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rafael-silva · 3 years

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under the sky and stars: a tarlos fic

When Carlos and TK take a weekend off to go camping, the last thing they were prepared for was their mini vacation getting cut short by the untimely activation of what’s said to be TK’s danger magnet.

What starts as a peaceful day is turned on its head when TK is hurt during their hike. Cut off from help and with no cell service, Carlos and TK work together to keep the younger man awake and getting the injury under control. They lean on one another, sharing memories, voicing confessions and finding comfort within each other along the way.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + cauterizing a wound

hurt tk strand, worried carlos reyes, major character injury, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, injury description, softness, kisses, comfort

11.1k | rated T | on ao3

*****

Because, well, camping in the middle of nature, miles away from the city and with fluctuating cell service…what could possibly go wrong?

This particular camping spot was near and dear to Carlos, one of his all-time favorite locations. He’s frequently visited this very spot countless times with his family growing up, setting up their tents together, Carlos and his sisters looking for firewood while hiking and then building the bonfire, laughing and creating many memories along the way.

It had been a while since Carlos went camping there, mostly due to his busy schedule, juggling hectic shifts and long days, along with some days off, so he can spend as much time with TK as possible.

And once he was reminded of that spot by the memories feature from his photos app, popping up a selfie of the Reyes family from a few years prior on a hike, a thought crossed his mind. A very good thought. And he suddenly couldn’t contain his excitement at the possibility lingering in his mind.

He and TK were cuddling on the couch after a mutual exhausting never-ending day, both of them stumbling into their home within ten minutes of each other, weary to theirs bones. After a quick shared shower, they settled on the couch and into each other’s arms, drawing comfort from one another and watched a movie in comfortable silence.

“Have you gone camping before?” Carlos’s voice sliced through the quiet, his tone soft.

TK takes a moment to think, revisiting his own memories before nodding. “Yeah, a couple of times. When I was younger though, went camping in Upstate New York, once with mom and dad and the other time with just dad,” he replied, slightly intrigued by Carlos’s somewhat random question.

“So, there’s this camping spot,” Carlos had started explaining, running a hand up and down TK’s arm. “I used to go there all the time with my parents and sisters, especially growing up. It was kind of our safe haven, it had quickly became our spot and I was thinking that we could go camping there one weekend. I’d love to show it to you and share it with you,” he expressed.

TK moved so he’d face Carlos instead of having his back against the offer’s chest, and there was much emotion written in his features, his green eyes glued to Carlos’s brown ones.

“That place means a lot to me, and you mean so much to me, TK,” Carlos added. “It’s part of who I am, and I want to share everything that I am with you.”

TK’s eyes remained on Carlos, his expression soft.

“Of course, if you’d want to go camping, that is.”

TK lightly chuckled, nodding and moved closer to Carlos. “I’d love to. I mean, I’m not really big on camping, just because it wasn’t super easy to do while living in the city, but I’d do anything with you. Even if we were going to a random spot, I know I’ll love it. And the fact that that spot means so much to you, of course I’d go with you. I look forward to getting to know that side of you, Carlos Reyes.”

Carlos’s face had broken into a big, bright smile, his eyes twinkling. He returned the tender kiss TK brushes to his lips and leans into the paramedic’s touch when TK cupped Carlos’s cheek.

“Besides,” TK began with they separated, “one of us should know what they’re doing when it comes to camping.”

Carlos had nodded, agreeing. “Plus, we’ve both been working so much and so hard lately, I feel like we’re running on fumes and a break could really help us. And nature is a great healer.”

“Nature and love,” TK added before giving Carlos another kiss.

After managing to take the same weekend off, and Carlos calling his father asking to borrow his truck for the trip, Carlos and TK make a list of everything they need for the three days. They split it between them and each get what they’re responsible for by the agreed time.

The weekend approaches quickly to both their delight and that’s when Carlos and TK find themselves on the road, TK’s road trip playlist blasting through the speakers as Austin disappears in the rearview mirror.

And Carlos, Carlos smiles, stealing a quick glance at TK when they stop at a red light. The younger man is so at ease, leaning back against the headrest and Carlos’s heart swells with even more love for him. TK turns to look at Carlos, an identical smile on his face.

Excitement sizzles in Carlos’s stomach at the thought of creating even more memories with TK during this trip, and at one of his favorite places, too. He already starts to feel better, feeling the tension leave his body. Both he and TK had been looking forward to getting some peace, to recharge their energies and to spend more quality time together.

But TK’s said danger magnet was waiting in the corner, getting ready to strike and to throw them both a painful and unexpected curveball.

They arrive at the camping spot a couple of hours later. Carlos parks the truck at the end of the trail and switches off the ignition, excited to be back to this spot. It’s so beautiful that TK pauses his movement to get out of the car, looking through the window and taking it all in.

Carlos hops out, closing the door behind him and stretches his muscles. Their early start had been in their favor, the sun still hanging high in the sky above them, which tells Carlos they’ll have time to set everything up and walk around for a while before it gets dark, too.

TK follows Carlos, gazing around and the amount of green merging with the blue of the sky and the birds twittering around them takes his breath away.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Carlos says, standing by TK’s side.

TK nods. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“Come on,” Carlos takes TK’s hand and begins walking further into the tree line. “It’s on foot from here, but it’s not too far in. But be careful,” he warns. “Some of the ground is really slippery and there are a lot of hills. Took a tumble once and sprained my ankle, I do not recommend the experience.”

TK tightens his hold on Carlos’s hand as he leads them through bushes, branches and tree barks, closely following Carlos’s trail.

After about an eight minute walk, they reach a clearing with even, dry ground and large open space.

“Here we are,” Carlos announces.

“Wow,” TK says, tilting his head upwards to look at the tall trees above them. They cast a shadow down at the campsite, but don’t completely obscure the sun, its golden light shining through the branches.

TK can feel the history here, the years it took for these tree to grow and flourish like this, and for the first time, he feels one with nature and he welcomes it. He closes his eyes, the soft wind colliding with his face and he draws in a deep breath, relishing in the fresh, clear air.

“It’s like all your worries wash away when you’re here,” Carlos’s voice brings TK back from his thoughts.

“I feel lighter already,” TK agrees.

But the spell is broken when TK groans and shoos away a mosquito. And Carlos mirrors him when he hears buzzing near his ear.

“Bug spray is in the bag, let’s get everything set up and we can walk around for a bit,” Carlos says.

After sending off texts to their parents that they’ve safely arrived (which had taken some time while they searched for a spot with sufficient cell service), it takes Carlos and TK two trips to bring everything they need from the truck to the campsite. They start with setting up the tent in the middle, and TK being completely out of his zone here, helps when Carlos asks, doing exactly what the officer tells him. Carlos is an expert as he works, his muscles and mind working together, knowing exactly what to do and what goes where, not missing a beat. The tent is set up in record time (based on TK’s knowledge and how often people say it takes forever to set up a tent) and TK wears an impressed expression.

Carlos chuckles at the look on TK’s face. “Learned to set it up during the summer I was fourteen. My father had told me and my sisters that we were setting up our own tents that time. It wasn’t easy, it took a lot of time and more than a few collapses, but eventually, the tent held.”

“Well, practice makes perfect,” TK smiles, planting a kiss to Carlos’s cheek.

“And sweat, a lot of sweat,” Carlos adds.

TK chuckles, opening their cooler and takes hold of Carlos’s reusable water bottle, handing it to him.

“Thank you,” Carlos gratefully accepts the bottle and takes a long swing of the cold water.

They move around in unison, TK retrieving the sleeping bag and undoing the zipper so it’s flat and lays it on the ground inside the tent then covers it with their duvet and places their pillows at the head of the tent.

Outside, Carlos arranges their sitting area, gathering the blankets that have been designated for camping. His mother had left them at his place a couple of years back, for whenever he’d take solo trips. He spreads the blankets around where the fire would be built then grabs the foldable chairs, arranging them behind the blankets.

“We have enough time for a walk before it gets dark,” Carlos says when TK emerges from the tent. “Everything else can be set up when we’re back, and we’ll get wood for the fire, too.”

TK nods. “Sounds wonderful, babe.”

Carlos grabs his compass and map, pocketing both for when he’ll need them and takes TK’s hand, and together, they stride into the endless greenery.

*****

The sun is setting when they return to the campsite, each of them carrying an armful of wood.

“These should last until tomorrow,” Carlos says, dropping the logs near the place for the fire.

TK does the same and awaits Carlos’s instructions.

Carlos kneels down and starts arranging the logs then looks up at TK. “Can you grab me the lighter fluid and matches?”

TK nods and goes to retrieve the items. A chill is starting to set in the air around them at the loss of the sun’s warmth and TK can’t wait to get cozy by the fire. He also grabs his hoodie while he’s at it.

He hands Carlos the medium sized bottle of lighter fluid and watches as his boyfriend pours some over the wood. Once he’s closing the bottle, TK lights a match and drops it over the fluid, the fire immediately igniting.

He slips on his hoodie and settles on one of the blankets, looking over his shoulder at Carlos when he hears rummaging from behind.

He smiles when Carlos shows him the bag of marshmallows and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Camping just isn’t proper camping with marshmallows,” Carlos declares as he sits next to TK, the bag in one hand and slim wooden sticks in the other.

He hands TK the bag, who promptly opens it and accepts a stick from Carlos. They both sear a marshmallow through their sticks and hold it over the open fire.

“Now, there’s an art to roasting marshmallows,” Carlos starts. “To get it crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. You can’t hold it too close to the flame and you have to keep rotating it so its evenly roasted.”

TK nods and does his best, but he pouts when the marshmallow completely burns.

“It’s okay, baby, it takes a few tries to get it right,” Carlos reassures him.

TK eats the burnt marshmallow and shrugs. “Soft on the inside though. Well, more like melty. And hot!”

TK tries again and again, and when his fifth marshmallow is still burnt (not as badly as the first one, but still burnt nonetheless), he shakes his head and laughs.

“And I thought I’d be good at this because I used to roast them over the stove growing up,” TK sighs.

Carlos’s eyebrows travel up his forehead and he’s shaking his head. “Not the same as roasting them over a campfire, definitely not the same,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, I’m learning that the hard way,” TK dramatically sighs again.

“Here,” Carlos hands TK his own stick with a perfectly roasted marshmallow. “You should have at least one that’s properly roasted.”

TK lightly elbows Carlos in the stomach and playfully rolls his eyes. “Okay, this is amazing,” he admits after eating the marshmallow.

Carlos smirks. “Besides, like you said earlier, practice makes perfect. So I guess we have no other option than going camping a lot so you can perfect your marshmallow roasting technique.”

“Hmm,” TK hums as he moves his face closer to Carlos’s. “Yeah, I guess that’s our only option,” he whispers.

Carlos smiles as he closes the small distance between them by capturing TK’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Carlos tastes a mix of TK and burnt marshmallows, and the combination makes his heart jump in his chest with joy; further proof that Carlos isn’t dreaming, they’re here, together in one of Carlos’s favorite places on the planet. TK easily opens to him and they pour into each other. TK’s free hand goes to the back of Carlos’s head as Carlos’s goes to hold TK’s face.

The kiss slows down, turning into a simple press of lips and they start exchanging small, chaste kisses before separating to catch their breath. They don’t pull back completely though as Carlos rests his forehead against TK’s.

They’re lying on the blanket a little while later, TK cuddled to Carlos’s side, after it was agreed that they’d had enough marshmallows for the time being. Otherwise, they’d get a sugar rush and neither wanted to experience the crash from that. Besides, they still hadn’t eaten the dinner they packed for the night.

Carlos had grabbed his zip up hoodie and slipped it on before lying down, the wind picking up a little and a shiver ran through his body. Once they’re both warm, both by clothes and each other’s presence, silence falls onto them, the leaves rustling around them the only sound as they watch the stars glitter above, vivid against the endless black sky.

“You can never see the stars this clearly in the city,” TK says in a quiet voice.

Carlos nods, not entirely sure if TK means New York or Austin, but he supposes both, because it’s true either way. He had heard about the light pollution in New York and how it obscures the night sky and its beauty, and from his experience living in Austin, the same can be said for the Texan city.

“There’s beauty in every direction you look here, it’s all encompassing. Left, right, up, down…you’re surrounded by it, you’re a part of it. There’s a lake this way,” Carlos points to their left, turning to face TK. “Me and my sisters used to go swimming there, the water is so blue and so clear and it’s the perfect temperature. We can take a dip before leaving, if you want.”

“Oh, but I don’t have my swimming suit,” TK points out.

Carlos doesn’t reply, instead he lifts a suggestive eyebrow as a smirk tugs on his lips.

“Ohhhh,” TK catches on to where Carlos’s head is at, and a blush paints his cheeks.

The nearby fire dances, the flames coloring TK’s skin golden and bringing out the green in his eyes. Carlos winks and the light pink rises up his boyfriend’s face and TK’s lips spread into a soft smile.

“Well, then, I couldn’t refuse that now, could I?” TK wiggles his eyebrows and moves closer to Carlos.

The beauty of the stars is momentarily forgotten as Carlos watches TK, getting lost in his features, taking it all in even though he can draw every detail in his sleep. He feels his heart grow in his chest with the amount of love he feels for the other man, gazing through green gates and into his soul, he’d willingly get lost in those irises for days.

Without a word, Carlos leans in and captures TK’s lips in a soaring kiss, giving TK his all and gladly receiving TK’s as the paramedic wastes no time in reciprocating.

“I’d come here alone, sometimes,” Carlos voices a few minutes after they return to their previous position. “When I was older. Sometimes my family would be busy and wouldn’t be able to make the trip, other times it was unplanned. I’d need to get away for a few days, and I’d find myself here. When things would get hard or overwhelming, this place was always there for me. This place offered me a lot of clarity over the years, opened my eyes to many things. Helped me dig deep into myself and really know who I am. Because here, in the middle of all this beautiful nature, that wasn’t so scary. It was almost like nature was telling me that it’s okay, that whatever happens, it’s all going to be okay, that it’s all just that, natural and organic. And eventually, whenever I needed to make a decision or when I just needed to think, I’d come here.”

TK waits a beat, fingers fidgeting with the zipper of Carlos’s hoodie and then asks a question. “Did you ever come here to find clarity about…me? Or us?”

Carlos is silent for a few moments before nodding. “Yeah, after you got shot,” he swallows, his mind taking him back to that horrific week.

He tightens his hold on TK, unconsciously needing to know that TK is okay, that he’s with him, right here, right now.

Then something clicks in TK’s mind. “When you texted me that you were leaving town for a couple of days, you came here.”

Carlos nods. He had sent that text a week after TK was out of the hospital and recovering at home. He had seen him a couple of times since his discharge, each time his emotions and feelings towards TK growing and bubbling more in his chest. And after making sure TK was really okay and was taken care of by his team, he had decided a trip was needed.

Falling for TK was unexpected, it had taken him by surprise and so did the amount of feelings he’d quickly developed for the other man. He needed to gather his thoughts and to process it all. He thinks back to those couple of days, pacing the ground for what seemed like hours, his mind going in a million different directions. It’s only when he sat down and looked up at this very sky, that he really started seeing everything, truly seeing.

Carlos draws in a deep breath before continuing, looking up at the sky now. “Like I told you that day at the juice bar, seeing you in that hospital bed was very hard, and all these strong feelings I had for you, they really took me over. I’d been out of the dating game for so long when I met you, and I never expected to fall for you as quickly as I did. And although I had felt it blossoming in the days and weeks before you got hurt, I truly realized just how much I felt for you when I found out you got shot. And then when I saw you lying in that hospital bed, that feeling of my heart dropping into my stomach and that pang in my chest,” he pauses, “…it scared me, the strength of the feelings scared me, the thought of losing you and losing everything we could be before we even truly began terrified me,” his voice breaks a little with the last few words.

