. To treasure him. And instead, you manipulated and brainwashed him. You tortured him just like our mother did." He feels a twisted sense of satisfaction at the pained gasp Rika lets out, as if she's been stabbed through the heart.

Saeyoung decides to twist the knife further. "Actually, you were even worse than our mother. At least she never lied to us. We knew from the beginning that she only wanted us to get money from our father, that she never loved either of us. But you? You lied. You promised to protect us, to help us. But in the end you were just the same. You gave us hope only for your own selfish needs.

"Saeran spent every day of his life living in fear while you beat all the kindness and gentleness out of him.

"And you--" Now he speaks directly to V. "You did nothing to stop her. Fuck all your excuses. I don't care about your sacrifice. You were only ever concerned with her. You were only ever protecting her. If you had really wanted to protect Saeran then you would have saved him from her. You can martyr yourself all you want, it won't make you any better than her."

Tick, tick, tick.

The air in the room shifts abruptly. It's charged, thrumming like a livewire. The explosive anger evaporates in an instant; it's replaced by something far more terrifying.

"All of Saeran's killers must be held responsible for what happened," Saeyoung says. His anger is no longer a raging inferno. Now, his anger is like ice. It's calm, now. No less intense, but calm. As if he had long ago decided a course of action.

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung crosses the room and reaches for something behind one of the chairs. He wonders, briefly, what his brother's last moments were like. How did the bomb detonate? Had Saeran simply pressed a button and ended it, or was he forced to sit there and listen as a timer counted down his last minutes on Earth?

Tick, tick, tick.

Rika does not react, but V's eyes widen when Saeyoung lifts a large, red plastic canister from behind the chair. "Luciel, what are you--"

Saeyoung unceremoniously upends the container in the middle of the cabin's main room. The liquid quickly soaks into the carpet and the wood flooring, and the heavy smell of gasoline fills the room.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Luciel! Wait, let's talk about this--" V has risen to his feet, but freezes when Saeyoung pulls a beat-up zippo from his pocket.

"Talk?" Saeyoung says, laughing. "Talk?! You had years to talk, V, but you stayed silent and let Saeran suffer. The time for talking has long since passed."

Tick, tick, tick.

He flicks the lighter open with a small metallic clink.

"Saeran wouldn't want this," V tries. His half-blind, once-honest eyes are wide and desperate.

"Don't you dare speak his name!" Saeyoung shouts. "You don't deserve to say his name."

"Please--"

"It doesn't matter anymore what he would have wanted."

It's then that V notices the tears running down Saeyoung's cheeks, the tremble in his voice. Had he ever seen Saeyoung cry before?

"He's gone. And he's never coming back. And those responsible need to pay for it.

"Heh... you know, this is the first time I wished I could get into Heaven," Saeyoung continues, voice breaking. "Just for a few minutes. Just long enough to apologize to Saeran. For everything. For not being able to protect him. For leaving him. For being a terrible brother. For betraying him. For failing him. Beg for his forgiveness. All of us should."

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung lets out a low chuckle. "Knowing Saeran... he would probably forgive us. Not that any of us deserve it. So perhaps it's better this way."

Tick, tick, tick.

"Take your revenge, Saeyoung." Rika's voice is hardly above a whisper, yet it seems so loud in such a small space.

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung lowers himself to the ground, thumb on the wheel of the zippo. The gasoline soaks into the legs of his jeans. His head feels light, and he's not sure if it's from the fumes or if it's a weight lifting off his shoulders.

Tick, tick, tick.

"You wanted us all to be a family, right?" He says.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Then let's go to Hell together."

Tick, tick,

Click

Tick--

BOOM.

[southcrncomfort]

(   margot robbie  .  cis woman  .  she / her  )       —       blasting  light of a clear blue morning by  dolly parton  down  main  street  we’ve  spotted  DAHLIA LANSING  sporting  their  lace-trimmed kerchief wrapped around her hair.  the  thirty eight  year  old  ORACLE  who’s  been  in  town  for  two weeks  often  can  be  seen  teaching a curious soul some country colloquialisms, sketching out her visions in the margins of an old book, and maintaining her prized, pastel pink 1957 Ford Thunderbird or  working  as  a PHOTOGRAPHER / CONSULTANT at THE PORTUM TIMES.  people  say  they  display  tender-hearted  and  meddlesome traits,  but  we  rather  trust  their  vibes: the dichotomy of a quintessential southern belle using lace gloves to hide oil and ink-stained fingers; the evocation of a visceral memory at the sudden appearance of something as effusive as scent or sound; the unassuming warmth of a roaring fire, the burning logs slowly cracking under the weight of themselves; the torment of a too-tender heart unrelentingly pulled in opposing directions for the pursuit of others' peace. also,  we’ve  heard  they  love  COLLECTING VINTAGE PERFUME & COLOGNE BOTTLES !   aren’t  they  fascinating ?   

BASICS, HISTORY, AND MORE UNDER THE CUT !!

*BASICS.

BIRTH NAME   …  Dahlia Clementine Calhoun (later Lansing) NICKNAMES   …  Lia, Dolly. BIRTHPLACE   …  The Calhoun Estate, Belle Meade, Tennessee. AGE   …  thirty - eight. GENDER  …  cis woman. PRONOUNS … she / her. SEXUALITY  …  bisexual biromantic CIVILIAN OCCUPATION   …  photographer / consultant for the portum times. NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES   …  long running scar running the length of her left shin, more tbd CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS   …  maid marian ( robin hood ), uncle iroh ( avatar: the last airbender ), mia torretto ( fast & furious franchise ), bo peep ( toy story ), celine ( before trilogy ) CHARACTER TROPES ... the good samaritan, the rogue southern belle, the girl next door, and you can't fight fate. ( + ) observant, tender-hearted, altruistic. ( - ) meddlesome, impatient, gullible.

*TLDR:

Dahlia's history is .... so long ... I have no editing skills. Basically, she was born into a highly influential family in Tennessee who wanted her to be nothing more than a beautiful little fool. Her first experiences as an oracle happened very young, where those who had died on her family's estate during the US antebellum period spoke to her. The voices and apparitions continued, plaguing her to the point that she burned down the family estate and salted its earth so that the Calhoun family was forced to relocate and start anew elsewhere, finally leaving the souls of the dead with some small modicum of peace. Dahlia restarted her life in Georgia, where she worked as a mechanic and used her gifts to learn who'd be in most need of the passion project fixer-uppers she worked on. Not long after, her path crossed with Thierry Lansing's, a love unlike one she'd ever known — a love so strong that it seemed to ward away the apparitions and voices that so often called to her even in her sleep.

When his true nature revealed itself, Dahlia's visions were forever haunted by what she had seen of him, and though she committed as much of herself as she could to fighting off the future, their fate was sealed, and he left her with his ring. Enraged, she channeled her anger into using her skills of precognition to help expose criminals alongside the local newspaper, unwilling to sink to the vicious and violent level as Thierry had. When visions of Portum started to call loudest to her, she had no choice but to pack up her life and start once more in the mysterious little town.

*HISTORY.

[ trigger warnings for: arson, historical reference to the US antebellum period, misogyny ]

——» Dahlia Calhoun entered the world, the first girl in three generations born to the influential Calhoun family of Belle Meade, Tennessee. Her birth was marked with bells and whistles, parties turning into celebrations into jubilees, a fanciful familial affair disguising the real reasons her family took to inviting the rich and powerful of the South. After all, the first girl born to generations of men was not simply her mother's child, but 'belonged' to the entirety of her family — namely, the generations of men who had shaped its fate.

——» Less a person and more a prize to be polished and eventually won, Dahlia's childhood was shaped by impossible wealth and impossible loneliness. Eventually, the weight of one overcame the other — or so her family believed as they watched her babble on to herself day in and day out, seemingly in conversation with an imaginary friend. In truth, they were hardly imagined at all. By eleven, she could see them as clearly as she could count the stars in the sky on a cloudless night — they, the dead who roamed and wandered, tied to the grounds of an estate which had once been the sight of evil and atrocity a century and a half earlier, all committed at the hands of the very ancestors who seemed to influence the men in her life now. ——» As they were wont to do, the men of her family brushed off her hysterical claims, deeming her an embarrassment — a word in this case meaning 'unfit' to represent their family in the public eye. By fifteen, long gone was the perfectly polished Southern Belle who stood proudly by her uncle as he performed a ribbon cutting ceremony, or the girl who danced at cotillions despite the backs of her heels bleeding from the pain of the shoe. Instead stood a girl with oil staining her hands and grass in her hair, half-feral and half-haunted, finally given the freedom to pursue a different path when a new baby came along to take her place.

——» Having known how the hands of her ancestors and relatives alike were controlled by greed, she elected to use hers for good, finding both physical and spiritual ways to assert the dignity and goodness of others. Restlessly plagued by the voices calling to her from the beyond, she clawed a path towards their peace until it ran her ragged and pulled her towards the unthinkable, a pack of cigarettes and a can of gasoline in tow. While the others were away, the Calhoun estate burnt to ash, its rows of fields turned to salted, bitter earth, and the souls of those who roamed not at peace, per se, but able to find some small grain of rest.

——»  Though rumors within the family went wildly abounding, they dared not claim publicly that one of their own could commit such an act, and when Dahlia announced she was leaving to make it on her own, they simply paid her a handsome sum to never return and bid good riddance. With it, she relocated to Georgia, and took up working in a mechanic's shop, fixing up old cars to donate to those in need, her own gifts of divination and precognition enabling her to understand the stories of those who came before each car and those who would need it most after. Unable to dismiss her heart when its strings were tugged on, Dahlia found love not long after — and for a time, the voices and apparitions who so often grasped for attention seemed to quiet, as though his presence alone had the power to soothe them to sleep.

——» Soon enough, the mirage faded, the veil of happiness and shroud of comfort quickly eroded by the manifestation of something much darker, much more demonic than she could have predicted. For all the cures that love provided, it blinded her to truth, allowed her to live blissfully while the sands of their relationship's hourglass continuously slipped away. As soon as his powers were revealed, her visions came flooding back, including the one which scared her most of all — a familiar wedding ring and an accompanying letter, the sight of his back turned to all they shared, and a certain loneliness overcoming her once more.

