#and it fucking hurts alright

[rafyki]

Okay but the lyrics of the new Jack and Joker ost by War? 😭😭😭 Excuse me what the hell 😭😭

Oh this definitely makes me think that Joke is gonna leave 🥲 because he thinks it would be better for everyone 🥲 yeah, I think I'll cry forever alright

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

PLEASE MORE BUTTERFLY HOWDY CONTENT HES SO FUCKING SILLY

OKAY HERE'S A COMIC SHENANIGANS THING

[introspectivememories]

tim and bear getting couple tattoos.... tim gets a bear on his hip and bear gets a grasshopper over his heart

[s0fter-sin]

soapghost

[cure-stars]

see, even though i kept singing, i was still crying alone

in the music festival where i danced frantically

are the sounds reaching your ears? lomia, lomia!

i fell in an almost magical love with a sound,

which i had finally met after years of separation,

and i didn't even notice. 🌹

[muzzlemouths]

"Squeeze my hand." from the prompt list? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

Moon centric // Wordcount: 4245

You do your best not to wake him.

Getting two hundred pounds of deadweight metal off the ground and into a cart was already hard enough on its own, and doing so without becoming entangled in the mess of exposed wiring was another challenge all together, but you had somehow pulled it off without so much as a twitch from his end. It had been concerning, at first - the thought that Moon wasn’t just out for the count but well and truly broken - and you won’t lie, that had scared you.

But a rude awakening from his emergency startup protocol had told you he was okay - functioning, at least - bleak consciousness that lasted long enough to send him forward a few ‘steps’ before his eyes darkened and gravity dragged him back to the floor. A deep purple was already blossoming where he fell against you.

Not wanting to repeat the process, you quickly got him onto wheels so you could reach Parts and Services while you still had some time left to your shift. You’re painfully careful about it, fast and quiet, you take every shortcut downstairs. If he woke now, you’d never reach within an inch of the place without a fight. And Moon’s fight meant more than accidental bruises.

Ironically, it’s your haste that inevitably wakes him. An unpatched crack in the flooring jolts the entire cart as it’s run over and rocks his body from side to side. It results in another attempt at booting up, this one more successful, because in the next moment he’s sitting up and looking around - albeit not without some trouble. You don’t stop the cart. If you can get there before he realizes where you’re going, you might still have a chance.

He rests his forehead against one hand and curls the other over the edge of the cart for stability, bent forward at the waist, his joints creak with the effort. “What happened?” He groans - then, looking up from his palm to face his surroundings - “Where are we?”

You reach the elevator just in time.

“Morning, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” You make a point of avoiding his questions. He’ll figure it out himself soon enough. It’s better for both your health and his own if you just keep moving. “You’re a little out of sorts, took a bit of an impromptu nap for a while.” The elevator takes you down, down, down, and right as it opens again, Moon realizes.

He moves fast to get out of there - or tries to, anyway. A failed attempt at leaping from the cart has him giving his body a second glance, only now seeing the way his waist has twisted, the metal there grossly dented and his legs contorted backwards. A position that is perfectly normal for him on a good day. But this isn’t a good day. The angle of his limbs is wrong, and his wires have paid the price. You’re sure he figures out the rest immediately after; that they’re as numb as gears can be. That he can’t move from the waist down.

Moon swivels as best he can, hoisting himself into the air with the help of one arm while the other reaches behind him and clasps around a wheel, just barely reaching - the whole cart swivels and then jerks to a stop.

“Dude!” You struggle to keep yourself from faceplanting against it and falling right in with him, “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” He repeats, meeting you with a look of steel.

Your fingers tighten on the cart handle. “Moon,” a sigh escapes, your frustration settling into defeat, you try not to make a big deal out of it in hopes that he won’t, either, “you know where.”

He doesn’t immediately answer you. His expression changes like rapid fire; confusion, fear, if you reached, and then anger. “No,” he spits, “Take me back to the Daycare. I’ll fix it myself.”

You try not to laugh, but a snort escapes you anyway. The cart doesn’t budge when you try again. “Not this time, buddy,” you tell him, “this isn’t something you can just wrench together with your own hands. You need real help. The kind you can only get downstairs.”

“Get me the tools then,” Moon argues, hand glued to the wheel, “You can go and bring them back up, can’t you?”

“Moon,” you try to make your voice stern, but you know your own resolve pales in comparison to his determination to not get any closer to that dreaded metal chair, “I’m not changing my mind. Either you let me take you down to P&S or I’m bringing out the big guns.”

His eyes narrow. “Which is?”

“I turn on the lights.”

Stiffening, now, his expression turns dangerous, “You wouldn’t dare,” he growls, “Sun can’t handle that place any better.”

“It’s not up to me. The Daycare opens in six hours and they’re expecting an attendant who can manage the job, much less use their legs. If you don’t go in, he’ll have to, and it won’t be me carting him down there.” You hated utilizing such a cruel tactic, but your words are honest. They needed fixing and, one way or another, management would ensure it happened - likely with a staff member much less kind or patient than yourself. Moon was often selfish to a fault but, when it came down to it, he prioritized Sun’s safety over his own. Always had. The rest of your night hinged on that remaining true. “So, what’ll it be?”

He simmers something fierce, fitting you with a look that might scare you a hell of a lot more if his legs were in proper working order. As it stands, you would at least have a running start were things to go sour.

But his temper visibly fizzles out into nothing more than an angry bite, shoulders slumping with defeat, and a moment later he releases the wheel.

“Thank you.” You breathe a sigh of relief as he slumps back against the cart, “I promise I’ll get you fixed up as fast as I’m able. It should just be a simple tune-up and a chest piece transplant, maybe some rewiring. You’re in and out within two hours, tops.”

“Mhm.” Is all he has to say in return. You don’t push him for more than that.

The remaining walk to Parts and Services is entirely uneventful. The halls are empty and pin-drop silent, save for the creak and heave of the wheels as they turn several corners. You pause at the entrance to the big bad room itself and ensure it’s as dimly lit as it can be while not hindering your ability to work, then you drag the cart in the rest of the way and stop it just outside of the repair cell.

Moon doesn’t look up from his disfigured lap until you come to pause beside him with arms extended. He squints, attempting to figure out what it is you want from him now, and when he does he responds by hunkering down further inside the cart. “Not helping,” he grunts, “I refuse to be cradled into that chair.”

Your arms fall dejectedly to your sides, groaning, you again roll your eyes at him, “Come on, don’t make me do all the work here. The faster your ass is in that chair, the faster you’ll be done. Don’t you think it would be easier that way - for both of us? Just wrap your arms around my shoulders–”

“No.” his arms cross over his chest, face turning away from you. You have to wonder how much of his refusal stems from stubbornness, and how much of it is just plain embarrassment.

Either way, it’s wasting your time.

“It’ll only be for a second!”

“Not. Happening.”