TK finds Carlos’s hand and gives it a light squeeze.

Carlos recovers and continues. “And then you woke up and got sent home and every time I saw you, the feelings just grew and grew and there was no stopping it, not that I wanted to stop it. But I still didn’t know what we were, and I didn’t want to push you, knowing what you had gone through. I guess I just needed to process it all, it had all jumbled together and I needed to untangle it. So I came here, because this place always helps with that.”

“And what did you realize?” TK carefully asks.

Carlos turns his head once more so he’s looking at TK. “What I knew was true all along, that what I felt for you, all those feelings, all that love, was natural and organic. Cosmic, even. I realized it came from the deepest of places, the brightest and purest of places, it came from the soul, from the bottom of the heart. And that realization felt right, it felt good. I remember smiling then because I felt lighter, I felt like that realization breathed fresh air into my lungs. And I wasn’t scared anymore. I was hopeful. I knew this love was worth fighting for.”

TK is quiet for a while, letting everything Carlos said sink in, and the flickering flames reveal the unshed tears swimming in his eyes. Carlos’s words had been so honest, so vulnerable and it moves TK, fills him with even more love for Carlos.

“So, in a way, this place had brought us together,” TK expresses.

Carlos nods. “Which is one of the reasons I wanted to bring you here.”

“It really means everything, you sharing this place with me,” TK runs his thumb over Carlos’s knuckles. “I also realized what I had known all along that day of the solar storm, after the bus rescue and on the way to the hospital. I was scared, too. Getting into something and starting a relationship was the last thing on my mind when I got to Austin, but that connection to you, that pull between us, it felt right from the very start. I resisted it, though, I did, because I was still dealing with everything that happened in New York. But that day, I realized I wanted to deal with everything with you, with you by my side. I was learning to stand again, I knew that was something I had to do on my own but I wanted you to be there for me to lean on when I needed it. You gave me strength, Carlos, every day, and you continue to. You brought color back into my life and I knew then I wasn’t scared anymore. And you’re right, our love is cosmic and worth fighting for. It’s always under the sky and stars.”

Thinking back to that night, lying on the hood of the Camaro under the Northern Lights, the moment they really gave them a chance and started the journey of everything they would become together, TK smiles.

Carlos makes the connection, as well, mirroring the soft smile. “The sky and stars really do have a way of bringing us closer. Our love being cosmic sounds particularly appropriate.”

A gentle kiss is shared as they move even closer together, gravitating towards each other, always in each other’s orbit.

The tent goes forgotten as they fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in each other’s embrace, blanketed by the comfort of their love.

*****

If TK is distracted by watching Carlos, who’s wearing a tank top and sweat shorts, stride around the campsite while he gets their breakfast ready, well, who can blame him? TK’s eyes find themselves glued to Carlos’s biceps and the way his muscles contract and move under his skin, making TK miss the words Carlos is directing at him.

Carlos pauses, lifting an eyebrow. “TK? Earth to TK?”

“Hm?” TK snaps out of his trance and eyes go to Carlos’s face, which is just as captivating.

Carlos chuckles lightly. “Welcome back.” Then he’s smirking. “Like what you see?”

He gets it, though, knows the power of the tank top. Because he, too, loves it when TK wears his own tank tops, and Carlos finds himself in the same position TK was just in.

A blush crawls up TK’s neck and face as he bites down on his low lip, his eyes roaming over Carlos’s majestic form. He nods after a few moments.

“You’ll do,” TK playfully teases.

“Oh, is that it? I’ll do?” Carlos whispers, his tone a little heavy and low as he takes tentative steps towards his boyfriend, the smirk still drawn on his face.

“Yeah,” TK nods again, his eyes not leaving Carlos’s.

TK smiles against Carlos’s lips when the officer leans in for a kiss and returns it, his body filling up with warmth at their contact.

“Come on,” Carlos says when they pull apart. “We gotta have a good breakfast because we have some exploration ahead of us today. And other activities, too,” Carlos lifts an eyebrow and winks at TK.

They keep up their flirting and playful banter throughout breakfast, and once they’re finished and Carlos had gathered the stuff they’ll need and packed it into his backpack, they start their journey into the woods, Carlos leading with TK close behind.

The first couple of hours go by smoothly. Carlos shows TK a few of the spots he would frequent when he’d visit here, telling him stories along the way and sharing the memories he’s built with his family. He snaps pictures of TK here and there, some while he wasn’t looking, others with TK posing along with a bunch of selfies of them wearing big smiles.

They come to rest at a clearing, deciding to take a break before continuing their hike. Carlos finds a large rock to sit on, taking a few sips of water before his eyes find TK. The other man is roaming around, looking up at the trees and taking it all in. He comes to a halt on an elevation, looking into the distance and doesn’t realize he’s right on the edge of a hill.

Carlos’s face falls a little when he notices where TK’s standing, and he’s about to tell him to take a few steps back when TK himself turns around and starts to move towards him.

Carlos’s newfound relief lasts for only a brief second as he watches TK stumble. He quickly gets to his feet, moving to help steady TK while a little voice at the back of his head supplies slippery mud, but it’s too late.

For a moment it feels like an out of body experience and in an instant, he’s running to TK. It takes a second, but before he reaches him, TK looses his balance and falls, Carlos’s eyes going wide and his heart drops into his knees as it happens.

Carlos freezes, arms stretched out, heart hammering and eyes glued to the space TK occupied a second ago. He was right there, within his reach and then he wasn’t.

The image of the panicked look on TK’s face and his green eyes blown wide with fear will forever be etched in Carlos’s mind.

He swallows and finds himself at the edge a moment later as he looks down. It’s a nasty fall, even though it’s not a drop but a slope, the steep angle surely would have increased TK’s speed as he rolled downhill. The area it’s littered with rocks of all sizes, and TK’s body would most definitely be bruised and battered by the impact against them.

Carlos yells out when he finds his voice. “TK! TK! Hang on! I’m coming for you!”

The panic in his gut starts brewing even more at the lack of a response from TK.

Carlos weighs his options, and a quick survey tells him there’s no other way to get to TK except down this slope. He takes a deep breath and very carefully starts making his way towards where he’ll find TK.

He almost slips a few times during his descend, tree leaves crunching under his hiking boots and his feet sinking into piles of leaves and small bushes. He keeps calling out for TK on his way down, still getting no reply from the other man. Carlos tells himself he has to get a hold on the panic rising in his body, he feels his hands begin to shake and wills them to steady. He needs to be composed to help TK, to get him out of this. TK is relying on him.

That knowledge gives Carlos the strength he needs and he gathers himself, letting out a small sigh of relief when the ground appears to even out before him.

Then his eyes land on TK, who’s sprawled out on his side, his back to Carlos. And he isn’t moving. And Carlos can’t tell if he’s breathing from this angle.

Carlos’s legs move on their own accord and he’s sprinting towards TK, dropping to his knees next to him. His eyes run over TK’s face and head, where he finds a cut under his hairline that’s oozing blood down his face, and his usually neat hair is filled with torn leaves and covered in dust. He watches TK’s chest closely next, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he spots the rise and fall there, although shallower and shorter than he’d like, but TK is breathing.

“TK? TK, babe, can you hear me?” Carlos speaks, his voice coated with worry.

With TK still unconscious, Carlos starts doing what he could: check TK over for any visible injuries on the rest of his body.

And he most definitely was not prepared for what he found. He couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that tears from his throat when his eyes land on a large, jagged open wound on TK’s right thigh. There’s blood gushing down his leg and dripping into a puddle beneath the paramedic, a stark crimson staining the rock below.

“Shit, shit,” Carlos mumbles and breaks himself out of his haze.

He knows he shouldn’t move TK until he’s sure there’s no spinal damage, but he also needs to apply pressure in hopes of slowing down the bleeding and the only way to effectively do that is to have TK lying on his back.

Knowing it’s his only option and the best chance TK has in this moment, Carlos very gently and carefully, while supporting TK’s body and carrying his weight, repositions TK and then clamps both hands over the wound and pushes down as hard as he can, putting all his weight into it as he prays that it isn’t the day he loses the love of his life.

He knows deep down it won’t do much good because he can already feel the blood seeping through his fingers. TK’s blood. Carlos’s stomach churns in an unnatural way and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and attempts to get his irregular breathing under control.

It seems, however, that the pressure does achieve something because Carlos is quickly opening his eyes when he hears a sharp painful gasp. The adrenaline, that same small voice at the back of his head supplies once more.

TK is haphazardly moving his head from side to side, eyebrows knitted together with confusion. Carlos easily finds TK’s wide eyes, filled to the brim with panic and fear and does his best in comforting and calming his boyfriend.

“TK, TK, hey, hey, look at me, look at me,” Carlos guides, trying to get TK’s attention.

The erratic movements eventually slow and TK focuses on Carlos through his blurry vision, tears springing into his eyes. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his line of sight sending a couple of tears down the sides of his face.

“Carlos…” TK whimpers through clenched teeth, reaching out for his boyfriend and closing his fist around the material of Carlos’s tank top, holding on with all the strength he could muster.

“I’m right here, baby, right here,” Carlos is quick to reassure him. “Stay with me, TK, hang on.”

“What…what happened?” TK asks when he gathers his breath.

“You fell down a hill, probably slipped on some mud and lost your balance. You were unconscious when I found you and you have a cut on your head and I think you could have a concussion. Can you wiggle your toes?”

After a moment, TK nods, knowing why Carlos is asking.

“Okay, good. But…”

“But?” TK questions and manages to lift himself to look at where Carlos’s eyes had landed.

TK gulps, seeing the wound and the alarming among of blood he had already lost and tries to keep the sizzling panic at bay. He knows panicking won’t help, that he needs to remain calm.

TK groans, pain flaring through his leg and making him a little dizzy.

“I think a piece of wood punctured your thigh and then broke away. I’ve been trying to slow the bleeding but it’s not working very well,” he explains, his voice filled with the panic he’s trying to suppress.

TK is silent for a few moments and Carlos fears he fell back into unconsciousness. But then TK is speaking, clearly having slipped into paramedic mode in those few seconds.

“Okay, we need to make a tourniquet, hopefully that will help slow the bleeding until we get help,” TK says.

Carlos nods, thinking back to what they have in their backpack. His heart drops some more when he realizes they don’t have anything for a tourniquet. Besides, the backpack is up that hill and there’s no way Carlos is leaving TK alone.

Making up his mind, Carlos takes off his tank top and looks to TK for instructions on what to do next.

TK frowns. “What…”

“This is everything we’ve got.”

TK nods, no time or energy for arguing. He already feels weaker and his head is starting to spin. But he evens his labored breathing, not only trying to access his own body for internal injuries but also to be able to properly tell Carlos what to do. He’s not alone, Carlos is here, and they can do this, together.

“Okay, you need to find a strong stick, it needs to be thick so it doesn’t break when it’s twisted to tighten the tourniquet,” TK tells Carlos.

Finding a stick in the woods, should be simple enough, Carlos thinks as he looks around, still in his position and applying pressure to TK’s thigh. Once he spots a stick that could work, he takes hold of TK’s hands and guides them to the wound, pushing them down there.

“I need you to hold pressure while I do this, TK. Can you do that for me?” Carlos asks and once he’s sure TK has complied, he moves to retrieve the stick.

TK gives it his all. He’s scared, and he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to bleed out on this hill in the middle of the woods. He doesn’t want Carlos to have to watch it happen. He doesn’t want to ruin what this place means to Carlos. He doesn’t want to miss out on spending the rest of his life with Carlos. So he fights against the darkness creeping at him from the corners of his eyes and gives it everything he’s got.

But he’s tired, he’s so tired, and his hands momentarily stop working. But a voice reminds him to stay awake, stay awake…

Carlos can tell, that as expected, TK’s strength is faltering by the way more blood is running free down the paramedic’s injured leg. So he does his best to keep TK awake and talking until the tourniquet can take over in controlling the bleeding.

“Hey, TK, stay with me,” Carlos pleads. “Tell me, what’s next?”

TK nods. “Loop…loop the shirt above the wound and then place the stick over the loop and tie a knot,” his voice trails off.

Carlos follows TK’s instructions, his hands working quickly to do as TK says.

“Then…rotate it and the knot is going to tighten,” TK continues using a shaky breath. “It should help control the bleeding.”

“Okay, you ready?” Carlos asks, his worry filled eyes moving to TK’s face, knowing how much tourniquets hurt when they’re applied.

TK draws in a breath and nods.

“Okay, here we go,” Carlos starts twisting the stick and his heart clenches and shatters some more at hearing the throaty and pained moans that TK lets out.

The younger man’s eyes are squeezed shut, face crunching up in agony as the groans keep spilling from his mouth.

It works, and Carlos can see the bleeding is substantially slowing down.

“It’s working, it’s working,” Carlos sighs, closing his eyes for a few moments and taking in a deep breath, his shoulders slumping forward.

And now it’s time to figure out where they ended up and how to get back to the campsite, into the truck and to the hospital as fast as they can. Carlos knows the tourniquet isn’t a permanent solution and he’s worried about infection setting in.

He fishes his phone from his pocket and prays for even one bar of service, but disappointment settles in his stomach at the words no service glaring at him from the top of his screen.

He sighs, turning back to TK.

“Hey, TK, still with me, baby?”

TK gives him a weak nod.

“Listen, I have to go back up to get the backpack, you need to hydrate and the map and compass will help us get back to camp,” Carlos explains, hating that he has to leave TK. “I need you to keep holding the tourniquet in place, to make sure it doesn’t get undone. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Be…careful,” TK replies, closing his hand over the stick when Carlos places it there.

“I will be,” Carlos responds and leans down to brush a kiss to TK’s forehead.

It takes every inch of strength Carlos has to pull away.

“I’ll be right back, baby.”

Carlos rushes back up the hill, trying to be as quick but as efficient and safe as he possibly can, not wanting to leave TK alone for long. He faces some difficulty climbing up but manages to avoid slips and falls.

He’s panting when he finally makes it to the top, grabbing a hold of the backpack and then stops for a second. He pulls his phone out again, praying for service and rejoices at the one bar of service he finds.

He puts the phone to his ear and his heart thumps in his chest as he waits for it to connect. After what feels like an eternity, it starts ringing, and another lifetime after that, Owen picks up.

“Owen?” Carlos speaks, his voice tight. “Owen, can you hear me?”

“Carlos?” Owen replies but his voice is so far away.

“Owen, we need help,” Carlos continues, praying that Owen can hear him over the line scratching between the words.

“Carlos—you’re breaking—can’t—”

Then the lines goes dead.

A glance at his phone tells Carlos the one much-needed bar of service is gone.

“Damn it,” Carlos growls with frustration, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

He’s back at TK’s side a few minutes later, and finds his boyfriend barely holding onto consciousness.

“Hey, TK, I’m back,” Carlos announces, kneeling next to TK once more.

He notices that TK’s hold on the tourniquet has loosened a bit so he tightens the knot to control the bleeding again and his heart sinks at the almost lack of response from TK.

Shock, that voice in his head speaks again. He needs to get TK out of here right this moment.

“TK, you with me?” Carlos says as he digs out the compass and map.

TK mumbles something in return.