——» Dahlia, who had never been much one for innate anger as much as she was a woman cursed to take upon the emotions of another, felt true, unbridled rage when the vision came true. She had seen it happen, and yet couldn't stop it — had loved and been loved in return, and yet, it wasn't enough. She quit working at the auto shop, hurt at the sight of the projects she and her husband had worked on and haunted by the reminders of their plans for the future, and took up work as a consultant at the local newspaper, aiming to use her talents for precognition to expose criminals before the police did. It was the only way she knew to channel her rage, as though public shaming was a substitute for a sudden loss she couldn't quite comprehend. This worked for a short while — until the visions were only of a town she couldn't quite place, yet seemed so eerily familiar. Like it was a place she belonged. No stranger to starting anew, she packed her life into her car and drove until the visions ceased, and found herself in Portum a few short weeks ago.

*WANTED CONNECTIONS.

brain is so fried rn but i will add these soon, promise <333

[bittybug-sunflower-blog]

Chapter summary: Seneca learns the truth

Warning ⚠️: Mature themes and language, sex, drugs, abuse, blood, death, drinking, suicide attempt, gun and gang violence, and smoking

Word count: 3459

Rating 21+

Extra: alternate universe story

Chapter 18

Seneca had been restless, her mind a whirlwind of worry and determination. With the investigation closed, Seneca knew had to play her cards right. Off the books and on her own, she ventured into the underbelly of the city, navigating mafia bars and seedy clubs, her badge tucked away to avoid unwanted attention.

Her initial encounters were challenging, navigating the murky depths of Coruscant's underbelly. Faces were half-hidden beneath fedoras, and whispers were swallowed by the constant hum of city life. The criminal world offered no kindness to cops, so Seneca had to proceed with caution. Yet, through sheer persistence, she managed to track down Valree, one of Beka's old confidantes from her time on the force.

They arranged to meet in the kind of place where secrets were currency—a narrow alleyway cloaked in darkness, the distant glow of streetlights barely piercing through the fog. Valree had once vowed never to speak to cops again, but Seneca wasn't just any cop. She was someone who understood the unwritten rules of their world.

"Mori," Valree greeted, leaning against a brick wall, one leg casually propped up like they owned the night.

"Brights," Seneca replied, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her trench coat. She didn't waste time. "Tell me about the fire again. I need every detail."

Valree's gaze flickered, cautious, her voice dropping to a low murmur that barely rose above the whisper of the wind. "The big leagues were there that night. The heads of the mafia—the Bad Batch. They don't show up unless it's something really important."

"The Bad Batch," Seneca echoed, her voice tight with the kind of tension, the name was very familiar. Seneca thought for a second, The Marauder Family were the kind of crime bosses no one in law enforcement dared to touch.

At first, everyone believed them to be just rich spoiled brats who just came from old money, but really it was their activities that got them the dough. Beka was one of those who didn't know. "No wonder no one's talking. One of my witnesses claimed they saw them at the warehouse that night."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. That night with the fire," Valree continued, her tone dark as the shadows around them. "I saw Beka in that car remember that?"

"You mentioned it was black, but that's all?" Seneca pressed.

"They drove too fast, and the smoke—it was too thick," Valree sighed.

"Finis suggested the fire might've been a freak accident," Seneca remarked, her brow furrowing.

"That wasn't any freak accident," Valree's voice hardened, her eyes narrowing. "It was arson and whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing."

"That was never in the report," Seneca frowned, suspicion creeping into her voice.

"Funny, 'cause I told an officer about it," Valree replied, her brows knitting together in frustration. "It was... what's his name...?" They snapped their fingers, trying to pull the name from the smoky recesses of their mind. "Laine Niel. Officer Laine Niel."

"Did you say Officer Niel?" Seneca's head snapped up, her eyes sharp with sudden recognition.

"Yeah," Valree confirmed, confusion now coloring her tone.

"That was Beka's first partner," Seneca muttered, more to herself than to Valree. "He transferred out of Coruscant not long after I joined."

"If I were you, I'd have another chat with that Lina girl," Valree suggested. Beka's old bandmate. Their voice laced with warning. "She seemed really chummy with Niel—like they had some history."

"Oh, I plan to," Seneca replied, her resolve hardening like steel. "This is just the beginning."

Valree sighed, pulling their helmet from under their arm and sliding it on with a practiced motion. They gave Seneca a long, appraising look. "Look, it's late. Sleep on it. Get home to your wife and sons before this city swallows you whole."

"Biala took the boys to her parents," Seneca admitted, a weary edge to her voice. "We had a fight. She thinks I'm seeing Dalear behind her back."

Valree raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth pulling into a knowing smirk. "Well, are you?"

"No," Seneca shook her head, frustration seeping into her words. "I haven't seen Dalear outside of court. This case—it's about Beka. That's what's been keeping me up at night."

Valree adjusted the helmet on her head, straddling her motorcycle with ease. "Word of advice—talk to your wife. Hardt's not the only person who you should be worried about. Don't lose your family over this."

Seneca didn't reply, just nodded, the words sinking in like stones in the harbor. Valree gave a final nod before revving the engine, the roar cutting through the stillness of the night as she sped off, the headlights disappearing into the mist.

Seneca watched until the last echoes faded, the city's silence pressing in around her. She leaned against the cold brick wall, her thoughts a tangled web. Just as she was about to turn away, a voice—low and ominous—called out from the darkness.

"Detective Mori?"

Seneca turned, instincts kicking in, but before she could react, everything went black. The darkness was suffocating as the bag was yanked off Seneca's head, her vision adjusting to the dim light of the mansion's basement. The air was heavy with the scent of old leather and dust. She tried to move her arms but found she was restricted to a chair. Echo stood before her, his expression unreadable, while the rest of the brothers—Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair—stood by, tension evident in their stances.

Echo's voice was cold and measured. "So, Detective Mori, let's start with what you know. What have you uncovered?"

Without hesitation, Seneca spat at him, the action sharp and defiant. "I'm not fucking talking shit. You think you can scare me? You've got another thing coming bitch."

Wrecker stood guard at the entrance, his imposing figure blocking the way. His massive frame and stern expression were meant to deter any unauthorized entry, but Beka's resolve was unwavering. Driven by an unrelenting curiosity and concern, Beka approached with determined steps, her eyes sharp and focused. She had to see for herself what was happening. The muffled sounds of conversation and tension from within only fueled her determination.

Wrecker, noticing her approach, raised a hand to stop her. "Hold on, Beka. You shouldn't be—"

But Beka was quicker. With a sudden burst of agility, she ducked under Wrecker's arm and slipped past him. Her movements were fluid and deliberate, a contrast to Wrecker's more cumbersome attempt to intercept her. She darted forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way into the basement.

As Beka crossed the threshold, her eyes widened in shock at the sight before her. Seneca stood in the center of the room, her wrists bound, and her head held high despite the circumstances. The stark light of the basement cast harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the intensity of her situation.

"Seneca?!" Beka's voice was a mix of shock and relief, her gaze fixed on her old friend.

The room fell silent as everyone turned to face the new arrival. Beka rushed to her untying her hands, the brothers didn't even try to stop her.

Seneca's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—relief at seeing Beka, but also an underlying anger. "Beka," she breathed, her voice strained but filled with a deep, complex emotion. "Are you hurt?" Seneca asked rubbing her once bound wrists.

Beka shook her head quickly, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. "No. I'm fine."

"Good," Seneca said, her tone icy despite the warmth of her relief. "Just making sure before I do this." In a swift, sudden motion, Seneca slapped Beka hard across the face. The resounding smack echoed in the confined space, drawing gasps from the onlookers.

The brothers tensed at the unexpected act of aggression, Beka's face stinging from the blow but her resolve unshaken. Her eyes met Seneca's with a fierce intensity.

"How could you get caught up in this? The same corruption you fought against when you were a cop. We were partners, sisters. And you just vanished."

Beka's gaze was steady as she met Seneca's. "How many at the precinct know about this?"

"None," Seneca replied sharply. "I'm on my own. This is off the books."

Beka's eyes widened slightly, her worry evident. "Are you going rogue?"

"No," Seneca said firmly. "I'm not going rogue. When you called that night and were so vague, did you really think I wouldn't dig deeper?"

Beka took a deep breath, trying to explain. "Things are complicated right now. Someone's targeting me because of my past. If you still trust me even a little, you'll understand why I couldn't reach out. They kept me from contacting you. I couldn't risk you and your family being harmed."

Seneca's eyes softened slightly, but her anger remained. "News flash! My wife fucking left me, she took the fucking boys. And you left me in the dark."

Beka's voice was calm but resolute. "I'm doing everything I can to keep the police out of this. It's bigger than any of us."

As the two women argued, the brothers stood back, each reacting to the heated confrontation in their own way.

"Should we—" Tech began, his finger pointing uncertainly at the chaotic scene between Seneca and Beka. His voice was laden with concern, his mind trying to process whether their intervention was required.

Wrecker shook his head vigorously, his expression one of firm disapproval.

Echo, still wiping the remnants of Seneca's spit from his cheek with a grimace, added, "Yeah, I don't want to get spit on again or slapped. Once was enough, thank you." He glanced at Tech with a sardonic smirk.

Hunter, who had been standing silently nearby, finally spoke up with a touch of dry humor. Well, at least now you know what it feels like to be a human target for saliva."

Echo shot him a glare, his irritation barely masked by his sarcastic tone. "Don't start. I'm just trying to avoid another close encounter with Seneca's aim. I'd rather not have her add 'human target by spit' to her resume."

Crosshair, leaning against a wall with a bored expression, chimed in with a smirk. "I say let them have at it. We've got bigger problems than a couple of angry women. Besides, this is the most entertaining thing we've seen all week."

Wrecker let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, "Yeah."

Hunter sighed, shaking his head as he watched the two women continue their confrontation. "Looks like we're staying out of this one. Let's just hope they work out their issues before we have to step in and break up a fight. The last thing we need is another day at the hospital."

The brothers exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and concern as they watched the chaotic scene unfold.