You inhale sharply, frustrated, balling your hands into fists, you exhale hot air and come to a resolve. “Fine. If you don’t want to help, I’ll do things my way.” You round the corner right as his chin lifts to face you again, a question stirring in his voice box, but before any proper words get out you’re already behind him and reaching in for the hook on his back.

“Wait–”

Your fingers curl around metal and give it a firm tug upward. His limbs move accordingly - going limp like a cat that’s been scruffed - an effect that lasts only long enough to get his upper half out of the cart. His joints move awkwardly as control slowly returns and your hand releases the grip, arms hugging around his waist, instead, successfully hoisting him over the edge from there.

It takes the last of your strength to keep him upright and not simply drop him to the floor once the entirety of his weight is in your arms, but you manage, and half-carry, half-drag him into the cell before haphazardly releasing him onto the chair. He lands with a grunt and a look that could kill.

“Who told you?” Moon hisses.

“No one,” you practically sneer back, “You pick up on a few things when you’ve worked here as long as I have. Sun went stiff last time I accidentally grabbed it, and your body sags for a quick second whenever you use the cord. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” You leave out the part where Sun had let the information slip. It’ll save you from having to negotiate another argument later on. Luckily, Moon seems to buy your excuse. He doesn’t like the answer either way.

You leave him to his grumbling and find a seat beside the repair monitor. There’s plenty to do and not a lot of time to do it. You can’t waste any more of your shift humoring the little pity party he’s hosting, so instead you get right to work imputing all the necessary information into the system so it’ll register what all needs done. A small machine like a projector lowers as you do so, making him freeze up entirely, and scans him from top to bottom. He is rigid from the very start up until the machine blinks and folds back into the ceiling. He doesn’t ease up any when it’s over.

The results are as you expected; a chest piece transfer - easy enough, if you let the service machine do any necessary welding for you - a manual realignment of his limbs, and finally, rewiring of whatever had become tangled and unplugged that is causing the loss of movement. That would be the hardest part by far. You were a jack of all trades kind of employee, an amateur technician, not a professional by any means. One wrong wire input and it would cost you your life or, at the very least, your job.

Not that you had a handful of options at your disposal. If it took this much convincing for Moon to let you play doctor, you doubted he would allow an actual mechanic anywhere near him. It was you or nothing.

“Hey,” Moon’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, forcing you to look past the monitor where he sits with a body still coiled tight, knees tucked up to his chest. “You never answered my question,” he says, not bothering to look up at you.

“What question?” You stand from the chair and begin to head for the tool cabinet.

He’s fiddling with the dents in his stomach, thumbing at the upturned metal there, “What happened?” His nail scrapes against a particularly gnarly piece, “I didn’t look like this a few hours ago.”

You keep your back turned to him. “Don’t know for sure. You were already out of commission by the time I entered the Daycare. The wire snapped, from what I gathered, and you fell from pretty high up. Landed wrong.” You try not to shudder, brought back to the moment where you found him lifeless in the dark, his wires exposed and splayed out like entrails, “I’m not sure how long you were like that before I found you.”

From the corner of your eye you see him grimace.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” you’re quick to reassure, “I’ll get you back in working order before my shift is over,” squinting into the cabinet, you brush some tools aside with a frown,“…as soon as I find what I need.”

“Off to a great start,” he grunts, “Remind me to get severely wounded with someone more proficient on the clock next time.”

“I can easily find someone else to poke and prod at your body, if you’d prefer.” Silence returns. You take his immediate lack of an answer as you having won that argument. “Oh, here it is!” Your hand grasps around the handle of a specific screwdriver. One that will get you inside his chestplate and on to business. You turn with it in hand and avoid the look in his eyes as you near him with it - if robots could go pale, he would be.

Fortunately for him, it isn’t yet time to put the tool to use. You set it on a small rolling table beside the chair and reach for his legs with your newly freed hands, lifting your chin to meet his gaze, “I’ll need your help with this part. Do you think you can lift your waist for me?” Your expression softens in response to his immediate hesitation to do so, “Please? I need to get you facing the right direction again.”

He isn’t so easily persuaded. It takes you attempting to do it singlehandedly, first, for him to realize you aren’t going to back down. Only then does he rest his palms on either side and lift himself into the air so you can properly get his waist to turn. It does so with an audible screech of metal on metal that makes both of you flinch.

“That’ll be fixed when we replace your chest piece,” you promise. He doesn’t look convinced.

Next came the worst part. You expect him to fight you tooth and nail when you reach for the screwdriver again and angle it against his torso, but instead he reacts in the opposite direction; with listless apathy. His fingernails dig into the seat beside himself with a strength that leaves dents and stands as the only thing giving away how he’s really feeling about this whole situation, beyond that he says nothing - does nothing - and makes no attempts to stop you. The screws fall away one by one.

Soon, the metal plating over his stomach comes undone beneath your fingertips and you pull it away entirely, setting it on the table beside you. The mess it was hiding is ugly and grotesque; wires strewn in every direction, tangled around each other, some knotted, others unplugged entirely, and some, still, that are severed and beyond repair. “Shit, dude,” you cringe outwardly, “it looks like a warzone in here. I’m not even sure where to start–” your hand dips, but pauses just within reach of him.

“Go on,” Moon senses your uncertainty like a bloodhound and suddenly remembers his attitude, and his smirk, “stick your hand in there. I want to see what happens.”

You have half a mind to grab a fistful of wires and give them a hearty tug just to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. You don’t, though. That would spell bad news for both of you. “Don’t be so cheeky,” you warn, “and hold still. I’m not looking to get my hand tangled in all of this.” You stand, again, leaving him propped open while you hunt out a pair of safety gloves. He makes a dissatisfied tsk but remains in place. Thankfully. Returning to your chair, you roll your sleeves up to your elbows and reach above your head for a light, dragging its metal neck down to your level so you can better see the disarray you’re being forced to work with, and look up at him. “Ready?”

Eventually, he goes still, nodding, and you convince yourself to start with the sections that are the least tangled and only need rearranging. Your hand carefully tucks into his wiring with stilted breath and you separate what you can, successfully managing to sort a handful before your knuckles brush against an exposed wire. Even through the gloves you can feel the zap of electricity shoot through your skin. Your hand pulls back as though it were bitten. His head tilts to the side inquisitively, smirk fading.

“What’s wrong?”

“The gloves aren’t enough,” you grimace, “your wires are shorting all over the place. It’s a death trap in there.”

“Get better gloves.” He says.

“Moon,” you pause, looking up at him, “I - I’m going to have to shut you down for this.”

His expression falls entirely. Not a frown, but a gape, this time you don’t have to look far to see the fear. “I can retrieve them myself,” he tells you, “and then you don’t have to–”

“I don’t know what those wires do, or how they could effect you if they’re torn out while you’re still awake.” You stand, and again head for the cabinet, “I’m sorry, there’s no way around it. You’ll be fine, though, I promise. It’ll be like taking a nap.”