“Good, stay with me, baby. Didn’t I tell you that I don’t recommend tumbling down a hill? You had to go and try it yourself, huh,” he attempts to lighten the mood with their familiar playful banter but doesn’t quite succeed, his voice coated with fear and worry.

“Take it up with that hill,” TK murmurs back.

A short wet chuckle escapes Carlos, at least TK is doing his best to reciprocate. It’s a small victory in the battle to keep TK awake.

Carlos swallows before continuing, “I almost managed to get through to your dad on the phone,” he says, hoping to keep TK engaged until he figures out how to get back to the campsite. “It was only one bar, though, and it cut off before he could properly hear me.”

He feels his own disappointment mirrored back at him from TK when the younger man frowns.

“Okay,” Carlos nods, getting their bearings and finding the direction they need to move in. “We need to head west, and if we stay on this trail, it should lead us back to camp.”

Carlos moves so he’s behind TK to help him sit up. He places his hands below TK’s shoulders and very slowly and gently starts pushing him up. TK tries his best to help with his weight, but it’s no use, all his energy has been drained. With a hand still steading TK, Carlos reaches his other into the backpack and pulls out a water bottle.

“Here, you need to drink,” he hands it to TK.

TK accepts it with shaky hands and lifts the bottle to his mouth after popping the cap open, taking a few short sips.

“Ready to get up?”

“I’ll try,” TK replies, his voice hoarse.

“I got you,” Carlos promises.

Looping TK’s arm around his shoulder for a better hold on him, Carlos pushes himself up, taking TK with him. TK groans as soon as he’s standing still, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness takes over and pain starts pulsing up and down his injured leg.

“No, no,” TK shakes his head. “It hurts.”

Carlos glances down and curses. Just the mere movement of TK standing up has caused more blood to pour out of his wound, and he knows more movement will dislodge the tourniquet even more.

Carlos shoulders the bag and then wraps an arm around TK’s waist, pulling him towards him.

“TK, I’m gonna need you to put all your weight on me, and absolutely no weight on that leg, okay? I’m going to get you out of here.”

TK distributes his weight on his good leg and on Carlos, dragging his injured leg as he pretty much hops along the way Carlos leads them.

“We’re not that far from camp,” Carlos pants. “I’ll carry you there if I have to.”

And he does. As soon as TK grows even weaker in Carlos’s grip around the halfway mark, the younger man’s muscles deflating, he does exactly that and carries TK the rest of the way.

Once they finally arrive at the site, Carlos carefully lowers TK down on a blanket near the extinguished campfire. He’s about to move to collect their important things when TK’s hand wraps around his wrist and stops him.

“Carlos,” TK heaves. “Carlos, we…we have to stop the bleeding.”

“The tourniquet is in place, I’ll make sure it stays that way…”

But TK is shaking his head. “It didn’t completely stop the blood, even when it was first applied,” he swallows. “Movement will cause more bleeding…and already lost too much blood…nearest hospital is a few hours away, can’t wait.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Carlos asks, the panic in his voice breaking through.

TK takes a deep breath before answering. “Cauterize it.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in and then Carlos’s eyes are going wide. “What? You mean, you want…”

“Need. I need you to do it, babe.”

“What? No, no, TK, I can’t—I can’t do that,” Carlos vigorously shakes his head, eyebrows drawn together. “There has to be something else, another way—”

“There isn’t,” TK matter of factly responds. “That is the only way.”

“No, TK, I…” Carlos’s voice breaks.

“Hey, hey,” TK reaches his arm out to Carlos. “It’s gonna be okay, I’ll talk you through it.”

Carlos moves so he’s in TK’s reach and takes his hand. He knows there’s no time to argue—that there’s no need to argue. He has to do this to save TK. TK trusts him and needs him to do this. And even though Carlos is scared out of his skin, he knows what needs to be done. Knows TK needs him now more than ever. He pushes his fear down and wills his heart to calm, ready to do whatever it takes to save the man who has saved him.

Carlos takes a deep breath and nods, sniffing. “What do you need me to do?”

“Need to get the fire going and grab one of the kitchen knives we packed…”

*****

TK slumps backwards, working on catching his breath as his hands go to wipe the tears that had streaked down his face during the agonizing procedure. Carlos is almost done wrapping TK’s thigh with a sterile bandage from the first aid kit after cauterizing it. TK feels Carlos’s lips against his forehead a few moments later.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Carlos whispers against TK’s skin, heart in pieces at the pain TK had just gone through.

“You did everything right, babe,” TK reassures Carlos with a quivering breath. “I knew it was going to hurt.”

“Here,” Carlos hands TK his water bottle. “Drink some more water while I gather our important things and we’ll be on the road soon.”

“There’s time to pack everything,” TK says. “I’m okay.”

Carlos studies TK for a moment. “Are you sure?”

TK nods.

Carlos throws on the first t-shirt he finds and makes quick work of taking down the tent and gathering their stuff. He haphazardly piles everything into the back of the truck, not bothering to pack anything properly. As long as everything is secure, that will do.

Less than ten minutes later sees Carlos helping TK into the passenger seat then getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. He sighs when he sees there’s still no service and TK can read the tension sitting in Carlos’s shoulders and in his squared jaw.

“Carlos, babe, I’m okay, the worst is over,” TK holds Carlos’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

Carlos turns to look at TK, taking in his pale complexion and clammy skin. His expression morphs into one of heartbreak and worry. “You can still get an infection, you could still have a concussion,” his eyes travel to the cut on TK’s head. “And there’s no telling what kind of damage that fall did to you internally.”

“All things we’ll deal with one at a time,” TK says calmly, although he wouldn’t be able to speak any louder even if he wanted to. “Take a breath, baby, it’s okay.”

Carlos takes a few moments to gather himself, preparing himself to drive and getting his nerves under control. Once he’s ready, he shifts the gear into drive and they start moving.

“Just don’t fall asleep on me, okay?” Carlos tells TK, his focus on the road.

“Okay,” TK replies.

“Play music if you want, and can you keep an eye on the service bars? We’ll call your dad first chance we get.”

TK opts to play a calmer playlist than the one they listened to on their way to the campsite. This playlist helps to relax him, which in this situation may not be the best of things, but TK also knows that Carlos needs to relax too, and upbeat and loud music will most definitely have the opposite effect on him. So TK settles for it, and pushes past the wave of sleepiness it cloaks over him.

The world passes by in a blur as TK stares out the window and replies to Carlos when the officer makes sure he’s still awake.

“There’s two bars,” TK says when he checks for service again, immediately calling his dad, his phone connected to the car’s bluetooth.

Owen picks up after a few rings. “TK! It’s good to hear from you, Carlos tried calling a bit ago but we got disconnected.”

It’s Carlos who replies to him. “Owen.”

The fire captain immediately picks up on Carlos’s shaky voice. “Carlos, what’s going on?”

“We’re on the way back, TK got hurt on a hike. He’s doing okay now but we’re going straight to the hospital,” Carlos explains.

Owen draws in a deep breath and needing to hear TK’s voice, he calls for him. “TK, son?”

“Hey, dad,” TK replies weakly. “I’m okay.”

“Everything is going to be fine. Which hospital are you going to and how long until you arrive?”

“West Park Memorial is going to be the closest and we’re about an hour away,” Carlos responds.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Be careful on the road, please.”

“Will do,” Carlos promises.

“I’m so tried,” TK mumbles after they hang up with Owen, shifting in his seat.

“I know, baby,” Carlos replies without taking his eyes off the road. “But I need you to stay awake for me, we’re almost there.”

TK manages to stay awake until they’re ten minutes away from their destination. Carlos calls for him but he doesn’t answer, giving into the impending darkness that’s been threatening to take over for hours now.

Carlos feels the panic stirring in his gut when TK doesn’t respond, doesn’t move.

“TK, baby, you gotta stay awake,” Carlos tries with no success. “TK, please,” he then uses a hand to take hold of TK’s and realizes with a pang in his chest that TK’s skin has lost some of its warmth.

“Shit,” Carlos curses, his own body and face heating up. “TK, you have to wake up, babe.”

The following ten minutes were some of the longest of Carlos’s life. The further he drives, the farther the hospital got, or so it seemed. After what felt like three eternities, the hospital finally comes into view and he honks a few times as he drives up the ramp leading to the ER entrance.

A doctor and a couple of nurses emerge with a gurney and Carlos jumps out and moves around the truck to open the passenger door.

“We were camping and he fell down a hill and cut open his thigh, he was losing a lot of blood and the tourniquet wasn’t stopping the bleeding completely. He’s a paramedic with the 126 and said we had to cauterize it so I did,” he explains. “He also might have a concussion from the fall. And he can’t be given opioid-based medication.”

The doctor nods while the nurses lift TK from the car and onto the gurney. “How long ago?”

“A few hours,” Carlos replies. “He lost consciousness about ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, we got him now,” the doctor reassures Carlos while performing initial tests on TK. “I need you to park the truck and then fill out some forms while we run a few tests. I’ll leave word at the ER front desk. What’s his name?”

“TK Strand.”

“He’s in good hands,” she nods before retreating through the sliding doors.

Carlos watches as they wheel TK into the hospital, the doctor giving orders as they moved. He starts to feel his own knees growing weaker as TK disappears down the hall and the doors slide shut. It feels like a part of his heart has just been torn from him.

He repeats he’s going to be okay over and over in his head as he climbs back into the truck and until he’s striding into the ER, a mantra to keep him calm.

“Hi, I was told I need to fill some forms for TK Strand. I just brought him in,” he says to the charge nurse at the front desk.

She nods and hands him a clipboard with a pen attached. “What’s your relation to the patient?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Carlos replies. “And I’m his emergency contact.”

She gives him a soft smile. “They took him into an exam room to check him over and to run some standard tests. I’ll have someone take you to him once you fill out the forms.”

Carlos nods and begins filling out the empty spaces.

He’s lead to TK ten minutes later, following the nurse to where TK is being examined. She stops in front of a closed door and turns to Carlos.

“He’s right through there, his results should be in soon,” she informs him. “Just press the call button if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Carlos nods and slowly opens the door as she walks away.

And he could cry tears of joy when he’s met with hazy green eyes once he steps into the room.

“Hey, Ty,” Carlos softly breathes, relaxing a little at seeing TK awake.

“Hi, baby,” TK replies, a small smile forming on his face.

Carlos is by TK’s bedside in three strides, taking his boyfriend’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“I’m glad to see you awake,” Carlos says. “You gave me quite the scare.”

TK winces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. It’s okay, baby, I’m just worried about you,” Carlos runs his thumb over TK’s skin that thankfully now feels a little warmer than earlier, courtesy of the IV fluids TK’s been given. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, a little out of it and tired, but the fluids are helping,” TK replies.

Carlos’s response to that is interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.

“Hey, Owen,” Carlos answers.

“Carlos, I tried calling TK but it went to voicemail,” Owen responds.

Carlos can tell that he’s power walking by the way his voice wavers a little. “We forgot it in the car. We’re in the ER.”

“I’m walking in now. Which room are you boys in?”

“Oh,” Carlos pauses, realizing he’s not exactly sure which way he was lead. He must have zoned out then, he thinks. “Um, ask for TK at the front desk, a nurse will show you the way.”

“Okay,” Owen replies. “I’ll be right there.”

The door is pushed open a few minutes later, revealing a worried Owen, his face crunched up in concern. He breaths a sigh of relief when he sees TK awake but his eyes still radiate the fear bubbling in his chest at his son, once again, landing in the hospital.

His eyes move from TK to Carlos as he steps into the room, placing a hand on Carlos’s shoulder and squeezing there before moving to TK’s side.

“Hey, son,” Owen gives him a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, a little better now,” TK replies after clearing is throat.

Owen’s eyes survey TK, noticing the butterfly bandage on his forehead and then his eyes widen when he spots the bandage on TK’s thigh.

Turning to Carlos, he asks, “what happened?”

“He took a tumble down a hill, he lost his balance, most likely on wet mud. He rolled down and his thigh probably got cut by a wooden stick or log. We tried a tourniquet but it didn’t hold well, so we…” Carlos pauses, his eyes moving to TK then back to Owen. “We had to cauterize it.”

Owen’s eyes go impossibly wide at that, digesting everything Carlos had said. “It was that bad?”

Before Carlos can reply, the door is opened and the doctor walks in.

“Doctor, this is Owen, TK’s father,” Carlos introduces. “I was just telling him what happened.”

Owen extends his arm to shake her hand. “How’s TK doing?”

“As well as expected,” she replies. “Any headache, nausea or double vision, TK?”

“No, just a little hazy and feeling a bit out of it.”

“That’s to be expected, I don’t think you have a concussion but I’m going to take you to get scans on your head and stomach to make sure everything is clear.”

TK is being wheeled out by a couple of nurses a few minutes later, but not before Carlos brushes a kiss to his forehead.

Owen and Carlos are sitting in silence when the officer’s voice cuts through it.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault,” Carlos sighs, hands fidgeting with each other.

“What are you talking about?” Owen frowns.

“TK’s fall. I know the place, I know how an area can appear stable but it isn’t, I learned that the hard way but I never had a fall this bad. And the blood, he was bleeding so much when I found him and…” Carlos trails off, drawing in a shaky breath. “For a moment, I thought we weren’t getting out of there. For a moment, I thought I was going to lose him.”

“Hey, Carlos, look at me,” Owen says.

Carlos slowly lifts his gaze from the floor to meet Owen’s.

“This wasn’t your fault, this was an accident. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. And you didn’t lose him. You got him out of there.”

“I just keep thinking if I had maybe said something a moment earlier…I wouldn’t have had to…it was so hard to do that. I was terrified,” Carlos admits, remembering how his heart hammered against his ribcage during the procedure. “And seeing the amount of pain TK was in…”

Owen places his hand on the back of Carlos’s neck and gives him a supportive squeeze there.

“Listen to me,” Owen says after a moment. “You did everything you could for TK, you took care of him, you pushed through your fear for him, you got him here…you did everything right,” Owen echos TK’s words. “You saved his life, Carlos.”

Carlos swallows and sniffs. “I’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.”

“I know,” Owen nods. “And I’m so incredibly grateful for that. He’s going to be fine, you both will be.”

Carlos knows there’s more than a few nightmares lingering ahead in the wake of TK’s injury, but as long as they’ve got each other, they will be okay. He just needs to know that the worst is truly over.

TK is brought back into the room twenty minutes later, Carlos and Owen getting to their feet as he’s settled in again by the nurses.

Owen sits on the chair while Carlos sits on the edge of the bed, taking TK’s hand.

“I’m okay,” TK gives his boyfriend and father a smile.

Carlos nods, returning the smile through unshed tears, the weight of his conversation with Owen still heavy on his bones.

The doctor appears half an hour later, holding a few files.

“The good news is that all the scans are clear, no head or internal injuries. But I’d like to admit TK for observation, so we can keep a close look on the wound for a couple of days and watch out for an infection,” she explains.

“Whatever you think is best, doctor,” Owen nods.

“Alright then,” the doctor nods. “I’ll get the paperwork started and have TK moved to a room upstairs shortly.”

TK knows it’s for the best, because he honestly feels like crap and doesn’t want him and Carlos to deal with an infection at home, but he can’t help the groan he pushes out.

“It’s okay, babe,” Carlos reassures him, cupping his cheek. “Just to make sure everything is alright, only for a few days.”

TK nods, leaning into Carlos’s touch, the officer grounding him.

*****

They’re thrown another curveball when TK develops a fever overnight.