With a scowl etched deep on Seneca's face, she turned abruptly, grabbing her coat from the chair where it had been draped. Seneca's voice then rose above all the noise. It was harsh, tinged with raw betrayal. "You were a damn good cop and a better detective. But now? I don't even know what to say." Her words cut through the room like a knife, each syllable heavy with disappointment and hurt. Her fingers fumbled as she reached into the coat's deep pocket, her movements sharp and purposeful.

The weight of the moment seemed to press down on her, the air thick with unspoken anger and sadness. Her hand emerged clutching a small, familiar object. With a deliberate motion, Seneca pulled out Beka's old badge—the tarnished symbol of her former life.

The badge caught the dim light, its gleam cold and indifferent as it was tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. It landed with a soft clink, a stark contrast to the emotional storm that raged around it.

Beka's breath caught in her throat as she bent down to pick up the badge. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably. She gazed at the badge that once symbolized honor and duty. Her grip tightened on the badge, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself.

"Seneca," Beka's voice trembled as she reached out toward her friend, her hand outstretched in a desperate gesture of reconciliation.

Seneca's head turned sharply at the sound of Beka's voice, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance. "Don't," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Are these guys going to kill me?" Her gaze swept over the brothers, noting their uneasy shifting and the way they avoided her eyes.

Beka looked into Hunter's eyes, searching for any hint of mercy or understanding. She read his expression like a book. "No," Beka replied softly, though the word felt like a fragile promise amid the turmoil. She took a deep breath, trying to offer whatever comfort she could.

Seneca's shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in her face softening just a fraction, but the fear and betrayal remained. The brothers, sensing the weight of the moment moved with careful precision.

"Please don't spit on me again." Echo pleaded gently placing the bag back over Seneca's head, the fabric obscuring her sight and plunging her into darkness once more. As Tech and Echo prepared to escort her out, the room seemed to grow quieter.

Beka watched them escort Seneca out. She stood alone in the dimly lit room, she looked at her badge in her hand. The brothers watched in silence, their faces reflecting a mixture of sympathy and helplessness.

When Seneca was finally dropped off at her doorstep at her home, the scene was one of stark emotional contrast. She sank down onto the steps, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to process the weight of betrayal and loss.

As the morning sun cast its hazy light through the dusty windows of the precinct, Seneca trudged in with a heavy heart. The usual clamor of the office seemed distant, muffled by the turmoil brewing within her. She moved toward her office, her steps weighed down by a burden that was far heavier than any case file.

Jazzori stood nearby, her sharp gaze catching Seneca's entrance. She approached concern etched on her face. "Morning, Seneca," Jazzori greeted, her tone light. "I wanted to discuss the upcoming case—the one involving the new syndicate. I've been going over the preliminary reports."

Seneca's response was a mere nod, her gaze fixed on her cup of coffee, "Put it in my office I'll get through it later." She tried to maintain her composure, but Jazzori's keen eyes did not miss the subtle shift in her demeanor. Jazzori's concern deepened as she noticed the weariness etched into Seneca's face.

"Seneca," Jazzori said softly, her voice dropping to a more personal tone. "What's wrong? You don't look like yourself today."

Seneca attempted a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's nothing," she replied, her voice lacking its usual conviction. "Just one of those days."

Jazzori's eyes narrowed slightly, her concern sharpening. "You know you can talk to me if something's bothering you."

Seneca hesitated, her eyes darting around as if searching for a way to deflect. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not about a case. It's personal."

Jazzori's gaze softened, sensing the gravity of the situation. "Go on."

Seneca took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping as she let her guard down. "My wife, Biala, she... she left me. Took the boys and moved out."

Jazzori's eyebrows arched in surprise. "I'm so sorry, Seneca. I didn't know."

Seneca's eyes were distant, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotions. "She thinks I'm cheating on her. She believes I'm involved with you—Jazzori." She paused, her voice trembling as she continued.

Jazzori's expression softened further, her professional demeanor giving way to genuine empathy. "I'm so sorry Seneca, I can talk to her for you."

Seneca's gaze dropped, staring at the dark liquid in her cup as she struggled to keep her composure. "No, no. I'm trying to make things right, but it feels like every time I turn around, there's another problem. I just want to make things right with Biala and my boys, but it's like everything is falling apart."

Jazzori placed a comforting hand on Seneca's arm, a rare moment of warmth from the usually stoic DA. "Take it one step at a time. Sometimes it's the small steps that lead us back to where we need to be."

Seneca nodded, her eyes still clouded with a mix of sadness and exhaustion.

Jazzori offered a small, reassuring smile. As Jazzori turned to leave, Seneca watched her go, feeling a faint glimmer of relief in her emotions.

That evening, Seneca stepped into Gruno's modest shop, the warm light from the single lamp casting a gentle glow over the room. Gruno was sitting at the kitchen table, his broad shoulders hunched over a steaming cup of coffee.

"Evening, Gruno," Seneca greeted, her voice tinged with the weariness of the day. She settled into a chair opposite him, a tired smile on her lips.

Gruno looked up, his face lined with concern. "Evening, Seneca. Everything alright?"

Seneca nodded, though her eyes betrayed a hint of melancholy. "Just dealing with some personal matters. I needed a bit of advice, I guess."

Gruno's expression softened. "Well, you're in the right place. What's on your mind?"

Seneca sighed, looking out the window at the darkening street. "It's about love and loss. You know, when things fall apart, it feels like everything you thought was solid just fucking crumbles away."

"Biala and the boys are still gone?" Gruno asked.

"I've been thinking about how everything changed so quickly," Seneca responded.

Gruno nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. "Love's a tricky thing. It can be the strongest thing in the world, but also the most fragile. When it's gone, it leaves a hell of a void." Just then, the sound of the bell and the door burst open with a sudden, jarring noise. Jetto stumbled inside, his clothes torn and dirty, his face bearing fresh bruises. Gruno's face darkened with worry as he rushed to his son. "Jetto! What the hell happened to you?"

Jetto shot him a glare, his eyes flashing with defiance and pain. "It's nothing, just leave me alone!" He shoved past Gruno and stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Seneca watched the exchange with concern, her gaze shifting to Gruno as he stood in the middle of the shop, his face a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

"Jetto's been hanging with the wrong crowd after school," Gruno said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. "With Beka gone, he's found himself mixed up with some rough characters. I've been trying to keep him on the straight and narrow, but it's like pulling damn teeth."

Seneca's eyes narrowed as she glanced out the window, her sharp detective's gaze catching sight of a group of men lingering in the shadows, their figures unmistakable against the dim streetlight. Their presence was unmistakable—the telltale signs of the Death Watch gang, notorious for their criminal activities and ruthless demeanor.

"Gruno," Seneca said softly, her tone serious, "those men outside—they're from the Death Watch. Jetto's been associating with Death Watch. This could be dangerous."

Gruno's eyes widened in alarm, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. "Death Watch? Damn it. I've heard them claiming territories more, I thought Jetto knew to stay away from them."

Seneca nodded, her expression grim. "We need to do something before this situation gets worse. Jetto's in over his head, and he needs help before he gets in too deep."

Gruno's shoulders slumped, the weight of his worries pressing down on him. "I just don't know what to do. I've tried everything I can think of, but he won't listen."

Seneca placed a comforting hand on Gruno's arm. " We need to get him away from those guys before it's too late."

Gruno looked at Seneca with a sudden thought. "What about Beka? Can't you reach her?"

Seneca's gaze grew distant, and she looked down, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the table. "It's complicated, Gruno."

Gruno's eyes searched her face for an explanation. "Complicated how?"

Seneca sighed deeply, the weight of her words heavy. "Beka's been dealing with things far beyond what we can understand."

Gruno's face showed a mix of confusion and sorrow. "So, she's not coming back?"

Seneca shook her head slowly. "Not right now, but when she finds out about Jetto."

As Seneca and Gruno stood together in silence, they knew that their next steps would be crucial in saving Jetto from a future entanglement from Death Watch.

[hotchs-second-wife]

DON'T BLAME ME || 2 || Jay Halstead x Thea Rhodes

Synopsis: Theodosia Rhodes, the youngest daughter of a big-time Chicago CEO, needs a husband of her own choice before her father makes that decision for her. Jason Halstead, newly-made Intelligence detective, needs a wife to inherit his portion of his mother's inheritance.

Warnings: Mentions of arson, kidnapping, murder, rape; allusion to childhood trauma, suicide, cancer-related death; descriptions of vehicular accidents including, but not limited to, car-on-car collision, car-on-truck, train; outright familial/parental pressure; portrayal of misogyny and misandry. Read ahead at your own risk.

THEODOSIA

You would think dress shopping would be easy and convenient when you have assistants to find your size and desired style for you.

As I found out, it was much easier to bark orders at grown men that trusted you with their lives than three women who you barely saw due to your job.

"Sheath silhouette, with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a 10-foot train," the store employee explained, as she brought in another dress for me. "Let me know when you're ready to show your bridesmaids, and I'll help you with the train."

I thanked her, and she closed the door to let me change. All the dresses had been beautiful, but none of them felt right. I hoped once Kelly and Elli arrived, I'd find the right one.

Dressed into the latest choice by Gabby, Sylvie and Donna, I walked back into the waiting area to show them. The store employee, Bridget, held the train of my dress for me as I stopped in front of the ladies a part of the wedding party.

"Mommy!" Elli's voice squealed as she ran across the store from her father's side. After we hugged, she held my hand as she turned to Kelly. "Isn't Mommy pretty, Daddy?"

"She's gorgeous," Kelly smiled at me, before picking Elli up and sitting her with Donna. "How many has she gone through?"

"Ten." The girls answered together.

Kelly deadpanned, turning to me. "I know price isn't the issue here." He looked at the employee, "do you have anything in silk?" She nodded. "Can you go get them for her to try on please?"

As the employee left to find the dresses, I thanked Kelly. "Good thing you're my man of honour."

He fiddled with the lace train behind me. "I know certain textures set off your hypersensitivity. I got you." Now that I had Kelly as backup, I wondered if Jay and Brooklyn were doing any better with RSVPs.

JASON

What kind of things could a rich man be doing that's more important than his daughter's wedding? At least my old man—in spite of me, of course—was doing a better job of providing availability for the wedding.

He was likely trying to butter Thea up to take her money. Typical Patrick Halstead.

"Alright, Teddy is at the bridal shop picking out a dress, your tux is on it's way," Brooke checked away at the clipboard in her hand. As my best woman, she was taking charge of me. "How many RSVPs do you have?"

