#and the beams of light is where john is focusing

[nukuome]

The individual panels vvvvvvvvv

[syofrelief]

buzz

unofficial pt 2 to this but you don't need to read the first one. fluff! kisses, too.

Your grin was wolfish when your new little helper trudged into your office.

Soap's head still had a stocking cap's worth of gauze wrapped around it, the purple bruising around his eye faded only slightly. He grunted a hello and stomped to the armchair next to your desk.

"Well hi there, mister," you teased, flicking through your notebook innocently. "Heard you got a bit banged up out there. I like the hair, by the way."

Soap groaned, lower lip pushing out. "Aw, bile yer heid, ah cannae believe they made me shave it off," he whined, grieving his perfect mohawk. You snickered at the reverence in his eye as he patted the bandages gingerly. You wondered what lay beneath it, how his head would look without its trademark style.

"Desk duty?"

"Aye," he sighed. "It's th'worst. No offense."

"None taken. Not for everybody." You could feel the tremors his bouncing knee sent into the floor as he sank into the cushions. A part of you did feel bad for teasing, but it was overtaken by the immense relief blooming in your chest.

Desk duty meant inside. Away from out there. When one of the privates had stuttered out that Sarge's been shot, miss, I can't- you hadn't even let the poor boy finish before sprinting to the bay. It had been a bloody mess. Literally.

Cold terror seeped under your skin, remembering the limp feel of his hand. You shivered.

"Y'alright, lass?"

His voice made you jump. "Hm? Yes. Yeah, I'm...I'm good."

"You look like yeh've seen a ghost." His twinkling eyes made you smile warmly. He had such a pretty face, even bruised up. A little unfair, honestly.

He settled again, chin on his hand as you continued combing through the thick file in front of you. Warm grew on your cheeks as you felt his unwavering stare. You liked having him with you, but recently it had become a distraction. His gaze was a little too open. Too vulnerable in a way that made your lungs struggle for air.

"Johnny," you said suddenly. "Where's Price put you? For desk stuff."

He shrugged, playing with the seam on his pants. "Dinnae, somewhere down the hall."

You cocked your head. "You got a shift today?"

"...Aye."

"You gonna...show up?"

He pouted at you, blue irises shining like the deepest sapphires. Damn those eyes. His fingers stilled on his jeans, all energy focused towards beaming the biggest pleading puppy look he could manage. Your tongue dried and you resisted the urge to pinch his cheek.

"You can't skip," you laughed waveringly, voice light and frail. Great cover-up.

"But...I wanted teh sit wit' you," he pleaded.

Where was this coming from? God, rip out your heart why doesn't he?

"Soap," you said gently. "Go on. We'll talk at lunch."

Grumbling, he dragged his feet all the way to your door, sending you a sour look as he headed off to his own little office. Poor baby, you thought, gaze drifting to the now-empty armchair. Soap wasn't built for desk work; he needed the flashing lights and high octane and loud booms. It'd be a tough couple of weeks.

Sighing, you hoped he wouldn't be too angry with you, reaching for the newest project. It proved to be even denser than the last one, and your head dropped to your desk. Ugh.

Despite banishing him (gently) to his work, you heard him scamper by your doorway more often than was necessary. On day three you'd started timing the intervals. Five minutes. Ten. Six and a half. Ten and fifteen seconds.

The telltale creak of the floor beneath his heavy boots echoed again. Rolling your eyes, you swiveled around to catch him in the act.

Your jaw hit the floor when you saw him. His bandages were gone, and...

"John," you breathed. His government name shocked the smile right off him, and he flinched.

"Aye, whassat for?" He stuck his tongue out, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Your...hair," you said again, hand over your mouth.

It was gone. Gone, gone. Brown fuzz barely covered his scalp, pink scar tissue in knotted lines behind his ears. Your shock was maybe a bit too evident, because hurt flashed across his eyes. Immediately you regretted it, going to stand.

"Hang on, I didn't-"

He sniffed and turned to the door.

"No, Soap, wait!"

You leapt up to kick the door shut before he could leave. Plastering yourself against the door, you fought to keep his gaze. Johnny's ears were a deep purple, and you gently touched his arm.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "It's not...it's not bad. It just surprised me. That's all. Come on, please don't...I'm sorry."

He rocked on his heels a moment, gaze still shy. Hair meant a lot to him. Everyone had something in this place. You had so few things to make you, you. Any little feature was clutched onto for dear life. Scented soap, a shade of lipstick, piercings. Soap had hair. He liked taking care of it, combing his hands through it or styling it on lax days.

"Looks chopped, ah ken," he muttered, scruffing a hand over his bare neck. You smiled softly, reaching up to run your hand over the peach fuzz. It tickled.

"It suits you," you said, and you meant it. As much as you missed his waves, his eyes shone a bit brighter now. "Come on, sit. I've got nothing to do."

"Um," he began, and you paused. "Ah...had a question fer ye, actually." He pulled a crumpled note from his pocket, trying to smooth it into legibility. "I...what's this mean?"

You peered at the chicken scratch. Tran/map.

"Oh, they just want a translation of the map. Was this on a picture of something?"

He stalled, trying to remember. "Uhm."

"Here, bring it to me."

Moments later, you had a map sprawled on the floor, annotations and notes in a foreign pen scrawled over it. You were poring over a few dictionaries, trying to find matches.

"So, the best way to do this is to start with any context clues. The..."

Your words fell on deaf ears. Johnny was gazing at you, cheeks pink and lips in a loose smile. Hair drifted from behind your ear, and his hands twitched. He wanted to fix it. He wanted...touch. He'd missed sitting in with you, hearing you hum and the delicate smell of your office. Pretty bird. Smart bird, too, using all the big words he-

"Johnny?"

He blinked, caught. His hand was halfway to your hip, reaching for your keys.

"You...you okay?"

You were blinking at him, a little confused. He nodded, grabbing the key ring gently. He tugged, liking the jingle. You watched him fidget for a bit, then shakily continued.

His sharp ears caught the waver in your voice. The pink on your neck. A slow grin spread across his cheeks. He edged closer, thigh nudging yours. The keys were a nice fidget, but his fingertips burned to squeeze the soft of your hip. Your mumbling didn't pause as he cautiously leaned his forehead on your shoulder, nose brushing the soft cotton of your sweater.

You'd stopped trying to explain the process, now just doing his work for him. Murmuring the new words to yourself, pen scratching soothingly on the papers. Soap's eyelids were heavy with the heady knowledge that you knew. You knew what he was doing, let him cuddle closer, buzzed hair tickling your jaw.

The pen stopped. He felt your chin twitch, your eyes meeting his.

"Soap," you said gently. "Are you asking for something?"

He didn't move, hands frozen on your hip. Baby blues blinked innocently up at you from his curled position on your floor. A choked sound in the back of his throat.

You smiled, setting your book down with a thud. "C'mere, idiot."

He crawled forwards, burly arms wrapping around your middle. Elation bubbled over in his chest, flowing into his veins like nectar. The soothing coo you let out as you ran your hands up his back send his mind into the stratosphere with euphoria.

He clutched at you like a lifeline as you held him, cheek on his head. The stubble was growing on you. It felt nice, like a soft blanket. You scratched gently behind his ears, resulting in a rumbling purr from his prone form. Soap's head rested on the plush of your chest, eyes half-lidded and bleary.

"Missed ye," he mumbled, grip tightening. You frowned, petting his neck.

"You see me every day, silly goose."

"Yeah, but..." he nosed into your neck, pulling himself closer. "Hav'nae done this inna while. Missed it."

You hummed in understanding, nails raking gentle patterns on his skin. A knot of scar tissue made you pause. He noticed, eyes flicking to yours. Concerned. That echo of terror whispered in your head, remembering.

"You scared me," you whispered, throat tight. You smoothed over the scar, too close to those pretty eyes and the fragile mind behind them. Soap sat up, slowly, something stirring in his eyes. It was too much. You hung your head, eyes welling.

"M'sorry," you choked out, tears bubbling over your hands. He drew you close, murmuring dissent at your quiet sobs.

"Aye, none a' tha', birdie," he sighed, "was just a scratch. 'M alright, doll, look," his hand took your and pressed it to his heart, thumping steadily beneath his warm chest. "See? 'M jus' fine."

You crept into his lap, latching yourself securely under his chin. Soap made no effort to stop you, wrapping his arms tight behind your back. He rocked gently, lulling you until the sniffling ceased.

"Aw, wee one," he soothed into the crown of your head. "Didnae know ye cared so much." His tone had the audacity to be teasing, and you whipped angrily to him.

"Didn't- Johnny MacTavish, how-"

He chuckled, kissing your cheek. "Teasin, teasin'. I ken."

You huffed, brow still pinched. His lips pressed a kiss there too.

"C'mon, it was funny. Laugh. Laugh, bonnie, lemme see tha' smile-"

You tried to keep your face twisted, but the insistence of his lips across your face cracked your composure, face splitting. Giggling as he crowed triumphantly, smacking a kiss onto your nose.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his. A small noise in his throat, his fingers tightening on your hips. You licked gently into his mouth. He tasted warm and sweet, sending a shiver down your back. His hands slid up to your jaw, cupping you delicately. Something blossomed in your chest. This was how it was supposed to be. A feeling, one that had been shoved down in the dark, finally coming up to the surface. You nipped at him, trying to fuse your bodies together. Johnny groaned, cheeks flushed.

When you parted for air, his lips were pink and swollen. He took in your flustered face and heaving chest. Your dilated eyes met his.

"Hi, lamb," he smiled, pinching your blushing cheeks. "Look cute all messed up."

You scoffed, burrowing into his neck. His firm, warm skin smelled of fresh pine. You sucked in greedy lungfuls, nosing beneath his ear. His shoulder sloped perfectly for your head. A puzzle-piece match. Meant to be, your heart preened as your hand fisted gently in his shirt.

"Lass," he said, pecking your hair. You hummed, too content to face him. "Ah've a question."

You cooed contentedly, not really listening as his warm grip kneaded your thigh.

"Can I stay here?"

Your brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Can...can I stay in yer office?"

Your eyes cracked open, brow raised. "Can you work in my office? Johnny..." you breathed a laugh, shaking your head. "I'd get nothing done. Neither would you, for that matter." He blustered indignantly, puppy dog eyes back in full force.

"But..."

"No, Soap," you laughed, kissing his forehead. "Nice try."

His protesting was silenced when you pulled him closer, lacing your fingers together. You were bluffing, but his pout was cute. You'd ask the CO tomorrow to move his stuff in here.

Soap grumbled, breath puffing over your ear.

"Wha' if I get shot again, then ye have to let me-"

"No."

yippee!

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Part 2 to Life Line

(I ain't) Sorry

Pairing: cheater!Price x wife!reader

CW: infidelity. angst. idk is price a cuck now? 18+

Middle fingers up, put them hands high. Wave it in his face, tell him, boy bye (sorry). Tell him, boy bye (sorry) boy bye. Middle fingers up, I ain't thinking 'bout you.

It's been six months since the new rules of John Price's marriage had been established. In public, he is still Captain John Price, a fearless leader, highly decorated, and on track to be a major. John Price was thought to have it all. Two gorgeous children, a darling little girl named Iyana aged six and a charming baby boy named Jackie aged four (who everyone says looks like John made him in the same fashion as a sea sponge. That is to say, through asexual reproduction because they look so much alike).

To top it all off, he had a gorgeous and smart wife who worked with a notable contractor that dealt with information gathering, sorting, and code breaking. Said to be highly requested and sought after to work with military operations, both official and private military based.

Yes, Captain John Price to the public eye, had it all. Despite the blood on his hands, the blackness on his soul and actions, the Lord above gave him a loving family. He was always the man of the hour when he walked into a room.

Right now, though, he didn't feel like a man of the hour that he was thought to be. Right now, he watches his daughter pedal her little pink bike around the front driveway. Her hair ribbons are lopsided, giggles echoing on the wind. It almost sounds and feels like a dream. She's got light up fairy wings, a fairy dress, and tiara, all high-quality custome made in an array of colors and gem stones. It's cute. He thinks it is cute, and it makes his little girl happy. What he can't stand, however, are the pink and white rhinestone cowboy boots. They cost a pretty penny, and she wears them everywhere. She wears them with every outfit.

John hates it. Or better yet, he hates where these items come from.

His son, while he has always been easily pleased, has particularly enjoyed his little hobby horse toy. The saddle has his name painted on the side in deep blue letters that stand out against the deep brown wood.

John hates the damn horse toy and also hates the suspected origins. Both of these things are reminders that his marriage is on the rocks and that it's a reflection of his mistakes. Another man buying his children toys. He has little doubt that it is the same man he is forced to work with.

He leans against the support beam of the front porch, cigar to his lips. He was watching his daughter and keeping also keeping an ear out for his son, who slept in the house. The three of them are waiting for the fourth member of the household. A sleek black car pulls up to the house and Iyana abandons her bike to greet the love of John's life.

You.

His darling, sweet, loving wife, who he wouldn't trade for the world. Even if you are being difficult. It doesn't matter though he's sure this tantrum can't go on forever.

Now you wanna say you're sorry. Now you wanna call me cryin'. Now you gotta see me wildin'. Now I'm the one that's lyin'. And I don't feel bad about it. It's exactly what you get. Stop interrupting my grinding. (You interrupt my grinding)

You shut off the car, and the door swings open. Your saccharine voice carries just about your daughter. "My love! I've missed you!" Nimble fingers push sunshades back onto your forehead as you lean down to sweep her up into a hug.

"Do you like my dress? It came in the mail today!" She shouts, "Daddy helped me into it when we got home from school!"

"It's lovely, my love. You look like a pretty fairy princess." Your eyes appraise her dress and accessories appreciatively. When you finally lay your eyes on John, you offer him a polite smile. "John, I'm glad you could get off early to pick the kids up today."

John isn't focused on your words. His eyes are clearly looking you over, desperatewith want. Since the new rules were put in place and boundaries made known, he has made it clear that he misses you. Each time, you reminded him of the rules and that he was allowed to see other people. You watch as his eyes finally land on the space above your cleavage. Right on the dainty gold chain with only one charm on it.

"You didn't wear that to work, did you?" John grumbles as you walk past him.

"John, am I not allowed to wear jewelry now?" You ask, already over this conversation and wear it is about to head to.

"Sweetheart." He still calls you that. The pet name bristles you, but you tolerate it for the sake of your children. "At least grant me the decency of not wearing his bloody branding in public."

"Iyana, go pack your bag for grand mum's and poppop's house." You usher her towards the steps. She dutifully says yeah and how she's packing all of her new little dresses. Finally, alone with him, you turn to face your husband. "Why does it matter, John?"

A deep sigh escapes him, and he's a bit flustered with frustration. You suppose you'd be frustrated, too, if work was hell. And to be clear, it was only hell because of the new long-term assignments he and several different teams were coordinating on. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

"It matters because it bothers me." He finally gets out, "it causes me to feel upset."

You take note of the carefully chosen words. Efforts of his therapy sessions peaking through. While you still won't go with him, he goes once a week when he isn't deployed. The habit started a month into your new reality. Shortly after, he began to be a more present father to the kids. Family weekends that he plans (which you suspect he does as often as possible to keep you with him), attending parent teacher conferences and evenings, and just generally paying more attention when he is home. It's great for the kids, but it's too little too late for you.

"Okay, John." You dismiss him and make your way to the kitchen with his footsteps following close behind. The conversation is clearly not over for you both.

"Was work fine today? I didn't see you at the all hands meeting on base." He leans against the kitchen island.

"My schedule was packed, so I sent my junior to fill in for me. Another PMC is contacting the company they requested me specifically." You dig around the fridge searching for a snack. His eyes are on you again. They always are these days. Since you reentered the workforce and quickly rose in rank, you've changed. You're more confident, more stern, and have leaned into the feeling of being desirable again by other men and women. Opportunities flowed easier to you. Your former boss had welcomed you back with open arms. Her exact words were something along the lines of "Mrs. Price, it's good to have you back. Now, the numbers can make sense again, and I can prepare to retire!"

John huffs, "Yeah, I saw. Kate was annoyed the entire time with the poor girl. And she was too afraid to work with Simon."

You find a snack and smile. "How is Simon?"

"You should know." He bites back with a bit of force. His blue eyes shift away from you, "You aren't sleeping with my lieutenant, are you?" It's a soft question you almost miss. He almost sounds insecure at the idea of one of his boys looking at you that way. And with the rules that are now in place, there's nothing to stop you but their friendship to him.

"John... Now, why would I do such a thing?" You sneer and then laugh. "There isn't anything going on between me and Simon."

"Then why won't you speak with me on base?" He furrows his brow. "People are literally looking at you two funny." And the 'They're looking at me with concern' is left unsaid.

"Because he is the chosen liason I picked for your team?" The scoff you let out is near comical, "Don't be so vain, John Price. If I was going to sleep with anyone it would be Kyle as he is the only one that apologized for not saying anything sooner about you fucking around behind my back. Maybe Johnny because he's good-looking. Tragic that they both are loyal to you, a skill they picked up from somewhere. "

His face turns red with agitation. His eyes go back to the necklace and the charm around your neck. It's a small, dainty, gold little heart, and when the light catches it, an engraved series of numbers and letters can be seen faintly. "So if not them, then who?"

"You know who. Don't be daft." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm gonna be gone all weekend after we drop the kids off at your parents. So you have the house to yourself."

"I'd much rather prefer we spent time together." He tries and smiles sweetly at you.

"I can't. My friend is dying to spend time with me, and he insists upon it, or he will simply die."

It's a beat of silence for a moment. Before he looks away from you. "Is he the one who sent those gifts to the kids? Which I don't appreciate, by the way."

"No. I'm not seeing him tonigt." You say leaving the kitchen, "Phillip has to go back to the States tonight. Won't be back till three days before you all move out."

"Could you at least tell that fuck to not give my kids gifts. It's rather rude, don't you think?" He glares.

"Phillip didn't give the kids those gifts. He gave me money, and then I got them things they've been asking for."

"And the necklace?" He asks. He almost seems like he doesn't want to know. But he keeps digging the hole deeper.

"From my other boyfriend." You glance over your shoulder at him, "instead of worrying about me and who I'm seeing. You should worry about yourself."

The tension is only cut at the sound of your daughter calling for help. She wants help with closing her backpack up.

That night after you and John played happy family infrint of his parents, the drive back home was tense. A quiet that could be heard from miles away even as the radio played, trying its best to ease both of your nerves. It's subtle, but you notice how his eyes cut to you every so often.

"Sweetheart."

"The kids aren't with us John."

"Don't be difficult please."

Your eyes hurt with how they roll. "What is it John?"

"I want to know when we can give us another try." He asks quietly, "I miss you." He grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. "I don't want you running around that fuck Graves, or whoever else your tend to see. You're my wife and I'm your husband. We should at least try to fix our marriage."

You don't say anything and keep your eyes in the passing scenery. This conversation isn't new. It comes up often and when it does you fight like hell to hold your ground. Another deep sigh and you wait in silence for him to continue.

"I love you, always will and never stopped." He says, and the sentiment is there. The way he says it reminds you of days when you were ignorant to his infidelity.