A cot was set for Carlos in TK’s room while Owen had gone home, making Carlos promise to call or text if anything changes. The officer was awake when TK’s fever was discovered by a nurse. He had to inform Owen with a hastily sent text while keeping up with what the nurse was saying, writing it out in the message. He watched as the nurse administers antibiotics into TK’s IV line and starts him on some medications to reduce the fever and clear out the infection.

TK stirs in bed, the fever taking a toll on his body and making him uncomfortable. He groans and peels his eyelids open to the sunlight gently streaming in through the blinds.

Turning his head to the side, his momentarily blurry vision clears to reveal Judd in the chair by his bedside.

“Judd,” TK whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Hey, brother,” Judd smiles. “Do you want some water?”

TK nods and takes a few sips out of the straw when Judd holds the cup for him.

“He’s getting coffee,” Judd says without TK needing to ask, knowing what’s on the younger man’s mind by the way his eyes darted around the room. “Looked like he needed it, too.”

TK nods. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago, sat with Carlos for a bit. Your dad called this morning and told me what happened and I wanted to see how you’re doing,” Judd gently pats TK’s shoulder. “You’ve been in and out for a while.”

“Yeah,” TK clears his throat. “This fever is really kicking my ass.”

“I, uh, you had me worried there for a second when I heard,” Judd sighs.

“I’m sorry, it was a freak accident. I was scared, too but I’m okay, Carlos took great care of me.”

Judd nods. “You’ll be better in no time, brother,” he reassures him. “Get some more rest,” he adds, seeing the way TK’s eyes drift close. “Your man will be back when you wake up.”

True to Judd’s word, Carlos is by TK’s side the next time he opens his eyes.

“Hi, baby,” Carlos smiles when he sees TK awake. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” TK replies, his body feeling more at ease. “You look better, too,” he points out, taking in Carlos’s appearance.

Carlos nods. “Knowing you’re getting better helped. Your fever decreased and the doctor thinks it will break soon. And they’ve been monitoring your wound and changing the dressing and it looks better, too. They think the infection will clear out by tomorrow.”

“And I’ll go home?”

“And you’ll come home,” Carlos confirms with a smile, carding his fingers through TK’s hair.

TK feels lighter at Carlos’s words, feeling that the worst is truly over now.

“Thank you, ‘Los. You literally carried me and put me back together.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

TK stays silent, knowing there’s more on Carlos’s tongue.

“It just…it felt like you were slipping away from me and…I was so scared,” Carlos closes his eyes and unshed tears shimmer when he opens them a moment later.

“You helped me hold on, Carlos, you gave me strength. And I knew it was going to be okay because you were by my side. I know what I asked wasn’t easy and I know it will take its toll but you did it. You saved me. And I’ll always fight to come back to you,” TK vows.

“I’ll always be right here,” Carlos vows back, brushing a kiss to TK’s temple. “Oh, and mom and dad send their love and well wishes. They were really worried but I told them everything is looking up now. Mom made me promise that we’ll go over for lunch as soon as you’re well enough. She’s probably setting the menu now.”

TK chuckles. “I’d love that. It shouldn’t be too long, though, I’ll be taking some antibiotics for a while and my thigh will be sore but only for a couple of weeks. It will scar, but…”

“Hey,” Carlos squeezes TK’s hands. “Scars show what you overcame, what you survived.”

“What we overcame and survived,” TK corrects. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against TK’s and takes in everything that is TK. Carlos easily lets himself get lost in TK’s scent, a reminder that TK is here and that he’s okay.

And seeing TK sitting up and talking, having regained most of his color now, Carlos can finally properly breathe again since watching TK fall.

*****

When TK suggested they go camping again, Carlos was hesitant at first, his once beloved spot now tainted with the memories of TK getting hurt. But TK reminds him of what that place means to him, not wanting the memory of the accident to be Carlos’s most recent association with the spot. He tells him that going back can help them both, reminds him of the strength of his connection to that campsite and Carlos eventually agrees.

And when they return to the campsite a couple of months later, TK is proven right, in more ways than one.

They go back after TK has fully recovered and Carlos no longer jolts up awake in the middle of the night, covered in a layer of sweat, heaving with TK’s yelled name on his lips.

Carlos is standing by the water, enjoying the cool breeze and the warmth of the sun on his skin when a pair of arms wrap around him from behind and hold him close. He smiles, leaning back into TK’s chest and rests his head against the younger man’s shoulder.

“Still as beautiful as ever,” TK whispers against Carlos’s ear.

Carlos nods. Still, however, a part of him can’t fully enjoy it anymore, the memories of TK’s accident too evident in his mind.

With a kiss planted to Carlos’s temple, TK pulls back and the officer turns to follow a few moments after.

And when his eyes land on TK, who’s down on one knee in front of him, Carlos draws in a deep breath while his eyes go wide.

Tears spring to Carlos’s brown eyes as TK opens the red velvet box in his hands, revealing a stunning silver ring sitting inside.

And the identical bright specks glittering in their eyes when TK asks and Carlos answers with, yes, a million times yes and the lighting surging through their bodies at the kiss that follows…

Well, their love is cosmic, after all.

And now, standing by the lake Carlos had painted for TK before, wrapped in each other’s embrace, they both start to fully heal, souls uplifting, their hearts lightening and beating as one.

With that, this place no longer carries the scars of almost losing TK and everything they are and could be, but now serves as a reminder of the strength of their love, mending the scars and holding the promise of a brighter future ahead.

71 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone, the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call, a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing. You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back. The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room. When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you. Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it, you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #yandere bnha #shinso yandere #yandere shinso x reader #bnha x reader #bnha harem collab #bnha halloween #bnha spooky

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

Note

Hiiii! I absolutely love your writing. Could you do an imagine based off of your pregnancy one shot? Since H is incredibly private, would the couple be able to hide her pregnancy from the public and then announce it similar to like Kylie Jenner’s video diary of the whole experience? Thanks!!

A/N: Ok I was OBSESSED with this request, but for some reason I found it very difficult to write, so I’m so sorry if it’s shit. Hope you like it <3

Word Count: 2,698

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

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Is Forever Enough?

From the moment Harry found out he and Y/N were expecting their first child, he knew he wanted to document everything. He had been in the habit of capturing moments throughout their relationship, mainly of big events, but from this moment on, he wanted to capture it all. Little clips of every doctor’s appointment, every craving his wife had, every heartbeat, and every little kick. He wanted video documentation of the life growing inside his wife’s belly and everything that happened during that time. They had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was finally here, he wanted to make sure they would never forget a single second of it. From telling their closest friends and family members, designing the nursery, their tiny baby shower, attended by the select few that were lucky enough to know their secret.

At first, keeping silent was a way to protect themselves in case Y/N’s pregnancy didn’t stick like their fertility doctor had warned them was a possibility. It took them nearly two years to conceive, and the thought of going through a miscarriage in front of millions of watchful eyes was terrifying. But by the time they became aware that they weren’t going to miscarry, they had gone so long without announcing it that there wasn’t a point to do it. Why ruin something that was so well hidden?

The decision not to announce their pregnancy to the public wasn’t a hard decision to make. Harry was private, anyway, and everyone knew that. He was rarely on social media and didn’t talk about his private life to many people, and those who he did talk to were very loyal and trusting. They just wanted to enjoy being pregnant without the prying eyes of strangers and it was fairly easy keeping it under wraps considering how private they were, to begin with.

The timing of Y/N’s pregnancy helped, too. The early part of her pregnancy was during the summer, so they could enjoy tropical holidays together without worrying about being seen because she simply wasn’t showing yet. But, towards the end, it got harder to conceal, like during award season in the fall when an oversized shirt or puffy dress couldn’t conceal the roundness of her bump and plumpness of her cheeks and lips. It was the first award season she hadn’t accompanied Harry to in years and people began to get suspicious.

That’s when the rumors of her possible pregnancy started. Of course, no one could prove anything. But that, along with the lack of sightings of Y/N was enough proof for some. Luckily, nothing more came of it other than whispers. Harry had stopped doing interviews when he first got wind of the rumors, so no one could catch him off guard in uncomfortable positions or having to lie to protect his wife, and he began to focus his attention back on his music, halting his pursuance of on-screen work for the time being until after their baby boy’s arrival. Instead, he was the man behind the camera.

For the most part.

There were times when certain family members or friends would pick up their camera and film some things for them, capturing little intimate moments of the parents-to-be. They even enlisted the help of Harry’s on-tour photographer, Helene Pambrun, to help film the birth of their baby. Though she focused mainly on photography, her knowledge of videography and style of filming fit exactly with what the couple wanted, and Helene was all too honored to be a part of the day.

And although the birth of their child was, albeit, a bit traumatic, they couldn’t have asked for a sweeter baby boy. Born on a frigid Friday evening on March eighteenth after twenty hours of active labor and an onslaught of chaos, Paxton Robin Styles was born, tiny, healthy, and beautiful, surrounded by family that already loved him so dearly.

The hospital staff was wonderful in keeping their attendance private, no one having a clue that they were even there. No news articles or whispers were heard of their newest addition to which they were grateful to be allowed to enjoy their first week home, getting acclimated to being new parents. They had fallen in love with him.

“Y/N!” Harry exclaimed, bouncing into the nursery on a Monday afternoon as his wife fed their son, his phone in hand, and a bright smile on his face.

Y/N looked up, surprised and slightly offended, “Don’t ever call me by my name again,” she joked, stroking their son’s cheek.

Harry laughed, “Sorry, love. But, look! It’s here!”

He held his phone in front of her face, playing the edited version of their pregnancy and birth journey in video form one of Harry’s editor friends kindly put together for them after the birth of their son. The five minute and fifty-one-second video filled with shortened clips of the last nearly ten months of their lives in becoming first-time parents. They watched it together, occasionally glancing down at their baby that had fallen asleep while eating in Y/N’s arms, in awe that this was their life.

Tears were streaming down both of their faces, and Y/N giggled, wiping her husband’s cheek with her free hand. He was an emotional being, she knew that, but she had no idea what the effect of fatherhood would be on her Harry. She couldn’t have picked a better partner to raise a child with.

“I think we should post it,” Harry said, causing Y/N’s eyes to go wide.

“Post it? Like...social media?”

Harry nodded, “Well, we can’t keep him a secret forever. People are already starting to talk. I’d rather announce it on our own terms than on someone else’s. We can still stay as private as possible, I’ve already talked to Jeffrey and my publicist about it. I just...he makes me so proud and I feel like I need to show people that.”

Y/N smiles sweetly at her husband, taking his hand that rested on the arm to the nursing chair and pulling it up to her lips, kissing it gently. “Okay. We can post it.”

Later that evening, the internet was in an uproar and their phones were blowing up like crazy, for on both of their Instagrams they posted a grey-scale picture of a name tag sticker that read “Hello, I’m: P”, captioned ‘link in bio’, where they were directed to a youtube link posted under Harry’s account.

As soon as the video began, Harry’s soft voice was heard, singing his version of ‘Lullaby’ by the Dixie Chicks in the background as unseen footage of their wedding a few years prior had fizzled into view, video of their first dance as husband and wife played while the tail end of a speech made by Harry’s mom, Anne, was heard over everything else.

“We are so incredibly grateful to have Y/N now an official part of our family and I wish you both years of love, health, and happiness….and giving me tons and tons of grandchildren,” earning laughter from the attendees, “I love you both to pieces. Congratulations.”

The video slowly changed to little snippets. Y/N running towards the beach, holding her hat tight on her head with one hand while the other was holding onto Harry’s hand that was at the bottom of the screen as the breeze whipped at Y/N’s hair and sarong, cut to a clip of the camera propped on the beach overlooking the two of them sitting in the sand, looking out into the ocean, Y/N’s head falling on Harry’s shoulder and him kissing the top of her head as the sun set.

Next was a scene during one of Harry’s tour where someone filmed Y/N at the front of the stage in a VIP area beside a few of their friends, dancing and singing along with Harry who stood in front of her, smiling and singing at her.

The next images were upsetting. When they first started trying, they recorded videos of themselves awaiting the results of their tests, hoping to capture the moment they found out on film. One after another, the video showed negative test upon negative test, wanting to document the struggle they faced in fertility, one of the main reasons they decided to post this video. If it helped just one person who struggled with infertility and gave them a bit of hope, they needed to show it.

They showed clips of Harry holding an emotional Y/N in his arms, her eyes filled with tears and a quivering lip as he kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Until the next clip showed. A shaky still of a screen that read ‘Pregnant’ that panned up to show a reflection of Harry and his wife in the mirror, Y/N pulling the test up to her face with a smile while Harry looked down at his wife in pride, softly touching her flat belly.

Clips of an ultrasound showed, Y/N stomach looking more bloated than anything as the doctor slid the wand around on her belly, Harry filming while squeezing his wife’s hand. His voice could barely be heard over the music of the video as he cooed, “Is that it, right there? So little…”

They included a few announcements they made to family members. How they told Anne while on an end of summer family vacation with a little jewelry box that opened up to two little birds and an egg in a birds nest with a note that said ‘A little birdy told me you are going to be a Nana.’ making Anne burst into tears, hugging them. And when they told Y/N’s best friend by giving her an orange and saying, “That’s how big our baby is right now,” which caused confusion before the screaming.

Y/N had filmed mirror clips of her growing belly in the floor-length mirror that stood in the corner of their room and had gotten clips of Harry laying beside her bump, his hands rubbing her stomach, clasped on either side as he sang, or talked, or read stories.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he could be heard saying before kissing the top of her bump, looking up and past the camera to his wife, smiling lovingly.

There were images of Christmas, Gemma having caught an intimate moment between the two of them, Y/N sat in between Harry’s legs on the floor, mugs of hot chocolate in her hands and still in their Christmas Pajamas, Harry’s cheek pressed against hers as he held up a blue Gucci baby suit in front of them, smiling and gushing about how small it was.

The couple’s silhouette could be seen in the dark light sky as they stood in the middle of the field, illuminated by the New Years’ fireworks that went off in the distance, Y/N’s belly pressed against Harry’s stomach as they kissed intimately amongst their friends.

A small baby shower inside one of their London country homes was next, littered with a few familiar faces along with some that were likely family members. Harry still sang in the background as the two of them opened gifts, smiling and laughing with each other, genuine happiness and love could be seen on everyone’s faces and a few people popped onto the screen to say a few words for the unborn baby.

“You have wonderful parents,” Y/N’s parents grinned, her mom getting teary-eyed. “I can’t wait to see the person you become.”

Anne’s bright, shining smile was next, “You’re going to do amazing things. You are so loved.”

“Hi, my sweet nephew! It’s Auntie Gemma,” she grinned, waving at the camera, “I can’t wait to meet you and snuggle you! I hope you grow up to be just as kind and loving as your parents. We are so lucky to have you in our lives.”

Harry and Y/N were seen in the background, Y/N eating a slice of cake while Harry casually kissed her cheek before stealing a bite of her food, earning a smile from his pregnant wife

Video panned over their newly renovated nursery, mostly designed to be gender-neutral with little hints of outer space; moon lights, a solar system mobile hanging above the cot, with a star blanket draped over the nursing chair. Harry moved the camera to Y/N who was hanging some onesies in the nursery closet, smiling and waving at the camera.

Next, they were laying in bed. It was dark and, but a glow from a nightstand shone and Y/N’s belly was visible, round and very pregnant, a few freckles near her navel, and the faintest linea nigra could be seen running from her belly button down towards the bottom of her belly. Their voices were barely audible over the music still sung by Harry. A little ripple on her belly cast from left to right and then her belly distorted a little as their baby boy kicked and pressed against the center of her bump, making the couple laugh and Harry’s hand appeared, softly rubbing where his son’s foot would be.