"Friends and family of the bride and groom, or complete strangers?"

Brooke hummed. "Friends and family?"

"24 for the bride, 18 for the groom. Unless you're suddenly bringing someone."

"Tomorrow is your day to get hitched into a committed relationship, not me. Severides don't do monogamy—look at my dad. Living proof monogamy doesn't exist in the brains of a Severide." Brooke laughed, holding her hands up. "Man-whore."

I knew Brooke's relationship with her dad was worse than mine. At least Pat didn't cheat on Mom before she died. Kelly was in his senior year when Benny cheated on Jennifer, and Brooke never saw her older brother so torn apart. I always bet it was because Kelly was the oldest that he never let her see him as anything but the strong big brother.

"Of course Cornelius said he's unavailable," Brooke grunted, as she looked over the correspondence. She knew more about my bride than I did. Hell, she knew more about everything than me. One of us would ask a question out loud, and she'd give us an answer two seconds later.

The fact her older brother was my future wife's best friend had something to do with it, of course. It also had everything to do with the Severides being completely in-charge of the bridal party.

Apparently Thea didn't like being in charge of her friends, so she was thankful she had an older brother and older sister, and she never bossed her team around unless she was mad enough to raise her voice. So that was Kelly's job for the wedding and it's planning.

"Her sister will come, hopefully," Brooke continued, pacing in circles about the guest list.

From what I knew, Thea and Claire had been close as kids, but drifted apart when their mother died, and became even more distant when their brother left. I knew 51 were what her family should've been—the tight-knit brothers and sisters Thea wished she always had.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Thea.

My assistant needs us to meet her at the jewellers, she lost the paper with our ring sizes.

I let Brooke know I had to meet with Thea, and she promised to finish checking the RSVP list. Within ten minutes, I was at the jewellers. It was close to my our apartment, between our place and the nearest Dolan Rhodes stores. That store was the only one Thea was in charge of—each of the Rhodes kids had to run at least one store by their 18th—and it was easiest for her to check in on during her shifts if she really needed.

"Mr. Halstead, Ms. Rhodes is this way," one of the store's employees guided me into a private room where my fiancèe and the store manager waited. I gave a kiss to her temple—to keep up public appearance—before paying my attention to the manager.

We had our fingers measured, and left out the back door. The press was upping their game since they found out there was a Rhodes wedding in a week. A limousine waited for us, our driver stepping out to greet us.

He opened the door for us, holding it and closed it after we got situated in the back seat.

"I've picked the dress—thanks to Kelly. It's not all that traditional like your father asked—"

I blew it off. "Ignore him. It's your wedding, wear what you want. Not what he wants you to wear."

Thea was quiet for a moment, before continuing. "Donna helped me pick out something for the honeymoon as well, which will go under the dress. Did your suit arrive yet?"

"I left my place before it arrived, but Brooke should be fine to get it." We fell back into comfortable silence, listening faintly to the buzz of Chicago. For a Friday night, it was quiet and steady.

I was engaged for two more days. By Sunday night, I'd be a married man.

"You guys can use all the money I reserved for your bachelor party, you know that, right? It's just going to get put into your AMEX after the wedding anyway."

I frowned, as I turned to Thea, who mindlessly scrolled on her phone. "You don't need to give me a credit card—"

"Technically it's a policy." She replied, waving a hand in dismissal, before she looked at me. "You won't get a corporate card because you'll just have mine and my father won't give you your own store anyway. But everyone in the Rhodes family has to have their own American Express card.

"I'm not saying you have to use it—I don't use mine unless I need to use my allowance—you can just keep it as an emergency card. All my work payments go into a separate card, which I use everyday unless I overspend." She pointed at me, "which Kelly will say that now you have to keep an eye on my spending habits, by the way."

I put my hands up to my shoulders, defensively, "I'm not going to tell you how to spend your money, Thea."

"Good." She smiled. "This marriage will work then."

A smile crept up my face before I even knew what I was doing. Not that I hated the idea of Thea making me smile, it was just a surprise. Brooke told me we'd get along when Thea got over her initial dislike for me; we had things in common.

We both hate our fathers (Brooke's words), and both have older brothers who disappeared to God knows where as soon as they could. And we were best friends with Severides.

But by god was this woman rich.

Only I didn't realise how rich she really was until after the wedding.

[vinvantae]

Hey I hope you don't mind getting songfic requests.. can I please request a fic based on Getaway Car by Taylor Swift with your pick of driver? Also I know the song doesn't lend itself to a happy ending but if you can find a way I'd love it. Thanks in advance x

Thanks for the suggestion, I’m not a swiftie but I hope I do you proud 🧡 and I think I fancy doing Pierre for this one, hope that’s okay!

It’s more so from Pierre’s perspective too, thought I’d do a bit of a twist x

Warnings - explicit language, alcohol, arson, reader is toxic

*****************************************************

Getaway Car

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car

“Go go go!”

“Fucking get back here, y/n! You can’t do this shit!”

Pierre wrapped his hand around your wrist and tugged you along as you turned around to flip off your ex with a perfectly manicured nail, a wicked smile on your face. The look of freedom on your face was beautiful but all he could think of was getting away from the absolute circus you’d created. He glanced briefly down at the bundle of clothes under his arm before chucking them into the backseat of his car.

You laughed as you launched yourself into the passenger seat of his car, the Frenchman scrambling into the other side. “Seriously, Pierre! Step on it!”

He rolled his eyes playfully and slammed his foot down on the gas, making you squeal as you almost fell into his lap - not having put your seatbelt on. “How and why did you rope me into this? Did we really just steal a grown-man’s clothes?”

You giggled and squeezed his thigh, his cheeks flushed a dark pink. “You’re my accomplice, always have been.”

He hummed, it wasn’t the first time and it definitely wasn’t the last time he’d save you from making an absolute fool of yourself getting revenge on an ex-boyfriend. The two of you had been friends since childhood and you were an absolute devil who his parents thought were a bad influence but he was hooked.

The way you fluttered your eyelashes at him, your hand on top of you sipped at his old fashioned - wanting your partner in crime by your side after you acted out another revenge plan. He knew keeping you in his life was a mistake, but you were like a drug, laced in his veins.

“His fault for being naked in public, no?” You hummed innocently, grabbing the shirt from the back. “You remember where we’re going right?”

“Course I do.”

He pulled into the motel parking lot, and you slid out - waltzing over to a nearby trash can and throwing the clothes in and drizzling some petrol on top. He leant against the bonnet of the car, arms propped up behind him as you struck a match, the flames lighting up your features for a moment before you tossed it on top of the clothes. Cheering as they lit up.

Pierre glanced around to see if anyone was looking before pulling you into the motel bar, music loud but thankfully no one was paying much attention. And he hoped that meant no-one had seen your shenanigans. “You know, if you just dated good guys-“

“Where’s the fun in that?” You said. “I like our little Bonnie and Clyde act when they fuck up.”

He narrowed his eyes a little. “It’s going a little far now, don’t you think?”

You stepped closer, running your hands up his chest with a soft pout. He was under your thumb and he knew it. “I think it’s fun, we’re fun.”

His large hands gripped your waist as he lent closer to you. “Then stay with me.”

“Pierre.” You whined. “Not this again, we’re-“

He pulled your hands from his chest, holding your wrists for a moment before letting them drop down to your sides. “Just friends? Got it. Don’t call me next time. I’m done with this.”

The Frenchman didn’t even take a moment to look back at you as he stormed out of the bar. But as he got into the drivers seat, he found himself unable to turn the keys. The area was dodgy and he knew full well you’d be able to handle yourself but there was a pang of guilt in his chest that he’d just left you.

His blue eyes flickered to the rear view mirror and he saw you exit the bar - arms wrapped around yourself for warmth and in that moment you looked small, vulnerable. A side to you he hadn’t seen since you were younger. But as soon as your eyes landed on his car still in its space, the confidence returned, you both knew he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

You opened the door and slid in beside him. “…I’m sorry, Pierre.”

You weren’t.

“I know.” He didn’t look at you. “I’m taking you home now.”

The ride was silent, you chewed at the skin at the edges of your nails - the vulnerable side resurfacing. All Pierre wanted was for you to drop the act. He knew where it had all started and it was before the two of you had even met, your father cheated on your mother and she’d enlisted you to help her get revenge and ever since then you’d been hooked on it.

You were trouble and once you laid eyes on him, he was hooked too. But it was getting harder and harder to watch you do this, he’d fallen so hard for you and it was clear that you didn’t feel the same. As he pulled up outside your house, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“…once you’re done with all of this. I’ll be waiting.”

You frowned. “What?”

“This is goodbye, y/n.” He whispered, finally turning to look at you. “I can’t keep doing this.”

He had to fight the urge to take it all back as a tear rolled down your cheek. Pierre expected you to fight back, beg him to stay but you didn’t, you simply nodded. “…thanks.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as you walked into your house, taking a moment to glance back at him before disappearing inside. It took him every ounce of his being to drive away, he couldn’t stop the tears. It felt like a part of him had died but he kept going.

It would be nearly a year before you saw each other again.

He couldn’t believe how different you seemed; your skin was glowing, your hair looked healthy and the dark bags under your eyes had seemed to melted away. Your smile was different too, the wickedness of it had been replaced with something soft, tender.

You explained how you’d been to therapy and had been working through your issues, turns out dating people just to get revenge when they hurt you wasn’t normal. He could’ve told you that but he simply wrapped you up in his arms.

“Pierre?”

He pulled back enough to look at you. “Yes?”

“…I… I’m sorry I ever said we were just friends.” You whispered. “We… we’ll never be just friends.”

His hand came up to hold your cheek, thumb brushing across the surface. He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “We should talk.”

“I agree.”

“…wanna go for a drive?”

****************************************************

Okay, so not the happiest ending, left it nice and open ended because I’m a menace. Hope you enjoyed 🧡

[timeguardiansarchive]

When did you start shipping Frank and Nancy Drew and why?

Hiya Anony,

Growing up I was a DIE-HARD Nancy x Ned shipper. It was only after watching The Hardy Boys & Nancy Drew Mysteries that I wavered. Especially during the Meet Dracula episode and even more so in Arson & Old Lace. Sure. The episodes are a little corny, but there is CHEMISTRY between Parker Stevenson and Pamela Sue Martin.