“No!” His waist jolts and the metal twists, signs of him willing his legs to work and failing painfully, he sits upright to the point of nearly doubling over, “I won’t do it. The ones that are chopped up just go to my legs, right? They’ll be fine if I pull them out!” and he reaches to, immediately, hand diving in with blind ambition–

“Hey–Hey!” You swivel on your heel and take hold of his wrist just as his fingers wrap around a pair of red and blue wires, one shorted, and the other going strong, “fuck, Moon, what’s gotten into you?”

His chest moves on its own; mechanical breaths that stir with quick movements, up-down, up-down, up-down, eyes blown wide like a wild animal. He doesn’t attempt to pull away from your grip, but he doesn’t loosen his own, either, forcing you into a stalemate. “Let go,” his voice dips with venom, but it’s fickle, shaking, “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Your hand relaxes, slightly, but doesn’t release entirely. Your other hand raises to his faceplate, slow and careful, and you watch him flinch, “Tell me what’s going on,” you try to keep your voice soft, try to keep it from bottoming into pity, “why won’t you let me do this? Is it the thought of going under?”

You can understand that much, at least. It isn’t a nap at all, more like a medically induced coma, but that’s still better than sure death, isn’t it? “It’ll be quick, I promise.” Your thumb gently caresses the line up his cheek, hoping to bring him some kind of comfort, “I’ll power you down nice and easy, get the bad wires out, put some new wires in, and then wake you back up as soon as it’s done.”

“What if you don’t?”

You blink, stunned. Your hand goes still. “What?”

His eyes raise to meet you fully. “I’m not afraid of powering down. I don’t feel anything. I don’t dream. It doesn’t matter. But–” He pauses, and suddenly he doesn’t trust you with his gaze, and it slips just past you, instead, then falls to his lap. He goes silent.

“You’re…afraid I won’t power you on again?” He doesn’t answer. Your hand cradles again at his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “Moon, why wouldn’t I?”

His breath quickens, again. The hand in his stomach loosens, then goes vice, then loosens, the cords straining against their plugs. He holds them hostage like a gun to his head. “It’s stupid,” his voice is barely audible, a whisper so quiet, at first, you aren’t sure it’s there at all, “never mind,” it becomes a whine, like a low whirring fan inside his throat, “never mind, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, it isn’t stupid. I want to hear it,” you encourage, “you’re safe with me, you know that. You can talk to me.” Then, after a beat, “I promise not to tell anyone. Not even management.”

Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes find you. His fingers sag around the wires.

“There you go,” you further ease your own grip as a show of peace. Your thumb pads along his face and dips beneath the hat, worrying over the crease there, easing away the soreness. “Moon,” you try again, “Why wouldn’t I wake you up?”

He hesitates. Then, slowly but surely, he releases the hold on his wires. You let go of his wrist in turn, and both hands fall into his lap. “It would be easiest that way,” he mumbles, “Wouldn’t it?”

“What would?”

“Getting rid of me.” Moon answers.

Your stomach drops, lungs seizing, the room sways as you try to digest his words. You make a noise in your throat, something guttural and hopeless, lips moving, but no words come out. You make a second attempt at saying something - anything - but Moon is faster.

“I’ve thought it over a thousand times. How easy it would be.” His voice is bitter, but the poison in his words is turned in on itself, fatefully resigned, “Take care of the problem while the problem can’t fight back, you know?” He clears his throat, fingers intertwining in his lap, it strains like an old record.

“Stop that,” your hands find his and separate them, pressing your own palms against them instead, “You know that won’t happen–”

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” he continues, a dry laugh escaping his voice box, “It’s just a nap, after all. That’s what they’d tell me.”

Your breath catches in your chest. You aren’t sure what to say - what can be said to that. How are you meant to reassure someone when you’re just as powerless yourself? If it’s what management wanted, they would make it happen. It’s nothing you could prevent.

But damn it if you wouldn’t at least try.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Moon,” you bring his hands into your own lap and hold them there, hoping he hears you, hoping he takes your words for all their worth, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. That’s a promise.”

His eyes flicker upward for a brief moment, and he almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he wants to - maybe he’s desperate to. But it’s not enough.

“Wait,” you pull one hand away from your lap and use it to bring the table closer, ensuring it had everything on it that you would need, “I have an idea. A way for you to know for sure that I won’t leave you behind.” You pull only one glove away and reach for him again, fingers wrapping fully between his own, intertwining them. “You can lock your joints, right?”

Moon looks at you uncertainly. “I can.”

Your smile is hopeful and genuine, “Squeeze my hand,” you tell him, “Squeeze it and don’t let go.”

He looks at you with a blank expression. His fingers twitch, like he starts to agree, but then he stops. “Won’t that make it hard for you to work?”

“I have one free hand left,” you wave it, flexing your fingers, “I can work just fine with that.”

“But–”

“I won’t be able to pull my hand away from yours while you’re powered down,” you continue, “you can let it go when I wake you back up. But not until then.”

He’s quiet. You can’t read his expression, and he doesn’t give you anything to go off of that might tell you whether or not he thinks your plan is too silly to pursue. A stupid thought. A bad idea. Then, suddenly, you feel his hand squeeze back. “I’d like that,” he croaks, “I’d like that a lot.”

Relief floods your lungs. “I really will be as quick as I can,” you promise him.

He nods. “I trust you,” he mumbles, then, “Let’s do it.”

Your free hand reaches up and past his faceplate, fingers drawing for the latch beneath the hat and behind his head. The panel there pops open once you find it. Carefully, you move, locating the small and innocent button to the bottom left of his panel that will power him down. You feel the bump and pause afterward, finger hovering just above it. “Ready?” You ask him.

You feel his knuckles go rigid, the fingers stilling in place. A short and unsuccessful flex of your own hand proves that it isn’t going anywhere. You smile, and for once, he smiles back.

“Ready.”

His chest continues its rhythm; up-down, up-down, up-down, then it goes still. The light behind his eye fades as your finger comes back from the button, and his hand remains firmly in place.

You get right to work.

The process is harder this way. It takes twice as long, and you’re nearly breaching overtime by the time his wires are properly back in working order, but you don’t mind any of it. Your hand fell asleep an hour ago, but you don’t mind that, either.

When he wakes, it’ll be to new wires, functioning legs, and the promised face of someone who refuses to let him do this alone.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[b4kuch1n]

pre-holiday leave crumbs

[deadqueernoldor]

Thinking thoughts about those from Cuivienen and how they later treated the Valar, especially after Cuivienen was destroyed.

I imagine a foundation of sorrow and a layer of betrayal and pettiness. They had promised safety. And how did it turn out? Kin of Tata and Tatie their first leaders, slain in Valinor by the Dark Hunter from which the Valar promised protection in Valinor.

And then, the War of Wrath comes and with it the destruction of Cuivienen.

If any of those were re-embodied in Aman, I wonder if they make it a point to always turn their back to Valar and Maiar. I wonder if they only speak in the tongue they had first devised all those millennia ago and spoke in Cuivienen before time and different kindreds changed the tongue, not Sindarin or Quenya from the Great Journey's time or later. I wonder if they sing songs in their ancient tongue, songs about the beauty and unsullied health of Cuivienen every time any of the Ainur are near.