But then your mind conjures up the rage and hurt you experienced when you first saw what was in that folder the private investigator gave you. The embarrassment you felt when you asked Simon, Kyle and Johnny if they knew. They way that none of them could look you in the eyes for weeks. Or the grief that resurface each time your mind wanders over the memory of how he found someone who was similar to you in appearance from before your first child together.

"John, can we not tonight?" You simply avoid his eyes, "We can still get a divorce or you can deal with the way things are. I'm not revisiting any conversations about us or therapy."

"Are you doing this to hurt me back?" He asks. It's the most direct he's ever been with admitting that his actions hurt you. Before it was always a deflection. He wasn't right in the head after missions, he was trying to cope with the miscarriage, anything but outright saying he was a cheater. The tone of his voice cracks a bit with sorrow, but you don't budge.

"No." You state and turn up the radio, ending the conversation.

The car rolls to a stop in the driveway and you hurry out of the car and into the house. You don't want anymore questions or comments from him about the marriage he ruined. You don't want to deal with any nasty emotions that can't be fixed with the wine and sex that is waiting for you. An hour later you're finishing up packing, the house is quiet. The shrill ring of the doorbell pierces the silence of the house. It takes a moment but you hear John walking around downstairs towards the door. There's a bit of a sick thrill that shivers through you at who you know he will find on the otherside of that door. It won't be Phillip, he had already sent his messages that he would call you when he's back in the states.

You zip up your suitcase, check your hair once more in the mirror. When you get down the steps you're mer with John's more than angry glare that seems more hurt than anything. It's ignored as you pass the living room where he is.

You swing open the door, "Hey sweety."

"Hallo Meine Liebe." You're greeted with a hug from a strong embrace, "I'm hoping the guys will leave us be this weekend. They have been irritating since seeing you today and calling your charm necklace a fancy set of dog tags."

In the living room John closes his eyes as he hears you leave. Your laugh trails on the end of your words. And his heart absolutely aches at the idea of you with another man, much less another one he doesn't really like.

"Kökö, your I.D number is on it. Of course they would say that."

a.n: one more part and then I'm done with this mini series. Thank you all for supporting me.

All Night (final)

[hidingwhere]

You loved living with John, you really did. He was perfect to live with, always calm and helpful and affectionate.

However, there was one area which he lacked in, and that was decorating. His bed was so comfy, but not that appealing on the eye. So one day, you decided to bring up the suggestion of changing a few things.

“John?” You said quietly as you snuggled up next to him on the sofa.

“Hm?”

“I have a question. Have you ever considered… maybe adding some decor to the bedroom?”

He looked down at you and ran a rough hand down the smooth skin of your back. A small, amused smile touched his features. “You want to redecorate?”

“I never said that,” you corrected quickly with a tint of pink on your cheeks, knowing he’d caught your idea immediately.

“Mhm,” he murmured. “You can redecorate if you want, sweetheart. What are you thinking? Pink?”

It both infuriated and flustered you how well he knew you. He could see right through you. “Maybe,” you grumbled. He merely laughed.

But when he next got deployed, you got busy on revamping the bedroom. Actually, most of your attention was focused on the bed and the black sheets, matching the grey bed frame. Boring. You bought a new frame, hung thin, see through curtains from the top frame piece and little fairy lights. You swapped the black covers for pink, and added cushions galore in front of the pillows. It looked like a bed for a princess.

And you were beaming with pride looking at your finished product.

You just hoped John would approve. So when he came home, you covered his eyes as he walked up the stairs, almost tripping over from your lack of instructions on where to step. When you uncovered them, he stood there silently, taking in the view. Then, after an excruciating amount of time, he nodded his head and gave a small chuckle.

“It’s very nice… very pink.”

“Do you like it?” You asked nervously.

“Of course I do, angel. It reminds me of you.”

[untilwedont]

Hidden

❀ rq: hey can you make a jj maybank x male reader where the reader is kook and the rest of the pogues don't know they are together. But then how will they find out? I hope you will understand what I wrote

m!reader

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜ ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

a kook and a pogue. a divided group that despised each other for the most part. but, that didn’t change anything for you and jj. you were a kook, and as a kook, you were expected to only befriend kooks. sure, you could interact with the pogues, but that didn’t mean you could actually hang out with them.

though you were a kook, you decided to date a pogue. and though jj was a pogue, he decided to date you. you were different from the other kooks, at least in his eyes. you weren’t a rude, bragging ass-hat like most of the other kooks. you were sweet and friendly, radiating good energy and lighting up any room you went into.

but since your guys’ relationship was.. forbidden in a way, it had to be kept a secret. you didn’t mind since you liked having jj all to yourself. his dorky, sweet personality was what really made you fall for him, excluding his pretty, blonde hair.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

you and jj were out by the docks, watching the waves and enjoying each others company. his arm rested around your shoulder as he spoke to you, occasionally looking in your direction to give you a smile.

“y’know, i’ve always wondered.. can blind people see in their dreams?” he asked, turning his head to look at you. you chuckled a little. at this point, you were used to jj asking dumb questions every now and then. “i dunno.. why don’t you go ask one?” you said, faced slightly scrunched from the sun beaming in your direction.

he shook his head and laughed, focusing back towards the waves hitting against each other. “maybe i will..” He muttered under his breath. you scooted a little closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, letting out a small sigh. he smiled, kissing the top of your head before facing forward once more.

it was silent for a while. but, it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was more of a peaceful silence. the two of you just enjoyed being by each other, listening to each other’s soft breathing along with the waves.

you both were too focused on the waves to hear a group of people calling from behind you. “jj, there you are man! we’ve been looking for you!” john b shouted out, running up towards him. the sound of john b’s yelling made you both shoot your heads back, which made john b, along with the rest of the small group stop in their tracks.

“holy shit.. jj, is that m/n l/n..?!” kiara shouted. to say she was shocked was definitely an understatement. you both quickly got up, “wait, guys, it’s not what it looks like! i can explain!” jj shouted back as he looked at the group with a disbelief expression on their faces.

“jj.. you.. a pogue.. is hanging out with.. a kook..” pope spoke, looking at both of you as he tried to connect the dots. “i know, but listen! m/n isn’t-..” But before he could explain, he was quickly cut off by John B. “Hold on, is that your hoodie, J?” He asked, pointing out the fact that you had one of jj’s hoodie’s on.

You looked down on your attire. Then at the group of pogues. Then at jj. “okay, if you guys could just listen for a damn second!” jj yelled slightly, enough to get the groups attention. “look, I know what you guys are thinking, okay? But seriously, m/n isn’t a bad person like the other kooks. h-hes kind, smart, and not to mention super hot.” He said winking at you, leaving the feeling of a hot sensation creep up onto your cheeks.

the group looked puzzled, but still allowed jj to talk. “To be honest, he’s like the only person I trust with my life.. and if you’re wondering, yes we’re dating.” he said, taking your hand in his and slightly pulling you closer to him. “and if you guys can’t accept that, then just.. fuck off.” jj sighed, looking at the group, but more specifically in their eyes to see if he could find any disgust lingering in them.

but instead, john b smiled, walking up to jj and placing a hand on his shoulder. “jj, my man.. we’re happy for you.” a small smile crept onto jj, “actually?” he asked. “yeah, of course.” kiara chimed in. “sure, we were definitely shocked when we saw you with m/n, but if what you say about him is true, then we’re happy for you.” kiara smiled at him.

“oh, okay good.. because if I’m being honest, I really didn’t want you guys to fuck off..” jj smiled, relieved that his friends weren’t gonna leave him because of a stupid misunderstanding. you as well, sighed of relief, happy that his friends accepted your guys’ relationship.

a/n: erm i kinda cut this fic off short since I’ve been gone for so long.. and cuz its just been sitting in my drafts untouched.. anyways hoped u enjoyed!

[sandcobangevent]

Wounds heal better with Sweet words

By @el-on-mars and rusnuz

“Quite.. the place.. Well, listeners, we have finally gotten to the old warehouse. It looks just like your typical abandoned building, except we have suspicion of an... abduction happening. Unfortunately. But maybe, just maybe, this exploration will lead us in the right direction of solving this case!”     “And I’d hope we do it without being stalled by your commentary..”     “Hey! I was about to give credit to you for finding this place!”     “...Would that change anything?”     “Well. I suppose not really but, argh just let me finish yeah? Sherlock had deduced from the previous murders that the next victim should be in this abandoned building, and, well, we’ll get to test that theory out right now.”     “Of course we will, Watson! And I know the whereabouts of that awful man. So, onwards!”  

“Pft, alright mate.”  

Sherlock stepped into the doorway of the warehouse, John followed by into the darkness of the concrete walls.     They were on a stealth mission to investigate and potentially locate the murderer that’s been causing the murders for a couple of weeks now. The murderer had found the best hiding spots and, unfortunately, taken the lives of already 5 innocent people... Cruel world, this reality.     John focused on the “saving the hostage” part rather than anything else as he took a look at the building from the inside.     21:07 upon the time of arrival, John checked, no lights inside, mostly dark except for the few beams of dim light coming from the street lamps outside. Perfect hiding conditions for the both detectives and their plan. Well, mostly Sherlocks plan, but John couldn’t just sit around and not accompany Sherlock for such a mission like this.     “So... You think the victim is really being kept here somewhere?” John whispered as they began to walk into darkness.     “I know they are,” Sherlock whispered back, “it has been empty buildings, the same situations, repetition every time. I’m sure of it.”     “Well, better believe that than expect to find nobody here. Though, best case scenario, there really wouldn’t be anybody here, and the killer would live your average, non-murderous lifestyle! Like an average person does.”   “Watson.” Sherlock warned sternly.     “Yep. Sorry. Focus.” 

They walked down a long and narrow isle of concrete all around them, occasionally, metal pipes would climb up the walls and trail off in inconsistent directions. No further conversation was held, the only noise were the soft footsteps on dusty concrete and probably a few insects scattering away and in the holes in the old broken surface.      They were soon met with a wall which had a door sized opening on the left. Sherlock turned to face John as he almost voicelessly spoke: “We’re here.”     John felt an unease settle in his gut. Were they really at the end already? Was there really a person on the other side of those walls? Either his intuition was wrong, or Sherlock was right..      One is a much more trustable source than the other.     Sherlock, seemingly sensing the increased nervousness, told quietly: “We are going to save a person from death, no need to worry about anything else.”     It was hard to believe these words at the moment. Well, yea, they are going to save someone, but John was worried about a million of other things as well! The state of the kidnapped person, the location of the murderer.. where could he be right now? And what if he was currently in this same building. What then? What if someone gets hurt? What if Sherlock gets hurt..      No, John wouldn’t let that happen. He will keep an eye out for any danger. And he will not let anybody get hurt.      He finally answered Sherlock:  “Yeah.. yeah sorry, you’re right... Let’s go then?”     Sherlock hummed a small sound of confirmation and entered into the opening. John followed quickly behind, not leaving him alone, not leaving them vulnerable.     At the end of the short tunnel, a dim light poured in from the next opening, an invitation and the destination of their mission.     John quickly went in front of Sherlock and quietly spoke: “If.. if anything were to happen, let me take the hit, alright? I have my gun with me, just stay safe.”     Sherlock stood baffled for a moment before speaking up.      “Watson, that is kind, but I assure you-“  

“I need to make sure that you’re alright... Ok?”     A sigh escaped from Sherlock and he nodded, and they slowly entered the dimly lit room.     In the far corner, right in front of their eyes sat a person tied up to the chair with simple white ropes and their mouth was covered with duct tape. They were looking at the ground, not even noticing the rescuers that stood a few metres away.     It was John who spoke up to get their attention: “Hey..”     The person jumped up from the scare, eyes wide and now bubbling up with tears.     “Hey! No we’re here to rescue you, alright? You’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll get you out of here.”     John spoke softly as he stepped towards the person and managed to remove the duct tape from their mouth.      “.. . Thank you..”     “No worries. Now, let me get you untied from this chair..”     Though his motions were interrupted by a yelp from Sherlock right as he got stabbed in his lower abdomen, the murderer holding him from behind.      “NO!”      John screamed as he swiftly took out his gun, pointing it to the murderers face.     The man roughly removed the knife from Sherlocks stomach and he fell down to the ground, shaking from the trauma.     “SHERLOCK! No.. just.. . Oh god.”     Tears were streaming down his face. Sherlock was bleeding out. He hadn’t kept his promise...     John had to act fast. Much faster than his mind could even think.     “Now.. you can put the gun down, and you can help out your friend while he’s still breathing. Or I can kill all of you on the spot-“     John caught the murderer off guard by shooting out just above his head, and in a second of vulnerability, John punched him in the face, the knife fell out of the murderers hands and John punched him again, and again, and then pushed the murderers body against the wall, where it fell down bruised and unconscious.     The victim was sobbing and hiccupping, unable to do anything while being tied up. They were watching Sherlock as he somehow managed to breathe out: “good work, Watson.”     John, still high on adrenaline, dropped straight next to Sherlock, not even checking the wound but taking off his jacket and pressing it into Sherlocks stomach. He had experienced many events just like this in the army, but Sherlock was someone he couldn’t lose.     “It’ll be ok Sherlock trust me I’ll get you to the hospital and you’ll be ok! You will be ok. I can't lose you Sherlock I can't lose you too..”     Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed in agreement.      “I won’t go anywhere without you, John.” Sherlock breathed.     “You’ll be ok you’ll be fine well be ok you will survive you’ll be alright...” Was all John could say as he applied deep pressure to the wound. Sherlock couldn’t lose blood. He already had about a 10th of it lost, maybe more. They needed to get to the hospital asap.     “John..”     “Sherlock I.. I need to call the hospital. Now.”     “John, you’re doing amazing.”     He really didn’t have time for compliments, no matter how good it felt to receive them from Sherlock.      John asked sternly: “Sherlock, you’ll need to hold the jacket tightly on the wound while I call for help, ok?”     Deep breaths filled the air, Sherlock had managed to stay calm, he replied: “Anything for you, John..”     “... Everything for You, Sherlock..”

The drive to the hospital was fast and anxiety ridden.    The medics managed to find them in about 5 minutes time. The victim was taken and immediately set up on a nourishment system and given water, and Sherlock had his stab wound properly closed for the time being of the drive. They would need to inspect him before deciding on taking him into surgery or not.    The murderer was being dealt with by the police, though John couldn’t give a flying fuck about that disgusting man. Hopefully, he’s put in jail before they can even arrive to the hospital.   Mariana was contacted right away in the truck, and also while crying, asked which hospital would they be housed in.   Upon the arrival, Sherlock got taken away into the examination room and John was left alone in the lobby, utterly devastated that Sherlock got so badly injured.    He had promised him that he’d keep him safe. Promised that nothing would happen to him.    It didn’t make it any better that this was the same situation that Mary was in...   And she had died.    The exact same situation was happening right now, so, how could John stop crying? How could he deal with knowing that Sherlock might not open his eyes again? That this was the last of the interactions he had with his best friend? The last of everything..?   The entrance door swung open as Mariana came rushing in and immediately wrapped John into a tight hug, both of them sobbing; they couldn’t believe this had just happened.  

“Are you ok, John?”  “I’m... Yea, physically, I am perfectly alright.”  “..How did this even happen..”  “I told him I’d keep him safe.”  “He is safe. He’s alive.”  “I..” staggered breathing and sobs were bitten down as John mumbled the sentence.  “It’s just like with Mary.”  “Ohh John, no. No. Nonono. Sherlock won’t die. He’s stronger than he looks. He wont die. He can’t, actually! He will survive this, and do you know why I’m saying that?”  Silence. John only saw a blurry image of Mariana through his tears.  “I’m saying that because he had, might i say, the best army doctor treat him, and keep him alive. He will get through this John. I know he will.”  They embraced each other again as John let out a sigh.   “...yea, he will.” 

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

“...and he ATE the cheese! Can you believe that?!”    “..gross.”    “Exactly.”    Mariana ended her story and sighed while glancing at the time on her phone.    “It is kinda late already. We should get going, John.”    “Yeah.. yeah in a minute. I want to discuss something with Sherles if that’s alright?”    “Sure! But be quick, I think we’ve bored Sherlock out of his mind by now.”    “Not at all,” Sherlock replied “It is quite too underwhelming in here. Your presence is greatly appreciated.”    “Awwwh! Well of course, Sherlock, someone’s got to keep an eye on you!”     “And you’ll be let out soon enough, don’t you worry,” John chimed in.    “Alright, I’ll wait for you outside, John. Goodnight Sherlock!”    “Goodbye Mariana.”    And the two of them were left alone in the room. John had so many words to say, too many thoughts to string together a coherent sentence. Should he even bring this up? After the surgery went well and Sherlock was in perfectly good recovering conditions..     Sherlock, perhaps out of sheer boredom, perhaps out of understanding the complicated feelings John was experiencing, sneered: “I don’t know how much is “quick” by Marianas terms, but you are taking way longer to say your thoughts than the time limit you’ve been given.”    “Yeah, shit, sorry... I just don’t know where to begin? It all happened so fast, too quick, I barely had time to react..”    “You did, though.”    John hummed in agreement: “I did. I think..”    John wasn’t even sure where to lead his thoughts anymore, he felt like he had to tell every detail of every feeling and emotion he had experienced, mostly of those surrounding the image of Sherlock being injured, unsteady...    “..you did. The evidence is saying that right in front of your eyes.” Sherlock added and smiled warmly.     “I.. I don’t know if I can believe that... You passed out Sherlock..”    “Hm. ‘Suppose I did.” Sherlock remarked and supposedly tried to remember exactly when and how he had passed out. But to no luck.    John continued: “You lost.. a lot. Of blood. Not enough to be fatal but God.. I couldn’t even... 

I can’t...”    He had trouble finishing the sentence. Saying his feelings out loud were proving to be much more challenging than saying them in his head. All the things he could say right now amounted to only one ending. And he didn’t want to bother Sherlock with his pain while he was injured and definitely needed more support than listening to John vent about what he has been through.      Sherlock has been through worse. Much worse.     “You know you can trust me with anything, right? I don’t want you to hide. Not from me, not from your own feelings, John.”    Sherlock, as always, read John like a picture book. And what he said was true- John could trust Sherlock with anything.     John gathered up his words and finally said:    “I can’t lose you like Mary...”    These words had many implications. John didn’t want to lose another person that he held dear to him. He didn’t want to lose a person he loves. And he loved Sherlock unlike anything else in the world. He thought, perhaps even more than Mary...    Sherlock took Johns hand and held it in his, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles.    “As I had said before – I am not going anywhere without You, John.”    And for some reason right now, John could believe his words. Maybe it will be alright. Maybe it is ok to believe that Sherlock will recover just fine and they could go back to living their crime-solving lives as they had before.

John felt it to be an appropriate time to say “I love you”, for any reasons that bubbled up inside him.    “I... Love you too.”    Yep. Definitely something warm bubbled inside John and he couldn’t help but smile looking at Sherlock and knowing the impact of these words that were exchanged between them.     “Do these words hold significant meaning beyond the terms of our friendship?”    Well that certainly wasn’t what John expected to hear, he didn’t really have time to think or respond as the door croaked open, a familiar face appearing from behind it.    “John, the visit time’s over, c’mon!”    “Be there in a sec’!” nodded back at Mariana, but turned his head back to Sherlock and asked: “Tomorrow?”    Sherlock squeezed his fingers around Johns hand and whispered: “Tomorrow.”    They broke the contact and said goodbyes, both of the men now had something to think through while they were away from each other.     John thought about “the terms of their friendship” and concluded that there may be something more than what he had previously thought about. Something deeper, more intimate.     John decided that he could be alright with these feelings. 