Meet Dracula part 1 & 2

& the HollyWood Phantom part 1 & 2

But what really got me is--- Arson & Old Lace X

(its a different Nancy Fc, but--- Frank Hardy goes out of his way to keep looking for Nancy after she's been abducted by a guy named Rathbone. He refuses to believe she's dead even after six months and makes it his personal mission to save her)

That said: I still am open to ALL the Nancy ships: Nancy x Ned, Nancy X Frank, Nancy X Joe, Nancy x Male oc (as long as there is chemistry)

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[codenameq]

Devil's Night || Six Months Will Never Be Enough || Eddie Munson x Reader

Near the start of the 1985 school year, two teenagers meet, unaware of the firestorm headed their way in six months. 182 days. What would you do with that time?

Eddie Munson x Reader //  Fluff  //  Slow Burn  //  Will follow events of season 4

Parts

[oct] [ Devil's Night ] [nov] [dec] [jan] [feb] [mar]

Devil's Night. October 30, 1985 || Eddie POV

"I will only say this once, Mr. Munson. Do not, under any circumstances, incite Devil's Night1 celebrations in this town tonight."

"Yeah, uh, it was never in the plans–" Eddie straightened up in the uncomfortable worn-out chair in front of Principle Higgins' large wooden desk, intentionally the chair was short compared to the desk, it allowed the principal to look down at Eddie. This wasn't the first talking-to Eddie had received; usually they were to accuse him of something. The first sign of graffiti, vandalism of any kind around the school, Eddie was the first on the list to get hauled into Higgin's office for questioning. He was, after all, the town freak and the troubled Munson kid. All this trouble simply because he didn't fit the image of the all-American boy. 

"Detroit is practically our next door neighbours, and they saw up to 840 fires last year, the worst Devil’s Night on record. I don't want it to inspire you or your friends.” Higgins leaned in to emphasise his point. “Hawkins has seen enough tragedy this year."

"Look, man. I am not planning on partaking in some good old-fashioned arson. It will be a quiet night filled with popcorn and horror movies. That's all."

"And the rest of the Hellfire Club?"

Eddie caught a glimpse of the club crowding around the hall in front of the office windows. Usual suspects; Gareth, Jeff, and Grant2. With the pleasant addition of YN engaged in conversation with them. Every so often, Eddie caught her eyes flickering to him to see what was going on inside the office. The fact YN was there in his cheer section put a soft smile on Eddie's face as he turned his attention back onto Principle Higgins. "Absolutely not. They are just kids who like to play fantasy games. Not a malicious bone in their collective bodies."

"Alright, you can go to class," Higgins' suspicious eyes followed Eddie as he got up. The moment he opened the office door, the group turned to face him with varying degrees of frustration and worry. Eddie forced a rueful smile as his eyes landed on YN. A pang hit his heart. The last thing he wanted was to be why YNs little anxiety attacks flared up. 

"You worried about me, Duckie?" Letting the door close behind him, Eddie puffed out his chest as he pushed back his leather jacket to hike up his falling pants by the belt hoops at his sides. The nickname was stupid, but Eddie adored how she tried to hide a little smile and mock protest whenever he used it. Although it appeared she had started getting used to both him and the nickname. From what Eddie could gather over the past month of knowing the new girl, YN had straight-laced parents. They worked for the U.S. Department of State, and she went to uniform-wearing international schools most of her life. He chalked up her nervous demeanour around him to lack of exposure to hanging out with a group of metal-head, fantasy game-loving freaks. She was so shy and guarded that getting a read on her was difficult, but she seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell. YN had been hanging out most lunches with the group, and Eddie had grown accustomed to her tirades about proper code styling with Dustin at lunch. He respected the passion, similar to himself with Corroded Coffin and D&D, even though he had no damn clue what she was talking about half the time.

"Yeah, we all were. Higgins had a weird look to him when he pulled you away at lunch." Gareth interrupted, looking ready to battle with the principal if Eddie asked.

"Yeah, well, uh, he just wanted to make sure I was a good boy this Halloween." The playful smile fell a little with a heavy sigh as Eddie slowly turned on his heel and started walking in the direction of his locker. The ragtag crew of freaks and YN followed behind him. "He wanted to ensure I wasn't going to burn the place down tonight."

"Why tonight?" YN chimed in as she adjusted her bag strap on her shoulder and looked up at Eddie, adding a small skip to her step to help keep up with the taller boys.

"Tonight Devil's Night, YN." Gareth offered. YN looked back at Gareth, waiting for more of an explanation. 

"I-I have no idea what that's supposed to mean." She looked around at the boys surrounding her, looking for an answer in their faces.

"It's the night before Halloween where people play pranks. Like Egging, TP-ing a house or tree." Grant2  added, "Detroit and some other cities take it to another level though; they burn down abandoned buildings."

"I heard last year there were over 800 fires," Jeff added as he took YNs book out of her arm so she could freely adjust the bag's strap she had been fighting with, before taking the book back with a small 'thanks.'

"840 according to Higgins," Eddie offered, watching the interaction.

"Why? That doesn't make –"

"Sense?" Eddie interjected, "Not at all. It's just an American tradition that comes with Halloween." 

"Hm.."

"You did have Halloween where you lived, right?" Gareth shoved past Jeff leaning on her as he placed his arm on her shoulder.

"Well, we lived in England for a long time. Outside of the small Halloween parties at the international school, we didn't really, like, celebrate Halloween." Her brows furrowed, trying to remember last year's celebrations. "The big event was always Bonfire Night in November."

"Speaking of Halloween. The Hawk is playing Halloween tomorrow at 10. Who's in?" Eddie turned to face the group before him, looking for any sign of cowardice.

"I've never seen it; I'm in." YN looked around expectantly at the rest of the group. They responded with different levels of agreement. Eddie took a step towards her, bending over to put his hands on his thighs, bringing him down to eye level with YN, failing to hide a mischievous grin.

 "It might be a little scary for you, Duckie." The other boys around him laughed as Eddie pulled back

YN tried to hide her cheeky smile by pursing her lips, but it wasn't working. "Bite me, Munson." YN pushed past him as the bell rang, signifying the end of lunch. His eyes widened for a moment at her words. His hand involuntarily reached for his left arm as he slowly turned to watch her leave. A trail of heat and goosebumps slowly spread up his arm where YN placed her hand to push him out of her way. 

"Don't ask for something you're not ready for." He called after her as she walked down the hall. Eddie could have sworn he saw her tense up at his words; her walking speed, without a doubt, picked up. Eddie turned to face three behind him, who shared knowing glances as they all tried to hide their grins and giggles. Eddie pushed himself from the wall of lockers, shaking his head. "Shut up." 

This tipped them over the edge. The guys burst into laughter as they walked a half step behind Eddie. 

October 31, 1985. || Eddie POV

"What? Don't you like it?" Eddie cackled as he twirled the tail of his newly acquired lion costume3 while he strutted towards the group. The guys were practically on all fours, killing themselves laughing at the spectacle Eddie was putting on. YN stood in the middle of the other three, hands over her mouth frozen in place from when Eddie jumped out of the back of his van in the theatre parking lot, scaring the shit of them. Tears were running down her cheeks from laughing so hard. 

The costume came from a  chest that was buried in the clutter in the drama room where Hellfire met every Friday night. Eddie came across it while clearing away space for the D&D table a few weeks back and knew it was perfect for this year's Halloween events. Admittedly it was a little small for him. Eddie's arms and legs were only covered ¾ of the way. Still, thankfully the scraggly lion mane was separated from the rest of the costume so he could still wear it as a hat with a velcro clasp under his chin. However, it was missing its left ear; the outfit had undoubtedly seen better days. His actual hair wasn't cooperating, poked out round his cheeks, and was extra frizzy around the bottom as static claimed victory. The added Munson-touch of his battle jacket overtop of the costume guaranteed two things; more laughs from the group and ensured he would sweat his balls off the whole movie.

References

https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/what-is-devils-night

Grant is the name of the actor who plays the unnamed member of Corroded Coffin, the credits listed him as “Freak 1”. The character needed a name and I’m terrible at coming up with them. (https://strangerthings.fandom.com/wiki/Freak_1)

In the video of inside Eddie’s trailer, posted by someone who worked on the show. It showed what looked to be a lion’s costume being one of maybe 3 other things that hung in Eddie's room closet. You're deadass wrong if you didn’t think I was gonna add it in. (https://www.tiktok.com/@averilina/video/7109951099917913390)

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (epilogue II)

word count; 3193

summary; deep into your relationship, and still happy, there’s a bigger step on the horizon.

notes; please note that this is based two years after the events of the main series!

warnings; reference to arson, reference to injury.

“Tommy, where the hell are we? Why does it smell like burned wood?” You grinned, your vision blocked by the tie Thomas had used to cover your eyes, holding onto one of his hands tightly as he guided you up the pathway beneath your feet. “Seriously, I thought we were having a date night. You said we were going out!”

“We are out, technically.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your skin tingling a little where his lips had pressed, before he was slowing you down, bringing you to a stop, and his hand left yours. The sunlight that had been pocking through the tie was blocked, shadowed as Thomas came to stand in front of you. “It’s just not what you think. But we are on a date, and we can order some food out here later.”

“Where exactly is ‘out here’? Because we were driving for, like, an hour.”

“Okay, well, it wouldn't normally be that long. I got a little lost because I couldn’t use the SatNav.” He huffed, fingers smoothing over the knot on the back of your head and trying not to pull on your hair as he undid it carefully. You were buzzing with excitement, wondering where exactly it was that he’d brought you, and you blinked a little at the light burned ta your eyes, finally able to see again. Thomas had blindfolded you upon leaving the station after your shift, not wanting you to have any idea about where you were going, and it took you a moment to readjust. “You ready?”

“Totally ready.” You beamed, and Thomas nodded, dipping down to press a quick peck to your lips, before he was stepping out of your way. Staring up at the building for a second, your blinked once, and then twice, before your lips were pursing, head tipping to the side. You stared for another moment, before turning to look at Thomas. “We’re at a burned-up house from a call last month?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah! Cool!” You faked his enthusiasm for a second, trying to understand where it was coming from. “Huh. Why?”