I wonder if the Valar feel any shame when those who they once looked upon in wonder and love gaze back at them with indifference or disgust.

[evelynpr]

We lost. I know this is devastating to us and it will be for the overall environment of the whole fandom, but PLEASE do not be any worse than the people you don't like and don't agree with.

No one's gonna harass and insult each other over this. At the end of the day this is just a story, so please for goodness sake stay civil.

[hauntingblue]

Oh now the villagers know..... and arlong burned the town to punish her..... for some reason

[cuddles-with-dragons]

More Bad Batch and Delta Squad shenanigans

Crosshair: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’ Boss: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

Sev: Would you take a bullet for me? Fixer: ...yes? *Crosshair angrily bursts into the room* Sev: *running away* Great, thanks!

Tech: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere* Boss: Where did you get that? Tech: My pocket. Boss: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Tech: Skills.

Sev: Comparing Tech and Scorch is like comparing apples and oranges. Tech: We’re both unique in our own ways? Sev: Apples are superior in every way and all oranges should be eliminated. Scorch: Which one of us is the orange?

*The squads are asked what they would do with 5 children with only 3 chairs.* Scorch: Get two more chairs! Fixer: They can get their own chairs. Boss: Make them fight for it. Sev: You only need one chair to beat them all with. Tech: I would never be near children. Crosshair: Kill two.

Crosshair: I don’t think we can mansplain, manipulate, or malewife our way out of it this time. Sev: *cracks knuckles* Manslaughter it is!

Crosshair: Why is it that I always lose things as soon as I need them? Tech: Actually, it's not that you lose things when you need them. You lose them a while before. It's just that you LOOK for things when you need them. Boss: Okay yeah thanks Tech, that's great but WHERE'S THE FUCKING FIRST AID KIT?

Hunter: Scorch, you’ve tried 37 times and you’ve failed every time. Give it a break. Scorch: DO I HEAR “FIRST TRY PART 38?”

Tech: You're violent. Scorch: Yeah but I'm also short and that's adorable.

[dicedot]

I haven’t interacted with the MLB fandom in years. I never watched past the third season. This being said, it was technically the fandom that got me into fandoms, so I have an attachment to it. And you know what? I need fics where Marinette is having fun being challenged. Like, all of Lila’s canon bs is just so easy to unravel with a few phone calls. I need a fic of these two girls playing 5d chess with extra ethos while every single other character is at least mostly lost. Because yk what? I grew up with this baby and I need her to grow up with me. I would like blood and mind games please. If Marinette is interested romantically in anyone it better not be Adrien because he needs to sort his shit out. Anyway this got away from me and it’s a silly thing, but my point remains. I need Marinette to fuck shit up IMMEDIATELY. And you know she’s gonna be good at it. I’m not asking for a Mary Sue type Marinette (even though she already fits that character type but that’s a different conversation), I’m asking for a Marinette that lives up to what she could be. Yeah.

[graveyarrdshift]

ok time to get my shit together

[falcqns]

you'll be alright (no one can hurt you now) chapter four

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Lucy Chen & Tamara Colins, Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, background Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Lucy goes on her first date since taking in Tamara. Tim nearly loses his mind when she doesn’t show up for her first scheduled shift back on time.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, (eventually) autistic!Tamara, Tim Bradford would do anything for Lucy Chen, Lucy is a hardcore swiftie, Day Of Death (im so sorry) near death experience, kidnapping, hospitals, being buried alive, Caleb Wright, mentions of Rosalind Dyer, yknow the usual DOD warnings, 

don’t forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

A/n: im so sorry for this I hate this episode so much, but it is important to Lucy’s character development and who she is as a person and a cop and I don’t want to change that so we’re going to have to suffer through DOD together. I won’t be going into detail about Lucy’s POV, so I will be doing the majority of this chapter from Tim’s perspective. There’s a bit of a time jump (4 weeks) but not much has changed in Lucy and Tamara’s world. 

Tim yawned as he adjusted his badge as he walked out of the locker room. He glanced at Nolan and West standing by the door to Grey’s office, talking to him with concerned looks on their faces. Tim thought it was weird, but then he remembered that Lucy was coming back to work today, and he promptly forgot. He made his way to the break room and poured himself a black coffee into his travel mug, before leaving and heading into the break room. 

As he made his way down, he thought about Lucy and how excited he was for her to be back. The last5 4 weeks without her had been filled with nothing but silence and boredom. While Tim would never verbally admit it, he had missed Lucy. He missed her voice, how she ranted about things happening in her personal life, or about drama (or ‘tea’ as she called it) that was happening around the station. He missed the scent of her chai tea latte filling up the shop, he missed paying for that extra meal on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, his days to pay. He missed her immensely, more than he thought he would, and he was very glad that she was back. 

Before he could open the door and wait for her, however, he was summoned into Grey’s office. He wrinkled his eyebrows and followed Grey into his office. He grew even more confused when he walked in, and saw Nolan and West sitting there, both looking uneasy and scared. 

“Whats going on, sir?” Tim asked. 

Grey looked at Nolan, who swallowed, and then spoke. “Lucy did not come home last night. She is not responding to texts or calls.”

“Where did she go?” Tim asked, and Jackson spoke up next. 

“She went on a date. She was supposed to come to my apartment,” Jackson said, before side glancing at both Grey and Nolan. “She was going to spend the night with me and then we were going to come to work together, as I live closer. But when I woke up, she wasn’t there. Neither was her car, and I have been trying since 7:30 am to get a hold of her.”

Fear swirled in the bottom of Tim’s stomach. “Who did she go on a date with?” 

“C-Caleb Wright.” Nolan said. “With a ‘W’.” 

Tim nodded. “Okay.” He said, pondering possibilities in his head briefly. “Is it possible that she’s just running behind and her phone is dead?” 

“Well, we thought of that but-“ Jackson said, but John cut him off.

“If she’s just running late and we ring the fire alarm, she’ll get dinged, but-“ 

“If we don’t, and something terrible happens…” Tim interjected, thoughts trailing off. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, his attention turning to Grey.  “What do we do?”

“Well, what do we know about this Caleb guy?” 

“Nothing.” Jackson said, shaking his head. “No, he uh-, he said that he worked for a medical supply company. Lucy showed me a video of him playing with a puppy.” 

Grey nodded. “Okay. Bradford, take West and run a background check. I want to know everything you can find on Caleb before we knock on his door.” He said. “And find Armstrong.” 

Tim nodded. “Right. Come on,” He said, motioning for West to follow him.

He heard Grey talking to Nolan about having him and Nyla run a trace on Lucy’s phone, in order to get her into the MUPS and NaMos systems that the LAPD used. 

As Tim and Jackson made it to Armstrongs office, where the detective was just settling in for the day, Grey walked out of his office, and called for everyones attention. 