[lunarw0rks]

hi!!! i was wondering if you could by chance do something where the reader is a paramedic, and they lose someone for the first time on the job, and they come back home a wreck?

id like price, soap or ghost with it, i feel like they'd understand what it's like to lose someone and feel like it's ur fault 😭

maybe they would say "you did everything you could, sweetheart."

idk ill be going into this field and it scares me that this stuff happens so often

──── ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ PRICE MASTERLIST ꒦꒷

‧₊˚⊹ warning(s): established relationship, death/grief, patient loss, hurt/comfort, emt!reader, gn!reader ‧˚₊

‧₊˚⊹ word count: 875 ‧˚₊ | a/n: this is short & i don't like it.

WOUNDS | JOHN PRICE

Exhaustion was nothing new to you. Countless hours on your feet, making life-or-death decisions, subsiding every worry to the back of your mind, and only focusing on the situation in front of you.

Stressful, difficult days were part of the bargain. Even on a good day, you still find yourself sore and spent. But today wasn’t a good day.

Loss should be something you were well acquainted with by now yet weren't. The initial heartache of losing a patient was too forbidding to cope with, and there was no time to pause and reflect. It felt careless, unjust even, to move on to the next—live—person.

It happened fast, too fast, and then you were onto your next case. In some ways, the chaotic influx of maimed people helped to blur your reality; to keep you from feeling. It all hit you the moment you took your uniform off, staggering home with an expression as lifeless as the corpse being shipped to the morgue.

You twisted your key into the lock, greeted by a dim and empty house. No warmth, no ambiance — only you and your grieving thoughts.

You rested your bags on the entry table with a dead weight, tugging off your shoes with the same quickness. When your psyche ached, the same pains in your muscles seemed considerably worse.

The shower called you the longer it took your exhausted legs to walk the steps. A steamy, warm cocoon to scrub your skin raw; until the emotions withered. At least that’s what you hoped to achieve.

But grief was ugly. Worse, somehow, because you had to become good friends with it to succeed. As you lathered yourself in suds, you closed your eyes and let the water beat down on you.

In a way, you knew deep down that this feeling would ever entirely disappear. The first loss is always the worst, but so are all the rest you’re doomed to deal with. Inevitable and unforgiving, while all the rest of the world moves on.

John crept up the stairs, hearing the drone and patter of the shower head in the distance. He found it strange that you hadn’t bothered to light up the downstairs. The only bulb illuminating his path to the bathroom was the sconce in the hallway.

The golden light from the washroom lit up the rest of the wall, beams widening when he pushed on the door. You stood under the rain, head tipped back with a wincing expression. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if to mimic a hug, and how your thumbs caressed your dripping skin to self-soothe.

The scene in front of him reminded him of shellshock, only with less gore and chaos, thankfully. Though you appeared tranquil, he nearly felt the waves of woe radiating off you with the steam. Something had happened, something forlorn.

He sidled ahead, placing his boots on the bathmat. Though the door ground when it opened, you didn't bother to open your eyes. You were lost in the turmoil of the day, retracing every decision you made — tirelessly wondering if there was a detrimental mistake.

From behind, Price pulled you flush against his chest. Despite how obvious he had made his presence; you were still startled at the feeling of arms wrapped around you. He made no sudden movements, nuzzling your head back against him for support.

You slowly craned your neck to peer at him, seeing him fully clothed and actively soaking from the shower. His eyes were soft and empathetic, nearly all-knowing of the ins and outs of demise. In a way, the Captain did.

"John, your clothes..." You muttered, as to displace the emotional spotlight.

Quickly, he shushed your weak voice, pressing his lips to your forehead. All those calls he'd made over the years — juggling proficiency for blood; his own, his men, even civilians. That aching, ever-persistent guilt that rattled him when he was alone too long. He knew it like an old friend.

You, a healer, should not. It wasn't fair, seeing you struggling to keep your mind serene. And your appearance — fatigued, weeping eyes and a body that told the harrowing story for you.

With a shuffle of your heavy feet, you turned to face him. "I lost one today." You whispered into the crook of his neck, leaning on him with your full weight.

"I know, love." His thumb brushed your cheek as if wiping away the tears that had already washed down the drain.

The corners of his mouth distorted into a conflicted smile — one of support and uncertainty. There was nothing he could do but be your shoulder, that much he knew. If it were him in your position, that's all he would want.

Your quivering lips parted, waterworks brimming on your irises again.

He could feel the slump of your posture, the contort of regret and guilt written all over you. "You did all you could, sweetheart. Everything you could." John stopped you prematurely before you could bash yourself over misfortunes out of your control.

It was hypocritical, the man he glanced at in the mirror carrying the weight of too many casualties.

But it didn't matter when it was you; this was his burden to carry.

a/n: this doesn't have to be emt/paramedic specific. it could be any kind of healthcare worker or medic.

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

[chelledoggo]

My Analysis of "Lazarus Drug" by Meg Washington, and how it pertains to Bluey's "The Sign" [MASSIVE BLUEY SPOILERS]

(This post is going to deviate from my typical "all lowercase" typing style because I kinda want it to be taken seriously lol.)

So, I was doing some dishes earlier, and I started thinking about the song "Lazarus Drug" by Meg Washington. I started mulling over the lyrics and thinking about how it was used at the ending of the Bluey special "The Sign." The wheels kinda started turning and I felt compelled to attempt to present my interpretation and the thoughts I have about it.

Now, I'm not a music theorist or a seasoned philosopher or TV critic. I'm just about as much of a layperson as one can be. I'm just kinda calling things as I see them.

Although only the final portion of the song was used in The Sign, I wanna go over the full version of the song to give a better understanding of what all the pieces mean put together.

This probably won't be a play-by-play of every lyric (because I'm not that smart lol), but I'll do my best to get the point across.

Let's begin!

[MASSIVE BLUEY SPOILERS BEGIN BELOW THE CUT]

I am asleep, I am a slug I am a thief, I am a thug

The first lines of the song give the impression that the singer perceives herself as an impure person. She seems to bring attention to her vices of focusing too much on the self to the point where it could potentially hurt others.

You are grace, you are belief You are a Lazarus drug

This is where the song title comes in, and this section in particular is clearly very heavy on Biblical imagery.

Lazarus was a figure in the Bible, specifically the Gospel of John (John 11:1-45). He died of illness and had been in the tomb for four days. Jesus loved Lazarus so much, that he had wept upon the confirmation of his death. He then went to the tomb where Lazarus lie and resurrected him.

Note how the singer refers to the subject as a "Lazarus drug." When you think of a drug, you think either of something meant to treat an illness, or something meant to give someone a high. However, in this case, I think it's both.

Meg Washington said the following in an interview with ABC's (Australia) Double J radio station:

"'Lazarus Drug' is a song about love and euphoria and revival. It's really just an ode to whatever it is in your life – or my life – that makes you feel like rising up and floating in the middle of the air and splitting into light beams of happiness. "Writing this song was really special for me, because every time I sing it I feel the same way that I felt when I wrote it. I really wanted to make something that sounded like how we can make each other feel if we try very hard to share love."

The subject of the song is a loving, caring figure. You could even argue that they are a Christlike figure. The love and compassion that they extend to the singer not only heals their pain, but makes them feel high, as illustrated in these lyrics a few lines later.

And when you make A perfect circle in the sky I get so high I get so high I'm like a planet And I can't come down Oh, I can't come down

The next verse begins like this:

You are an angel And when you weep, the heavens rain I am a mermaid, eating at the sushi train

The "mermaid at the sushi train" metaphor is kind of up in the air, but I believe it might once again be highlighting the singer's selfishness.

Like, why would a mermaid be eating sushi? Why would she be eating her little fishy friends? Like imagine if Ariel was advertising frozen fishsticks... Oh wait...

It seems like a metaphor for thinking more about your own hunger rather than the needs of those you're meant to care for.

We sort of see this in both Bandit and Rad's subplots in "The Sign."

Bandit gets this high-paying new job in another city. He's going to have to uproot his family's life and take them away from the people they love and care about in Brisbane. However, Bandit doesn't really seem to consider too much how this might emotionally affect Bluey and Bingo. The way he sees it, he's doing the right thing. He believes he's guaranteeing a bright and comfy future for the Heeler family. He means well, of course. But in this case he's being so short-sighted that he doesn't seem to really take his family's feelings into account.

Likewise, Rad plans to move himself and Frisky out west after their wedding... Except that he didn't bother bringing this up to Frisky herself. His motives were arguably even more self-centered and short-sighted. He didn't bother asking Frisky how uprooting her own life would affect her. He just... assumed he could just smooth it over after the wedding. (I love you Rad, but... dick move, man. Dick move.)

But when you look in me With language in your eyes I get so high I get so high I'm like a planet And I can't come down

When the singer stops and looks at the subject, gazing into her eyes without needing to say a word, that "Lazarus drug high" comes back. She realizes that she's not in it alone. That there's people around her that love her and care for her, and they matter just as much as she does.

When Rad finally catches up to Frisky at the Lookout, they have this moment:

Now at surface level "I know you like it here" could just be referring to the Lookout, since it's one of Frisky's favorite places. But on a deeper level, I think we can tell what this really means. It's referring to Brisbane. You can even see the city in the background here.

Rad finally wakes up and realizes how much Frisky's home means to her. Neither one of them has to say a word about Brisbane for us to know that Rad's had a change of heart about moving. The way they look at each other during this scene speaks volumes.

Likewise, there's... the moment.

Moving day.

I feel it in the morning I feel how low it lies And then I hear you calling And then I start to rise I feel it in the morning I feel how low it lies And then I hear you call my name And then I start to rise

The Heeler house is all packed up in boxes, and the family is getting into the car to leave their driveway for the final time.

But just as Bandit's about to get in the driver's seat, he stops to answer a call from Bucky, letting him know that the Sheepdogs decided at the last minute not to buy the Heeler house.

After the call ends, Bandit walks over to peel the "SOLD" sticker off the "For Sale" sign.

He then gazes back at his family waiting in the car. No words are exchanged. He just takes a moment to look into their eyes. He's reflecting on what this move will mean for them. He remembers all the sorrow Bluey and Bingo endured over the revelation.

And suddenly his eyes are opened to what really matters...

And when I hear you calling Like you were always there I rise until I'm hanging In the middle of the air

He grabs hold of the sign, pulling it with the strength of two Bandits.

And when I hear you calling I split like I'm a snake With golden light like fingers And then I start to break Into a billion pieces

And...

...YEET.

Oh, I shatter into constellations Like I've never been more here Like I completely disappear

The ego shatters. Bandit foregoes the self and realizes his oneness with his family. That they all matter. That what they have in Brisbane is beautiful.

Sure, he could assure himself a cushy high-paying job and ensure a "comfy" life for his family.

But his family was already comfortable. More than comfortable, even.

His preconceived notions of what a "good life" could be disappear, because he knows they already have a good life.

I'm nothingness, but shining And everywhere at once I'm everything and everyone who is or ever was

Now this line is particularly interesting to me.

In eastern spirituality, especially Buddhism, there's a concept of "emptiness." Basically nothing and no one exists purely in and of itself. "Everything and everyone who is or ever was" exists because of interconnections through other factors. There's no inherent "thing" or "self." We're all one.

The words "emptiness" and "nothingness" in our western mindset seems to denote a feeling of despair and sadness. I think this is why Meg chose to word it as "nothingness, but shining." In the eastern mindset, "nothingness" is something that is shining and beautiful. It's not a sense of loneliness, rather a sense that you are not alone.

Bluey isn't a stranger to incorporating eastern spiritual thought into its episodes. Probably the most famous example is the episode "Bumpy and the Wise Old Wolfhound," which is loosely based off the Buddhist story of Kisa Gotami. The episode "Hide and Seek" alludes to the practice of mindfulness meditation, which is a practice rooted in eastern traditions. You could even argue that the episode "Slide" has themes of Ahimsa, the eastern principle of nonviolence and not causing harm to other living things.

Even "The Sign" incorporates the Taoist parable of the Farmer, which teaches about accepting the unexpected of life, and not labelling anything as "fortunate" or "unfortunate."

I also personally see themes of the aforementioned principle of interconnectedness. The whole episode is basically a literal "butterfly effect." Every little thing, from Frisky leaving the wedding and the Heelers going to look for her, to Flappy (who originally appeared in "Slide." Oh wow, this goes deep!) flying into the Heelers' car, to Bluey finding a lucky coin, only for it to get stuck in the binoculars that the Sheepdogs later use to spot their new dream house... it all leads up to the ending.

The ending in and of itself can't really be labelled as a perfect happy ending, either. Bandit can no longer accept his new job, and will probably need to find new work in Brisbane. How will it go?

"We'll see."

And You're nothingness, but shining And everywhere at once You're everything, we're everyone who is or ever was, forever

The final lines are just a pronoun switch of the ones before them. This could be interpreted in multiple ways. The singer could be addressing the subject of the song, but she could also be addressing the listener.

The song ends on a reminder that we're all connected. We're affected by the circumstances we face, including the love we're shown by others. Likewise, the love we show others affects them and those around them.

Isn't that kind of one of the overarching messages of Bluey as a whole? How we treat others - our friends, our families, our children - goes a long, long way.

...

WHOO. That ended up being more of a ramble than I thought.

Anyway, I'm just calling this as I personally see it from my silly overthinking layperson perspective. You shouldn't by any means take what I say as gospel, but I do hope I've at least given you something to think about.

And, of course, feel free to share your own interpretations!

If you've made it to the end of this massive skyscraper of text, thank you so, so much. I love you. 💖

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The late afternoon sunlight gently heats the interior of Vivat Bacchus, where the blend of coziness and sophistication is highlighted by exposed brick walls and rustic wooden beams.

The soft pendant lighting adds to the ambiance, making it an ideal spot to relax after a busy day. The group sat at a round table near the window, taking in the lively scenes of Farringdon's streets. Soap reclined in his chair, resting his arm behind over Cam, while Gaz browsed the wine menu with keen interest.

Simon sat beside Soap and Cam, carefully observing the room with his typical attentiveness. He longed for Gabby's presence, but he had to be patient until his wife returned from Las Almas. Until then, he had to be present for Cameron.

When John's phone vibrated, he looked at the screen, and his expression shifted as he read the alert. Afterward, he placed his phone face down with a serious look on his face.

"You good?" Gaz asked, catching the change of his demeanor.

"Yeah," John said. "It's from Laswell. More intel on a case I’ve been looking over since then. Everything's cryptic for now."

Cam looked up from her menu. "What's it about?"

John adjusted his position in his chair as her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "There are illegal shipments passing through the ports. Laswell suspects it's beyond regular smuggling, but she hasn't pieced everything together yet."

"Weapons? Drugs?" Soap speculated. 

"Not sure," he responded, locking eyes with Soap. "Whatever it is, it's big enough to catch her attention." 

Gaz leaned in and remarked, "So, we're dealing with more than just a few shady crates?" 

"This isn't a minor operation. She wouldn't have flagged it otherwise," John replied casually. 

Before they could add further into their discussion, a middle-aged waiter approached them with a warm smile. "Good afternoon. Are you ready to order, or do you need a bit more time?" 

The group exchanged looks, and John motioned for Cam to start. 

"I'll have the grilled seabass, please," Cam said, passing her menu to Soap. 

"Ribeye, medium rare," Soap said with a grin, handing over his menu to the waiter. 

"The same for me, but well done." Gaz chimed in.

Simon glanced at the menu briefly before saying, "Lamb shank.”

"Steak, well done,” John said before returning the menu to the waiter. 

"Okay. I'll bring those out shortly," the waiter said, collecting their menus after he jotted their orders on his small pad and left their table.

Soap leaned back and continued, "Alright, about the case. Do you think this is bigger, if Laswell is concerned about unknown smugglers?" 

"Possibly," John replied, taking a small sip of his cold water before setting it down. "If these shipments are part of a larger network, we might uncover ties to past groups—or new players trying to establish themselves." 

"Wouldn't be the first time," Simon commented nonchalantly. 

"It could be anything—a smuggling operation or something worse,” John drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Either way, we need to stay vigilant." 

"Well," Soap said with a sly grin, "chasing smugglers at least gives us some exercise. Gabby would do a bit of undercover and we’ll know who is behind the operation." 

"As long as we don't end up in another freezing swamp," Gaz said, almost scowling at Soap. 

John chuckled. "If it comes to that, try to follow my orders, MacTavish." 

Soap rolled his eyes. "Come on, Cap'n, admit it—I keep things interesting." 

Cam shook her head, laughing softly. "Soapy. you make every bit of situation a bit too interesting."

The table erupted in laughter as Soap shot a mischievous glance at Gaz. 

"Speaking of interest," he started, "I think it's time we revisit that little incident in Ankara..." 

Gaz's laughter faded as he focused intently on Soap. "Oh no mate, don't even think about it—" 

But Soap was already diving into the tale, his Scottish accent growing stronger. "So, we're on a recon mission, right? Just Gaz and me, since Laswell sent us to check things out with your Dad and Ghost. Low profile, nothing fancy. Gaz is up on a rooftop, doing his usual expert surveillance..." 

Cam stifled a laugh, already finding it amusing.

"And then, over the comms, I hear frantic buzzing. Gaz starts muttering about a 'compromise.' I'm thinking, "‘oh shit, did someone catch us?’ So I rush over, ready for action."

Gaz clicked his tongue, crossing his arms and looking away. He was already dreading where this story ends.

"Turns out, Gaz wasn't surrounded by enemies," Soap said, grinning widely. "He was stuck on that rooftop, fighting a bloody pigeon." 

Cam couldn't contain her laughter, imagining Gaz aiming his weapon at an innocent pigeon. The rest of the group joined in, and even Simon let out a rare chuckle and shook his head, adding to Gaz's embarrassment. 

"That thing came out of nowhere," Gaz protested. "Almost took my eye out!" 

"Kyle, you should’ve seen yourself,” Soap giggled, as his accent thickened “you were swatting at that bird like it was a threat. Poor pigeon had no idea what was happening."

Gaz sighed. "One day, it'll be your turn against a bird, and I’ll be there to witness it." 

"I'd pay to see that," Cam teased, nudging Soap. "Think you can fight the bird?" 

"Of course," Soap declared, puffing out his chest. "Unlike Gaz, I can handle a bird or two."

"Speaking of pigeons," Simon leaned forward, his tone casual and his eyes turned to John, "I don't think we've addressed Price's relationship with goats."

John scoffed before shaking his head with a quick smile.

"It's not a 'relationship,' Simon," he corrected before frowning. "I just don't like the damn things."

"Wait. Are we talking about actual goats here?" Cam questioned. Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a knowing look, their grins widening like they'd been waiting for this. Soap leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. "Oh, babe, we're talking real, live goats. And the fact that your Papa absolutely can't stand them."

John crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring at Soap with an expressionless face. "It's not that I'm against them," he clarified, although his annoyance was apparent. "I just don't want them near me."

"Sure," Simon replied, his grin widening as he looked over at Gaz. "Remember our trip to Syria?"

"Oh, I remember," Gaz nodded, smiling. "I've never seen a Captain retreat so quickly."