It changed. They were in a hospital now, Y/N in a grey and white spotted hospital gown. The camera was propped on a table filming Y/N who sat on the edge of her bed, moving her hips from side to side as she breathed heavily, moaning, while Harry kneeled on the floor in front of her, his hands on her hips and squeezing to relieve some pressure. They were talking to each other, concern, and empathy clear on Harry’s face.

In the next clip, Y/N was laying back in her hospital bed, sucking on gas and air. Harry was filming this time, and his Anne could be seen this time, sitting on Y/N’s other side holding her daughter-in-law’s free hand. Y/N put the gas and air down, gave a thumbs-up, and smiled, “We’re having a baby today!” as her mother-in-law smiled brightly.

The footage faded to black before it flashed to Y/N looking at someone just out of view as the disembodied voice said, “Whenever you feel the urge to push, let us know. You’ll be meeting your son soon.”

It faded to black again, Harry’s singing more evident in these moments, louder, as the footage flashed back into focus. The camera was, once again, being propped up on a table. At Y/N’s head on either side stood Anne who was still holding her daughter-in-law’s hand, while Harry stood, back to the camera, mostly blocking the view of his wife as one hand stroked her hair and the other held her hand. The doctors could be heard saying, “Deep breath” before Y/N took a deep breath in, bringing her legs to her chest with the help of a few nurses that could hardly be seen, bearing down and pushing as the nurses counted and Harry said, “Great job, love. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

The screen went black. A doctor’s voice was heard saying, “One more big push.” Y/N could be heard taking a deep breath, and a little exasperated yelp before gasping from both Harry and Anne followed by the beautiful, gurgling cry of their baby. Harry’s sweet singing voice in the background of the video got louder and finally, the video came back into view of a little name card on the bassinet that read:

Name: P, Styles.

DOB: March 18th

Weight: 6 lbs 12 oz

Height: 20 inches

Time: 8:39 PM

The camera panned down to the top of a blue baby cap with a white embroidered ‘P’ in the center, moving as their son wiggled in his bassinet, the hushed reassuring whispers of his parents heard just behind the camera as little lip-smacking and coos could be heard from the baby.

The screen went blank as the song started to end and white words appeared on the screen.

“Welcome to the world, Baby P. We love you to the ends of the earth.

Love,

Mummy and Daddy”

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

Taglist:

@odetostep , @thurhomish

#Harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blurb #harry styles dad #dad!harry #pregnant #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles smut #harry #one direction #1d

841 notes · View notes

aftgficlibrary · 3 years

Note

Are there any AUs where renison or lailalverez is the main pairing?

there are quite a few but here you go -maz

renison:

Before All I Heard Was Silence by moonqueerdom (T | 7,430 | 1/1)

Allison's eyes widened and her face burned immediately, spreading to her neck and the tips of her ears. "Oh my gosh, Renee," she lowered her face and covered it with her hands.

Renee chuckled. "She is beautiful when she blushes, ok noted."

"Oh my gosh, Walker, stop that," Allison's voice was too wobbly and high-pitched even for her own ears, and there was a grin threatening to pop on her lips.

About to disappear in the afterlife, Allison Reynolds meets Renee Walker, who was ready to change her life even after death.

Last Café by uberimmortal (M | 4,802 | 1/1)

Like every weekend for the past year, Renee finds herself on a Saturday morning in front of the Last Cafe. She takes a deep breath, key still in her hand, shivering from the autumn breeze as she tries to muster up some energy to open the door. The sun is just beginning to poke over the horizon, lighting up the city in a blue haze, not close enough to this side of the earth to provide any real warmth. One by one street lamps flicker until they turn off completely.

The Gracekeepers by wishbonetea (M | 112,116 | 20/20)

The sea has flooded the earth. Allison lives on a circus boat, floating between the scattered islands that remain and trading dazzling and death-defying feats for food from the islanders. Renee lives alone in a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, with only the birds and fish for company. As penance for her past, she works as a gracekeeper, tending the graves of those who die at sea. A storm brings them together, but under clear skies they must part. When one of the Foxes goes missing, Renee joins to help. It’s meant to be a temporary escape, but Allison might be a reason to stay.

⁂

An AU of Kirsty Logan's The Gracekeepers.

she's got lips like wine not sugar by IzzyAguecheek (Not Rated | 8,561 | 1/1)

The coffee shop was mostly empty the first time Allison came in. It was too early for most people, specially on a Sunday, when most people didn’t have work and therefore didn’t need to stop by to grab a coffee to wake up. Allison, however, didn’t strike Renee as the type of girl to drink coffee before a shift at some boring company. She looked more like someone who had stayed up all night and now was trying to fight off a hangover with caffeine.

Dan was late, per usual, so Renee and Andrew were the only employees working. Andrew took one look at the car parked outside, right in front of the window, and firmly turned his back on the girl sitting at the corner booth.

“You take that one”, he decided.

(or: Renee works at a coffee shop, and, when Allison becomes a regular there, she is absolutely in love. It's just a Renison Coffee Shop AU.)

counting my blessings by quensty (T | 10,354 | 1/1)

The last letter is from Wymack.

Allison, it says. Forest Falls, California, has been having problems with a robber. Dan and Matt are too far, and Neil and Andrew are already working a job in Nevada. Get on it. -DW

“Motherfucker,” Allison says.

Real Gravity by loose_canon (T | 1,723 | 1/1)

RECORDED 04:08, PILGRIMAGE YEAR 1584 DAY 29

[begin message]

Hey, Mom. You’re probably watching this and thinking about how much you want to kick my ass right now. Well, my butt, because you don’t say words like “ass,” much less think them. Anyway, I know you’re mad at me. I’m the ungrateful daughter who hijacked an emergency pod and zipped off into space in the middle of the eclipse service like a dumbass—sorry, dumbbutt—with another girl because I just had to go and open myself to the spirit of lesbianism. I’m not gonna lie, I’m mad just like you are. Part of me wants to just say that the spirit is a good fucking time and be on my way. But I need you need to know that I’m losing something, too.

A sci-fi one shot: Allison leaves a final message for her mother after she and Renee escape the generation ship they grew up on.

On Dragon's Wings (Under the Blue) by tinystreetlamp (T | 8,417 | 3/3)

For hundreds of years the six kingdoms coexisted in peace due to a magical contract that prevents violence between them. Ever since Allison's brother Jean was kidnapped by Riko she has wanted to lead her armies to war against the Island of Night, but the contract prevents her from doing so. When crown prince Nathaniel arrives and asks for sanctuary, Allison sees her chance to unite four of the kingdoms against Riko and rain down her vengeance upon him.

(How to seduce a pirate: drag her underwater unexpectedly)

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

vengeance and death by cthulu_sun (M | 2,446 | 1/1)

legend says you have wax-dipped wings and golden fingernails and knives made of the blood you have spilled. legend says you are not merciful.

in which renee is a tired guardian angel, finds the foxes, and falls in love.

a hundred jewels on throats by ghvsts (T | 3,226 | 1/1)

"have you seen the goddess from the seafoam," they whisper, "she is more beautiful than anything."

(in which seth is ares, renee is persephone, and allison has had enough)

fabrication of a grand scheme by cloudghost (T | 13,787 | 1/1)

Renee was silent for a while. Then, finally, she said, “I want to try going outside.”

“I thought you were scared.”

She hummed her assent. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it.”

Since that was basically the philosophy Allison lived by, she nodded. Renee turned back around and met Allison’s gaze. In that moment, Renee looked unbreakable and unshakeable, like nothing that ended up in her way could ever stop her for long. Allison shivered.

Love You a Latte by ceilingfan5 (G | 8,465 | 1/1)

Allison's favorite barista is adorable Renee, so when she gets the news that she has to go on a terrible family vacation and bring an "appropriate plus-one", she decides to finally get herself uninvited from the rest of those events for all eternity. She and Renee go together, pretending to be a very much in love couple, stir shit up, and leave a lot closer than they ever expected. (Obviously they fall in love.) Allison may say "I decided love was fake a long time ago and it’d take a miracle to change my mind now,” but if anyone can be a miracle worker, it's Renee.

say you'll never harden to the world by orphan_account (T | 10,300 | 1/1)

Of course it’s when the knife finally doesn’t feel awkward in her hand anymore that Allison shows up.

Instead of the relaxed way she usually holds her wings, they’re pulled taut behind her back. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and there’s a decidedly not pleased look on her face.

“Hey,” Natalie says, not interrupting the sequence of stabbing moves she’s been practicing. She has no time for the way seeing Allison makes her feel.

Safe – a joke. Not alone – Allison might not even be real. Cared about – impossible.

Those kinds of emotions aren’t meant for someone like her in the first place, and she’s not going to indulge them.

give me shelter or show me heart by hondayota (Not Rated | 4,720 | 3/3)

Renee had always thought of hope as a feeling, something she scraped out of her insides when she had nothing else to hold onto, but over the past months, hope had ceased to be a feeling and had become synonymous with Allison Reynolds.

the renison zombie au no one asked for

renee and allison are hella gay even when there's zombies

laila/alvarez:

It's Called Fashion Hunty. Look it up. by theKristastrophe (T | 15,440 | 8/8)

Sara works for a company that she doesn't hate but doesn't love either. So she sits at the bar with her two other best friends and tries to get through the work week.

When a fresh lawyer stumbles into thier weekly Rant Club, Sara knows she's in for a wild ride.

Featuring gratious eyerolling, snark, and everyone's favorite Foxes.

Buckle up kiddies. It's time to Sashay, Sashay, Sashay...

Come Close by tinystreetlamp (T | 10,932 | 1/1)

Sometime around 200 BC in Ancient Greece, in a world where the greek gods are real, Laila is a warrior from Sparta. During her first visit to Athens she meets not only Jeremy of Troy but also falls head over heels in love with Sara, a daughter of Apollo and local poet. But Sara is cursed, and soon the three cross the Mediterranean on a quest to break the curse and save Sara.

Sara means Sun by tinystreetlamp (M | 27,739 | 8/8)

Five years ago, ships with black and red sails appeared on the horizon and wiped out all of the royal family - except one. The Raven King conquered Coralia and is doing everything he can to stay in power. Jeremy of Troia, the rightful heir to his kingdom, has been in hiding for the past five years, but he found something worth fighting for.

Laila, an Elven Warrior and Jeremy's best friend, will do anything to protect him. Meeting a cute stranger isn't going to change that.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

22 notes · View notes

kanonsarchivedblog · 3 years

Text

Redemption

Author's Note: What if Mayuri Kurotsuchi died during the Thousand Year Blood War? Who would take over the role of Captain of the Twelfth Division? This is an answer to that in the form a redemption for Urahara Kisuke and the Captaincy that had been wrongly stolen from him.

Word Count: 4,767

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Kyouraku Shunsui, Shihouin Yoruichi, Otoribashi Roujuurou, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, Akon, Kurotsuchi Nemu

Ship(s): Hirako Shinji/Urahara Kisuke

Setting: Post-Thousand Year Blood War

Warnings: Major Character Death

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t have peace without a war, that’s how the saying goes. It spoke true; the Seireitei, while in shambles, was calm. Peaceful. The sound of hammering in the distance, of laughter and voices calling out to one another. Rebuilding, slowly but surely- with the aid of Shinigami and civilians alike. And the occasional Arrancar. The dead were still being retrieved from the various fields on which battles took place upon. Last time the toll had been released, they were well into the hundreds. A devastating blow to them all- on both sides.

It was difficult; so many young Shinigami had been killed, but so had many young Quincy. Too many, truthfully. Some of their own Captains had been casualties of the war: Head Captain Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had been one of the first to be slaughtered before their very eyes. Aside from him, the entire first division had been killed- all one hundred and six members, in the very beginning of the war. Following this had been Fourth Division Captain, Retsu Unohana- all for the sake of getting Zaraki Kenpachi to learn the true name of his sword and release his bankai, something that had nearly killed him. Their beloved Thirteenth Division Captain, Jushiro Ukitake had been killed somehow. Very few knew the truth of the matter-

That he had become the new Soul King. That, since birth, he’d been doomed to take over when the time came. A ticking time bomb, of sorts. But to the rest of Soul Society, he’d been another casualty of war.

Many others had nearly died; Captain of the Third Division, Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō, Captain of the Ninth Division, Muguruma Kensei, and both the Captain and Lieutenant of the Tenth Division, Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Rangiku Matsumoto, had all become members of the living dead due to the the Sternritter Giselle Gewelle’s ability. Captain of the Sixth Division, Byakuya Kuchiki, had nearly been slaughtered by the Sternritter Äs Nödt. For all intents and purposes, the Lieutenant of the Third Division was dead, and yet he still walked: Izuru Kira, who lost not just an arm, but a lung and portions of other organs after having a hole shot through his torso. Their new Captain Commander, Kyōraku Shunsui, had lost his left eye and part of his left ear, as well as having a hole shot through his sternum, nearly killing him.

Many others had been injured just as grievously. But that was what war did. It took and it took and it took until there wasn’t anything left to take. War was greedy.

One other had been taken from their ranks. Mayuri Kurotsuchi, the Captain of the Twelfth Division, had been killed during the battle. Details were still coming in, but from what was known, he’d sacrificed himself in the final moments to save his greatest creation, Nemu Kurotsuchi, his artificially created daughter. It seems that even the coldest and most detached of people could, in the end, redeem themselves and save those who they held closest to their hearts. It was certainly interesting to hear.

After all, when Urahara Kisuke had been Captain of the Twelfth, Mayuri had been a right bastard to deal with. He could still remember that day he pulled him out of the Maggot’s Nest, and the following years. How they had worked well together, even if the bickering was nearly constant, as well outright insubordination.

Many would grieve in silence for those that had been lost. The Fourth Division was busy; Isane Kotetsu was now the defacto Captain. She was young, but strong, resilient. She would survive.

Somewhere within the Division sat Rose and Kensei, sharing a room. Izuru Kira had his own room- something that was necessary, given the extent of his injuries. Kuchiki Byakuya was being treated at the Kuchiki Mansion; Kyōraku Shunsui, at the Kyōraku Mansion. Somewhere below them, Aizen sat, chained back up.

Kisuke sat in the bed, studying the way dust danced within the sun’s rays that spilled through his window. He wasn’t injured, not really; Benihime had made sure that her master would be pieced back together completely. All that was left of her work were the thin, surgical stitches that stretched down his face, across his knuckles, over his joints. They didn’t hurt. At least, he didn’t think they did. If there was pain, he was numb to it.

He supposed he owed his thanks to Grimmjow for saving him. He’d thank him later. Right now, the Pantera was hunting for a certain Shark that sat within one of the many, many cells beneath Soul Society. He was accompanied by a Ram and a Wolf.

He could thank Mayuri for saving the Wolf. Coyote Starrk had been a savior. A sharp shooter and a hidden weapon in Hueco Mundo.

There was also Kurosaki Ichigo. That kid deserved all of their thanks, and more. Without him, they’d all be dead. He couldn’t help but wonder where he was, right now. Back home in Karakura Town? Or here, lingering with those he’d fought beside?

Slate hues closed, listening to the hammering and calling. To the sound of laughter and weeping. Of birdsong and creeping silence. He was tired. More so than he’d ever been in his life.