“Everyone listen up,” He said, and the room fell silent. “Officer Lucy Chen has not been seen for approximately 13 hours. Given the circumstance, we cannot rule out abduction,” He said, and Tim breathed deeply, trying to control the nausea that he was feeling. 

His rookie was potentially missing. The person he was responsible for training, and for keeping safe while out on the streets. The person that was, even now, the best rookie he had ever trained, and ever will train. His Lucy could be missing, and he didn’t know what to do other than to focus, and do whatever Grey told him to do in order to find her. 

“So stop whatever you’re doing.” Grey continued. “I want everyone on this until she’s located.” He said, before turning to an officer. “Notify S.O., see if they can shag calls for service. 

Tim turned his focus to the computer that Armstrong was using as Nyla walked up to Grey. He overheard her say that the GPS on her phone was disabled, and he began to hyper focus on the words on the screen. He was no help to anyone, much less Lucy, if he was panicking. He had to remain calm, and get the background check like Grey had ordered him to. 

“Caleb Wright doesn’t seem to exist.” Armstrong said, concern evident on his face. 

Tim’s anxiety grew. What was going on? Tim shook his head and walked around the desk to look at the computer screen. 

“That’s impossible,” He said. “I saw his social media page.”

“Well, it’s gone now, so he must have erased it.” Armstrong said. “But if he is our guy, then he’s already faked one identity.”

“Bryan Coleman,” West chimed in. 

Armstrong nodded. “Exactly.” He agreed, pointing at Jackson. “He stole his life to gain access to the old zoo. Used it’s isolation to kill his victims,”

Tim nodded, understanding where Armstrong was leading. “But with that place burned, he’s gonna need new killing ground.” The though of Lucy being his next victim made his stomach churn, and his heart thud painfully in his chest. He couldn’t lose her. She had changed him so much already in their short time together, and he wasn’t ready for her 13 months with him to be up, much less to never see her again because she was murdered. He had to save her, but it angered him that he didn’t know how. He didn’t know the true identity of who took her, where she is, the state that she’s in, or if she’s even still alive. And that thought killed him. 

Armstrong nodded at Tim. “My guess is that he already has one, and thats where Lucy is right now.” Armstrong picked up the phone, and Tim nodded at West, motioning to the door. 

“Lets go.” He said, and Jackson lead them out of his office and towards the stairs. 

“If we don’t find her-“ Jackson started, but Tim stopped, and turned to look at him. 

“Don’t.” He said, cutting him off. “Don’t go there. If she was taken by him, the only way that you are good to her is if you are focused solely on saving her, not playing worst-case scenarios.” 

Jackson nodded, gulping. “Right.” He said. “Sorry. I’m just worried.” Tim nodded. 

“I know. I am too.” He admitted, and almost laughed at the shock evident on the rookie’s face. “But, we need to focus on her. This is not about us and how we’re feeling. This is about finding her, and saving her before it’s too late.” 

Jackson nodded. “Okay. You’re right. What do we do now?” He asked, and they continued their journey down to the main floor. 

“We go and tell Grey what we know, and wait for further instructions.” 

“Okay. Is it okay if I just run to the bathroom quick?” Jackson asked, and Tim nodded. He could tell that Jackson was starting to panic, and needed a moment alone to collect himself. 

“‘Course.” He said. “Meet me in his office when you’re done.” Jackson nodded, and Tim watched him walk towards the bathroom. Tim was about to turn to walk to Grey’s office, when he saw Jackson pull his phone out and make a call. He stopped, watched him for a moment, but decided not to eavesdrop on his call. If it was important to finding Lucy, he knew West would fill him in. If it wasn’t, it was personal, and Tim could honestly care less. 

He walked into Greys office, and Grey immediately stopped what he was doing to look up at him. “What did you find out about Caleb?” 

Tim shook his head, his hands on his hips. “He doesn’t exist. It seems to be an alias. And we figure that if he’s already faked one identity,” He said, and paused when the door opened. Jackson walked in and Tim looked at him, silently asking if he was good. Jackson nodded, and Tim continued speaking. “If he’s faked one identity already, then it has to be Bryan Coleman.” 

Jackson picked up where Tim left off. “We speculate that he used his identity to gain access to the old zoo, and used to the isolation to his benefit to kill his victims, but since we’ve found that spot already, he has to find somewhere new.”

“And that’s where Lucy is.” Grey finished, his head nodded. “Alright. Nolan and Harper are on their way back to the hospital after talking to the victim we saved yesterday. Go take 5, and we’ll reconvene in the briefing room when they’re back.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tim and Jackson said at the same time. They left the office, and Jackson headed left, towards the front door, presumably to wait for Nolan. Tim however, went and sat in the briefing room. 

He didn’t want to take 5. He wanted to be on the streets, knocking on doors, finding out where Lucy was. He wanted to find her and bring her home. He wanted to find her, and make sure that she knew that no matter how tough he was with her; no matter how many Tim Tests he puts her through, he cared about her, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be safe. She needed to be home. She needed to be at the station with him, not being held somewhere unknown by a serial killer’s protege. 

He blinked back tears in surprise as his foot tapped against the floor, watching the minutes slowly tick down. Why was he crying? Tim Bradford rarely cried, not because he didn’t find things sad, but because he didn’t allow himself to.  The last time he fully allowed himself to break down in tears was the drive home from serving Isabel with divorce papers. He couldn’t let himself cry over Lucy, especially now. If he did, it would mean revealing his weakness, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasnt ready for the looks, the whispers, the questions. The higher ups asking his nature of his relationship with Lucy. He couldn’t do that. Not to himself, and especially not to Lucy, who wasn’t even a P2 yet. So, he swallowed the lump in his throat, and sniffed, blinking away the tears.

He had barely blinked away the last tear when Armstrong came into the room, and walked up to the whiteboard that had all of the important facts about Lucy and her disappearance. 

“The bartender at Las Torres recognized Lucy and Caleb.” He said, and Tim sat up straighter, hope beginning to build in his chest. “The good news-“ he continued. “Theres a security camera in the parking lot, so we know that they left at 9:05. The bad news?” Armstrong clicked on the monitor in the room to reveal the footage of Caleb leading Lucy out of the bar by her upper arm. “The camera angles too steep to recognize faces.”

Tim sighed, shaking his head. All he wanted, all anyone in this room wanted was to find Lucy, but it seemed that at every turn so far, the universe was working against them. And Tim hated it with a passion. Tim let a breath out from his nose, attempting to calm the burning fury in his body. There wasn’t a lot that made Tim angry enough to feel the need to fight God, but someone he lo- no, cared about, being in any sort of pain was certainly enough. 

“Two minutes later,” Armstrong resumed speaking. “This car drove by.” Tim watched as a grey car drove through the frame, and Tim sighed, knowing that Lucy was most likely inside of it. 

“The licence plate on Caleb’s car was reported stolen earlier that day,” Grey said, looking between the room and the images on the monitor. “Officer Chen’s care was found in the alley where she left it last night. Which means, we believe that Caleb is Rosalind’s protege, and he took Officer Chen.” 