Cam chuckled and asked, "What happened? I need to hear this."

Simon adjusted his position in his seat, setting the scene as if he was about to share the most epic tale ever. "We were stationed at this small farm near a village, keeping things low-key and under the radar. While we were checking the area, a group of goats came out from behind one of the buildings. There were at least ten of them."

"And our fearless leader here, your father," Soap gestured toward John, "just froze. Total deer-in-the-headlights."

"They were in my way," John said, his glare not deterring them. "I didn't have a choice."

Simon raised an eyebrow, looking smug. "Sure. Instead of just going around them, you tried to shoo them away. But one of them wasn't having it."

"Next thing we know," Gaz continued, "he's face-to-face with this angry goat. And instead of backing down, it charged right at him!"

They watched as her eyes widened. Cam crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "What did you do to the poor goat, Dad?"

"I didn't do anything," John insisted, though his voice betrayed his own doubt. "It wasn't charging at me; it was just seeing how far it could go." 

Cam squinted suspiciously. "Liar." 

Soap burst into laughter, loud enough to draw attention. "Price, that goat had you running laps around the barn! Every time you turned, it was right there, ready to ram you across the field!" 

Cam couldn't stop laughing, holding her stomach as she imagined her father's predicament. "Seriously, Dad, how do you manage life-or-death situations when you can't even handle a goat you were backing away from?" 

"I call it personal preference," John replied sarcastically, still looking displeased. "When I say I don't like goats, I really mean it." 

"That's one way to put it," Simon remarked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. "I'd say the goat came out on top that time. Gabby had a big laugh on your demise, John. You made her day.”

John squinted at Simon. "Really? Next time you're up against a goat, Simon, let's see how you handle that. I’ll bet you Gabby won’t save you from this." 

Gaz shook his head, chuckling. "Honestly, we should consider pigeons and goats our worst foes from now on. They cause more damage than any insurgents could." 

Cam, her laughter finally fading, shook her head and gave John a playful, warm smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I promise no petting zoo trips are in the cards any time soon." 

John rolled his eyes, letting out a small laugh, until Cam took her phone out of her pocket, stood up, and stepped just a few inches away from the table.

"Come on, everyone, line up," she said, gesturing for them to gather around. "It’s time for a photo!" 

The men adjusted their chairs around the table, leaning closer to where her smartphone's camera was directed. Gaz and Soap exchanged a look, and then Soap leaned over with a cheeky grin, raising his middle finger. Gaz followed suit, flashing his middle finger with a serious glare at the camera. 

Simon caught on immediately and, without missing a beat, joined in by lifting his large hand to give the same salute. His deadpan expression made it all the more comical. 

Cam shook her head and laughed as she prepared the shot. "Oh, you’re all so mature, boys." 

Soap glanced over at John. "Come on, Cap’n. Don’t be shy." 

"You really want me to do this?" John asked, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. 

"Hell yeah," Gaz replied. "It’s her birthday, boss. That’s an order." 

John sighed and shook his head. 

Then, with a small defiant smile, he raised both his middle fingers and held his gaze on the camera—a clear message that anyone trying to mess with him would regret it. 

One of the men gasped while Soap cheered as Cam beamed and snapped the photo only onto to her father.

"Wow, Dad. I never thought you had it in you." 

"It's official," Gaz said with a smile. "Our boss is now one of us—living like we don't give a fuck." 

John scoffed and shook his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. 

"Yeah, yeah. Happy birthday, Cami."

Cam quickly took a few more photos, then turned her phone to selfie mode. The camera caught her and the men in the background, still flipping the bird as they got up from the table. She gave one last smile, capturing the moments when their faces were full of humor and mischief, bonded by a connection that went deeper than duty.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 23✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[sunny6677]

Spookytale: The Rewrite.

Spooky Month x Undertale crossover.

Summary:

After hearing the call of a strange, hypnotizing flute—Skid awakes to find himself laying on a bed of golden flowers—with several others surrounding him, and a strange bright light he hadn't seen before beaming it's rays down.

Meanwhile, John—who has no idea how any of them ended up in this strange place, attempts to guide the group to a way out. But he finds himself going on a journey he never thought he'd ever find himself on.

PROLOGUE, PART 2: Panic.

( @mayisgoingnuts @crossover-enthusiast @facelessthefreak @dexter-apologist-5000 )

————

..John, despite the aching pain he felt in his head and all over his body, was able to vividly recall what had took place. Even though he shouldn't have—considering the impact of the fall appeared to be very long—judging from the distance between the ground and the hole.

He shouldn't have survived. None of them should have survived. He didn't think anyone would actually survive when he found his work at the station interrupted by the distant noise of a soft flute. Playing the same eery tune.

He felt himself sent into a panic—rushing around the corridors as the melody sounded in the air. He burst into the main area of the station where his partner had sat with the phone ringing continously in his hand.

He had screamed that the piper was back. And after that, they.. and sort of rushed out toward the vehicle outside of the station and dashed toward the forest. They ended up finding Ms. Lila's kid sobbing on the sidewalk, and picked him up to keep him safe since he was the one unaffected.

And.. well.. after that, it got kind of blurry. Either the kid had run out at some point and they went after him. Or he had ran in while they were confronting Piper.

Regardless, all John remembered was Jack just shooting at Piper, and then..

Well—the music defintely wasn't coming from him, seeing as it kept playing. All John remembered was them staring at the hole. And then everything fading to darkness.

And then the next thing he knew, he.. just woke here. A few moments ago in fact. His eyes barely spreading open as the light from up above filled his sensitive eyes.

For a moment, he glanced behind himself. On the flooring that wasn't covered by a patch of green, there was simple stone ground leading up to a long dark hallway up ahead. The hallway made him feel a chill run down his spine, and swallowing, he looked away.

He stared longer around the area. Everyone in town that he knew appeared to be here. Ms. Lila, her kid, that candy kid, and.. well, from what it seemed, none of them were under that melody's influence anymore. Judging by the clearer stare in their eyes, and the confused expressions on their faces rather than ones of shocked bliss.

"Ra—Rad?"

He heard a familiar voice speak softly from behind him. Seemingly not to him. But the sound of the voice caused him to snap his head in it's direction as everyone spoke out of turn. Different voice grunting from all sides of the room.

"Wil—wha.. what's going on?"

"..uh.. I dunno. Skid—do you know?"

"No. I just heard weird music and everyone started following it. It wasn't spooky at all. It was-a scary.."

"..kids?"

"Kevin!"

"..what the—where.. how did I end up here?! What—what is this place?!"

"..Streber?"

"..wh.. mmh.. Eth—Ethan..?"

"Wh.. what are you two weird kids doing here?! Where'd you take us?!"

John, despite the many voices echoing echoing around him, managed to tune them out. And focused on the familiar source of the voice he had heard. In the corner up against the wall. A small, long-faced boy with a dimple on the right side of his face—his hair made into blonde girls and his blue cap laying on the flower bed. Alongside a taller young man with curls of blonde hair, and a dimple on the left side of his face.

The younger man forced himself upward by prodding his elbows against the ground, grunting. "..ughh.."

The small boys eyes trailed over him, his mouth slightly hanging open as he did so. Finally, after a moment, the younger man's eyes darted toward him. And his eyes quickly became wide. "Wh—what the—Robert? Dude—what are you doing here? You.."

He stopped. His eyes scanning around the area. "..where.. what is this place?"

"I—I don't know. I just.."

The smaller boy paused. His eyes now wide. It was only after a moment of standing that John realized the boy was now staring back at him.

Immediately gaining his senses back, John walked foward—forcing himself to ignore the ache in his legs.

"..un—uncle John? What—" Robert stuttered, his face now worried sick and his mouth twisted into a frown of concern. "What are you doing here? How did we—"

"I.. I dunno, kid. I really don't." Johns eyes scanned around the area once more. He saw a black haired man with a round face and a missing arm being helped up by another more gothic-looking guy. Jack slowly helping up Patty who had apparently been in the corner.

He went quiet, and sighed. "Look—just—just stay calm, okay?"

He then turned around. Everyone appeared to either be helping themselves up, glancing around in confusion or on the verge of having a panic attack, or clearly still passed out.

Lifting his hands, he grunted out, "Okay—people, I need you to stay calm." His voice rang out among the several others that mingled together, all of which seemed to slightly hush upon noticing he was speaking.

"Do—do any of you actually remember how you got down here?"

Silence filled the air. Everyone looked around in confusion. A soft voice from a young girl in the corner spoke up.

"..uh.. I don't. All I remember was that I was just drawing, and then.. I.. I heard something. And everything went dark."

"Yeah." A kid in a pumpkin mask nodded, "I was playing in my room, and then I heard a song."

"Okay. Is.. is that true for everyone else here?"

The silence appeared to signal a yes, as they simply glanced around at eachother in quietness.

"..I see. Well.."

John spun around with a slight huff. "Al—Alright, I'm.. I'm not really sure how to tell you how y'all got down here. Honestly, I'm.. not even sure what actually happened. Does anyone remember anything different?"

The room was filled by people either shaking their heads, or giving a verbal refusal.

"..well.. alright. Okay—just.. gimme a second, people—alright? I'll talk with my partner about what to do. Don't panic yet. Just sit tight til we figure out what to do."

Voices of soft protest began to erupt—some either protesting directly against what he had said, and others simply talking to whoever was next to them.

"Wh—what?!" He heard the candy kid yell out, "How are we supposed to stay calm?! We literally—"

"Mom—what's.. what's going on?"

"Hold on, hold on—we can't just—!"

"People—people. Just stay calm—I'll figure things out. We—"

"Ugh.. why did we have to get stuck down here with you—plebians?! What's happening?!"

"Wait—there's a hallway right there, isn't it? Why can't we just go through that?"

"Dude, that's just gonna lead to one of us going missing like in one of the horror movies!"

..John let out a long sigh, quietly approaching Jack who stood beside Patty. A frown curled on his thin lips, with Patty who was practically slumped against his shoulder.

John muttered, "You okay, Patty?"

"..yeah." Flatly, Patty said. "I'm fine."

"What.. what are we gonna do?" Jack softly inquired, lifting his head in Johns direction.

John hesitated, before letting out yet another sigh.

"..I guess we're just gonna have to figure that out."

Grumbling a bit, his eyes darted toward the ceiling of.. whatever it was they were in again. The dark rock from above made it appear as if they were inside something. And they most likely were. The only possible conclusion he could come to was that they were beneath a cave of some sort, or a mountain.

But.. that wasn't possible. They fell through a hole that was in the grass of the forest. They hadn't gone to a mountain or a cave at all. At least.. he didn't remember doing so.

..he needed to find some solution here. And fast.

————

..the area around them as completely filled with soft chattering as Skid sat beside his friend. Who had comfortably shifted next to him and his mom, along with Susie who appeared to be fidgeting with her hands and anxiously glancing around.

Skid wanted to know why they were here or what the music had even led them to. The slight panic he felt was somewhat calmer now. To be honest, the area looked pretty spooky with how dark it was.

From all around him—different voices chattered at once, discussing possible scenarios or just what to do in general. It was only after a while as the dampness hung in the air that a gruff, masculine voice spoke up from the farther end of the room.

"Okay.. everyone—everyone."

Everyone appeared to slightly hush, some either still talking or slowly looking over at him. The black haired one shifted beside him on his left, holding a stern expression on his face.

When the room became quiet enough, the sheriff grunted, "Okay.. I'm not sure how many of you noticed, but there's a hallway right behind us." He gestured in it's direction. "I dunno what it might lead to. But.. incase there's a way out, me and my partner will go check."

"Wai—wait.." The man with the movie glasses on stuttered, "But—but what if there's something dangerous back there? You might get hurt!"

"Son, we have guns." Huffed the officer. "It'll be fine. If there's anything dangerous, we'll let you know."

The officer let out a long sigh again. The round headed man with red glasses and a missing limb spoke again, his somewhat nasally voice speaking up over the several others.

"Wa—wait—what are we supposed to do if you don't come back? What if something bad happens to us if you go off?"

"..I'm.. I'm not sure. But—just stay put. If you think somethings gonna happen, then feel free to get up and go wherever we went."

"..mmh.."

The Gothic man from beside him gently asked him if we was okay, and John looked around. The balding man from before still hadn't woken up yet. And several people still spoke all at once.

..this seemed sort of familiar to Skid. Not the experience itself, but rather the situation. And in all honesty, he wasn't sure why.

The brown haired officer finally turned around, the black haired one slowly turning at the same rate.

"Just stay put, okay?"

The officer huffed, now facing the darkness of the narrow hallway—the dark shadows seeming eager to swallow them whole as they let out a sigh.

"We'll be back in a second."

[sparrow-mask22]

Outer Banks Power Rangers AU

Me doing the Lord's work after the non existent Season 4. This is inspired by Harry Potter and Who the Fuck are The Pogues!? by new_huntress_02 on AO3.

(and for those who aren’t in the know, this is semi-inspired by the unadapted Mashin Sentai Kiramager season while also using Island themes with an original mentor and villain)

Power Rangers: Island Strike

In the sun-soaked, laid-back world of the Outer Banks, five teenagers from different walks of life are about to be thrust into a battle far beyond anything they’ve ever known. When an ancient alien force invades the peaceful planet of Altheria, its royal family is overthrown, and the galaxy is thrown into chaos. In the midst of this turmoil, Princess Zyra of Altheria, the last survivor of her royal lineage, flees to Earth to seek help.

She crashes onto the Outer Banks and, in a desperate attempt to recruit new allies, awakens a hidden, ancient power that chooses five unlikely heroes to become the new Power Rangers. These five Pogues are bound by their love for the island, its tight-knit community, and their growing connection to the cosmic energies that Zyra unlocks within them.

The team forms a powerful force known as the "Island Rangers," each armed with a special gemstone that harnesses the energy of their island's natural elements. Together, they must protect Earth from the dark force known as Xaltor, the alien conqueror who now controls Altheria and plans to use Earth as his next target.

Pogue Ranger Colors:

1. John B. Routledge (Red Ranger - Island Red)

Personality: Charismatic, courageous, and the natural leader of the Pogues. John B. has always been the one to rally his friends, even when things get tough. Though his adventurous spirit sometimes leads him into trouble, his heart is always in the right place.

Zyra’s Connection: Zyra sees a lot of potential in John B., trusting him with the Red Ranger powers due to his innate leadership and desire to protect others.

Mech: Garnet Blitzzer, a red fire-themed mech that channels his fiery spirit and determination.It embodies John B.'s fiery spirit, capable of unleashing explosive energy blasts and swift, aggressive attacks. Its signature move is the Blazing Strike, a fiery beam attack.

2. Sarah Cameron (Pink Ranger - Island Pink)

Personality: Smart, determined, and fiercely protective. Sarah’s calm nature and sharp mind make her an invaluable strategist for the group. She’s also deeply compassionate and has a natural ability to empathize with others.

Zyra’s Connection: Zyra admires Sarah's ability to balance wisdom and compassion. She sees Sarah as a stabilizing force within the group, capable of bringing clarity to difficult situations.

Mech: Opal Tempest – A majestic, gem-encrusted mech with sleek, aerodynamic armor that shifts colors in the light. It’s known for its agility, defensive capabilities, and the ability to create force fields. The Tempest Blast is a signature move, where Sarah can create powerful shockwaves that destabilize enemies. It can also harness healing abilities in battle.

3. Pope Heyward (Blue Ranger - Island Blue)

Personality: Logical, intellectual, and the "thinker" of the group. Pope is always the first to analyze a problem and come up with a plan, though he can be a little too cautious at times. Despite his reserved nature, Pope is deeply loyal and a vital support system for the team.

Zyra's Connection: Zyra trusts Pope’s wisdom and logic, seeing in him a sharp mind that can outthink any challenge. His dedication to justice, combined with his natural ability to analyze situations, makes him a perfect fit for the Blue Ranger.

Mech: Sapphire Drifter – A blue mech that specializes in both long-range weaponry and defensive maneuvers, able to disrupt enemy signals and provide tactical support during combat. The Sapphire's Beam is a concentrated blast of energy, focused and precise, aimed at weakening enemies.

4. JJ Maybank (Yellow Ranger - Island Yellow)

Personality: Energetic, impulsive, and always ready for a good time. JJ’s humor and charm make him a natural comic relief, but underneath his playful exterior lies an incredibly determined and loyal friend. He is the heart of the group, keeping spirits high even during the toughest moments.

Zyra’s Connection: Zyra sees JJ’s energy and infectious optimism as vital to keeping the team motivated, especially in dark times. She believes his spontaneity is exactly what they need to stay one step ahead of their enemies.

Mech: Topaz Scorpion – A yellow mech with incredible agility, capable of rapid strikes and high-speed combat. It has an array of gadgets for both offense and defense, including a powerful energy whip. The Topaz Rush is its signature move, a rapid blitz of energy beams that devastate opponents with precision and speed.

5. Kiara Carrera (Green Ranger - Island Green)

Personality: Resourceful, strong-willed, and deeply connected to nature, Kiara is the grounding force of the group. She values harmony and balance, often seeking peaceful solutions before resorting to violence. However, when the situation demands it, Kiara fights with unmatched determination and strength.

Zyra’s Connection: Zyra is drawn to Kiara’s deep connection to the Earth and her ability to stay calm under pressure. Kiara’s wisdom and determination make her a perfect candidate for the power of Island Green, and Zyra knows Kiara will fight not only for herself but for the well-being of all living things.

Mech: Emerald Warden - A A sturdy, green mech that specializes in nature-based powers and defensive tactics. It can summon barriers made of energy that mimic the resilience of plants. The Emerald Wrath is its signature move, a massive, earth-shaking strike that uses the power of nature to send shockwaves through the battlefield.

*Cleo will become a Sixth Ranger in the future*

6. Zyra (The Mentor)

Backstory: Zyra hails from the distant planet of Altheria, a once-thriving world now taken over by the sinister alien warlord, Xaltor. The planet’s power was drawn from five sacred gemstones, each imbued with incredible energy. In a desperate attempt to save her people and the crystals, Zyra escaped with the last remnants of her kingdom’s power, seeking refuge on Earth. She finds the Pogues and sees the potential within them to harness the powers of the gemstones and take back what was lost.

Connection to the Rangers: Zyra’s bond with the Rangers is deeply rooted in the gemstones themselves, as they share the same cosmic energy that once powered her kingdom. She is not only a mentor but also a protector, guiding the Rangers in harnessing their new powers and preparing them for the inevitable battle against Xaltor's forces.

Powers: Zyra can communicate with the Rangers telepathically and provide them with guidance during battle. She has access to an advanced form of the gemstones’ energy, allowing her to heal or amplify their powers when needed. However, due to the damage to her planet, her own abilities are limited, and she must rely on the Rangers to lead the fight.

Power Rangers: Island Strike blends the fiery action and excitement of Power Rangers with the adventurous spirit of the Pogues. The team’s dynamic is based on their friendships and the strong bonds they share. Each Ranger brings something unique to the team, whether it’s leadership, intellect, bravery, or strength. Zyra’s alien background adds an element of mystery and intrigue as the team navigates the growing threat from Xaltor's forces.

The story will explore themes of resilience, teamwork, and the balance between adventure and responsibility, as the Rangers learn to master their powers, defend their home, and ultimately face the forces that threaten not only their island but the entire universe.