He rolled his eyes fondly, tucking the tie into his back pocket before taking your hand and tugging you up the steps. The doorframe was burned, the door pulled closed but unable to lock as it hung unevenly on its hinges, and Thomas pushed it open again carefully. “I thought you might want to look around? Can I show you around?”

You didn’t understand much, but you smiled, sensing his excitement in it, and nodding your head. “Yeah, Tommy, of course.”

You stepped in a little more, eyes flicking over it all. There was peeling wallpaper that was scarred with ash and black stains, burned away right down to the foundations in some places, and the ceilings were covered in soot. The floors creaked under your feet as you stepped in glass smashed and the shards stained, and it was unusual to see the remnants of a building like this without all the smoke and fire that usually came with it when you were on the job.

The first room looked like it was supposed to have wide doors, an entrance that would take double doors but they’d fallen down, ripped laces along the frame where they’d torn of, but the debris had been moved from inside of the house. The living room was beautiful, you couldn't deny it. There was a large fireplace against one wall, real log-burning with a chimney up to the roof and if you hadn't actually worked on the case, you’d have immediately put the large accessory down to the cause of the fire.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The reason this beautiful large house had burned down was stupid kids messing around with fireworks in the back garden of a house for sale, which was now completely destroyed. What would once have sold for over a million was barely worth a couple hundred thousand anymore, despite the beautiful neighbourhood it was in.

“This room is huge.” You mumbled, stepping a little further inside, and Thomas nodded. There was a file on one side, a place that was covered in old and destroyed bookshelves, a large windowsill beside it, and you could already picture it extended to make a little reading nook.

“Do you wanna’ see how it looked before? There were pictures on the real estate website, it was beautiful.”

You nodded, tuning to your boyfriend as he pulled out his phone, pulling up the pictures and swiping through them, Standing by his side, you looped an arm around his waist, leaning in slightly, and his arm went over your shoulders. Finally finding the right one, he positioned you both to be facing in the right direction, a set of large bay windows on one side that went out towards a decking that had been burned away.

In the photograph, the window had curtain rails and soft white curtains made of a thin kind of mesh, letting in the natural light as they hung over large glass doors. The walls were done up with a pale grey and white wallpaper, leaving it simply for the furnishings, but everything seemed to be in pale shades that made it all feel modern and elegant. Turning you both, he showed off the fireplace, decorated with old cobblestones and shale around the base that decorated it beautifully, before fading away into what had once been smooth oak wood flooring.

There were pictures on the wall at one end, and it reminded you of the wall Thomas had in his apartment, the one you had moved into almost a year ago, but his one was bigger, and looked like it could hold at least three times the quantity. There were couches laid out, surrounding a large television, and it was a huge area, a coffee table that looked like it was almost the size of a dining table.

Moving through to the kitchen together, you were even more taken aback by it. To one side was what was once a dining room, connected fully and open space, enough to seat a whole extended family, and you could only imagine the thanksgivings or the Christmas’, and you would be able to fit the whole squad into that room without trouble, without sitting in different rooms or connecting tables, all squeezing around the kitchen counters at Newt’s place or sitting in the tables, couches and floor like at Minho’s last Christmas.

There was space in the kitchen for an island in the centre, stools in front of it, and built-in ovens and fridges like at the station. There was also a set of large doors here, the glass broken, and you assumed this was where the fireworks had burst right though because there was a hole in the centre of the ceiling up into one of the rooms above.

“I saw this kitchen and I was immediately thinking about the size of it. Y’know, like, imagine the parties or the holidays, with a dining room like that and a kitchen like this I remember thinking it when we were putting out the flames, too.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around for a second, and you guided his face back to your own, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Weird thing to think about when putting out a fire, I know.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Big kitchen and dining room, you’d actually be able to fit a family our size into it without trouble. It’s kinda’ wild to think about.”

He chuckled, nodding his head, and his hands lifted to cup your cheeks pulling you back in closer to him. His nose bumped against your own, dragging together for a second in sweet Eskimo kisses, before his lips were meeting your own. Pressing in softly, he was still smiling into the connection for the first few seconds, before his head was twisting to the side, one hand dropping from your face to your waist, smoothing around your lower back and pulling you in even closer.

Pressing up into him, your arms circled his neck, pulling him down to your level as his tongue soothed over your lower lip, and you parted them for him. He sighed, a breathy and delicate sound, before his fingertips were digging into your flesh, holding you tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. Scratching lightly at the hairs along the base of his neck, he rumbled happily, chest vibrating under your own with the noise and your fingers tangled a little more, and you pulled back. He whined, chasing after you for a few seconds, before letting you go, his forehead resting against yours instead.

“Your hairs getting kinda’ long.”

“You don’t like it?” He teased, and you shook your head, slightly kiss-swollen lips puckering for a second to press to his own again, a series of short pecks, before you pulled back.

“I like it, but you always complain about how sweaty your head gets in your helmets when your hair is too long.” He sighed, knowing you were right, and shrugging it off with a ‘hmph’.

“You know, talking of parties, there’s this amazing outdoor area. It's huge, there’s the decking from the living room and a patio outside here, there’s a big tree at the end of the garden and this amazing barbecuing area.” You nodded along, eyes narrowing on him again as he got excited over it, walking you a little closer to the broken doors so that you could see out.

He was right, there was a tall oak tree at the end of a huge garden, a fire pit made in the middle surrounded by beer cans and wrapped from where you assumed the teens who’d started the fire had been messing around, but with a little love and care, it would be all fixed up. The patio would seat big outdoor furniture, and you could picture a smaller firepit in the centre for later summer nights, as well as the proud barbecuing area Thomas had mentioned, built into the stonework with different levels and multiple grills.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of this house?” You echoed, and he nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, before you took a deep breath, staring back out to the garden.

“I think it’s beautiful. Or, it was. Has a lot of potential to be incredible again.” You didn’t know much, you’d barely seen half of the lower floor and none of the upper ones. “I haven’t seen much of it, but what I have seen is nice.”

“Well, y’know, there’s big bedrooms. The master bedroom is amazing, it has an en-suite with a shower and a bathtub, a big closet and huge windows for natural light with a little miniature balcony outside of it. There’s a study down here which would make a really nice snug or cosy room, it didn’t get touched as much by the fire so you can get a better image of it when I show you. There are so many bedrooms, seriously, like, six bedrooms. There’s an attic, and a basement, and-

“Tommy, why are we here?” There was something hidden under his voice, his words trailing off after you’d interrupted him and his hand sank back to his sides from where he’d been making gestures with them, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It’s a cool house, I thought you might want to see inside of it! Especially since you and Newt didn’t get to do much when we were here, there wasn’t anybody injured, so you were just left waiting around, and I wanted to share it with you.”

“There’s more to it than that, I know I’m not great at picking up on signals, Tommy, but I’d like to think I got pretty good at reading you over this last year or so.” You studied him for a second, and he shrunk a little more under your gaze, before huffing out a laugh.

“Almost two years, now.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to reassure him, before sliding up to sit on his neck, letting your thumb brush over his pulse point and calm him. His hand landed on your wrist, following as he trailed it up your arm to find your hand, pulling it away from his body and linking your fingers together instead. He kissed along your knuckles, remaining in silence, but you felt like you were drowning in the nervous tension he was letting off.

“Talk to me, Tommy.”

“Okay.” He let out a shaky breath, nodding his head before looking back up to you. “Well, you and Newt were talking after the case, right? He said Derek lived in a neighbourhood like this when he was younger, and that you had always wanted to live in an area like this. Well, when I was in here, I kept thinking about how beautiful this place was, and how big it was. The whole squad could fit in, and it would be so comfortable. This is the sort of place you spend the rest of your life in, right? I was looking through it all and doing a sweep and because I knew it was empty my mind was wandering. I just thought about how I would never normally be able to afford a place like this, and how the value would go down so much because of the fire, and..”

“Oh, wow, are you thinking of buying this house?” You couldn't hide the shock in your voice no matter how much you tried, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you look around, with a little more interest now as you took it all in with more attention to detail.

“Well, yeah. Kind of. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from the house so it’s pretty much the same commute as right now, and-” He huffed, nostrils flaring a little as he thought, and you raised your brows at the way he suddenly went quiet, the gears in his head visibly turning as his brows furrowed a little. “Look, I’m struggling here, I’m nervous, okay?”

“Thomas, you’re getting all panicky.” You whispered, pulling him in a little, and leaning up. He was eagerly awaiting the kiss you gave him, body relaxing a little as you balanced yourself with one hand, thumb playing with his own where the other was still held by one of his, and he didn’t let you go when he pulled back. Instead, his head dipped lower, pulling you in and wrapping an arm around your waist, needy kisses that left you breathless as he held onto you, tension melting away and becoming a little hazy instead as he clung to you.

“I’m just,” His teeth nibbled a little on your lower lip, panting slightly as he pulled back for breath, and you were stealing more kisses through gasping laughs as you tried to get enough air, smiling and teasing as you did. “I’m just trying to ask you,” He was cut off again, your mouth meeting his and he laughed against your lips, his hand leaving your own to hold onto you more, fingers tickling over your sides lightly as you laughed into the kiss. “Cut it out, I’m calm now, but I have to say this while I have the courage.”

His cheeks were flushed when you pulled back, hair a little messy and lips a darker shade than usual, and he licked over them as he stared down at you, undoubtedly staring at an equal messy composure. “You have my undivided attention. Go right ahead.”

“I remember that a while ago, we were lying in bed and talking about things we wanted that we never thought would happen, and you said you’d always wanted to rebuild a house. Renovate it, was the word you used. You wanted to make it your own, but you never thought you’d afford it. And, on a paramedic and a firefighters wage, we’d never be able to afford a place like this, normally.”

“We?” You echoed, a soft smile on his lips as your heart thudded in his chest. You knew what it meant, it was a heavy commitment to buy a house with someone, living together was one thing but buying a house was basically a step away from a proposal, it was an investment in a long term future together, and you felt like you could barely breathe. Your chest felt tight, shock and adrenaline racing through you and you stiffened slightly, fear lacing itself into Thomas’ features once again. “You, uh, you want us to buy a house together?”