But now was not the time to rest, not with the figure lingering outside of his door. Five minutes, Shinji had been standing there, reaching for the door and dropping his hand, only to reach again. A sigh escaped Kisuke as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come in, already!” He called, amusement shining in his words.

The door opened, and the blonde made his appearance at last. “Didn’t wanna disturb yer beauty rest, your highness,” he teased, lips quirking up in a crooked smile.

Kisuke could remember the first time he’d seen that smile. “I think I’ve had enough beauty rest to last a lifetime,” as if to prove a point, he stretched his arms up over his head, listening as various bones popped and creaked, as if singing a song of rest. “You aren’t here to give me the latest gossip, are you, Hirako-san?”

A shake of the head. “I wish I were,” Shinji sighed, closing the door behind himself as if that would give them any privacy. It wouldn’t, but it was certainly the thought that counted. “We were called in for an emergency meeting. Y’know how… Bad everything is right now.”

“You’re down three captains, and the new Captain Commander is on mandatory bed rest.” Kisuke answered with a shake of the head. “You’re fucked.”

“And now in the fun way.” Arms crossing over his chest, Shinji grimaced. He was still in pain, too, it seemed.

Not surprising; he’d taken quite the beating as well, from what he’d heard. “I have a question to ask you.”

No, the Soul Society will not get a discount on any products they purchase at the Urahara Shoten.” A joke, though it seemed to fall flat. “... What is it?”

“You know Kurotsuchi-taichou was killed.”

“Yes.”

“They’re without a Captain now.”

Slate hues widened before narrowing, understanding quickly settling in. This was the one thing he had never been prepared for. “Nemu could act as defacto Captain.”

“She can’t. She’s a child again.”

“Of course she is.” Damn Mayrui. “Akon?”

“Doesn’t have a Bankai. Or a Shikai. At least, not one that's on record.”

“Of course he doesn’t. Of course Mayuri would keep all of his underlings under a careful watch and not allow them to progress. Of course he would. He never did think about anyone but himself.” A bitter laugh slipped free, one full of anger and mourning. A scarred hand reached up to rub at pale blonde hair. “What are you asking, Shinji?”

“You know what I’m asking, Kisuke.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

A pause. Shinji sucked on his teeth, lips pressing taunt. “The Captain Commander wants to know if you’ll step in and take over the position of Captain of the Twelfth Division once more.”

A bark of laughter escaped Kisuke as he tossed his head back, baring his throat and chest. He knew this was coming. But to hear it spoken aloud? It made everything suddenly so real. “Central Forty-Six is going to disagree.”

“It’ll be overridden. We’re down three captains and Soul King knows how many Shinigami.” Shinji’s lip curled into a scowl as he shook his head. “We’re fucked.”

“We’re fucked.” Kisuke agreed softly, gaze slipping from Shinji to study the floorboards. “Whose idea was it?”

“It was agreed on immediately that you were the only one who could take over the Twelfth and not accidentally kill everyone.” The humor in Shinji’s tone brought a smile to both of their faces.

“You’re not wrong there.” A pause. “... I have some conditions, then.”

Shinji waved his hands. “Save it for the official meeting. Shun’s calling it in three days time. We’re all to attend, no matter what it takes to get there.” He pushed away from the wall and turned. “I’d love t’stay and all, but I gotta make sure my Division isn’t all dead.”

“You make a good Captain, Shinji.” Kisuke murmured, watching as his back tensed, as his head raised. “You always have.”

“... Get some rest, you ogre.”

The door shut, and he was alone with his thoughts once more.

━━━━━━━

Three Days Later

━━━━━━━

The meeting did not take place within the Captain Commander’s hall. The First Division was still being cleaned of bodies and blood. Instead, it took place within the halls of the Kyōraku Mansion. The grounds were lovely, sprawling, teeming with deer and birds and streams. It was easy to see the wealth and prestige that came with the name.

But it was nothing compared to the Shihōin estate that Kisuke had grown up on.

Speaking of, Yoruichi had joined him. He’d requested she be allowed to attend, and lo and behold, his request had been approved. The past three days, he’d been talking with her and Tessai, deciding on their plan of action.

Now, it would come to fruition.

“I know this isn’t the First Division, but it will have to make do for the time being.” Shunsui spoke, breaking the idle conversation that had been occurring and drawing all attention to him. He wore the Captain Commander’s coat, but beneath was a simple violet yukata- loose fitting to accommodate the bandages that wound around his torso. His head was still bandaged, as well.

No one looked to be in good health. Across from him sat Rose and Kensei, both of who looked uncomfortable. Rose was bandaged around his middle, as well. Kensei’s color was still returning to normal. Behind them stood, or in Kira’s case, sat. Kira didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. Hisagi looked ready to pass out at any given moment.

No one else was any better, aside from perhaps Isane Kotetsu. Akon stood behind the empty chair where Mayuri should

have been sitting. Rukia Kuchiki stood behind the empty chair that should have held Ukitake.

“This meeting, while formal, is occurring off the books. We are in a grievous state, and while peace may be here, there is always the chance that it could break at any moment. That is why we are here.” He cleared his throat, brows furrowing. “We are rebuilding, and we have a shaky alliance with both the Quincy and the Arrancar- for now. I do not believe that we are under an immediate threat. However, there are certain items that must be addressed.

“The first of which is the passing of four of our Captains. There will be funerals held for each of them within the coming weeks. They will be open to the public. They will be grand, as is deserving of each.” The finality in Shunsui’s voice left no room for argument. “Captains Yamomoto, Unohana, Kurotsuchi, and Ukitake will be remembered for the rest of time for laying down their lives to save Soul Society, as well as the… Hundreds of others who were lost in battle.”

Hundreds. The word is heavy within the room. Everyone had lost someone in some form, whether it be family, friend, or lover.

“Secondly, it is time to right the errors of our past. This is the reason this meeting is occurring off the books. I plan to contest the banning of Urahara Kisuke and Shihōin Yoruichi personally before Central Forty-Six.” Murmurs drifted through the room. It was one thing to bring up the idea, but another to say that it will be happening. “Which is why they were both invited to attend this meeting.”

Gazes turned, landing on the pair. “Ohayo,” Kisuke hummed, leaning his weight upon Benihime, who was in her sealed form. “I have questions about that.”

“Of course you do,” Sui-Feng muttered, though she remained silent otherwise.

He pointedly ignored the angry little bee. “I was made aware that you all agreed that I should take over my former position that had been ripped from me one hundred and… What was it, twelve? Thirteen, now? Years ago. A title that I had rightly earned before I was condemned for a crime that I did not commit, which we all are aware of now, yes?” A quickly, cursory glance around the room. “I know a few of you here were too young to remember what happened. But let me refresh your memory, shall I? Aizen was working on a way to create Hollows out of Shinigami and chose three of your captains and one of the lieutenants here, now, to test that on, as well as Hiyori Sarugaki, my former Lieutenant, Hachigen Ushoda, formerly of the Fourth Division, and Love Aikawa, former Captain of the Seventh Division.” The words cut like a hot knife through ice, stinging and causing a few to look down or away.

“But some of you were not too young. Some of you remember when it happened, and you did nothing to intervene. So for the last one hundred and thirteen years, I have been living in the World of the Living, aiding the Vizards. Miss Shihōin had been exiled from her own family, even if they did not want to do so. They had no choice. So!” Kisuke clapped his hands together, watching as Isane jumped. Oops. “My condition is that not only we be pardoned of this crime that we did not commit, but that Miss Yoruichi Shihōin also be allowed back within Soul Society. My shop will remain within the World of the Living in Karakura Town. Tessai Tsukabishi, the former Captain of the Kido Corps, who was also wrongly convicted, will also be pardoned. He will remain and run the shop, looking over it and the two Modified Souls whom I created and love as if they were my own children, Ururu and Jinta.

“Those are the conditions upon which I will accept the Captaincy of the Twelfth Division once more. If they are not met, you’ll just have to find someone else who is capable enough to run the Division and understand how Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s mind worked. No offense to Akon or anyone with the Twelfth currently, but I don’t think any of them could actually handle that. After all,” his voice quiets, head dipping, a shadow falling over his eyes. “I was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest. Should any of you

forget, I was also the Commander of the Detention Corps, as well as a member of the Onmitsukidō.” Chin raising, slate gaze swept across the room, taking in the silence that had fallen. “I’m not asking for a compensation fund. I’m not asking for a new Division. I’m not asking for a golden parade through the Rukongai. I want an apology. And I want for Central Forty-Six to admit their mistake.”

Silence met him. It was as if no one had expected for Urahara Kisuke to speak out, to give demands. As if he, too, hadn’t been wronged by the events of the past. As if he, too, did not deserve an apology. As if he, too, were not angry and bitter over the mistakes of the past.

“Lest you all forget that without me, you would not have had the Twelfth as it is today. There would be no S.R.D.I.. Mayuri would have died in his cell. And you all would be dead, now, because Kurosaki Ichigo wouldn’t have been born without Isshin Kurosaki, someone who I helped personally. And you would be down four Captains and one lieutenant.” Jaw set, he met Shunsui’s gaze with his own. “These are the requirements. And I will not settle for any less, Captain Commander.”

Shunsui shifted in his seat, a peculiar little smile curling at the corners of his lips. One that read ‘I anticipated this’, or perhaps ‘All is going according to plan’. “Of course, Urahara-san. It will be done.”

“Will it?” Kisuke countered, head titling, voice low. “Just what do you have on the Central Forty-Six that would turn their vote so quickly, Shunsui-san?”

A chill crept into the air as the Captains and Lieutenants sat straighter, stood straighter, cast their gazes down. No one dared speak, no one dared to break the silence that had gripped their throats and held them captive.

“That,” Shunsui began, rising to his feet slowly. “Is for me to know, and for you to never find out. That is all that needed to be said. This meeting is dismissed.” His face was pale; it was beyond time for him to retire. Another session of healing, no doubt.

Kisuke made his way out, Yoruichi at his side. “That was ballsy,” she murmured, gaze trained ahead. “But good.”

“I figured a history lesson was overdue.” Kisuke replied with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Go, I’m sure no one will mind if you-”

She was already gone.

“-visit your family.” Sighing, he began the slow walk back towards the Gotei Thirteen, gaze downcast. He could hear murmurings from behind him- surprise, shock, anxiety. A presence settled in at his side, shoulder gently bumping against his arm.

“Think it’ll happen?” Shinji asked after a good few minutes of walking in silence.

“He managed to convince them to let Aizen out.” He hummed, head rising to study the horizon. “I don’t know what he has up his sleeves, but… I believe there is a chance I’ll be back to torment you, Hirako-taicho.”

The grin Shinji sent him was brighter than the sun. He couldn’t help but smile, as well.

━━━━━━━

One month later.

━━━━━━━

“I stand before you today to contest a punishment that was given over a century ago,” Shunsui began, gazing up at the blank blocks before him. Behind them sat the members of the Central Forty-Six. “I am aware that I was here merely two months prior. A lot can happen in two months.”

“Like losing hundreds of Shinigami,” one voice spoke up.

“That is the casualty of war, something that you all seem to forget exists outside of your protected lives.” Silence met Shunsui. “We lost four captains. And while there are many who could step up the plate, one of those is impossible to replace.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That Urahara Kisuke be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain up once again.” Shunsui fell quiet as yells met him. Anger, alarm, it all spilled out.

“URAHARA KISUKE? DESERTER.”

“LIAR, A DANGER TO SOUL SOCIETY.”

“HE’S BEEN IN THE WORLD OF THE LIVING FOR TOO LONG.”

He raised his hands, listening as the voices died down. “I understand your anger. However, merely a few years ago, the Vizards were pardoned. Why should Kisuke not be pardoned, as well as Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai

Tsukabishi.”

“THEY’RE TRAITORS TO THE SOUL SOCIETY-”

“THEY ABANDONED US YEARS AGO-”

“THEY SHOULD BE KILLED-”

Shunsui raised his hands once more, his brow furrowed. “Maa, maa- please, allow me to speak.” Agitated silence met him as he cleared his throat. “I’m not Yamomoto. I haven’t been here since the beginning. I was just a child when this place was really coming together. But because of that, I have been able to witness the way everything has changed and grown. How we’ve become stronger, how more and more Shinigami join our ranks each year. I was a Captain by the time Urahara Kisuke joined our ranks, stepping out from the shadow of the Onmitsukidō. I was able to watch as he built the Twelfth up from the bottom, and watched as he created the Shinigami Research and Development Institute. Without him, we wouldn’t have the Gigais that allow us to investigate further into the World of the Living, the Tenshintai. What Mayuri had to work with wouldn’t have existed without Kisuke. We wouldn’t have even had a captain to fill his place originally without Kisuke; he was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest.

“At the end of the day, you have to sit back and consider more than what those of the past did. At the time, there was no true solid proof that Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi were behind the hollowfication project that was, in actuality, spearheaded by Aizen. Their only crime had been being at the scene, trying to help their friends. When you consider this, along with how they have continued to aid us despite being stranded in the World of the Living for so long… Don’t we owe them this?” Murmurs began to echo through the tall chamber. Forty-six voices all talking, debating. Shunsui stood, hands folded politely before him as he waited.

He was right, and he knew it. After all, it had been his idea in the first place. Without Kisuke’s aid, they wouldn’t have ever had Kurosaki Ichigo to help them. Aizen would never have been stopped. Yhawch would still be alive, and they would all be dead or acting as prisoners. There wasn’t any real debate to be had other than stubborn old men wanting to keep history as it is.

“So, I ask once more: I wish for Urahara Kisuke to be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain of the Twelfth Division and Captain of the S.R.D.I. up once again as well as pardoning Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi of their wrongly accused crimes.”

Silence settled across the chamber. A pleased smile curled Shunsui’s lips as he relaxed.

━━━━━━━

Two weeks later.

━━━━━━━

The First Division was peaceful, calm, filled with idle chatter as the Captains and their Lieutenants gathered within the hall of the Captain Commander. There was no surprise written upon their features; they knew what this meeting was about. Even so, they stood, chatting amongst one another, until Shunsui made his way into the hall to settle in at the head of the hall. He used a heavy, cherry wood cane to aid him; it would not be a permanent fixture. Each day he grew stronger, healing from his injuries.

“Well, then,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders before raising the voice. “Would the new Captain of the Twelfth Division enter?”

The great doors opened, and standing within the entryway was none other than Urahara Kisuke, green and white striped hat nowhere to be seen. He no longer resembled the young, awkward Captain he had been one hundred and thirteen years ago. Now, he stood tall, still, gaze trained forward. He made his way in slowly, geta clad feet making soft ‘clacks’ with every step. Behind him, surprisingly, walked a black feline, trotting to keep up. He turned to the left, and stepped into the place where he’d once stood, where Mayuri had once stood.

“Very well. Now, since we are all here, our first manner of business…”

The meeting did not last long; many were still in frail condition, such as the Third Division. The walk to the Twelfth was quiet, calm. Yoruichi had slipped away, returning to her family for the first time in far too

long. She wouldn’t be taking up the mantle of Head of the Shihōin family; that title had passed to her younger brother. Instead, she’d become an aid to him, and split her time between the Soul Society and the World of the Living. Tessai didn’t want to return; he had no desire to come back. He’d handle the shop and keep an eye on Karakura, along with Jinta and Ururu.

Kisuke was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a throat clearing. Head snapping up, slate gaze hues widening at the sight of his new lieutenant. “The last time I saw you, you were extremely little and didn’t have a nicotine addiction!” Kisuke greeted with a grin as Akon let out a bark of laughter.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Captain,” Akon replied, shaking his head as he fell into step beside Kisuke. “A lot’s changed.”