[eric-the-bmo]

The Neighborhood Watch s2ep4: Running With The Wolves

[Summary: Song reviews some memories and gets a rush, while Markus and John decide to do some investigating- with horrible consequences.] Aka, Louis's player had to leave early, and all hell broke loose /pos @gr3y-heron

(heads up, there's some implied domestic violence in this one)

----

Louis and Lestat are lead into a room by Mr Grant (ig he was there with them in the elevator?), one that's very clearly an interrogation room. Upon sitting down Mr. Grant presents them with extremely detailed files about both of them; their lives, their crimes- they even have a note that Lestat is a vampire. There's a picture of Louis outside his house. It looks recent.

Mr. Grant gives his full name- Cary Grant- and there's a bit about how yes, he's named after the old-time movie star, his mother was a huge fan. He, however, doesn't like movies (he's so serious too, does this man not know how to have fun?). Anyway, he just wants to make sure that Loius and Lestat, two criminals, genuinely have no ulterior motives to dating the rich daughter of the casino's head of security. They assure him it's not that at all, and are let go.

-----

Meanwhile, Song is on the 3rd floor with a woman who claims to be her mother.

The third floor is a large office, with extravagant furniture and fine decor; a desk nameplate reads "Melody O'Sullivan," though Song is still suspicious. Melody apologizes for sating; she hasn't seen Song since she was a baby. Song is still suspicious, and Melody agrees that's reasonable, seeing as Song's father destroyed all record of her existence, in both traditional and non-traditional. Melody asks how old Song is now, and Song comments that if Melody were her mother she would know that; the woman apologizes again, saying that time has lost a lot of meaning for her. She wants to be a part of her daughter's life, as that choice for her was taken by force from someone she loved long ago- by Song's father.

["He can be quite... overprotective." Melody sits down in the chair across from her daughter. Song doesn't follow suit. "...And why," she asks, "Would he have reason to be protective of me with regards to you?"]

Melody asks Song where she thinks her inclination to magic comes from? She wanted to raise Song with the knowledge of their shared power, but Greyson didn't take kindly to that idea, viewing it as dangerous, and cut contact with her.

Song says this is difficult to believe- Melody says she'd understand if Song wants nothing to do with her, but please hear her out. She then gets an idea on how to prove what she's saying- it only requires a bit of trust. The mage goes on to say she'll allow Song to look into her mind- her memories- however it is a two-way street; She'd be able to see some of Song's memories as well.

Song agrees.

["I have nothing to hide, and an awful lot of questions."]

Melody blows out some smoke from her cigarette, and our Hex enters her mind.

---

Melody looks no different than how she does now in terms of age- meeting Greyson, going on dates, getting married, holding a small child- arguing, Melody crying- a scene of her on the floor holding her arm with Greyson looking over her- Melody walking away from a house as a beam of purple light surrounds it, hiding it from her eyes.

(Song wants to probe deeper, but knows that would allow Melody to do the same to her. She does it anyway, focusing in on the fight.)

It's a jittery memory, but she hears Greyson yelling that "she's far too young to start this," and Melody claims if they "don't get this under control now, she's only going to hurt herself." Greyson continues to yell, and the memory fades as a child starts crying- it goes to Melody on the ground with her clearly broken arm, and Greyson with clenched fists.

["Get the fuck out of my house. I don't want to see you around her ever again, do you understand?"]

Greyson turns to a bookshelf, flipping through the books until he finds the one he's looking for, and the memory ends.

(Song goes further.)

A new scene- Song as a toddler with brown hair, playing with her mother who has a bag of random objects. It's almost like a placement game, with a tiny Song putting the objects around herself in a circle. Before the last object is placed, Melody kisses Song on the forehead- her eyes glow, as does the circle. Greyson enters the room and drops whatever he was holding as he rushes to pick up his daughter, whose hair is now stark-white, disrupting the object circle.

There's the beginning of an argument as the memory fades out.

Song goes further one last time, getting flickers of memories of Melody all over the world in different parts of time- The woman was an archeologist at some point, leading expeditions into jungles and such. She looks the same as she is now, but the outfits are far before this one (1920-30s?).

----

The mind share ends; Melody's cigarette has burned out.

["Who are you?" "...If you're wondering what I am- I'm human, just like you. I learned a long time ago that time and death are more... suggestion than anything."]

Song tells her mother to bring Greyson to the office- upon hearing that it would be a bad idea, she points out that Greyson works for her, and then is corrected that he works for Mr Grant, the manager. Not Melody; She's the owner. She ignores Song saying that she can't possibly expect Greyson to never find out she's here, and says she took a gamble with this casino as a possible chance to reconnect with her daughter. If Greyson finds out, they'd never be able to meet again- she invites Song to meet her later tonight, perhaps.

She also claims she wants to give Song a gift. Song lets Melody sit next to her, and the mage lets out a deep sigh, letting out some sort of red mist. The mist gets into Song's nose and mouth, and there's this feeling of pure energy- a beating as newly-tapped magic goes through her veins. Her eyes begin to faintly glow. (Game Note: Song can no longer fail (nor fully succeed) any Magic checks until she falls asleep. She also does not have to sleep for the next 24 hours.)

Melody says she's been wanting to do that for her for her entire life- Song asks if she's able to do this herself. Melody responds that she can, eventually, if she has the right kind of teacher, and hands her a business card with a phone number on the back; when Song runs her finger over the numbers, they change to Melody's real number before shifting back. Song's mother asks if she'll talk to her again ["I will see you again, won't I?"], and Song replies she'll stay in touch.

Song gets back to her boyfriends, and Lestat gives her a look; with telepathy, he says they need to talk later. But for now, the trio plays some cards, and their luck seems to be exceptionally well...

----

The loud noise of a car starting up wakes up both Markus and John- Markus peeks out their window to see Sammy getting into his car and driving off. Then Markus sees the Sampaths, sans their daughter, and the couple ignores them when they wave hello. There's other people getting out of their houses. John, who's been watching all this with a furrowed brow, does a quick look-back to make sure Shelby's asleep; Normally she's alseep at this time, so he throws on a shirt and meets Markus (who had sent out a bug scout to follow the cars) at the sidewalk. Markus, through the bug they had sent, sees the cars aren't going down the road into the main part of town, but rather to the casino....

John and Markus begin to run, as neither of them can drive, and despite John's superhuman speed he's running a bit slower so that Markus can keep up. Markus says it's fine, takes off their hoodie to reveal huge moth wings, and soars over the cars. John reminds himself that Markus is human, and starts to run at his normal pace. The two of them are about as fast as the cars now, and quickly make it to the casino.

Watching from a distance, the duo can see that everyone from town is entering through a side entrance of the casino. Markus quickly breaks away from John, entering the line and taking on the similar blank-faced expression as everyone else. John has a moment of "what in the world are you- Oh," and mimics this. There's a lot of people they recognize in this line: The firefighters from earlier, the coffee shop girl, the librarian, and two people we haven't met yet (a large man with a tank top who runs the diner, and a tall pale man with stringy black hair- he's the mortician). Inside the building a man in glasses is handing the townspeople staff jackets (custodial outfits?), which they then put on.

The people are beelining to the elevators, where a man is checking off a list and grouping them off into groups of four. Markus and John observe the faces of the others; it's almost like they're sleepwalking.

---

Meanwhile, Song is still on the second floor of the casino. There's no windows or clocks so she has no idea how long they've been there, but eventually she notices that she and her partners are part of the last group on the floor. The final guy in the group who isn't part of the polycule eventually leaves, and the sense of being alone is starting to weird her out. Song notices that there's no security at all on the second floor- odd, since a lot of them were posted earlier.

She heads over to the balcony (which is like a one-way mirror kind of thing) and sees a line of blank-faced custodians heading to the elevator- and within the line she spots the firefighters, Sammy, and John and Markus. She sends out a telepathic message to the two of them-

["What the FUCK are you doing?!?!"]

It's a jarring message- Markus is fine (they're quoting lines from The Mummy in their head, btw), but John's never had telepathy used on him before- he clamps his hands over his head and growls. Unfortunately, this draws the guards' attention to him, and they're approaching quick. They look tough, which makes sense given they're probably part of the mafia; they've got guns.

[Another message: "John, get the fuck out of there!"]

The nearest exits are the way they came through (the side door), and the front doors. There's guards at both doors, as well as more people on the side and a few casino-goers still near the front- and then there's the unguarded elevator. John bolts for the elevator (he uses his What Could Go Wrong? ability)- the guards are drawing for their guns now, but Song casts a spell to freeze people through the water of the fire sprinklers so that he can get there safely; unfortunately, Markus gets caught in the blast. John races into the cage of the elevator and presses the first button he can think of, and as the doors are closing and he sticks his arm out so that Markus, now unfrozen, can have enough time to escape with him- but the guards are able to move now, too, and Markus gets tackled to the floor. They give John a look that pretty much says "go without me," because if he tries to help he'll get captured too, and John gets separated from them.

---

The elevator doors to the second floor open, and John, visibly panicked, runs out to meet Song (meanwhile, Lestat has been trying his best to convince Louis to not do anything impulsively stupid).

A message from Markus, to Song: ["Don't follow me yet, I'll tell you where they take me. I'll tell you what I see- we need more information."] They tell her that the casino's got their neighbors, and that they're not acting right. Song tells them to be safe. She relays the message, and asks what they should do next.

Lestat agrees they should do something to help, and this is when John finally notices the southern monster- and if you recall, the last time he had interacted with this man was discovering he was a vampire, and chatting with Louis over how to possibly kill him. John tenses up, because he's a territorial thing, and demands to know what the hell Lestat's doing here, weren't they going to get rid of him— but Song gets in between them, staring him down.

["Leave it alone, John," she commands, her eyes still glowing as she enunciates each word. "Back. Down."]

John hesitates- Lestat speaks up and informs him the other monster that wants to be better, he has no quarrel with him- he's going to therapy, and genuinely wants to improve. John pauses again, sensing a bit of kinship there, and finally backs down. His gaze is still fixed on the vampire, albeit not as aggressive. They can deal with this later.

---

Meanwhile, Markus gets restrained, and dragged into the now-open elevator by the guards. They notice they're being taken to one of the basement floors, specifically B1— they try to alert Song where they're being taken to via the telepathy connection, but all Song can hear is their message dissolving into static.

Markus makes a dry comment about how there's three guards for such a small person (and are the guards really that afraid of them?). Then they get shown a file— it's one for them, and one of the file notes just says "BUGS" in big letters.

It also has their real surname on it. Markus bristles when they see that (The file has other things, too- their birth country, their address, etc). Markus tries to threaten the guards, saying that they have about 30 seconds, and if they haven't been told what the people are doing at the casino by then, something bad will happen. The guards ignore them counting down, though, and toss them into an interrogation room. The door locks. It's like the one Lestat and Louis were in earlier; very plain, with a chair and table.

There's a glass of water sitting on the table.

The intercom in the corner crackles to life and tells them to just drink the water and then it'll all be fine, they can be let out; but Markus doesn't trust like that, and sends an ant out to get out of the room. It doesn't work, and they end up throwing the glass at the intercom, demanding how they can get out of here. The voice responds the only way out was to drink the water, but now that that's gone-

Markus slams into the door with their shoulder. They're going to get out of here. While the voice on the other end of the intercom tells them to calm down, they continue to insult it and barrel their body into the door.

They manage to break in down, but they don't get far- they race out of the hallway and see four guards, and only have enough time left to have the thought of "Oh. I've been shot by darts" before they collapse.

---

Meanwhile, the doors to the elevator open, and Mr Grant, Song's dad, and a group of security guards all rush in.

"You there," they say, pointing to John. "You're under arrest."

Notes/Commentary:

MAN OH MAN. WHAT A SESSION, HUH?

Never once did I think Louis and Lestat would be taken in not for the fact they're supernatural, but bc they're criminals.

WHY DO THEY HAVE FILES ON US HELLO?

Cary Grant name drop -> that's Percy's face claim -> this is a Blood and Silicon reference. To me /silly

Melody,,, :-(

"Life and death are more suggestion than anything" GIRL ARE YOU A MAGE? WHAT (she's so cool though, i love her)

Sorry i took the chance to have John be shirtless and I took it-

There was a moment where I considered having John turn into a wolf but alas,, I'll have him turn into a freaky creature eventually

MOTHMAN

"Cryptid siblings! We're all cryptids now!" DM: "As if you all weren't cryptids to begin with"

Hey yall. what the hell are yall doing in the casino. are the drones getting paid for this /hj

Markus's player, rolling to stay calm from the sudden telepathy jumpscare: Wow, I'm on fire today! Me, rolling bad: I think you've stolen my luck

I genuinely considered using a Luck point for failing the telepathy composure roll, but I also really wanted to see how bad it could get lmao

"I mean, if John gets shot at I can add more scars to his character design-"

JOHHNNN U SHOULD'VE GRABBED MARKUS AND RAN

Song considered teleportation but that is so risky. She's never done that before and ough. it can be gruesome.

At one point the DM commented "What's a monster game without a monsterfucker?" in regards to Louis, and Yeah

SONG TELLING JOHN TO STAND DOWN LIKE HE WAS A DOG. OH MY GOD IM SO NORMAL

That whole scene was so good to me. John was ready to fight but also ready to back down solely because Song told him to and he holds her in extremely high regard. Seeing a part of himself in Lestat. Oh my god. "Was it a command or a leash?" He's so dog-coded /pos

I want John and Lestat to enter a hesitant friendship. theyre both monsters who want to be better. uwaghhghg ;-;

MARKUS IS SO INSANE I LOVE THEM. I was genuinely in Awe the whole time during the water glass scene

Song's player is So Suspicious of Shelby it's wild. They're saying there's no way Shelby hasn't noticed something's up, no way she's that naive. She's hiding something.

Also hey DM? Why did u imply the possibility that Shelby wasn't in her room? Fear,,,,

DONT ARREST MY SON HE HAS A DATE LATER—

Also did you know that it's uh. It's probably Super Bad if he actually does get arrested? John doesn't have any form of ID or papers confirming his legal existence in America, and he's not really from anywhere else? What are they gonna do? ;-;

Also can you imagine being Shelby. And going to the casino and having fun, and then u find out ur roommate has a date and u cry about it. And then u maybe are gonna wake up the next morning and find out he's gone to jail /hj

Listening back on the recording was so fun, we had a lot of silly little bits (joking that The Mummy existed in-canon, the idea that Song's head voice was different than her actual voice and how thats a psychic damage attack, etc)

Anyway. We're in for a wild ride next session, im sure. Oh my god

[ospguenolelorho]

John F. Seitz & Billy Wilder

Notes about the article 'A pair of Aces: John F. Seitz, ASC & Billy Wilder' originally published the March 2003 issue.

The article is an overview of some of the methods used by the two over the four movies they have collaborated on.

Cinematography must exist to tell the screen story, rather than to stand out as a separate artistic entity — Seitz

Symbolic compositions

Seeing their work, one element I gathered is to always pack the frame with every important information possible and have a maximum of images symbolic of the story.

One of their most famous images is the pool in 'Sunset Boulevard'. In the same frame, we can see Joe Gillis's face (the protagonist), he's drowned and the police and the press are already at the location — Symbolically, he's drowned in fame and scandal.

The shot was also achieved by the use of a mirror and not actually by putting the camera at the bottom of the pool — this shows that the camera doesn't have to actually be where the audience thinks it is and how a seemingly complicated shot can actually be made easier to shoot.

This shot from 'Double Indemnity' shows the whole dynamic going on visually, Walter (centre) is hiding Phylis (Left) from Keyes (On the left). Walter is at the crossroads between hiding with Phylis or coming into the light with Keyes. Dialogue, blocking and gestures guide the viewer's attention and save from using cutaways.

Visual interest is an opportunity for further storytelling and symbolism. In 'The Lost Weekend', places objects in the foreground such as crisscrossed bars or alcohol bottles. This visually conveys Birman's entrapment with alcohol.

Don't show what everyone already knows

Moreover, the character's state of mind is more important than action. Rather than showing the obvious, their camera highlights a character's state of mind or feeling.

For example, the Murder of Phylis's husband happens just on the edge of the frame. As the audience knows what is gonna happen and nothing unexpected happens, the camera doesn't linger on the murder itself. Instead, it focuses on Phylis's determination, using the passing streetlights for a surreal horror effect.

Similarly, in 'Five Graves to Cairo', danger and confusion are shown in one shot during a fight between a Nazi and an English soldier: 'the camera tilts down to stare at the round lamp while the men struggle offscreen in the dark. Two gunshots produce flashes of light at the edge of the frame, and we then follow the flashlight’s beam as a hand picks the light source up and reveals the dead Nazi on the floor.'

The camera doesn't showcase the choreography or specifics of the fight, just the darkness, chaos, claustrophobia and uncertainty occurring during the fight.

Textured Lighting

Another technique showcased was their lighting techniques, used to achieve a texture and rough look.

Heavy perspiration is used in 'Five Graves to Cairo' to texture the faces (this is quite reminiscent of what Sergio Leone would do later).

Lights are filtered through latticed windows, and slats in the roof to have textured shadows just about everywhere.

This technique is reused in double indemnity, using blinds to break up soft lights and dress the environment with shadows. The aim is to achieve a rough and dark effect.

Moreover, Seitz made a dust-blind effect with a powder of magnesium or aluminium that he blew in the air just before the camera rolled.

Wrap up

Billy Wilder was fond of using long takes (although not always noticeable to the audience) and therefore was more reliant on actors, blocking, set design and lighting to guide the viewer through the shot. This article made me understand a bit more what sort of thought process goes into designing a shot.

[stupidthoughtsinwriting]

Spiraling (Sherlock Holmes)

Hi, this is just a thought I've concocted. I honestly dont know what it is. I dont know if anybody will enjoy it, i hope they do but i already expect disappointment. Pardon my writing as i am still new to this. there was still a bit left after this but i didnt know how to run through it so just posted this but maybe ill finish that one once ive thought it through

Summary: After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street

‘Ohh Sherlock darling that’s beautiful, though I haven’t heard it before. Dare I ask who wrote that’ I asked Sherlock as he played the unfamiliar song. It was odd that I was unfamiliar with the beautiful tune as Sherlock has played plenty and more melodies than I can count, all of which I was familiar with, however that was new. I knew that he likes to compose as it helps him think but this was different, so I assumed was he’s playing another great’s piece. His melodies were always a bit solemn, deep and intense but this was lively, light and dare I say romantic.

‘Me’ he said flatly as he continued to play. Shocked as I was, I remained quiet as he carried on fiddling with his violin. Apparently, the shock was evident in my face as a smirked crossed his. I shrugged it off and listened until he finished the number. He was focused on the violin when he started to play but now his gaze was held on me. I gave him a soft smile which caused his features to soften into a smile of its own.

After a little while he finished and set the instrument on his chair, eyes still fixed on me. The grin I’ve plastered on grew wider as he walks over to me, hand in offering. I accepted and rose from my seat as he led the way to an open area. He moved to face me, a hand that belonged to him crept up to my waist and the hand he held in his was raised. Confused of his actions, I went along with it and raised my free arm to his shoulder, having an inkling where this was going. Guessing correctly, we moved around the living area, dancing as much we could in the small, confined space. Having known the dance as the same one done at John’s wedding; I was pleased to not have forgotten the steps.

As we continued waltzing, I asked ‘what has you all cheery?’