Tim sighed in disappointment. He knew that what they were saying was the truth, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Tim picked up the rapid breathing of his heart, and the anxiety fluttering in his stomach, a silent threat of the possible reappearance of his breakfast. But, before he could spiral fully, Grey caught his attention again. 

“I know how upsetting this is, but we have to remain focused. She’s counting on us.” Tim heard Grey ask if there were any questions, but Tim didn’t stick around to find out. He walked out of the room, pulling his phone out as he walked. 

He dialled Angela’s number, and breathed, knowing his best friend would be able to sense the shakiness of his voice no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“What’s up?” She answered casually. 

“Hey. Lucy’s been taken. I need you.” He said simply, and waited for her response. The line was silent for a moment before Angela spoke again. 

“On my way.” Tim hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket, walking back into the briefing room. 

When he re-entered, Nolan was up at the front, relaying the information that he and Harper had gotten from the other victim at the hospital. 

“Nora was abducted two nights ago.” He said. “We found her 18 hours later, already tattooed, and about to be put in a barrel to be suffocated. This makes Caleb’s timeline from abduction to death approximately 24 hours.” Tim’s hands shook listened.

“Which means we have less than 10 hours to find Lucy.” Jackson said, his face portraying everything Tim was feeling. 

“Unless we’re wrong, and she’s dead already.” Armstrong stated casually, and Tim dug his nails into the palm of his hands to prevent himself from punching Armstrong for even thinking to suggest such a stupid idea. No, she was alive, but they needed to find her before she wasn’t anymore. 

“No,” Harper interjected. “Look, I know I haven’t known Lucy as long as the rest of you, but I do know she is a fighter.” She said, glancing back at Tim briefly. “She’s gonna do everything she can to stay alive until we save her.” Tim nodded in agreement, watching as people filed out of the room, but Tim remained rooted to his spot, staring at her picture on the whiteboard. 

He needed her safe. He needed her by his side, where he knew she was alive, and okay. He didn’t know how he was going to get through these next few hours, but he knew that he had to do it so that his rookie, his Lucy, would be safe. 

He suddenly found himself sitting down next to Jackson, answering calls, when Angela walked into the station, Wesley trailing behind her. 

“Hey,” he said, standing up to greet her. “Thanks for coming in.” 

“Of course,” She said, looking to the side of her, and seeing the phones that him and Jackson, and two other officers were manning. “Grey’s got you on tip lines?” 

Tim nodded. “Nothing says we got squat like listening to the public.” He looked up at Wesley. “Day off?”

Wesley nodded, not making eye contact with Tim. “Yeah, something like that.” Tim looked at him suspiciously, but let it go. “Can I help?” 

Tim crossed his arms. “Whats your tolerance for cranks and asshats wasting your time?” 

Wesley shrugged. “I’m a public defender.”

Tim nodded his head to the phones. “Have at it.” 

“This is useless,” Tim said, turning to Angela as Jackson spoke to Wesley. “We should be on the streets kicking down doors.”

“Who’s doors?” Angela asked, a concerned look on her face. 

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “But I-I can’t just sit here.” He stormed away, desperate to do something, anything, to bring Lucy home. 

Of course, Angela being Angela, followed after him. “Wait up!” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, just blowing off steam.”

“I get it,” Angela said, following after him. “But you got to get your head in the game.”

Frustrated, Tim turned around to face her. “I don’t need a pep talk.” 

“Then why’d you call me?” She demanded. “Clearly, you need to get something off of your chest.”

Tim sighed. “This is my fault.” He answered, looking down at his shoes. 

“What?” Angela asked. “How?” 

“The day I came back from my leave, I went to her apartment after shift. No one would tell me anything about why she was off. I questioned her, but she wouldn’t tell me. Something was going on, and I should have pressed her more. I should have been there for her, I’m her training officer for gods sake. I should have known something was wrong.”

Angela took a step closer. “Tim, she didn’t tell anyone. All we know about her leave is what Jackson and John have been permitted to tell us. Something happened, and she needed time off to deal with it. That doesn’t make you a bad training officer. You did all you could.” She explained. 

“I could have done more.” Tim stated, before turning to walk away. 

“What is it about her?” Angela asked, making Tim stop in his tracks. 

“What?” He asked, turning around, confusion all over his face. 

“Look, I’ve known you since before you became a TO. You’re hard on your rookies, but you’re also fiercely protective over them. But with Lucy, you are more over protective than you have with any other rookie. You’ve honestly been quite lenient on her so far. So, what is it about Lucy that makes you feel like you should have prevented this? That you should have protected her better, or been there for her more? You’ve always said that you’re their training officer, not their friend. What is it about Lucy that changed that for you?”

Tim shook his head, before looking up at Angela. She’d been his best friend for years. He could never hide anything from her, even if he wanted to. He knew that she would instantly see through whatever bullshit answer he would give her, so he decided to be truthful. As much as he could be with himself, anyways. 

“She turned around and smiled at me.” He said, his voice quiet and shaky. A crease formed on Angela’s forehead, showing her confusion. “Her first day, when Grey said she was paired with me, she turned around, and smiled at me. I don’t know what it was, but she’s got this grip on me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know how to not care about her this much.” He said, a stray tear, falling from his eye as he spoke. 

“Tim…” Angela said quietly. “Tim, I think you know why.” Tim shook his head immediately, knowing what she was getting at. 

“No,” he responded. “Thats not it. She’s my rookie, I would never cross that line.” 

Angela smiled sadly. “I know you wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t still want her.”

Tim shook his head, trying to protest, but his face betrayed him, crumpling as he fought to stop the sob clawing its way out of his throat. Angela didn’t say anything, just pulled him into her arms, and held him as he cried. 

“We’re going to find her,” She said eventually. “Whatever it takes.”

—- 

An hour later, and Tim had calmed down. His sadness and anxiety was now replaced by anger. Anger that was stronger than before, and made him want to burn the world to ashes just to find her. And that’s exactly what he was going to do. 

“Problem officer?” 

Tim wasted no time in reaching through the open window, grabbing a fistful of the Benjamins hair, and slamming his face onto the steering wheel. 

“You listen to me very carefully,” He spat. “Your name is Benjamin Lassie. You’re a mid level idiot who controls every illicit item that enters the Central California Women’s Facility. And today is your day of reckoning.” He squeezed tighter. “Now, I am responsible for a life that is in jeopardy, and I will do whatever I have to to save her. Do you understand?” He demanded. 

“Theres a man who gives you items to smuggle onto death row for Rosalind Dyer. You are gonna give me that man.” He continued. 

“Why would I do that?” Benjamin demanded. 

Tim squeezed even tighter. “Because if you don’t, I will pull you inside out.” He threatened, and he then watched with a sickening satisfaction as Benjamin saw his life flash before his eyes, and spit out the name; Jerry Havel.

Tim smiled, released Benjamin, and sent him off with a threatening look that told him Tim would follow through with his threats if he said a word about what just happened to anyone. 