“Maybe..” He sighed, a little timid again now. “It was just a thought, because it’s such a beautiful house, and as soon as I saw it I was thinking about things you’d said, and it just seemed perfect for us, but if you don’t like it then that’s fine, just don’t shut down on me, okay?” He rested a hand over your cheek, thumb brushing softly, and his lips pressed a soft kiss toy our forehead. “Just tell me you hate the idea, but don’t go silent, alright?”

You nodded, letting him kiss your temple too, before pulling back to look at you. “I, um..”

“Hate it?”

“Love it, actually.” You choked on the words slightly, feeling a little breathless as they were wheezed out, and Thomas paused. He looked sceptical, shaking his head slightly, and you tried your best to smile. “No, I do. I really do. I’m just terrified, okay? I’m not good at long-term commitment, I’m scared, but I want it. With you.”

“Really? Because I know it’s a big step, and I know what it means, I’m not blind. It’s buying a house together, so if you wanna’ freak out or you don’t want it, that's okay, just tell me, alright? Because I’m in this with you for the long haul and you’ve got to know that by now, it’s not a secret, so I can wait until you’re ready.” The words sped from him, a little too fast, and you shook your head, leaning up to press your forehead to his.

“I’m really, totally sure. I just hadn't thought about it, okay? I was caught off guard, I’m not much one to think about the future, it doesn’t come naturally to me. But when I do think about my future, you’re always there.”

“Always?” He teased, twisting his head to brush his lips with your own.

“Every single time.” You gave him a quick kiss, a happy hum to accompany it and he relaxed once he let you sink back. “So, why don’t we order some pizza to be delivered here, and you can show me around some more. You said there were lots of bedrooms, which is good, because you know Newt will want his own.”

“So, we’re buying a house?” He looked a little unsteady, eyes glossing over, and he sniffed lightly. You matched him, nodding your head and beaming as the emotions overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby, we are.”

[thelittlepoetprincess]

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [Dabi x Reader]

Author's Note: I personally am not a fan of Lizard king here but go off. This took a long ass time to write not to mention proofread and edit. No idea if I'm making another part to this. Also, a lot of this is therapy wagon material. If you want to be tagged in these just say so.

Warnings: Fluff for a bit, Implied depression, mild spoilers, light mental manipulation, degrading, power play, oral sex(F receiving), hate sex, death mentions, arson, and physical abuse.

Summary: You chose your job over Dabi, and then severely regret it once he survives.

The numbness of grief was overwhelming, even more so when the one you were grieving was your lover. You settled onto the sofa, watching the news drone on about the recent death of Villian Dabi, confirmed now to be Touya Todoroki. You'd turn off the TV and lie on your back, not needing the extraneous details of his death. After all, you killed him.

The memory of it haunted you like ghosts dancing in your memories: the heated warmth of his palms that threatened to burn you but never did, the way he always wore worn down leather or rough worn down jackets, everything about him attracted you and only made his death hit you harder.

You were a lesser-known hero with a restoration quirk, able to numb large areas and heal minor wounds while still using it in large quantities. You'd met Dabi while out on a mission to recover a kidnapped hero, and you couldn't keep your hands off his wounds. Not like he'd let you after he felt your gentle touch ease his pain for once.

Six months, it only took six months for the bad boy to entangle himself into your life. He snuck into your old apartment all the time, made you comfortable, and he'd break down in front of you. He was a surprisingly affectionate lover, despite his many flaws. You'd feel something in your throw blanket, shaking it loose to find the leather jacket he always wore.

The navy blue leather faded slightly and burnt in specific areas where he couldn't control his flames.

You felt the fresh hot tears welling up behind your eyes as you clutched the jacket to your chest. It was much larger than you since Dabi was slightly taller, so your face nuzzled into where his neck would be. It still smelled of cigarettes and burnt flesh, the scent you grew to love so much.

You took a deep inhale, the tears starting to flow as you replayed your shared memories, unable to help the grief overwhelming you. Suddenly, you had no energy nor will to do anything except sleep, even moving was deemed too much to handle. The scent of your boyfriend lulled you to sleep, though it'd be one of the last times it'd do so.

Dabi wrapped his hands around your waist before hoisting you high in the air while the wind blew at your hair in the flowy white lace dress you wore. The undetailed field of wildflowers went on far beyond your sight as he twirled you around before falling on his back with you. You'd both be laughing in the hazy daze of love before sharing a loving kiss as the gentle grass blades tickled your skin.

You felt a leathery hand touch the skin of your cheek, the thick smell of cigarette smoke tickling your nose and making you sneeze before you gently smacked away the hand. You hear a deep, raspy chuckle before the person mysteriously pulls the coat on you like a blanket.

"Little hero, do you love me?" You'd mumble a yes subconsciously, something saddeningly familiar about whoever it was looming over your sleeping form. "Ha, cute. . ." You heard something about leaving and the door shut with a click, leaving you to sleep once again.

Your peaceful sleep is dreadfully short as your friends came in, yanking you from the grasp of sleep with their tumultuous noise.

You quickly hid the jacket, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as they opened your curtains and turned on the TV. It droned on about the agency you worked at and fire. However, you didn't have the energy nor will to care since you planned on quitting anyway.

They droned on about how you'd slept for two days straight and needed to get out, and you agreed. Maybe it would take your mind off of Dabi and the arsenic incident, also the five missed calls from your agency from two days ago. You'd shower and change, pulling your hair back out of your face for the first time for days.

The curls were dry against your fingers so you oiled your hands and massaged them into the brown mass you called hair, plucking it out to its full shape. You pulled on the black and blue dress, noticing how the dress hugged your hips a bit then flowed out to your mid-thigh. Perhaps you've gained a bit of weight these past 2 months.

Tired bags were under your eyes from sleeping for so long. After some light makeup, you left with them to the carnival. 

Lights illuminated the dark navy blue sky as you got dragged about, the fun temporarily blinding you from the sadness overwhelming you. They led you into the Maze of Mirrors, their bodies contorting and bending around you confusedly while you searched for them until they disappeared. Their goofy laughter faded into an eerie silence with only your echoing footsteps left to fill the silence. You froze as you smelled a familiar scent: burnt flesh and cigarette smoke.

His chuckles were all around you as you saw the flashes of black and navy blue in the mirrors before he was suddenly standing in front of you.

He was pissed, you knew that snarky glare anywhere. It made you nervous as he closed the distance between the two of you without speaking a word until he backed you against the cold glass. He gently pressed himself against you, giving you no real way to escape him with his arms on both sides of your head. "Dabi-" "Shh, I don't wanna hear it. At least not here, too many people. They're already looking for me since I disappeared. We aren't safe, come on." He didn't ask as he hoisted you over his shoulders to carry you out the back exit.

He seemed gentle while he carried you, he wasn't rough at all. The heat you felt radiating from his palms as he held said otherwise as you worriedly fretted about him burning a hole in your clothes. Though you felt some relief knowing he wasn't dead: he was your love after all. You knew what was coming to you for feeding him arsenic wasn't going to be a gentle, loving reunion of star-crossed lovers. Dabi wasn't that kind of guy.

He made it back to your new apartment after knocking out the security guard at the gate and threw you onto the bed. He'd seemed to get angrier as he got closer to your apartment. Your hair messily fell around your face to make a curly halo around it. He was on top of you before you could attempt to sit up, his warm breath huffing down the side of your neck.

"Now what the fuck were you thinking, huh? An arsenic cupcake? You really wanna get rid of me that badly you snake." He seethed, and you felt the familiar feeling of your wrists being burnt by his flames. You cry out in pain, squirming under his grip with tears in your eyes.

"Oh you're crying, now you're crying. How do you think I felt getting sick and finding out my girlfriend poisoned me?" He'd growl out, as you stopped squirming and sucked it up. He was right, you deserved this. You tried to kill him, and all he'd done was be beside you and attempt to be somewhat of a lover to you. You looked up to him, his blue eyes lacking any gentleness or affection. It was hate, resentment, and importantly: lust.

That's when it hit you that you were a stress reliever for him. Everything that he kept pent up he always let it out on you, and for about a month now he hasn't had it. You'd reach out, gently tracing your fingers along his scars using your quirk to calm him and watch his eyes soften as he quite literally melted under your touch. He'd land on top of you, caging you underneath him with his arms, he exhaled a strained snarl before snatching your hands from his skin.

You couldn't help wincing once you felt the familiar burning sensation of Dabi's quirk in action yet again as the blue flames licked against your skin, at least it wasn't a third-degree this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? My agency, they called then it went up in flames." He didn't answer but you knew the answer by the way he buried into the side of your neck. He always did that when you accused him and he was guilty. You'd chuckle to yourself but yelp when you felt his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, suckling your skin.

You'd squirm as a familiar heat settled itself in the pit of your stomach. He huffed as he finally moved away from the purple bruise he left on your skin. His lips trailed down until he reached your exposed collarbone, chuckling before tracing his hands against your caramel skin sending chills down your spine. He'd kiss, lovingly at that, along the caramel curve of your breasts.

He'd yank you to the edge of the bed, moving between your legs with a focused look in his glimmering eyes. "Dabi, are you mad at me?" He'd chuckle before you'd feel a burn against your thighs while sinking his teeth into the soft plushness of your inner thigh. "Oh darling, I'm fucking furious." The sweet name rolled off his tongue, making you quiver when paired with his teasing licks over your soaked panties.

He paid no attention to your face, his main focus being on the slickness accumulating from your dripping hole. His hands traced up over the stretch marks gently decorating your skin so beautifully before burning off the panties, his tongue grazing the soaked slit before sliding his tongue up to your neglected clit. His mouth was warm and wet against your sensitive bud, making it grow under his expert tongue his suckling sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, and core. The entire room felt hot, and it wasn't helping wherever his hands traced left heated burn trails. You'd run your fingers into hair, yanking it to where his tongue pressed against your hole. "Dabi, please I want it. . ."

"Shut it, I'm still pissed at you." He'd yank your arms away again, pressing his tongue into your hole. Your flavor flooded his tongue, making him lick and devour you hungrily. Your eyes rolled back, your hips subconsciously bucking against his tongue as it buried into your wet hole. Ecstasy, that's all you could describe the feeling at this moment. The waves of heat that swallowed you and threatened to keep you at this moment while your climax built up in that tight ball. You panted like a bitch in heat, your legs trembling as your fingers intertwined in his black hair. "Dabi, I'm. . . .I'm-!"