‘What has you so inquisitive’ he countered

‘Fair enough, though what had transpired to get you to write such a beautiful melody’

‘Nothing just got bored, so I composed. I was just very fortunate enough to have a great model and inspiration.’ He smiled as I beamed at the realization of what he meant. I was sat all day reading -a rather fascinating book might I add- on John’s chair as the boys finished up on a case. He’d come in around just after noon, bored of having been done with the previous case and not being on one currently. I greeted him when he walked in and went to the kitchen to fix up some tea. When I returned, giving one of the two mugs to him -a kiss on the head as a thank you-, I returned to finishing my book.  

We continued dancing around the flat for a little while, nothing but the silent music and the rustling of our feet was heard. I laid my head on his shoulder at some point, happy and content of where I was and what I was doing. His voice broke the silence as we went for one last round.

‘Darling, can you do me a favour?’ he asked, voice a bit changed from the one he used earlier but I thought nothing of it.

‘Sure love, what is it?’

‘Wake up. Don’t leave me. Please come back to me’ His voice was now pleading and serious.

I raised my head as I said ‘What are you talking about, I’m right…’ I paused as his body and hold were loosening and disappearing ‘…here’ I continued with my sentence as I raised my hands to hold Sherlocks face. Everything had started to disappear in black. The flat and slowly his body.  

‘Please come back, I can’t lose you, I need you please’ were his final words as he disappeared, slipping through my fingers, into the darkness. Nothing but a spotlight overhead of me. I put down my hands from where they were clutching on to his face, looking around into nothing but darkness.

…

‘Ey, how’s she doing?’ Greg asked John as he walked into the hospital room. It was quiet, nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor, breathing of the people in the room and the rain pattering on the window. John was sat at the chair at the end of the bed where you laid, nearly dozing off but was aroused by Lestrade breaking the silence of the room. Mycroft, unnoticed yet by the DI was stood at the dark corner beside the door. He was staring at your unmoving body, wondering how such a fierce, smart, brave and strong woman could ever lay looking so fragile.

‘Same as yesterday’ John replied with a yawn. The lot of them have been juggling staying here with you, looking after Sherlock and taking care of Rosie. John and Molly’s focus were taking care of Rosie, while Mrs. Hudson looked after Sherlock somewhat. She’d inform their little group of what’s been happening with him, keeping tabs of his activities and mayhem in the flat but the woman could only do so much. Greg checked up on him from time to time, more often than John and Molly but it was no use. What greeted them was a mess that was once the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. No one could get through to him but you. Even Mycroft tried, but he knew that what his brother needed, and the lack of it resulted into relapsing back to old habits.

John went straight here after Molly came to take care of Rosie. He was absolutely knackered. Rosie couldn’t sleep through the night which kept him up as well. He’s been living off of pots of coffee the past week with barely enough sleep. He’d nod off at times when it was his watch and the others would let him.

Mycroft came to check on you from time to time and occasionally kept watch of you as well. He knew that when you woke up and found him fully rested, not having bothered with helping the others, you’d have his head.

Now it seems the boys are all here at once. Greg came to relieve John of his duties to get some rest and inform him of the situation with the younger of the Holmes brothers, still unaware that the older was in the room.

‘Just got a message from Mrs. Hudson about our boy, it isn’t good.’ Greg announces, drawing Mycroft to rub his temples and John to release a sigh. Ever since the accident, Sherlock has only visited you once. The lot of em guessed he couldn’t bear to see you that way so for the past week, he’s been holed up in Baker Street.

‘Christ, what the bloody hell has he done now’ John said exasperated. He was exhausted. Before Greg could respond, another did.

‘You wouldn’t want to know’ Mycroft breathed out. Lestrade’s head snaped to the corner of the room, where the voice originated. Mycroft walked to the centre of the room, down the foot of your bed. Greg’s eyes followed, still startled by the unseen fellow.

‘What are you doing here’ he asked Holmes.

‘I could ask you the same thing’ the eldest Holmes retorted.

‘It’s my shift with y/n’

‘Well there’s no need, you lot look like rubbish’

‘Gee Myc, thanks’ John interrupted.

‘As I was saying,’ he continued, glaring at Watson ‘You lot should get some rest. If y/n finds you’ve been staying here with her, tired and looking like rubbish, she’d have my head.’

‘She’d already be livid by us just not leaving her alone’ John chuckled

‘Ohh wait till she sees Sherlock, she’d be in flames carving us up’ Lestrade groaned with a snicker, rubbing his head at the thought.

‘She already is’ said an unknown voice. A voice they were familiar with but haven’t heard in a while.

All three heads snapped towards the bed. There they found a woman shifting in the bed, trying to sit up, groaning as a pang of pain shot up her shoulder and stomach. Her eye’s fluttering, adjusting to the light and scene in front of her. John quickly stood up from where he was sat as all three men went to check on y/n.

‘Call the nurses and her doctor’ John ordered to anyone in the room, mainly the two lads he was in conversation with and Lestrade followed, rushing from the room to get your attendants.

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty, stop moving around, your going to pop your stitches. Do you remem…’ John fretted as he started examining you, but got cut off.

‘Oh shut it John, I’m fine. Yes I remember what happened. I got shot. Last thing I remember was staring at a barrel of a gun. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m presuming I’m in the hospital. I’m also presuming Elizabeth is still the queen of England now leave me alone.’ She growled and the former army doctor backed away as her doctor came in with a few others, some nurses followed by Lestrade.

‘Ahh, it seems our VIP has awoken’ the doctor said.

‘VIP!’ She took another once over the room, seeing it is rather posh than a normal one, but her focus was on the three blokes taking a laugh at what her reaction was to be when she woke, before she shot her gaze to Mycroft who is to the right of her bed ‘Mycroft Holmes you moved me to a VIP room!’ she fumed as the government official backed away.

‘Okay Ms. Y/L/N please calm down. If you don’t mind, I will perform an examination to check your abilities.’ The doctor mused as he slowly and carefully approached the bed. He asked for permission to lift up your gown to examine the wound on your stomach. You waved him off and he began asking questions.

‘Ughh, John repeat’ you grumbled, already having answered the question before John could even ask.

‘She’s fine, she answered the questions before I could even ask.’ John explained to the doctor who nodded. He asked to uncover your shoulder, as he covered your stomach, to examine the wound on your there. Complying, he examined your arm. After the examination of the wounds, he checked your mobility and reflexes, lifting up your arms and etcetera. Finished with the inspection, he explained what happened to you medically. Apparently, the shot had you fall backward, in which you hit you head very hard -that explained the headaches-. You got shot at four times, three bullet hit you. One just a graze, one a flesh wound on the shoulder and the last on the edge of your stomach. It hit no vital organs but did graze the stomach. They took you to surgery and came out with minimal complications. They left you in a medically induced coma for a day to get the swelling on your head down. You haven’t woken up till now. You nodded every so often until he left, leaving you in the room with the boys and a nurse checking up on your vitals.

Running your uninjured hand to your hair, which was full of knots and a tangled mess, you sighed. You had pads stuck on your shoulder, stomach and arm, covering the holes and grazes on each area. The doctor said it was a miracle that you haven’t sustained much damage. He said miracle, you thought those were the odds of your predicament. ‘It could have been worse’ he said, that you believed. ‘You were lucky’ he added, you didn’t believe in luck.

‘Did anybody else get hurt?’ You asked, eyes closed, leaning back on the bed.

‘No, everyone’s fine, the hostages weren’t harmed, just… you’ John hesitated as he knew the lot of them were threading on thin waters.

‘How bad is it’ You asked, looking at Greg. He knew what you were talking about, he’d be stupider than you thought if he didn’t. He realized you must have heard his news about your lover. He doesn’t respond immediately, hesitating. Just from that you knew it was bad.

‘Bad’ he replied anxiously

‘Be more specific’ you sneered, ticked off from the lack of detail

‘He’s using’ John said plainly. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ both Mycroft and Greg replied.

‘Fuck’ you breathed out, unintentionally ran you hand through your hair again, pissed to be greeted with a tangled mess. You look at John. He looked tired, bags and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like rubbish.

‘How long was I out again’ you asked, having ignored the doctor most of the time during his explanation, you let that little information slip.

‘A week’ John answered. You nodded as a thought crossed you.

‘Where’s, who’s with Rosie?’ you asked, concern over who’s with your god daughter. John smiled at your concern over his offspring.

‘She’s fine, she’s with Molly.’ he explained. You let out a breath, wincing a bit at the movement. You were given a PCA pump to help you control your pain, you pressed the button to add a dosage, not to much to get you fucked high but enough so the pain was manageable.

‘Speaking of, I should inform her and Mrs. Hudson that you’re awake.’ he said pulling out his phone.

‘Wait. Where are my things’ you asked so to get your own phone. The nurse’s head picked up and she gave you a plastic bag full of your belongings. You greeted her thanks as she continued on scribbling on her clip board.

‘John, could you get me anything to eat, I’m starving’ you asked your friend. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, glad that you had an appetite, he headed out to the canteen. Your gaze moved on to Mycroft who was sat on a chair near the window.

‘You, get me a less fancy room please. I do not want to be treated as if I’m royalty.’ he opened his mouth to object, but you cut him off. ‘Please’ you begged, which caused his resolve to break and agree. Not many could order around the Holmes boys, you were just one of the few that could. He left the room with his cane in tow, shutting the door. The nurse was about to leave as well but you called her over before she could.

‘Hi, could you please get me an AMA to sign and please be discreet.’ you told her gently but the intent an order. She looked at you for a second before nodding quickly and rushing out to get the document. You knew very well you could just leave without signing a damn thing but you didn’t want to cause a problem with the hospital, so this is just a courtesy.

‘What the are you doing’ Lestrade asked you as you ripped open the bag full of your stuff.

‘Did you guys get me anything to change?’ you said as you riffled through the bag looking for your phone.

‘Yah um sure.’ He went over to the closet and took a bag from a shelve. ‘Molly went to your flat while you were in surgery.’ He explained putting the bag on the bed. Having found your phone, you opened the bag he had given you and took out a change of clothes. You grabbed a clean pair of knickers, your denim jeans, a white shirt and a blue cardigan from the bag as you told Greg to close the curtains and look away. He followed as you gently put on your underwear and jeans. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button of the PCA pump to administer a bit more, scratch that, a lot more of morphine a few more times before pulling the needle out. You grimaced and threw the needle away. The nurse happens to have chosen that moment to come in and see what you were doing. She came to help you and pulled a plaster from one of the many drawers of medical equipment next to the machines. Greg who was still looking at the window asked what was happening.

‘Nothing just… did Molly happen to bring me any shoes’

‘Uhh yeah, bottom of the bag’ he replied.

‘Okay’ you say as the nurse helps you with your bra and shirt. You carefully put your arm through the hole of the shirt and rummaged through the bag of your items for a hair tie, your hair was killing you. Having found one, you attempted to tie your hair but a pang of pain shot your shoulder and stomach, mild but it was still there. The nurse having noticed this took the hair tie from you and tied your hair up in a bun. You were so very grateful for her at that moment.

‘Greg you can turn around now.’ Following your orders, he turned to see you fully clothed, a nurse tying up your hair.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing’ he exclaimed as he walked over to face you.

‘You are taking me to Baker Street.’ You say flatly as you reached for the clip board of forms.

‘I am not’ He handed it to you, and you asked for a pen.

‘You are’ you said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, he found one in his coat and handed it to you. You quickly scribbled and signed the discharge papers before handing them to the nurse, who was removing the rest of the wires attached to you.

‘Can you find me a wheelchair’ you asked Lestrade who fully knew it was an order and not a request. Grumbling he followed and left the room leaving you with the nurse. You pulled the shoes from the bag, threw the plastic bag of bloody garments in and zipped it shut. Slipping on the trainers carefully, you stood up fully from the bed and walked around with the help of the nurse, to wake up your legs from its week rest. Your clothes hung loose and big as you’ve lost a bit of weight during your hibernation. As you walk around the room, your leg starts to get a bit more feeling. The morphine was relieving most of your pain but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t some left.

Lestrade came in with a wheelchair as you’ve just slipped on the cardigan. You took a seat from the chair and asked for you bag to be placed on your lap. You thank the nurse, asking for her name as you were going to send her a gift basket or something as a thank you for getting you out of the hospital. She bided you with instructions and precautions with wounds, which you told her to tell John when he got back from the cafeteria. A thought occurred and you also asked her for a favour of giving John a few of the pain meds -morphine really- when he returned and maybe a suture kit, she nodded questionably. You thanked her one more time before asking Lestrade to wheel you to his car and head to Baker Street. You made a mental note of giving that nurse a very good thank you basket for all the things she’s done for you.

…

As Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, she heard the ramblings of her tenant. From what she can tell, he was reciting Shakespeare. As she slowly opened the kitchen door -finding it much safer than the main one directly opening to the flat-, she’d find her kitchen a mess. Her table filled with beakers, a microscope, tubes and whatnot with a bunch of other experiments in different bins. Her counters and cabinets filled with the same thing, with an added touch of pinned and hanging files and photographs. The floors ridded with stacked piles of papers and boxes. She just managed to squeeze in her tray of tea and biscuits on the table, before being startled by a gunshot. She jumped and headed to the living room where the shots originated, checking on the lad she treated like a son. As she finally managed to weave her way to the living space, she was greeted by another shot, one her wall had to suffer.

She found Sherlock shouting and waving a revolver, as he rounded the flat like a mad man.

‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; ' he recited loudly, pacing around the flat, pointing the gun at pictures that hang on strings and objects he found no longer useful, before shooting a picture pinned on the wall.

Startled from the shots fired and getting quite scared of Sherlocks erratic behaviour -though she’s somewhat used to this-, she rushes out the flat and down the stairs. She was going to ring up John or Lestrade to inform them of the increase in violence in the detective’s behaviour. More shots followed at her decent down the stairs when the front door slammed open revealing a y/h/c head of hair she knew belonged to the only person who could help the bloke who live in the flat she just rushed out on.

…

As the car got closer to 221 Baker Street, a clear sound of a bullet wrang through the block. A sound I know a bit too well from a recent experience. I flew out of the vehicle before Greg could even stop the car, pain searing through my body at the force of my movements. A faint ‘Eyy’ was heard coming from Greg but again faint as I was rushing to the front door.

‘STAY THERE’ I shouted back. The slanted knocker flew at the force of the door being slammed open. That was going to leave a dent on the partition, but I didn’t care.

‘Y/N!’ Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs but was frozen in place at my arrival. I quickly sped up the stairs, past the landlady as pain wrecked through my body. ‘NOBODY COME UP HERE’ I shouted again, my throat getting sore even from the minimal exchange of words. I slow my steps as I get to the closed door of the flat, a booming voice heard from this side of the door. I slowly and very carefully open the door, not wanting to startle and get sent to the hospital with another bullet wound.

‘On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument’

‘Sherlock’ I said softly, announcing my arrival in between his rant. As I entered, I find chaos with the man I found to love in the centre of it all. What once was a somewhat organized flat, morphed as if a tornado passed through. Papers and pictures cloud and scattered on any available space. Strings hang at odd places. Bullet holes and pictures fill the walls, shattered pieces of glass crowd the floor along with knocked over furniture. It’s a mess.

You look up at Sherlock after scanning the room. Focusing on the detective, you take in his ragged and worn appearance. His curly head of hair, a greasy mess, sticking out at odd places. A heavy stubble has grown from the lack of shaving the past week. His features, primarily his jaw and cheekbones sharp from the scarce to none amount of food consumed. His skin, sickly pale as mine from when I woke up just less than an hour ago. His clothes hung loose on his body, the navy robe wrapped around him, fluttering as it followed his movement. He looks worse than me at the moment.

‘Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.’

He’s ranting, no reciting Henry the Fifth at the top of his lungs, waving the revolver around as he paced the flat, pulling at the papers stuck on the mirror, kicking anything his foot touched. Still in the midst of this chaos, what stood out to me were his eyes. Rounded by dark circles, sunken deep. However, behind those blue changing orbs, were emotions. I was always rather good at reading him, but his eyes always gave me the confirmation of my suspicions. Now what hid behind those beautiful cerulean blue orbs was guilt, worry and anger. I know that Sherlock cares for me and he has told me himself that he loves me, but I never knew that my absence would ever have this affect on him. Come to think of it, we’ve gone through far worse incidents but on the other hand he was always the one on that deep end. I never thought and always assumed that nobody cared enough for me to care if I was ever injured or dead. How wrong am I.

With a sigh, I whispered ‘Oh Sherlock what have you done’. I gulped before finding my voice to speak out again. I don’t think he knows of my presence yet as he’s still quite dramatically delivering the scene.

‘And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture.’

‘Sherlock’ I spoke up, receiving no response nor acknowledgement in return.

‘Let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes’

‘Sherlock’ I say louder, hoping to break through his train of thought.

 ‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ He finished loudly before sending steady shots at a picture pinned to the wall behind the couch, causing me to duck with a whimper, my hand flying to my stomach. I definitely popped a few stiches.

‘SHERLOCK’ I screamed, only to have the colt pointed at me again. Having a bit of a deja vu as the last thing I remember before waking up this noon was staring a barrel of a gun. Quite used to this from my previous job and years running around with the boys, I’m fairly tired of it. I raise my hands as a faint of innocence, hoping once again to save another trip to the hospital.

‘Sherlock’ I repeated softly, wincing as I slowly stand. A wave of recognization flashes through him and he wavers slightly. Taking the opportunity, quickly taking a step closer -ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through me-, I smack the hand that wields the gun upwards, causing his grip to falter and ultimately letting go of the gun. I quickly snatch the revolver mid-air with my other hand, a tight grip on the handle, holding it far away from him, taking a few steps back.

A bit fazed from recent actions, Sherlock remains frozen, possibly shocked from my presence. I on the other hand go to remove the bullets from the cylinder but find it empty, before place the firearm on the coffee table that was pushed to the side. I wince again when I stand up straight after bending to place the gun carefully on the table. I turn back to him, his stare boring a hole through me. I say his name in a soft tone once more as I slowly walk back over to him. A foot remains, the distance being the only barrier keeping us apart.

I see him looking over every inch of me, deliberating if I was a hallucination from his drugged high or really standing in front of him. He’s deducing every little detail on me after being deprived of my appearance the week. Greg told me while we were in the car that he’s only come to see me once during my stay at the hospital.

I say his name again and close the distance, sparing him the torture I’m sure he’s come up with trying to push through the intoxication. I place my palm on his cheek, caressing the sharp jawline as is eyes flutter to a close. He melts under my fingertips and leans into the hand. A bit of my heart chips and withers away, the sight of him, he looks tired, exhausted.

‘Ohh darling what happened to you’ I whisper.

My other arm goes to rub his back but instead decides to scream in pain. Sherlock feeling the wince, opens his eyes and draws back, terrified at the thought of him hurting me. With a deep breath, I try close the distance again, yet he moves away.

‘I’m fine.’ I gave him my best smile and fill the space keeping us apart. My good arm wraps around him. He hesitates but wraps his arms around me before breaking down. No one has anyone seen Sherlock Holmes break down. No one even knows if he’s ever had a break down, possibly besides his family. Mycroft told me of his emotional youth. Yes, he was traumatized after Redbeard but as far as I was told he never broke down. Not like this.