“I’d be more alarmed if nothing had changed. It has been over a century, after all!” His head tilts back, studying the sky. “It feels strange to be here again.”

“It does.” The sound of a little voice calling had both men pausing, glancing behind them, only to watch as a little black haired girl came bouncing over, nearly stumbling over her sandals. Nemu. Akon knelt down, arms open, allowing the girl to climb up into his arms. “Nemu, meet Urahara Kisuke. He’s taking over as Captain.”

“I remember him. Where’s your hat?” She asked, big dark eyes gazing up at Kisuke.

“Decided that it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear at a meeting,” he winked, and with a wave of his hand, it was as if the hat appeared out of thin air. Nemu’s eyes widened in surprise, mouth dropping open into a little ‘o’. “But I never wander too far without it.” Gaze turning, he took in the sight of the Division, how much it had changed, how large it had become. “Well…”

“Wherever you want to begin, I’ll guide you to it.”

A grimace. “Notes? Or did he burn them all again?”

“Surprisingly, he didn’t.” A shrug as Akon began to walk once more, carrying Nemu as if she were his own. Members of the Twelfth stopped where they stood and bowed low, murmurs of welcome echoing through the air. “I don’t think he had the foresight to do that.”

“Good,” Kisuke nodded, clapping his hands together. “Then let's get to work.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

━━━━━━━

That Night

━━━━━━━

The night air was cool here compared to the warm autumn air of Karakura Town. Geta clopped along the top of the wall idly with no true direction. That is, until the sound of a snicker drew the attention of the shoe’s owner. Head tilting, Kisuke glanced behind himself to find Hirako Shinji standing behind him.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Haunted by the past.” Kisuke replied, settling down on the wall. Was he in Shinji’s Division? He hadn’t realized he’d walked that far. “You?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch.” Shinji settled down on the wall, kicking his heels against the sturdy structure idly. “... It feels good to have you back.”

“Does it?” He mused, stepping closer before settling down, shoulder bumping Shinji’s before leaning against the other. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Fuck off,” Shinji teased, leaning his weight back against Kisuke’s shoulder. Together they sat, silence falling across them like a light dew in the early morning hours. Without speaking, Shinji reached over, taking hold of Kisuke’s hand. Calloused fingers drifted over stitched scars. “She did a number on you.”

“Benihime is a benevolent woman. I respect that,” Kisuke replied softly, watching Shinji’s fingers. “What about you? How’s your head?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Touche.”

A chuckle slipped free from both men. Kisuke sighed, leaning over to rest his head atop Shinji’s own. “This is what you missed?”

“This and more.”

“It doesn’t feel right without Hiyori yelling at us. Or Love laughing. Or Hachi worrying…” Brows furrowing, he sighed. “But they like it in the World of the Living.”

curled Shinji’s lips as he pulled Kisuke’s hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “Some of it will be, Captain.”

#m's scribbles #bleach fanfiction #kisuke urahara #shinji hirako #shinji/kisuke #yoruichi shihouin #shunsui kyoraku #akon #rip mayuri but kisuke's different

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hxneyandespressx · 4 years

Text

if i were a man (i’d be the man)

summary: jj holds a press conference while on a high-profile case. she has to deal with the stupid male reporters. after the conference is done, jj goes to the nearest bathroom, away from the crowd, and screams and swears to her heart’s content

word count: 6.2k

content warnings: mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, guns, violence, blood, suicide

a/n: inspiration for this fic is from criminal minds season 4 episode 16 “pleasure is my business”

☆。*。☆。

It was a rough start to a Wednesday morning for a particular FBI agent. She almost twisted her ankle on her early morning jog, got stuck in traffic, and had to wait in a long line for her co-workers’ coffee orders. Soon enough, she started to wish that she took the metro instead. Media communications liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau woke up today and chose violence. She huffed in frustration at how her morning went.

Walking toward the bullpen with the coffee orders in her hands, JJ was greeted with “hellos” and “good mornings”. Not wanting to have her co-workers profile her, JJ bottled up her frustration and grumpiness and put a smile on her face. It was a rule amongst the group to never profile each other. With learning an assortment of profiling tactics, JJ knew how to form a realistic smile without genuine happiness. Creases around the eyes, smile lines contoured the mouth, sparkles in her baby blue eyes. The short blonde perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, even expert profilers.

“Good morning, guys.” JJ said with a bright smile on her face. She held two cardboard trays filled with various coffee orders. She placed one of the trays on Emily’s desk, so she can pass out the orders to her co-workers. She called out the order name as she passed the cup to the person.

“One French vanilla latte for Ms. Garcia. Two black coffees for Emily and Derek. And finally, a coffee with extra cream and sugar for Spence.” Everyone said their thank you’s to the blonde. Then, there was one coffee cup left. A cappuccino.

“Happy Wednesday, my nerds.” Rossi said as he approached the group of tired agents. JJ smiled and handed the cappuccino to the elderly man.

“Grazie.” He thanked the media liaison for her efforts to bring his favorite morning beverage. The group spent some time chatting nonsense before the case briefing. Thirty minutes went by and all of them disbursed into their desks to finish up the paperwork. JJ headed down to her office to work on choosing the next case after the one that was currently ongoing.

After settling in her office chair, JJ took a look around her office. Messy stacks of pending files scattered her desk. Empty coffee cups and water bottles lined the file cabinet. JJ checked the time on her watch. 8:12 AM. About two hours to kill. The blonde put her hair up into a ponytail and took in a deep breath. She dove into the nearest pile of manila files, looking through all the documents and photographs to determine which case for the BAU team to take on after the current case.

As the clock ticked closer to 10 AM, JJ picked up today’s case files and head out of her office. Strutting through the bullpen, JJ entered the briefing room slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” JJ said while passing the manila folders out to her co-workers. After handing out the necessary materials, she grabbed the remote from the center of the wooden table.

“Sam Winchester was found in Fulton Park, in the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. Eighteen stab wounds to his chest and neck,” JJ explained as she clicked on the remote to switch between the crime scene photos. “He is one of the victims dumped at various locations of Brooklyn that was found last night.”

“Hold up. One of the victims?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. So far this killer built up a rep sheet of five kills.” JJ stated. Hotch raised one of his eyebrows at the new information.

“Seven? Why haven’t the NYPD notified us immediately after the first three kills?” Hotch asked the media liaison.

“Probably the department thought they could handle the crimes,” JJ explained. “That was the case until they realized that they needed help.”

The young blonde switched to the next slide, showing one of the other victims dumped in North Williamsburg.

“What’s interesting about the locations is that the first victim was drowned in the Hudson River. And as more victims appear, the disposal methods get more dramatic. Maybe it plays some role in the unsub’s pathology.” Spencer said as he looked at the screen, observing for any patterns.

“Like with one of the recent victims, the disposal site is in Cobble Hill. It’s typically occupied by those who are relatively wealthy.” Rossi said to continue Spencer’s thoughts. “This unsub is getting bolder with his disposal sites. I’m concerned with there being an end game to this.” Emily stated. Everyone at the round table shifted through the various crime scene photos and documents. Rossi took hold of one of the crime scene photographs: a reversed ten of cups tarot card. “It is also apparent that the unsub is leaving tarot cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Tarot cards? What’s the significance?” Derek asked.

“Maybe to tell of the inevitable fortune the victims faced?” Emily said.

“Well, each card has a different meaning when it is upright and reversed. And usually, when doing a reading, three to five cards are pulled to tell a fortune.” Penelope explained as she typed away on her work laptop. It had not surprised anyone that the technical analyst had an interest in tarot readings and astrology.

“You know, the first documented tarot packs were recorded between 1440 and 1450 AD in Milan, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards are known simply as trionfi, which became "trumps" in English. The oldest surviving tarot cards are the 15 Visconti-Sforza tarot decks painted in the mid-15th century for the rulers of the Duchy of Milan. The Duke of Milan described a 60-card deck with 16 cards having images of the Roman gods and suits depicting four kinds of birds.” Spencer talked about the history of tarot cards, with hand gestures to accompany his little ramble. When he finished, everyone at the table stared at him. The young FBI agents sheepishly smiled as Emily poked his left cheek.

“Since when did you learn about tarot cards?” Emily asked.

“I learned about it when I took a college course on the Italian Renaissance.” Spencer sheepishly smiled.

“Well, whatever it is, it seems like there is a story to be told––or rather to be heard.” JJ said as she stared at the crime scene photos, her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.

“That’s what we need to find out. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch called out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The BAU members sat comfortably on the jet, each in their little world. That was until the unit chief called on everyone for a case discussion.

“Let’s go over victimology.” Hotch said to call on the group. Everyone moved closer to the unit chief to better discuss the case. Derek sat in an armchair, with Emily next to him. Across from them were Spencer and JJ. Hotch leaned against one of the seats, practically sitting on the adjustable arm of the plane seat. Rossi sat on the tan velvet couch, adjacent to JJ.

“Reid.” Hotch called on the genius of the group.

“White. Male. Between the ages of 45-55. Jobs ranging from a stockbroker to assets protection manager. All of them have cheated on their wives multiple times and some even had sexual harassment accusations.” The young curly-haired man said to start the discussion.

“Even if these men cheated on their wives and got those accusations, they still didn’t deserve the multiple stab wounds to meet their end.” Emily said.

JJ looked through the case file to see the reports on all five victims.

“The victims’ names are Igor Andreevich, Lucas Duncan, Hunter Mcevoy, Sam Winchester, Jared Kalinski.” JJ called the names out like it was a roll call.

“These are the five victims that this unsub killed so far?” Hotch asked. The blonde nodded her head and said “yes, sir” in response.

“As the victim count increased, the more stab wounds appeared on the body.” Rossi said to point out an observation.

“But the M.E. said that most of these stab wounds were created post mortem. Meaning that the initial stab was to get the job done efficiently and he went back in to fuel his rage and/or sexual needs.” Spencer

“Are we assuming his sexual orientation? Because there aren’t many homosexual serial killers, kid” Rossi said.

“It could be a possibility. We have to consider our options.” Hotch said.

Just then, the laptop turned on and showed the beautiful Penelope Garcia.

“How’s it going, my crime-fighting musketeers?” Penelope asked. Everyone, even Hotch, smiled at her cheery greeting.

“Garcia, start compiling files on each of our victims,” Hotch told the technical analyst. “Everything financial and personal. Bank statements, credit card bills, investments, wills, trust funds. Anything that will tell us more about the victim’s lives.”

“Faster than a Hotch rocket.” After that was said into the air, Penelope felt embarrassed while Hotch looked at her with his usual stone-cold face. Derek sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his second-hand embarrassment for his babygirl.

To break the silence, Rossi grunted and coughed into his fist.

“Based on the jobs these men had, we could safely assume that they were killed in the financial district of New York. Then, the unsub transported the bodies to a dumpsite.” Emily said as she read off from the case file in her hands.

“But why from Manhattan to Brooklyn? That is a lot of weight to carry.” Derek asked.

“Maybe Brooklyn holds a lot of significance to him. Something from his childhood and he can’t let go.” JJ said. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as they all closed their files.

“Once we land, do you want me to get in contact with the media to inform the public?” The media liaison asked the unit chief.

“No. We need to hold back on it. Giving him the media’s attention is exactly what he wants. He wants his story to be heard and we will not give him that.” Hotch explained. JJ nodded in response and wrote down media concerns in her small blue notepad.

“Dave, You and Prentiss go to the crime scene,” Hotch instructed the group. “The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the unit chief.

After discussing the victimology and the nature of the case, everyone separated and occupied their own space on the jet. Derek on the couch, listening to music. Spencer by the window, reading the Hound of the Baskervilles. Rossi and Hotch in the back, conversing whatever two elderly men talk about.

The blonde media liaison stared out of the window until she felt a presence next to her. She looked away to find Emily standing in the aisle with a cup of coffee and a bag of Cheetos in her hands.

“Want some company?” Emily asked as she took the empty seat.

“I don’t mind at all.” JJ smiled at the brunette. The shorter woman felt special that Emily did this for her. She took the Cheetos and the coffee mug from her co-worker. As she grabbed them, their fingers brushed against each other. A little pink blush formed on JJ’s cheeks. Not wanting Emily to know about the silly crush the blonde had on her, JJ covered half her face with her beloved blue blanket. Emily chuckled at JJ’s actions and placed her hand on the blonde’s right shoulder, closing her eyes for a quick nap.

JJ carefully took some of her dark blue blanket and wrapped it around Emily’s right shoulder. She looked at the brunette who was sleeping on her shoulder and softly smiled.

The blonde took sips of the coffee as she stared out of the window. The sunlight bounced off the water particles in the clouds, creating a mini rainbow over the tops of the white clouds. The media liaison took in the silence as a treat, before landing into the chaos of New York.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A government-mandated black SUV arrived at the 25th precinct. Everyone––sans Emily and Rossi––got out of the car and was greeted by a lively short woman.

“Detective Miller? We spoke on the phone.” JJ shook hands with the short woman.

“Please, call me Kennedy. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Doctor Reid.” JJ introduced them while gesturing at the person, in respective order.

“Hey, why don't you go on inside and make yourself comfortable.” Kennedy said. The remaining BAU members nodded their heads and made their way inside the busy precinct. Police officers swarmed everywhere as the federal agents weaved their way to an empty conference room.

Everyone worked at a swift pace to get everything set up. JJ and Derek went with a police officer to get boxes filled with case files and other materials. Hotch talked with Detective Miller to get information on how her officers dealt with the unsub so far. While all this is happening, Spencer worked on the geographical profile, so the agents know where to look for the unsub.

“What do these tarot cards mean?” Hotch asked the group. Everyone shook their head “no”, signifying that they had no clue what each card meant.

“I’ll call Penelope and ask her about the meanings of the cards.” Derek said as he took out his flip phone to dial Penelope’s number.

“Live from Quantico, Virginia, it is the Divine Miss Penelope.” Penelope greeted the group.

“Hey, sugar mama. I need something from you.” Derek said.

“Talk to me.”

“I need you to interpret the meanings of the tarot cards that were left at the different crime scenes.”

“Ah- I’ll be your little witch today. Hit me with have you have.”

“Alright, I’m putting you on speaker.” Derek puts down the phone on the wooden table, so everyone could hear what the technical analyst has to say.

“Ten of Cups, Garcia.” Hotch said.

“When upright, the Ten of Cups embody happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional satisfaction in your family, relationship, or companion. It represents an idyllic state of comfort, harmony, peace, and love which makes you feel like you are in paradise. When reversed, it could mean shattered dreams, disharmony, or a broken family.” Penelope explained.

“Reversed Wheel of Fortune card.” Spencer called out.

“When the wheel is reversed, it means that luck has not been on your side and misfortunes have been following you. When it's associated with this card, you must understand that these are due to external influences that you cannot control.” Penelope said.

“Reversed Justice card.” Derek said next.

“A reversed Justice tarot card could indicate various things. One Justice reversal meaning is to show you are living in denial. You are not willing to accept the consequences of your actions or others. You are running from your guilt. You must, however, be aware that these are actions that are in the past. Other Justice reversal meanings could be injustice, retribution, dishonesty, corruption, dishonesty, unfairness, and avoiding accountability.” The technical analyst interpreted.

“Lastly, the reversed Emperor.” JJ said the final card they had.

“The Emperor reversed is a sign of abused authoritative power. In your social life, it can manifest in the overreach of power from a father figure or a possessive partner.” Penelope described the final tarot card.