"Shut up, loud-ass slut. Come if you wanna come so bad!" 

He'd say before continuing to devour you, his tongue digging into your spot just enough to send you tottering over the edge in waves of heat. You'd throw your head back, sending your curls flying wildly behind you as you rode out your orgasm and Dabi's face. Your legs closed around his head like a vice, keeping his tongue in your hole while he drank you greedily. He moaned into your nether lips, finally able to pull away with an exasperated breath.

His lips and chin were a mess of your nectar and saliva, but a smirk was on his face now. He'd notice his jacket hidden poorly, but laugh as he moved to take it and pull it on. He'd once again hoist you over his shoulder, humming as he slid his fingers along the walls setting them ablaze. "Dabi-?! What are you doing?! My apartment!" "I let you have too much freedom last time, but don't worry. I'll make it so that I'm the only one you can lean on. Then you'll never leave again." 

He'd laugh as he carried you away, ignoring your cries and pleas while the building went up in flames along with everything you'd known up until now. His sick, twisted laughter filled your ears before you felt a hard force against your head, the inky blackness flooding your senses and knocking you out.

[pastelsapphy]

Inferno

Warnings: Major character death, murder, suicide, arson, death by fire, unhinged Saeyoung

AO3 Link

A/N: I wrote this at midnight because the thought wouldn't leave me alone. I wonder what Saeyoung's plan was if he'd gotten all three of them to the cabin like he'd wanted in VAE. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty. And I think seeing both of Saeran's killers in front of him... the thought that Saeran wouldn't want revenge wouldn't stop him. Not this time.

I might go back and edit the dialogue later. It wasn't the point of this; the point is the ending and Saeyoung's grief. The world needs more unhinged Saeyoung. Let him be angry and terrifying.

Normally I'm not a fan of unhappy/hopeless endings, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. This is supposed to take place at the end of VAE episode 2 when Saeyoung initially interrogates Rika; the only difference is he managed to hunt down V as well. So maybe Jumin and Jaehee show up moment later and manage to save any or all three them. Maybe Saeyoung ends up with a cool scar to match Saeran's. Maybe not. Who knows.

There is an old clock in the cabin. Saeyoung isn't sure how it still works--it's not like anyone who comes out here is about to change the batteries or anything. Yet it works, filling the tiny wooden building with a steady tick, tick, tick as the seconds go by.

It's fitting, really. It's as if the universe is counting down the minutes. How many more does he have? Maybe it's only a few. Perhaps as much as an hour. Certainly not much more than that.

Tick, tick, tick.

He had already sent Vanderwood outside. Well, forced them out might be more accurate--they could tell something was wrong with Saeyoung. Of course, they knew about his brother by this point; they knew he was going to grieve, and grieving people do weird shit to cope. And Saeyoung is a weird guy to begin with. But something was just... off. It was a feeling in their gut. Something snapped in that kid's brain and Vanderwood wasn't keen on leaving him to his own devices.

"I'm not leaving you by yourself so you can do something stupid," Vanderwood had said.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Vanderwood." Saeyoung did not shift his gaze away from the cabin's other two occupants. "It's in everyone's best interest if you wait outside."

"I told you I'm--"

"Get the fuck out!" Saeyoung snapped, briefly looking away to shoot a glare at the other agent.

Vanderwood had been momentarily stunned into silence. They yelled at Saeyoung on a regular basis--the kid had caused them so many headaches over the years--but never had Saeyoung snapped back like that. He would make smartass remarks, god knows he was full of them, but he never yelled. If he had ever been truly angry with Vanderwood, he had never shown it.

There was a long silence, broken only by the ever-present tick, tick, tick of the old clock. Then, Vanderwood had sighed and stood from their chair. "Fine. But if I think you're about to do something that will endanger both our lives, I'm coming back."

"You don't have to worry about that. Just wait outside, Agent."

Something about the way he said that sent a chill down their spine. Maybe it was his tone, now constantly laced with barely-restrained rage. Maybe it was the fact that he called them Agent. Maybe it was instinct. But after another moment's pause, they stepped outside the cabin. They reached into their pocket for their cigarettes, only to find them gone, along with their lighter. Must have left them in the cabin. By the time they turned around to check, Saeyoung had already latched the door behind them.

So now it's just the three of them, three people tied together by one unbreakable thread. Three people who weren't human anymore. Three monsters. Three killers with blood on their hands. The worst kind of scum, all responsible for taking the life of an innocent--someone too kind and pure for this world.

Saeran may have been the one to detonate the bomb that destroyed Magenta, but the three who sit in the cabin--Saeyoung Choi, Jihyun Kim, Rika Kim--are the ones responsible. They all killed Saeran. Saeran's blood coats their hands and would never, could never, be washed away.

Tick, tick, tick.

V, ever the mediator, is the first to break the silence. "Luciel--"

"Why?" The word tears itself from Saeyoung's throat, finally pushing past the lump of rage and guilt that threatens to strangle him.

"I'm sorry, Saeyoung," Rika says. "I'm so sorry for everything that happened. If I could go back, if I could trade my life for his--"

"You have no right to say that." Saeyoung spits, standing abruptly. "You have no! Right!"

Rika falls silent, her hollow-eyed gaze dropping to the floor. Saeyoung hates it. Her demeanor only angers him further. How dare she play the victim? Maybe the 'it's all my fault, I'm the worst, I deserve retribution' thing would garner sympathy from other people, but not Saeyoung. He, in fact, wholeheartedly agrees. It is all her fault. She is the worst person in the world. She does deserve retribution. The same goes for V and himself.

"Luciel--" V tries again.

"And neither do you!" Saeyoung's venom now turns to him. "Don't you dare say anything about sacrifice. It means nothing. It won't bring him back. It won't change what you did to him."

Tick, tick, tick.

"I trusted you," Saeyoung says. "I. Trusted. You. You promised me--you swore to me that you would protect him! How could you--" his voice cracks. "How could you do that to him? Saeran was good. Saeran was innocent. Saeran was kind, and gentle, and he deserved to be loved. But you--you--"

He lets out a frustrated noise, unable to turn his thoughts into words. His mind is nothing but a loop of rage, rage, rage. Rage and vengeance and shame and guilt.

"You killed him," he finally growls. "Both of you killed him. And... so did I. Every one of us is responsible for what happened to him."

"Luciel," V tries again. "We--" he sighs. "Please, Luciel... if anything, do not blame yourself--"

"How?" He snaps. "How?! I trusted you both to look after him. To care for him. To treasure him. And instead, you manipulated and brainwashed him. You tortured him just like our mother did." He feels a twisted sense of satisfaction at the pained gasp Rika lets out, as if she's been stabbed through the heart.

Saeyoung decides to twist the knife further. "Actually, you were even worse than our mother. At least she never lied to us. We knew from the beginning that she only wanted us to get money from our father, that she never loved either of us. But you? You lied. You promised to protect us, to help us. But in the end you were just the same. You gave us hope only for your own selfish needs.

"Saeran spent every day of his life living in fear while you beat all the kindness and gentleness out of him.

"And you--" Now he speaks directly to V. "You did nothing to stop her. Fuck all your excuses. I don't care about your sacrifice. You were only ever concerned with her. You were only ever protecting her. If you had really wanted to protect Saeran then you would have saved him from her. You can martyr yourself all you want, it won't make you any better than her."

Tick, tick, tick.

The air in the room shifts abruptly. It's charged, thrumming like a livewire. The explosive anger evaporates in an instant; it's replaced by something far more terrifying.

"All of Saeran's killers must be held responsible for what happened," Saeyoung says. His anger is no longer a raging inferno. Now, his anger is like ice. It's calm, now. No less intense, but calm. As if he had long ago decided a course of action.

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung crosses the room and reaches for something behind one of the chairs. He wonders, briefly, what his brother's last moments were like. How did the bomb detonate? Had Saeran simply pressed a button and ended it, or was he forced to sit there and listen as a timer counted down his last minutes on Earth?

Tick, tick, tick.

Rika does not react, but V's eyes widen when Saeyoung lifts a large, red plastic canister from behind the chair. "Luciel, what are you--"

Saeyoung unceremoniously upends the container in the middle of the cabin's main room. The liquid quickly soaks into the carpet and the wood flooring, and the heavy smell of gasoline fills the room.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Luciel! Wait, let's talk about this--" V has risen to his feet, but freezes when Saeyoung pulls a beat-up zippo from his pocket.

"Talk?" Saeyoung says, laughing. "Talk?! You had years to talk, V, but you stayed silent and let Saeran suffer. The time for talking has long since passed."

Tick, tick, tick.

He flicks the lighter open with a small metallic clink.

"Saeran wouldn't want this," V tries. His half-blind, once-honest eyes are wide and desperate.

"Don't you dare speak his name!" Saeyoung shouts. "You don't deserve to say his name."

"Please--"

"It doesn't matter anymore what he would have wanted."

It's then that V notices the tears running down Saeyoung's cheeks, the tremble in his voice. Had he ever seen Saeyoung cry before?

"He's gone. And he's never coming back. And those responsible need to pay for it.

"Heh... you know, this is the first time I wished I could get into Heaven," Saeyoung continues, voice breaking. "Just for a few minutes. Just long enough to apologize to Saeran. For everything. For not being able to protect him. For leaving him. For being a terrible brother. For betraying him. For failing him. Beg for his forgiveness. All of us should."

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung lets out a low chuckle. "Knowing Saeran... he would probably forgive us. Not that any of us deserve it. So perhaps it's better this way."

Tick, tick, tick.

"Take your revenge, Saeyoung." Rika's voice is hardly above a whisper, yet it seems so loud in such a small space.

Tick, tick, tick.

Saeyoung lowers himself to the ground, thumb on the wheel of the zippo. The gasoline soaks into the legs of his jeans. His head feels light, and he's not sure if it's from the fumes or if it's a weight lifting off his shoulders.

Tick, tick, tick.

"You wanted us all to be a family, right?" He says.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Then let's go to Hell together."

Tick, tick,

Click

Tick--

BOOM.