His head drops and hides at the crook of my neck, hugging me in a tight embrace, not enough to hurt much but there were still bits of it, the morphine dosage I took evidently wasn’t enough or the hospital have bloody horrible pain meds, I choose to believe in the latter. I resulted to bending my other arm caress his back, moving the good one to his hair as I kissed his head. He then sobbed, soaking up the fabric of my garments before collapsing. I eased him down the messy floor carefully -a bit more for my sake than his-, letting out a shush as he sobbed. I grimaced a bit a few times, letting out a small hiss that was thankfully barely audible due to his snivelling. Sitting at the back of my legs, I held the man I would, without second thought give my life for if it came to it. The man that has managed to capture my heart without realizing it. The man many have called heartless but had the biggest of them all.

‘it’s okay darling, let it out’ I whispered to his ear.

I held him for a long while. Rubbing his back, caressing his hair, ignoring the pain of my wounds, consoling and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. At some point the tears stopped, left with sniffles before ending up with his slow and steady breathing down my neck. He fell asleep. I smile, he was finally getting some rest and I was happy with that. Considering the state he was in I doubt at the possibility of him getting any sleep. I kissed the side of his face that was still tucked on my shoulder. He nuzzled himself closer and his never faltering grip on my ribs tightened a bit.

With my good hand, I reached to my back pocket, grabbing my phone to send a text to the boys. At some point during the wall getting packed with bullets and me consoling Sherlock, I heard the taxi pull up at front, the sound of the front door opening and the unmistakable voice that belonged to John. He had attempted to go up, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him, the same thing she did to Lestrade and the same thing she did to Mike after John had asked.

I sent a text to John You can come up now. A minute later, the stairs rumbled at the footfalls of the men rushing to flat. I looked at the open door and saw all three – or two as Mike is taking his time waiting for the two to pass- dashing to check up on us. I sent a glare at them for their loud behaviour as they stepped to 221b. I shushed them and they apologized quietly.

‘Help me get him to bed please.’ I said in a nicer tone as I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been the kindest, ordering them around. Of course that’s what I was still doing but it was better to ask or demand in a kinder tone. Greg came up to us and I kissed Sherlocks temples one more time before slowly releasing his grip on me. He stirred but I managed to lull him back to his slumber. With the help of John, they carried the detective to his room and carefully -instructed by me after sending a glare- laid him on the bed. I haven’t bothered to stand up yet so when Mycroft came up to me and offered his hand, I accepted, wincing and grimacing when ache and agony shot at different part of my body. He helped me stand up steady after wobbling my steps, the numbing of sitting on the back my legs and not being fully recovered from its week rest nearly sends me tumbling on shards of glass.

‘I should be very mad at you’ he said.

‘And I cared if you were mad because…’ you retorted with a smirk. You looked past the kitchen to the bedroom just as the Lestrade popped his head out and walked back to the living room.

‘Fuck, my bag’s still in your car now isn’t it’. I sighed, exhausted from the days crusade. Before I could even attempt to move toward the door or ask someone to get it, Lestrade is already out the door. A smile creeps up my lips and I move to the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mycroft. I find a tray of tea and biscuits -no doubt left by Mrs. Hudson-. The teas gone a bit cold, but I didn’t care and take a sip of it. I’m parched and starving so I take one of the biscuits and stuff my mouth. I turn around to see Mycroft give me a disapproving look before the kitchen door opens and the landlady comes in.

‘Hello dear, its good to see you’ she greets to me with a half hug.

‘Nice to see you too Mrs. Hudson.’ I smiled pulling apart.

‘John had this with him when he came in but left it down at my flat when he got your text.’ She waved around Johns medical bag. Speaking of, he walks into the kitchen where the party seems to be as I stuff my face in biscuits and cold tea. Mrs. Hudson noticing this, scolds me and says she’ll make a new batch for the whole lot of us. Me and John say ‘thank you’ in unison and she leaves the flat.

‘What are we doing here?’ John looks at Mike who ignores him then turn to me.

‘I was going to the bedroom, but I saw these’ waving to the tray ‘and I’m starving’ reply taking a sip of the tea.

‘Yeah, speaking of, the food is still in the bag’ he nods to his bag which I’m guessing has hospital food in it.

‘Hospital food? Bleck no thanks, I’m fine with these’ gesturing to the tray again as I go take another sip of the tea to clear my throat.

‘For goodness sake enough of that’ John frustratingly releases the cup of my grip and I glare at him. He weirdly doesn’t like me drinking cold tea.

‘Eyy I wasn’t done with that’ I pout but he ignores me. He give me a once over and gesture to my stomach.

‘Your bleeding’ he say and I look down to see a red spot on my shirt.

‘Oh really, I didn’t notice’ I counter sarcastically as he picks up his bag and looks for his equipment.

‘Do it in the bedroom just’ I sigh, I’m really exhausted. I turn to Mycroft who is looking around at files attached to the strings. ‘Mike thank you for your help, please stay until Mrs. Hudson comes back with the tea then you want you can go’ I announce but get interrupted by Greg, who’s in the living room ‘In here’ I say and open my mouth to continue but get interrupted again. ‘Ey, isn’t that the shooter at the school’ He asks, pointing his thumb at the living room. Confused and intrigued, I limp on back to the living room followed by my posse, to see his pointing at the bullet ridded wall, a picture of the shooter indeed there but with a bullet hole or holes on the face. That’s what Sherlocks been shooting at. Christ.

‘Yeah, that’s him’ I sigh and continue on what I was previously saying. ‘Greg you can leave the bag anywhere, I’ll fix it later. Stay until after Mrs. Hudson’s tea then leave. Thank you for your help really.’ I smile and finally head to the bedroom, John at the heels.

As I enter the room, I find Sherlock sound asleep in the bed, on his back. The boys haven’t bothered with the sheets, so I cover him up with a blanket. I sit down carefully on the bed with the help of John, wincing every once and a while because of the pain. I lift my feet up to the bed gently, trying not to disturb my stomach anymore as he pulls out a suture kit and painkillers. I then turn to Sherlock, fix his head on pillow and stroke his head of curls, a bit greasy. I take a deep, knowing what I have to do, that I must check but its daunting. I exhale and get on with it, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeves. Fuck. His arm is riddled with needle scars. Too much to even count. Fuck. I look over at John who’s also staring. He’s getting angry just looking at it, so with a sigh, I cover up his arm again and gently place it back on his side. Looking back at John, he’s still staring at the arm.

‘Hey’ snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks me in the eyes, livid at how his friend is treating himself. I lift up my shirt and he diverts his gaze to my side, peeling off the pads and checking on the wound. He’s awfully silent as he puts on a pair of gloves and opens the suture kit. He remembers the painkillers though, so he covers the wound back up temporarily and gets a syringe he’s laid out and sticks it to the bottle.

‘They had horrible pain killers’ I try fill the quiet room with humour, but the hospital did have horrible meds. His features soften when he looks at me, tapping the syringe as I remove the sleeve of the cardigan. He finds a vain before sticking the needle in to give me some relief.

‘Those are good. They the one the nurse gave you?’ I ask. He nods as he goes back to the hole on my stomach. He stitches me up after sticking another needle around the area to numb it -a whole lot better than before because I can’t even feel the wound-. He’s pulling rather aggressively on the needle and while I can’t feel it, I don’t appreciate his way of releasing his anger on my skin.

‘John, If you are to keep doing that, I’m kicking you out.’ He glances back up at me and he mutters an apology before continuing his work, gently this time.

‘I’ll make him pee in a jar, just let him sleep.’ I say glancing back at Sherlock. He just looks exhausted, I’m exhausted but I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms and run my fingers through his curls but if I do that now he’ll wrap himself around me and I don’t think John would appreciate getting interrupted from his work.

‘This is worse than Mary’ I merely murmured, barely audible but it seems John heard. I run a hand up my face, leaning back, letting out a breath as John looks from me to Sherlock.

‘It could have been much more worse if you didn’t wake up’ he looks back down to finish the sutures as I look at him. He’s right of course, he always is with these things.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture, or you be mad about me leaving the hospital.’

‘Oh, I am mad, just there’s no point of it is there when you don’t give a damn and will do what ever the hell you want anyway’ he ties of the last stitch and grabs some gauze to cover. My lips curl up into a grin knowing he is once again right about that. I hold the gauze as he tapes it up before putting another bandage just in case. He finishes and starts to clean up his things. 

‘Thank you, John. I’m really really grateful for all that you’ve done. All the things everybody’s done.’ I beam.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture or you livid’ he humours, repeating what I said just moments before with his own twist.

‘Oh, I am. But I get it, I would have done the same with you lot, but It’s done and just thank you.’ I admit, though I still want to be cross, I get it. They care.

‘He needs you; you know. More than you know. He lost it after you didn’t wake up when they took you off the meds for the coma. You’ve somewhat replaced his high from the drugs with your own and the probable thought and loss of it just scared him, so he resorted back to the old habit.’ He explained. I take in his deduction of his best mate with the only thought bearing through the surface is that he right. The Sherlock I know now is very different from the one I met all those years ago. That hard robotic exterior now has a beating heart. He cares more than he will want to admit but he really does.

I look at mop head beside me and beam. Since John is done with tending to my wounds, I roll my shirt back down and finally let the sleeping detective wrap himself around me. He does as soon as I placed a hand on his cheek, he rolls over to my side, draping an arm over my ribs and pulling me close like he’s always done, enveloping my side with his warmth, his head snuggling and hiding itself on the crook of my neck.

I’ve spent years thinking nobody gave a damn about me. Thinking no one cares if I was dead or not. Never have I ever been more pleased to be proven wrong. All those years alone, holed up, thinking I served no purpose to this world, ready to lose what I thought was a useless life only to be brought up the wide and bright opening and end of the cornucopia. I have friends, who will stay at my bedside just to make sure I wasn’t alone when I wake up from a gunshot. A god daughter, who’s laugh brightens up the darkest shadows cast upon us, who’s lost enough people in her few years in this rock. And a partner, fiancée, who’s meant more to me and evidently, I to him than more than we both ever thought possible. We’d be lost without each other, there’s enough evidence to prove it.

I gaze back at John, eyes getting a bit droopy, I’m surprised my mind has been making long hard thoughts. He’s just standing there, staring. Creepy admittedly, but also lovingly. Sentimental, possibly thinking of Mary.

‘Hey’ I say softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Go home. Sleep. Stay if you want tea from Mrs. Hudson but go home afterwards. Take the two if they’re still here. I’m going to sleep, just give Rosie a kiss for me and make everyone get some rest. Thank you again for staying with me at the hospital. Leave the mess, I’ll get it sorted.’ I instruct before a yawn escapes me. He looks back at the detective snuggled up at my side.

‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

‘And who taking care of you, he’s not the only one I’m worried about at the moment.’

‘I’ve got you lot now don’t I. I’ll phone you if I need anything. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes for a bit.’ I give him droopy smile, sleep really wanting to overcome my body. He bids his last warnings to take caution with my wounds and I wave him goodbye and goodnight. He nods and leaves the room, while I nestle myself better in the detective. His grip tightens and he nuzzles himself closer to my neck as I slowly drift off.

[starforgedthor]

when you become untouchable {Vigilante / Adrian Chase} // eight

eight. i'm out of my head when you're not around.

Summary: preparing for the first mission means the rest of the team finally gets to weigh in on your three friends... And meets them. Harcourt is less than impressed.

Need to Know: She/Her pronouns. villain!meta-human!reader. self depricating reader. chaos. implied dehumanisation. canon typical violence. heavily implied smut. slowish burn.

A/N: no I haven't forgotten about this fic I've just been suffering from ✨depression✨ but also written on my phone, unedited as always, and I'm so excited to get into proper content for reader and Vij!!! Let me know if you like it!

[ masterpost ]

Taglist: @16boyfriends-and-me @a-girl-who-loves-disney @amysuemc @generalfoolish @idkanymoreaboutlife @home-of-disaster @2guysonascooter @demure-doll @grippleback-galaxy @demeterl @specificpuppy @gay-cold-brew @siberianallen @evvilspawn @bright-cherry-bombzz @simping-4-jason-todd @hazzarights @blackwatxr @plzu

Taglist is always open, feel free to message or comment to be added! xx

The only person on the team who seems to look kindly on your fast-formed friendship with Peacemaker is Adebayo; she presented a cheerful, if stark, contrast to the others on the team and you always found yourself enjoying her company, even if she seemed vaguely wary around you.

"I'm not going to applaud you for doubling your number of friends," Harcourt tells you humourlessly the day you're all setting off to murder Senator Goff.

"Don't be shitty," you reprimand her, "I tripled my friends, not doubled." Adebayo and Peacemaker are in and out of the conversation as they head back and forth to the van with supplies.

"Tripled?" Adebayo asked with amused curiosity, and you found yourself beaming at her.

"I'm friends with Peacemaker's friend," you declared.

"Really going for quantity over quality here," Emilia said dryly.

"You can't say I'm a bad judge of character when you're the blueprint, sweet cheeks," you tell her raising your voice to make sure the two who just left still heard, and are glad when you yourself can hear both Adebayo and Peacemaker's amused noises. Smile turning sharp and a little mean, you don't even bother to turn around to face her where you know she's standing, you lean back where you're sitting cross-legged on her desk until you're leaning against her.

When you angle your head back to give her your best trickster smile, she glares down at you and the top of your head pressing gently against her sternum. However you still know its for show; if she wanted to move, wanted to let you fall from the desk and flat on your back, she's more than capable of it, but she doesn't.

"I know you're saying that to spite me," Harcourt mutters, playing at being irrate, which just makes you smile wider.

"Its not the worst thing I've ever done," you remind her, tone so bright it's easy to forget you're comparing light teasing to literal murder. But it makes her smile, like you knew it would, and where she's looking down at you, there's so warm in her eyes that you know so few other people ever get to see.

"Cujo," she calls you the nickname with such quiet warmth in a moment the others can't hear. A longstanding, teasing fondness, she gives a faint scratch just behind your ear, and for all the nickname sounds demeaning coming from anyone else, she says it with an exasperated kind of love.

But it's gone as soon as it arrived.

And Chris is back for another bag.

Emilia double checks the equipment you had helped load into travel cases while Adebayo and Peacemaker fall into a discussion about Peacemaker's distaste for homonculi. You had zoned out and were focusing on the warm laughter and soft, worn hands of the kind old lady who had sewn your gloves, basking in the pleasant memory while you tried to pretend like you hadn't gotten a good look at the tiny ship Peacemaker had brought back from the Butterfly's apartment. Because knowing your luck, somehow Harcourt would figure out you'd first seen it while wrapped in Peacemaker's scratchy sheets with both him and Vigilante, distinctly post-coital, while Peacemaker himself was lighting a spliff. There was not a single thing about that moment that you wanted Emilia finding out about, so you played dumb and thankfully Chris took the hint.

The dark satchel that sat at your side was your thoroughly stocked, checked, and double checked bag of medical supplies, while you held a small stack of textbooks in your arms, swinging your legs while you sat at the far end of the quickly emptying equipment table.

Peacemaker is yelling something just as Emilia tells you it's finally go time, and just as you're breezing through the door, Economos shoulders past you radiating fury and muttering that you have shit taste in friends.

"Don't be rude, John," you say lightly, not even bothering for more than a second to take his bad mood seriously...

Just as Adebayo points out Vigilante hiding behind the trash can just a few feet away. She's asking about who he is, while you're beaming and waving.

"You know him?" Both Harcourt and Adebayo ask you at the same time, with unnervingly similar tones.

"Fuck," Peacemaker sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "that's Vigilante, he's tryna be helpful," he said, sounding a little fed up and helpless. After a beat, you turned to Harcourt and her disdainful expression.

"That's my other friend," you see fit to explain brightly.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Harcourt groans.

"Yeah, but I'm Peacemaker's best friend," Vigilante offers.

"He's Peacemaker's best friend," you parrot, as if to reaffirm the statement.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Harcourt calls to Vigilante.

"What? I was just looking from behind a trash can, it's a normal thing to do!" Vigilante tries.

"The hell it is!" Harcourt argues back, before turning her disapproval on you, "absolutely fucking not; I'm drawing a line, Y/N, a line. Be friends with Peacemaker all you want, fine, your third friend can't be a trash-loitering guy in spandex."

"How would you know what's normal, you're not a psychiatrist," you found yourself scowling back at her, while Vigilante's voice began to overlap yours-

"Pretty sure you're not allowed to veto someone else's friends like that," he pointed out with a surprising note of irritation, continuing, as you yourself were, with no real regard or hesitation for the other, his words overlapping yours, "and seriously? Trash-loitering guy in spandex? It's mostly Kevlar, I'm like the safest friend she has here -" and your -

"What if his secret identity is a psychiatrist and he actually knows what's normal and what's not?" You posed to her, holding your own medical textbooks to your chest.

Emilia seems exhausted by you both, and takes a long moment to look between you, and Vigilante several feet away still by the trash can.

"If he's a psychiatrist, we're all screwed," she rolls her eyes, before looking to Vigilante, who seems to be two steps away from concededing and leaving, "get the fuck out of here," she orders, ignoring how you shake your head. Predictably, Vigilante doubles down instead of leaving, and you can't help but find the whole situation delightfully amusing.

Even when Peacemaker asks him to be cool, Vigilante is insistent.

"I just wanna make sure you're okay; I don't trust most of these people, and the one I do kind of trust is also literally the worst person I've ever met in my life who I don't think you should probably trust," its not intended as compliment, but you take it as such anyways, focused only on how he admitted he 'kind of' trusts you. It's more than you were expecting after hanging out a few times over the week... Honestly, you're so giddy from hearing that that you lose track of the conversation, at least until Vigilante is recommending that Peacemaker should befriend Adebayo to combat the rumours about him being racist, since it reflects badly on Vigilante, and all you can do is hang your head in exasperation. Vigilante's absolute lack of tact strikes again.

"Catch you guys later," Vigilante finishes candidly before taking off at a run. You wave after him, mostly because of the faces Chris and Emilia make in exasperation.

"Isn't that guy wanted on multiple counts of murder?" Economos finally joins them once more, spaceship in hand.

"That's Cujo's third friend," Harcourt offers flatly instead, her arms crossed. When you turn back, you see Economos giving you an evaluative look over.

"That checks out," he finally says with a firm nod, and heads into the van.

"You know what? I fully support you going after Vij, you guys deserve each other," Peacemaker says dryly as you tell him to shut the fuck up, the exact moment Adebayo asks what he means by that.

"Oh Y/N's totally got the hots for Vij," Peacemaker snorted like it was common knowledge.

"Please tell me he's kidding," Harcourt squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as if she's hoping that when she opens them this will all have been a bad dream.

"I like Vigilante as a person and I'm not used to my friends being openly enthusiastic about things," you stuck your nose into the air, tone pointed and you hear Harcourt's loud sigh, "I'm trying to figure out this new dynamic, Chris is just wilfully misinterpretating me because he's a jag."

"Whatever," Chris rolls his eyes, "neither of you know how to interact like a real human being half the time and you both probably think violence is a love language or some shit -"

"Are you jealous," you teased, much to Chris's spluttering, "don't worry, he's still your best friend." His spluttering grows louder and more indignant.

As you settle into your seat in the back of the van beside Adebayo, Murn, however takes the opportunity to look over you, expression hard.