Jackson then shakily followed him back to the shop, and as soon as he shut the door, Tim was speeding back to the station while Jackson typed his name into the computer to do a background check. 

“Any information you get, you text it immediately to Lopez.” Tim said in a calm tone, feeling bad for scaring him.

“Yes, sir.”

—-

30 minutes later, Tim had managed to get a S.W.A.T. team and a no knock warrant together, ready to raid Jerry Havel’s place. Tim followed behind S.W.A.T. as they moved in on Havel’s place. 

They paused briefly at the door, before busting it open, and running inside. “Go, go, go!” One of the S.W.A.T. member said as Jerry began to run. Another officer shot him in the right shoulder, and he fell to the ground on his face. 

Tim ran up to him, Jackson following behind. He grabbed him, and turned him over. “Where’s Lucy?” His heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that the man he was faced with was not Caleb. “That’s not - that’s not Caleb.” He said, moving away from the man in front of him. “Damn it!” he yelled in frustration. 

He tried to control his breathing as Jackson took over, yelling at the man about his name, and where he worked. Tim looked back at Jerry, who told them through stuttering that his name was in face Jerry Havel, but he had never worked at that prison, and had been on disability for the last five years after an inmate shivved him during a riot. 

“Look, DOC clearly states that you work at that prison.” Jackson said. 

Jerry sighed and looked down. “My identity was stolen.” He said. “Right around 3 years ago. Really screwed up my credit.” 

Tim nodded, making the connections in his head. “Caleb used Jerry’s identity to get into prison, get close to Rosalind.”

“Just like he stole Bryan Coleman’s identity.” Jackson finished as he holstered his gun. 

“Is this connected to the officer that was abducted?” Jerry asked. 

Tim nodded. “Yeah.” He said, tears welling up in his eyes as he spoke. “And you were our last shot at saving her.” 

Tim moved on auto pilot for the next hour. So much so, that he didn’t remember anything between leaving Jerry’s house, and arriving back at the station.  Once he arrived there, he was handing over a file that had a record of the credit card charges on the card that Caleb had used under Jerry’s name that Jackson had found. 

“Hey, hey,” He said, getting Angela’s. Grey’s, and Wesleys attention. “We got something.” He said, dropping the file on the table. “Caleb used Jerry’s identity to rent a post office box in Kern County, near the prison. But, he kept it up after he quit.” He explained, as Angela opened the file, and began pouring through the contents. “Still pays for it. He must have a place close by.” 

Angela grabbed a piece of paper, and read from it, comparing what was in the file with her own notes. “Rosalind’s family - her trust owns a farm in Kern County.” She handed him the paper that showed evidence of the farm. 

Before he knew it, he was in the stations helicopter, racing to Kern county with Angela, Grey, Jackson, with Nyla and John on the ground in a shop. 

When they landed on the farm in Kern County, Nolan told them that Caleb was dead, and that Lucy was buried somewhere on the property. Tim felt a sick sense of happiness knowing that Caleb was dead. He was gone, and now he could never touch a single hair on her head again. She was one step closer to being safe, and now all they had to do was dig her up before it was too late.

Nolan thrust a phone into Angela’s hands. Angela looked down, watching the video of Lucy inside the barrel. “I can’t even tell if she’s still breathing,” She said anxiously, looking up at Grey. 

“Spread out.” Grey commanded. Tim looked around, trying to find a good place to start looking. “Airship, we have an officer buried alive.” The panic that Tim had been desperately trying to keep at bay came bubbling to the surface, and his chest started to constrict as he looked at the open fields. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to keep the tears at bay, but knowing at some point in the next few minutes, he would be crying. Either from relief, or grief. 

He took a moment to calm himself, repeating the words he had said to Jackson earlier in the day to himself in his head. “The only way that you are good to her is if you are focused solely on saving her, not playing worst-case scenarios.” 

He turned to look at the house briefly, before realizing that there was no way Caleb would have buried her close to the house. He turned to Jackson and explained, before summoning Jackson to follow him. He took off running as far as he could as fast as he could. 

A few minutes later, they came to the top of a hill. “Lets split up,” He suggested to Jackson. “You go left, alright?” Jackson nodded, and took off to the left. Tim continued forward, looking around for any possible sight that Caleb could have buried her. 

Then, as he was coming down the slope of another hill, something caught his eye. A sparkle, so bright it nearly blinded him briefly. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then realized that there wasn’t much around there that could produce a sparkle like that. He took a step closer and looked again, finding the sparkle once more. He ran up to the spot the sparkle originated from, and fell to his knees in front of it. 

He scooped up the source of the sparkle, and could have cried right then and there when he realized what it was. 

Her ring. Her moonstone ring. 

He stood up, and began looking around in the dirt for any indication that she could be close. He began kicking dirt around, and stomping, hoping to God that she had dropped it on purpose, and it wasn’t another one of Caleb’s tricks.

But, when he stomped again, and heard the unmistakable sound of rubber on metal, he knew it wasn’t a trick. Lucy had left him a clue, and she was right there.

He stomped two more times just to be sure, but once he heard the clanging two more times, he turned around and shouted. “I’VE GOT HER!” He then pocketed the ring, dropped to his knees, and began digging with his bare hands. 

His hands ached after a few seconds, the sharp rocks in the sand cutting and digging into his skin, but his need to save Lucy, get her out of that barrel outweighed all of that. He was so close to her, he just needed to keep going. 

A few moments later, Nyla, Jackson, and Angela joined him in the digging, with the rest of the officers headed their way. The local PD joined in moments later, bringing shovels, making the process move quicker. The metal of the shovels hit the metal of the barrel, and Tim choked out a sob. 

“Guys,” He managed to say. “Right here.” He said as he reached forward for the latch on the barrel, pulling it towards him. It took two pulls, but on the second one the latch snapped, and the lid came off. 

He threw it behind him, and looked into the barrel.

There she was, hunched over, her curled hair laying over her back, tangled with dirt and blood. 

“Come on!” Tim yelled, and began pulling Lucy out of the barrel. Everyone joined in and helped him get her out and onto the ground. 

He touched her head softly once she was laid on the ground, and leaned in, listening for breathing. He heard Grey ask if she was breathing, but didn’t answer. When he heard no breathing, he cupped her chin and her forehead, breathing two rescue breaths into her mouth to help her lungs inflate. He then moved his hands to her chest and started compressions, watching her face for any sign of life.

As he did the compressions, all he could focus on was her. He got to her, now all he could do was hope he could restart her heart in time. The more compressions he did, the more desperate he became. Why wasn’t her heart starting to beat? Why wasn’t she moving, breathing, crying? Was she-

Lucy gasped in a deep breath, her body starting to shake. Tim cried out in happiness as her eyes fluttered open. He reached behind her and helped sit her up, cradling her to his chest when she burst into tears, curling towards his chest. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered to her, as he pulled her closer. As he held her, he noticed that all of the anger, pain, anxiety, and fear had disappeared. As soon as she took that gulping breath in, his body knew she was safe, that she was alive. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered into her hair. Even after all that she went through, she still smelled like herself, and it calmed Tim down even further. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He whispered as he cradled her head to his chest. 