"You're needed up front," he wastes no time giving orders, and your bright expression falters with confusion.

"Aren't we being briefed on the way-?"

"You'll download the mission from Harcourt-" Murn explains flatly, though he's interrupted by Peacemaker.

"Download?" Chris splutters with gleeful confusion, "dude, I bet she doesn't even know what that means!"

"I know what downloading means," you rolled your eyes, "I just don't get -" but Murn's holding a map out to you. Ah. You take the map with a far more sober nod, "I'll keep us on target."

"Why does she get to download while I sit through a whole briefing?" Peacemaker's voice has a touch of childish indignance to it, which only seems to irritate Murn further.

"Because you don't have the ability to download information directly into your brain via touch," Murn tells him sharply, "everyone in this team was selected for their individual skills and abilities, Smith, so her assignment is obviously different from yours, or would you like her to replace you as our hired gun?"

Chris's gaze flicks to yours for a long moment as his lips press into a thin, unhappy line, thoroughly put out by the threat. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly, you finally stand, map under one arm.

"Thank you," and though Murn graciously moves to let you pass, he also holds a hand up to grab your attention the minute you're on your feet. Everyone in the back of the truck is watching you both, waiting, captive in the silence. You don't step past him.

"You alright there, Mister Murn?" You asked, trying to keep your tone light. It's as if he forces his shoulders to relax.

"Yes, of course," comes out much more level than his previous words. The tension in the van eases. Economos starts the van. Then, finally, Murn reaches into one of the inner pockets of his jacket, pulling out a sealed plastic bag with a once-crumpled receipt inside, "Chaser, I will also need you to keep us all updated on the Senator's whereabouts; I was told this would be all you need."

"Like now?"

"You have two hands don't you?" He asked sharply, and you raised your free hand in apology, and to take the plastic bag wrapped receipt. As Murn takes your now empty seat, the van roars out of the parking lot with Economos behind the wheel, and you brush past Harcourt to sink into the passenger seat.

"Yikes," Economos mutters, quiet enough that only you can hear him, and in the front the two of you share a rare look of exasperated amusement.

"It's a big day for us all," you shrugged, already opening the sealed receipt. Economos is flicking through radio stations as Peacemaker has started a tirade of questions to the other three in the back.

"So what do you do with that?" Economos keeps glancing at the receipt you're holding out in front of you, and glancing back to the road, "and when are you gonna open that map? You're kind of my only GPS here." At that you heave a great sigh and tuck the receipt back into its plastic sleeve, and begin pulling off your gloves.

After confirming the destination, you let your eyes fall closed to focus on the map, still folded tightly in your lap. In your mind, however, it's sprawling and detailed, intimately familiar to you in a fraction of a second, route found as if it lights up on the map itself. Economos is the map's owner, and you smile faintly at how he'd mumbled complaints when Murn couldn't just 'buy it himself'.

Now came Part B of using your powers to navigate.

*Okay just a second -" you mumbled, eyes squeezed shut as if bracing. You gently rest your right elbow on the window where it has been rolled down, before reaching up to connect your fingertips gently to the metal of the van door above the open window -

the owner of the rental car was sitting some miles away eating yoghurt in his office and watching videos on his work computer, while all your senses felt like they were overwhelmed with the immediate sensations of the car as it drove, each minute movement in the engine, the gravel beneath the tires, the weight loaded in the back, the warmth of everyone in their seats, you can't see the road ahead but even with your eyes closed you can see out of each of the mirrors, can even see yourself grimacing at the edge of the passenger side mirror -

- every single road that's ever been driven in this van, every passenger, every moment and conversation, all the human moments and interactions hitting you while also giving you the mechanical sensations of the van itself, but even then the months it spent sitting on the showroom floor, the cold streamlined manufacturing process, the blistering, seeing heat as each individual part was forged from molten metal or other various components -

"Next left," tone sharp, you feel the uniquely intimate and altogether indescribable feeling as Economos' hands fidget on the wheel before he turns, and the rough sole of his sneaker as he eases back down on the breaks. But in your mind, one hand on the map and the other connected to the van, it's as if there's a GPS in your mind, knowing the exact distance you'd travelled, and how exactly it translates to the map in hand. Everything in your mind reeks of gasoline, you can feel it burning away, keeping you all going.

"You okay there?" It's Economos again. Eyes still closed, you can see at the edge of the drivers side mirror when he looks at you with concern. Vehicles were always overwhelming, though a very different kind of overwhelming to your textbooks; in a word, visceral. But thankfully, like the textbooks, you quickly get used to it.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to fill your lungs with as much fresh oxygen as you could, despite gasoline, metal, and oil still permeating your senses. When he shouldn't asks if you should have your eyes open to be able to give directions, you assure him it's not necessary, "I know the exact distance and surgeon we've come from and exactly how far we need to go," after a beat, you can't help but give a humorous smile, "and it's disorientating."

"Disorientating?"

With the map still held with three fingers, you reached up to angle the rear vision mirror to more directly face him, giving you a better look at him for the moment.

"Hi John," you give a big, goofy grin but are still facing forward, your eyes closed. He squints at the mirror for a long moment, then turns to squint at you in the passenger seat - "careful, if the wind changes you'll be stuck squinting like that," you teased, much to his apparent shock. The moment you hear Harcourt snicker you angle the mirror to face her, only to see her looking right back at it over her shoulder.

"Can you get the receipt out of my pocket so I don't have to let go of the map?" At your request she nods, and you thank her brightly. Economos calls you unsettling, but you reposition the mirror so you can get the best vantage out the back anyways, and finally Harcourt presses the receipt into your hand by the map.

And immediately you know the receipt is months old, from a gas station, tossed aside and missed the bin and -

"Hey Murn?"

"Yes, Chaser? Have you got a read on the Senator's location," Murn enquires, tone as serious as ever.

"I mean I think so, I can extrapolate -"

"Extrapolate? What do you mean?" And he's coming up to the front of the van now, you can see him concern in the mirror.

"I can chase someone to the ends of the earth no issue, and I can tell you now, thanks to these," you shook the map and receipt that you had clutched in the one hand, "the exact location of the receipt owner to like, the foot, and how he's travelling in real time, so as long as Judo Master sticks close to the Senator then technically I can tell you where the Senator is."

"Judo Master?" Murn's brow furrows from what you can see through the mirror.

"Yeah, so for future reference, if you need me to track someone, you need to make sure it's something of theirs that I'm actually tracking," a long pause follows, Murn clearly taking his time mulling over this information, "third exit after the roundabout," you instructed Economos.

"You really were able to use that dirty, old receipt to track Judo Master?" Murn's tone is strange and unreadable, neither awed nor afeared, you're not sure what to take from it. So you nod. You inform him that Judo Master is currently travelling via plane, judging by his speed and altitude. Murn thinks for another long moment, then looks directly into the rearview mirror, nodding firmly.

"Good to know," and he retreats back to briefing Peacemaker. Something about the whole exchange felt like a test, though you don't quite know why.

For the time being, as the briefing finally got underway, you retreated into the van's history in your head, only speaking up to give Economos directions. At least once you'd gotten used to the memories you could pick and choose which ones to spend time and focus on; you had every song that had ever been played, whether it was the radio or CD or friends singing along at the top of their lungs down the highway, you at least had a range to choose from. Meanwhile you keep thinking you see a flash of a maroon Seabring in the distance behind the van -

"What 2000s pop song have you found this time?" Harcourt's wry amusement can be heard over the actual music saving the van from silence.

"This isn't -" Economos starts, but you interrupt him with a grin.

"It's a compilation disc, 2009, absolute jackpot," you kept bopping to the beat in the memory.

"Stone cold killer, ladies and gentlemen," Economos added sarcastically, which amused the rest of the crew as they saw you dancing quietly in your seat, eyes closed, one hand still clutching the map and receipt, the other drumming on the outside of the car with the window still down, "man if that dude by the trash really was the same dude wanted for murder, I can totally see why you became friends with him."

"Right?!" Peacemaker immediately insisted.

"Am I being insulted right now? Are you guys insulting me? Our Vij?" You frown a little, confused but still smiling. It takes Economos and Peacemaker a long few moments to realise that they don't really know either.

Just quietly, you choose to take it as a compliment.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Hotel

John Wick x Reader

Masterlists

Chapter 3 Queen

Playlist Chapter 2 Chapter Summary: John is reprimanded for going too far with Y/n. A strange dream adds to Y/n's odd experiences at The Mirage Warnings: mentions of drugging, supernatural undertones TRANSLATIONS LISTED AT THE BOTTOM

“What?” John sighed, slumping his shoulders as he stepped into the penthouse. He’d come straight up after putting Y/n to bed and was looking forward to a hot shower and then retiring under the covers himself, especially after the day he’d had; Caroline lecturing his ear off about her upset with the state of their ‘relationship’ and then trying to get Y/n to trust him- she’d been tougher to crack than he’d thought, but the wine had helped. 

“Est, quod sic loqui, ut mihi nunc?” The voice, soft, husky and menacing emanated from further into the apartment.

Sighing again, that time as he undid the two buttons holding his black suit coat closed before shrugging it off and discarding it neatly on the arm of the sofa. “Non, domine mi." John cast his head down, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strayed towards the bar set up against the furthest, windowless wall of his expansive living room. 

“Quare vos oscula? Eius quoque mox!”

“She kissed me!” John’s fury flared and he slammed the bottle of bourbon he’d just retrieved from under the bar to the marble counter, shattering it instantaneously. Liquor drenched shards and trickles of sweet, amber booze rained to the floor and spilled all over the small counter, creating a mess that he genuinely had no interest in dealing with- at least, manually.

“Excuses!” The voice billowed, like a gust of wind spreading a wildfire. The use of English was a rarity whenever they conversed, but that night they were both too angry to care, “You can’t turn this into one of your games, this isn’t Caroline,” he spat with distaste. 

“I know she’s not Caroline,” John gritted; he knew that there was a lot riding on things going exactly as planned with Y/n, he couldn’t play the same games he had with Caroline, he couldn’t afford to screw up; which shouldn’t have even been an issue since he never screwed up. Messed around, sure, but never messed up.

“Then act like you do. This is not about you as just Jonathan, this is about more, you are more. And if you don’t want to lose it, I suggest you go with our original plan,” and with that, he was gone, though John wasn’t entirely surprised, it's not like he was expecting a warm goodbye anyways. Licking his lips, John tried to shake off the anger that the conversation had aroused, and in doing that, he found his thoughts straying to Y/n, as they had been of recent. So much depended on him correctly leading her to where she needed to be, but selfishly, he also wanted her for himself. She was stunning, intelligent, young,

A little hurt, had just the right amount of innocence. Easy to manipulate. 

Of course, he didn’t want to use his power over her for entirely selfish reasons, he just needed to get her to the right place; nudge her until she was standing where they needed her to- the rest of it could be all him, he suddenly decided. He could have the best of both worlds, as all kings do. 

Groggily, Y/n awoke to bright light filtering in through the sheer curtains, piercing her lids and prompting her to wince as she peeled her eyes open. With a soft, pained sigh, a direct response to the throbbing in her head, she shifted under the covers restlessly before pushing up into a sitting position. The light, coming through windows positioned at both the left and right of the bed, seemed alarmingly bright, and as she gazed around drowsily, she thought she could see the actual beams coming through the windows; individual strokes of painful brightness. 

As her vision focused, she found that the colors seemed sharper; the gold richer, black darker and burgundy deeper, all accentuated beautifully by the morning sun. With a hum, she unconsciously glanced down at herself, surprised to find that she was still in the dress from the prior night, it was severely wrinkled though and by the looks of it, her shoes had been discarded by the vanity. 

That was funny, she didn’t remember taking them off. Or getting into bed. Y/n actually didn’t think she remembered anything much after their table had been cleared of their plates. Fragmented memories floated around; telling John about her parents and aunt and why she’d come to New York, listening to him talk about his late wife, Heather…..Helen….maybe.

Kissing him. 

She could have sworn she still felt the weight of his lips on hers, but the memory was such a thin thread that she couldn’t even be certain that it had actually happened. Y/n couldn’t tell if any of it had happened; most of the experience, at least what little of it she could recall, felt more like a fever dream than real life; the strong wine, the near absence of people in the lounge, the horns, their kiss. 

The feeling of being in John’s arms. 

His final words, uttered in a language she didn’t think she’d ever heard before. It was a dream, she eventually determined, shuffling out of the bed, it had to have been a dream. Y/n had simply over indulged, passed out after returning to the room and had one of the most unsettling dreams of her adult life. It was the only thing that made sense. 

With a fatigued sigh, she undid the hidden zipper at the side of the dress, tiredly peeling it off and while wincing slightly at the stiffness in her muscles; it felt like she hadn’t moved all night and her joints had started seizing up. Her bra and underwear followed next and after she reached for the dressing gown, which had been left folded neatly in the bathroom, along with anything else that one may expect in a hotel bathroom. 

Going through the motions of starting to run a bath, after brushing her teeth, Y/n went out to the living room to get her phone while the tub filled up.  She hadn’t looked at it since arriving at the hotel yesterday- Y/n had never been particularly attached to the device anyway, she had no one to call or text, and it was very rare that anything other than spam emails and calls from telemarketers would come in. Really, most of the time, Y/n’s phone only served to remind her of how lonely she was. Even if she had a small, but pretty devout following on social media, it didn’t matter; she’d left home two weeks ago and there wasn’t one person back in Oregon that missed her. There was no one to miss either. 

After unlocking the screen, as Y/n slowly padded back towards the bathroom, she frowned; there wasn’t any reception, not even one bar and The Mirage also didn’t appear to have WiFi, at least not any that she could readily pick up. There didn’t seem to be any coming from neighboring buildings either. With the exception of the radio and antique telephones, the hotel seemed to be cut off from the outside world. 

“What the hell,” she muttered below her breath, sauntering back into the bathroom. With a huff, and deciding that she’d go out after her bath to hopefully get some reception, Y/n slipped the phone down onto the gold speckled marble counter and shed the robe, carelessly discarding it on the delicate,  polished, brass rack near the tub before stepping in. 

The water was hot enough to sting a little without being uncomfortable or painful, while the aroma of lavender and jasmine wafted up with the steam. A contented hum joined the minute sound of soap bubbles popping as Y/n sank into the water, slouching against the back of the porcelain tub. Her face was turned to the wall, so the light filtering in through the small window perched high up on the wall would keep her from falling asleep- she didn’t want to go out too late and potentially miss a call from one of the many agencies she’d sent her portfolio to. Obviously a call back that soon was a long shot, but she was hopeful…..

And surprisingly a little tired. 

The water hadn’t even started to grow cold when the drowsiness from when she’d woken earlier returned, making her eyes feel heavy and blurring her thoughts. “Somno.....mea regina,” With every flit of her lashes, skewed images danced on her lids, each one hazy and completely unfamiliar; a candlelit altar, a gold chalice. A man dressed in black, her ability to see his face hampered by lace over her eyes. The monotone words, like a mantra; 

“Ave regina....vivat regina….”

The party was in full swing; lively jazz music emanated from the stage at the front, and as she roamed through the throng, she occasionally bumped into a few dancers dressed in glitzy outfits. Everyone, as far as she could tell, wore masks, pretty ones with intricate designs with rhinestones and feathers fastened to them. Upon bringing the tips of her fingers to her face, Y/n found that she was wearing one too, while a cautionary glance down at herself proved that she donned a black, silk evening gown with a cinched waist and beaded, chiffon cape that fell over her shoulders. 

Even if they were dancing, as she passed, Y/n could feel their eyes on her, following her as she passed them, and despite the music, she noted the excited murmurs coupled with an anxious buzz that throbbed in the room. Though their faces were hidden for the most part, she could feel their eyes following her as she moved, the weight of their stares almost burdening her with some sort of undisclosed responsibility; it almost felt as if they were expecting something from her. 

As she continued on, gaze bouncing around the room subtly, Y/n’s straying eyes eventually met a pair in the furthest corner. The man from the altar. She still couldn’t see his face, like everyone else, he was wearing a mask. His though, concealed most of his face, with the exception of half his lip and a small section of his left cheek. Dressed in a debonair tux that could have been plucked out of the roaring twenties, he sat at a familiar table closest to the back of the establishment, unaccompanied and nursing a glass of what appeared to be whiskey. 

The intensity of his gaze was like a magnet, reeling her towards him, even if Y/n didn’t have any clue of who he was. It seemed like he was waiting for her to reach him, it was in the way he’d traded his ‘bad boy’, suave slouch for a straightened, alert back when he spotted her, and then in the way he’d tipped his chin when she slipped out of clear view for a minute. 

Perhaps subconsciously, she knew she belonged at his side. 

Entranced, Y/n gravitated closer, brushing shoulders with party goers who all seemed both keen to be close but scared of touching her. They avoided making any harsh contact while keeping their eyes on her, their profuse apologies falling on deaf ears. She couldn’t hear them, or maybe she just didn’t want to, all Y/n could hear was the music, the lyrics drowned by the instruments. All she could see, really see as more than a blur of feathers, lace and color, was him. 

The king. 

As the thought came to mind, she shook it off, not knowing where it really came from. The king? By the time she was within reach, the man was holding his hand out to her, and instinctively she extended her arm and laid her palm on top of his offered one. Before he’d even pulled her in, the man took a gentle grip of her fingers and pressed a chaste kiss to her delicate knuckles, seemingly never breaking eye contact. “Regina mea, you look lovely,” he whispered, breath warm against the coolness of her skin. 

“Meum regem,” she smiled, and despite not being able to associate any concrete identity with him, Y/n was certain that she knew him. His presence, the feel of his lips on her skin, and the electricity that he radiated, the power, was unspeakably familiar. She may not have known who he was, but her heart knew him. 

Gently, he guided her to his side, maintaining his affectionate grip on her hand and when they were finally together, he led her up the trio of stairs that opened to a raised platform just behind his table. He barely had to clear his throat to get the room’s attention; it was if just the glimpse of him standing above them was enough to captivate their attention. He didn't just feel powerful, he was powerful.

“Populus meus,” his alluring baritone, echoing with power, billowed, practically bouncing off the walls, “Tua regina.” At his words, he elevated their joined hands and the energy of the room shifted, going from the feel of a euphoric party to something more scared. Y/n could have likened the new air of the room to the buzz of a lively church on a Sunday morning…..or a parade for royalty. 

“Ave Rex, Ave Regina,” the chant began within seconds of apparent announcement, voices in eerie unison 

Overwhelmed by their sudden praises, Y/n glanced to her side, curious to see if her confusion was shared, though, the sight she met made her inhale sharply. They were more than just a trick of the light that time, though, still not quite there. Like a realized reflection, or the stuff of an all too real hallucination- whatever it was, it made her realize that she did in fact know that man; 

Two horns, there but not. 

John. 

***** Translations(From Latin) Est, quod sic loqui, ut mihi nunc? -Is that the way you speak to me now? Non, domine mi- no my lord. Quare vos oscula? Eius quoque mox!- Why did you kiss her? Its too soon! Somno.....mea regina- sleep…..my queen Ave regina....vivat regina….- Hail the queen…..long live the queen Meum regem- my king Populus meus- my people Tua regina- your queen Ave Rex, Ave Regina- hail the king, hail the queen

***** Tagging- @bubblebuttwade @cynic-spirit @xenoxin @memento-mora