He breathed deeply, letting the tears fall from his eyes. They got to her in time, and she was going to be okay. She was back in his arms, she was breathing, and was crying. All signs she was a survivor. 

——

Tim rode with her in the ambulance. When the paramedics had arrived on scene, she refused to let go of Tim, starting to go into a panic attack whenever someone tried to separate her from him. Once they had gotten her into the ambulance, and had taken her vitals, they gave her a sedative, and she fell asleep within a minute, still holding tightly to Tim’s hand. 

Tim held onto her hand the entire ambulance ride, and then helicopter ride back to St Stephens, his eyes locked onto the bleeding marks from where she had been bound at the wrists. He didn’t let go until they landed at St Stephens, and she was rushed into the back to be examined. 

He was shown into a waiting room, where he was told that Dr Sawyer would come and get him when he could see her. He was about to sit down, when his phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket, and answered it, briefly seeing Nolan’s name flash across the screen. 

“Tim,” John said as soon as he picked up. “Listen, I don’t want you to question what I’m about to ask you, I just need you to do it.” He said, and Tim, who was still in shock from everything, just agreed, and listened to what John had to say. “I need you to go to Mid Wilshire Childcare Centre. You need to go to the baby room and pick up Tamara Chen, and bring her to the hospital. Don’t forget your ID. You’re on the approved pick up list and I’ve called ahead, so don’t worry about any questions. There will be someone waiting for you at the front door to show you where to go, alright?” He said, and Tim, who was utterly confused now, nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.” He said goodbye to John, and left the hospital immediately after informing the nurses that he would be back. He hopped in the shop, stopped by the station briefly to grab a carseat, and then hopped back in the shop. 

He pulled into Mid Wilshire Childcare Centre, and grabbed his drivers licence out of his wallet, before making his way to the front door. There was a middle aged woman waiting for him, a smile on her face. 

“Tim Bradford, I’m assuming?” She said, and Tim nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

The lady nodded. “I’m Martha, the chef here. If you follow me, I can show you to the baby room. I know you’re in a hurry.” She said. She turned, put a code into a key pad, and entered the building, Tim following behind her. As soon as they walked in, Martha turned right, and led him to the end of the hallway. They entered a small classroom with two educators, and 4 babies. 2 of the babies were playing in a water table, the other one was sitting at the table, eating banana, and a third one, who didn’t look older than a few weeks old,  being held in a rocking chair by another educator. 

“Tim, this is Ella, and Cara. Ella is Tamara’s primary educator.” Martha said, and Tim nodded to her. 

“Nice to meet you, Ella.”

Ella smiled. “You too, sir.” She said. “Tamara has had a really good day today. She slept well, drank both bottles, and enjoyed our walk we took them on.” She said, as she went over to the other educator, Cara, and took the small infant from her. 

She carried her over, and Tim blinked quickly, realizing that the small infant must be Tamara. “Okay, thank you.” Tim said. 

Ella smiled. “No problem. We will need some more wipes for her, probably in the next day or so.” Tim nodded. 

“Okay perfect. Is there anything else?” 

“Oh, yes.” Ella said, grabbing the binder off of the counter. “Could I just see your ID?” 

Tim nodded and handed it over. Ella compared the names before smiling and handing it back. 

“Thank you.” She said, putting the binder down. “If you follow me, I’ll show you Tamara’s things.” 

Tim followed Ella as she showed him her cubby, and handed him her backpack.

“Okay, you’re all set, we’ll see you later.” Ella said and Tim thanked her again before following Martha out of the building. 

“Have a good night,” Martha said, holding the door open for him. 

“Thank you, you too,” He responded, looking down at the small infant in his arms that apparently belonged to Lucy. 

“Okay, little one,” he said quietly, opening up the door to the shop, and buckling her in her carseat. “Let’s go see Mama, I guess.”

—-

When Tim walked back into the waiting room, he was greeted with Grey and Luna sitting together. They both turned to look at him when he walked in with the baby carrier, and Grey smiled. 

“Oh good,” Grey said. “You didn’t have any issues picking up?” He asked, and Tim shook his head no.

“No, sir. I guess Nolan called ahead because she was ready to go when I got there.” He said.

Grey chuckled. “You look confused, son.” 

Tim laughed quietly, sitting down, and placing the car seat at his feet. “I am very confused. When did Lucy have a baby?” He asked, as he bent down and got Tamara out. Tamara gazed up at him as he lifted her up, holding her head in one hand and bum in the other. 

“She didn’t,” Grey said. Tim looked at him, confused. Grey sighed. “Look, I’m going to tell you this simply because you need to know why you’re holding a baby that shares a name with your rookie.” He said, and Tim nodded. “When you were on leave for your GSW, Lucy was on patrol with Wrigley. She found a mother OD’d, just hours after having given birth to her.” He said, pointing to Tamara. Tim’s eyes locked onto the tiny infant while Grey spoke. 

“Lucy came with her to the hospital, and when DCFS showed up, Lucy asked to take her in, as she is an emergency foster parent. DCFS agreed, and that’s why Lucy went on leave.” He said, and Tim looked at him in shock. 

“Oh,” He said, stunned. 

Grey nodded. “Yep. Then, 4 weeks ago, she got a call from DCFS stating that they were unable to locate any of her family, and Lucy was given the option to adopt her.”

Tim smiled. “Which she took.” He said, running his thumb over her cheek.

Grey nodded, as Luna sat on the other side of Tim.

“Yes,” Luna said. “And she’s doing a terrific job as a single mother.” 

Tim smiled again, moving Tamara closer to his chest. “I have no doubt about that.” He said. “Gosh, she’s so beautiful.” He commented, as Tamara’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“That she is,” Grey said. “Look, please don’t be mad with Lucy over hiding this from you. She was just trying to protect Tamara.” 

Tim nodded. “I know, and I’m not. But I am going to tell her that I am going to help her, in anyway she needs. I’m her training officer, but also her friend, and I’m going to help her through this.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

or funnier: maybe lucifer does apologize (poorly) to sam and castiel (this does not help anyone) (they do not want it) (he’s so proud of himself for making strides in his Redemption) but he doesn’t even talk to dean. and dean (<- problems man) brings it up resentfully, probably in front of cas and sam, and lucifer goes ‘:/ what did i even do to u, man. beat u up? that’s just ur day job, deal with it.’ and dean has to figure out how to articulate that actually, lucifer possessing sam or cas was a crime against dean and he deserves something for that, without sounding like he’s insane.

no, actually, thought about it for a minute. he would just say that outright without considering that it’s a wild thing to claim. and he’d then turn to the two of them like they’ll back him up about this. and you know what? they probably would. <3 what is wrong with this family. he’s still not getting even an apology from lucifer.