With all the information in their heads, the BAU members felt puzzled about how to move forward.

“How are these cards related to the crime scenes?” Derek asked.

“It’s like a performance,” Penelope chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to listen to the cheery woman on the phone. “Like there is a story behind these killings. The cards are telling how the unsub is feeling. She wants us to know her story.” Everyone stood in shock when Penelope made a breakthrough in the case.

“Wait, Garcia. You said ‘she’. Why do you think it is a woman?” Hotch asked.

“Well, sir. The first victim was drowned, with no signs of sexual assault on his body. Doesn’t that usually indicate that the unsub is a woman?”

“Not necessarily but it is a quiet and efficient way of murdering someone.” Hotch explained.

“Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don’t have much information on them. But what we do know involves throwing the riles completely out of the window,” Spencer started going on one of his rambles. “For example, female serial killers typically don’t leave a signature.”

“But this one leaves tarot cards at the scene.” Derek pointed out.

“Maybe it was what Garcia said: she’s telling us her story.” JJ said. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. What could be inferenced from her childhood?” Hotch asked.

“She could have had a domineering father who worked on Wall Street. And with that dynamic, he could have sexually and emotionally abused her, making her feeling like damaged goods.” Spencer explained the backstory of the unsub. “Also because the victims cheated on their wives, we could also conclude that the father also cheated on the mother, who always forgave her husband and tried to rationalize to stay for her daughter. And that made the unsub feel rage and being inferior. That she didn’t do anything to help her mother and herself.”

“But there is no indication of sexual gratification.” Hotch interjected.

“However, there’s a reason why there are so many lacerations on the later victims. It could be the rage from her abusive father that this unsub is using against the victims, who acted like surrogates.” Derek said.

“The stressor?” Hotch asked.

“To follow her father’s footsteps, she may have also worked in the financial field. As a stockbroker, a financial analyst, or even as a secretary for a company,” Spencer said. “And as she continued at her job, she had a bunch of little comments and slights against her”

“As for the trigger, maybe she got passed up for a promotion by a male co-worker who was less qualified than she was.” JJ explained.

“Any sane person would get miffed about it, but she’s built differently,” Derek said.

“So much so, she killed five men so far.” Hotch said.

“And she did it in an efficient manner where no one had any idea until now,” Derek said right after the unit chief. “But how did one woman kill five men in one borough and disposed of them in another?”

“She must know the area like the back of her hand. Brooklyn is what? Around 72 square miles?” JJ said in response to Derek.

“Uh, 69.5.” Spencer corrected JJ. The blonde sighed, not surprised that the boy genius would know the exact measurement.

“And the fact that no one has seen her either abduct or dispose of says she knows the city and its patterns well.” Derek said to continue what JJ had said before she was cut off by the boy genius. Just then, both Rossi and Emily had returned from the latest crime scene. In Emily’s hands were coffee cups on cardboard trays while Rossi had Chinese takeout. Everyone shared the food as they continued to work on the case. Being the little tease he was, Derek flung a wonton piece at Spencer, who was struggling to eat with the wooden chopsticks. The wonton piece gently hit Spencer’s forehead and the boy genius pouted, hiding his frustration at both the chopsticks and Derek.

“The M.E. said that the cuts were clean, no serrated edges. It would have to be a very sharp knife to be able to cut through human skin like nothing.” Emily said, to drive the discussion about the M.O.

“A knife like that could get the job done efficiently. Could be the work of a throwing knife. Take out the victim with a single throw to have them die quickly, then she stabs them to feel something.” Derek said.

“Throwing knives? What is she? A secret agent of the Dai Li?” Rossi joked sarcastically.

“From Avatar the Last Airbender?” Hotch retorted, remembering that his son Jack watches that show on Saturday mornings.

“What’s Avatar the Last Airbender?” Spencer asked. Nobody bothered to answer the young man’s question.

“But this one is different. It’s like the more she kills, the more anger builds up inside and it gets released on the victim when she goes back in.” JJ stated.

It became silent in the conference room, quite the opposite to the noise of the New York precinct in the evening rush hour. Tired from both traveling and working, Hotch could see that the rest of his team was also exhausted from the day. The unit chief called everyone to head to the hotel and rest, as they can always come back to the precinct tomorrow morning.

Slowly one by one, each of the agents packed their things and get out of the New York precinct, and hopped into the cars, praying the soft hotel beds would lull them into a deep slumber.

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Day Three at the New York precinct. All the BAU members were getting irritated that they hadn’t proceeded much on the case. Derek tossed a small basketball up and down to pass the time. Spencer twirled a pen as he stared at the geographical profile, the gears turning in his mind. Both Hotch and Rossi were discussing the case quietly while JJ and Emily doodled on each others’ arms. The blonde was innocently drawing hearts and flowers until Emily came up with an idea. Feeling a tad mischievous, Emily took her sharpie marker and started to outline something on the media liaison’s left forearm. JJ raised an eyebrow, questioning what her co-worker was doing. As the image came together, JJ gasped softly, however, not surprised that Emily drew a vagina.

Emily quietly laughed as JJ, annoyed by the brunette’s actions, took her sharpie marker and tried her best to transform the vagina drawing into a flower. Taking her time, and with only a sharpie, JJ showed off her artistic talent by creating a masterpiece: a carnation blooming out of a vagina.

Emily rolled her eyes when JJ stuck out her tongue at the brunette. Taking Emily’s right arm, the media liaison started to outline a grid for a game of tic tac toe. The brunette started the game by marking an “x” in a spot and JJ took her turn. The two women continued their game of tic tac toe and

Everyone was silent in their own world until Hotch’s phone rang. The unit chief picked it up and it was a number he couldn’t recognize. Hotch silently motioned Derek to call Penelope to start triangulating the call’s location.

“Hotchner.”

“Hello, Aaron.” A sultry voice talked. On the other side of the call was the unsub, Taylor Evans.

“Seems you know my name.” Hotch asked.

“I researched you in preparation for this phone call,” Evans said. Through the phone receiver, Hotch could hear the soft whooshes of pages turning.

“You reading a book? What’s the title?”

“Le monde comme il va by Voltaire,” Taylor closed her book. “Have you read his work?”

“No, I haven’t. You seem highly educated.” Hotch stated.

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Taylor retorted.

“But I don’t know you that well since the start of this phone call.” Hotch responded.

“What would you like to know?” Taylor asked.

“May I know your name, for starters?” Hotch asked. A cold laugh could be heard through the landline speaker.

“Evans. Taylor Evans.” the unsub replied.

“Nice name,” Hotch complimented her to bring her guard down.

“Now that we are acquainted, you can ask me questions.” the unsub’s content sigh could be heard on the landline.

“Has life been hard on you?” Taylor asked, wanting to jump the gun.

“I try my best.”

“Try my best,” Taylor said mockingly. “Is that the best you can do for your family?” A sarcastic tone filled Taylor’s voice, not liking what the unit chief said in response to her question.

“With what I’ve got.” Hotch said.

“You got any children?” Taylor said to divert the conversation.

“I have a son.”

“How often do you see him?”

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” Taylor tried to put Hotch under pressure, to get him to crack.

“No, I don't get there as often as I want.” A pitiful sigh was heard on the phone.

“I believe you, but don’t compare yourself to the men I see and work with. You are nothing like them. You’re just another whore.” Taylor said with such disgust in her tone.

“How am I a whore?” Hotch asked.

“You come when called on short notice. Begging to be put to work. Saving your reputation. However, even though you’re a workaholic, you make the time to see your son. You care for your son. You want the best for him.” Taylor explained.

“You’re right. I do want the best for him” Hotch said. The unsub sighed, wishing that she had a good man, like Hotch, for a father.

“Enough about you. What do you have to say about me?” Taylor asked the unit chief.

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying.” Hotch explained.

“Good deductive reasoning,” Taylor said. “But how do you know if what I find provides me less satisfaction each time?”

“It’s a part of your nature. Until you hit a psychotic break and start devolving.” Hotch said.

“Hm. Want to find out, Agent Hotchner?” She hung up on him after that last sentence. Everyone in the conference room stayed silent in awe. The unsub injecting herself into the investigation surprised all the agents in the room.

“She contacted us,” Spencer said in astonishment, breaking the silence.

“She’s getting impatient. Have Garcia look up everything on Taylor Evans. We need to find if she lines up with the preliminary profile.” Hotch instructed Derek. The olive brown-skinned man did exactly what the unit chief said: call Penelope and extract as much information as possible on the potential unsub.

“Her use of the word whore is interesting,” Spencer quipped. “It suggests she's trying to disassociate herself from her actions.”

“But she's become more personal with the murders,” Emily said. “This doesn’t make sense. She is contradicting herself.”

After gathering the information, and debilitating on the facts, everyone came to the same conclusion: Taylor Evans was their unsub.

“Reid, tell Detective Miller that it’s time to deliver the profile.” Rossi said.

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Every law enforcement officer occupied the main space of the precinct. All of the BAU members stood at one side, making it like a stage. JJ stood beside Emily, thinking to herself that she could have been this girl in a way. Both her and the unsub look eerily similar, maybe even mistaken for each other.

“We wanted to give out the profile as soon as possible. We’re looking for a white female, between the ages of 20 and 25,” Hotch said to start the profile. “Her name is Taylor Evans. Dirty blonde hair with grey eyes. She’s organized, methodical, and knows how to blend in with the crowd.”

“When this unsub kills, she does so mercilessly and without an ounce of pity. She also wants her victims to know they are going to die by her hand.” Rossi said.

“That’s why her preferred weapon of choice is throwing knives. They provide a clean cut. No mess required.” Emily said, slowly rocking on her heels.

“With her choice of weapon, she can be quick and efficient with her kills, as murder is her only goal,” Spencer paused to catch a breath. “But all the bottled-up rage gets released when she goes in for a second time, post mortem, and stabs the body multiple times.”

“It is a way for her to get sexual gratification. And revenge, from her years of being emotionally and sexually abused by her father,” Rossi said. “The victims fit the description of her father and they are surrogates for him.”

“She is also a textbook psychopath, exhibiting all of the classic traits: incapability of feeling any empathy towards others, neither guilt nor remorse, and claiming no responsibility for her actions. Like others of her type, she is highly intelligent, manipulative, and narcissistic.” Spencer explained the unsub’s pathology.

“Evans had received higher education. She graduated with a business degree, most likely a subconscious influence from her father. With the business acumen and the social skillset, this unsub can easily blend in with all the other business people and manipulate them.” Hotch explained, walked slowly around the large room.

“Based on her background, she came from a wealthy family. However, the family wasn’t perfect. Her father constantly cheated on his wife. The mother always forgave him. As a young girl, Evans most likely has experienced emotional and sexual abuse from her father. It was a way for him to control his daughter, and she had resented that for years.” Emily said about the unsub’s childhood.

“She mostly has experienced misogyny in her professional life. Had little comments and slights against her. Perhaps a less qualified male co-worker took a promotion that she deemed herself to be of a better fit,” Derek explained about the stressor. “Something in her work life triggered her to start killing the men who represented her father.”

“With this profile, we should search for Taylor Evans’ location and any potential victims. We suggest going public with the information as soon as possible… Thank you very much.” Hotch ended the profile with his parting words. Everyone at the precinct was disbursed from the room to get back to their work. The agents huddled together to prep themselves in case something big were to happen.

“JJ, I would like for you to conduct a press conference,” Hotch said.

“Why is that, sir?” The media liaison asked.

“I would like to draw her out. Have it known that we are after her.” The media liaison nodded her head in agreement and left the main room to work on getting a press conference together.

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Before entering the press room, JJ took a deep breath and exhaled to calm herself down. Thoughts were rushing in her mind. Don’t let them get to you, JJ. She neatly fixed her hair to seem presentable. Taking her golden heart necklace, the media liaison kissed it for good luck.

The media liaison walked into the conference room with great confidence and stood behind the mahogany podium. Standing tall, JJ was not willing to lose a fight with the media, especially with a high-profile case.

“Ok, can I have everyone's attention,” JJ said to gather the media’s attention to her. “Please, if you could just take your seats…”

“There have been a series of murders that appeared in random locations around Brooklyn. There is sufficient evidence that the victims were murdered on Wall Street then transported to their disposal sites.”

“We believe she may have experienced a psychotic break recently, causing the unsub to escalate to murder to regain a sense of control. You should increase your patrols in and around Wall Street… “

“Why would you focus your profile on the finance guys when the unsub has also contacted members of the FBI?” A male reporter interrupted the media liaison.

JJ stood at the podium in shock. How could he know about that? We kept that under wraps.

“I- How did you obtain that information?” JJ asked.

“I overheard one of the cops saying it.” The journalist said casually. The blonde’s right eyebrow lightly twitched in anger. What couldn’t those cops just shut their mouths, JJ thought.

“What you heard from these officers isn’t true,” JJ lied to keep confidential information private. “Now, do you have any questions about the case?” A new wave of hands came up. JJ took a few more questions to answer. After a while, it was time to end the press conference.

“If anyone works in or around Wall Street, and sees anything unusual, please do not hesitate to call the number on your screen. Thank you.” JJ said her final statement, ending the press conference. As she walked down the steps down the small stage, a reporter called out her name.

“Agent Jareau! I have something that may be of interest for you!” A different male reporter called out. JJ turned to face him, excepting the same male reporter from earlier. Trying to keep her anger inside, she greeted the news reporter with dignity.

The male reporter handed the media liaison a letter. JJ took a look at it and was surprised at what she saw: the signature of their unsub.

“How did you get this?” JJ asked the man.

“It was sent to me yesterday, directly to the New York Herald.” The man said. JJ called for one of the officers by the wall to collect the letter for evidence.

“We are going to take this in for evidence processing. One of the officers here will take you in for some questioning.” The man nodded as another officer whisked him away for interrogation.

JJ sighed and went to search for the officer that unknowingly leaked information. She saw him with another cop, talking, against the wall outside of the press conference room.

“That information was not for the public!” JJ said, angrily at an NYPD officer.

“Listen, lady. I don’t know how and where he got the information from,” The beat cop explained himself. “He could have been creeping around the crime scenes or the precinct.

“Keep your mouth shut, pal, as this case is private and under federal jurisdiction.” JJ huffed as Derek grabbed her shoulders and slowly tried to drag her away. The blonde complied with her co-worker, not throwing a fight as this was not her battle to fight in.

Once Derek loosened his grips, the media liaison dashed out of the conference room to find her own space to calm down.

JJ speed-walked once she was out of the hallway’s vicinity. She rushed into the nearest bathroom. Breathing heavily, the media liaison slowly walked into one of the stalls and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, JJ prepared herself for the biggest scream she would take in her life.

“Fuck. These little shits. Those bastards. Assholes. Son of a bitch. Fucking shit. Why can’t they keep their mouths fucking shut! Those cocksucking motherfucking god damned jackasses!” JJ yelled at the top of her lungs. Her chest fell hard as the blonde was taking deep breaths. She felt better after taking out her anger by screaming. Feeling a little tired, JJ sat on the closed toilet and placed her head between her knees to calm herself down. A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“JJ… Are you okay?” Emily’s voice could be heard on the other side. JJ sighed while getting up. She opened the stall door and tried to make herself more presentable. Unlocking the silver lock, she opened the door slowly to reveal a relieved Emily Prentiss.

“Ah–,” Emily gently grabbed JJ and brought her in a warm embrace. They stood together in that position for a few minutes before heading back to the conference room, where the others were, preparing themselves to capture the unsub tonight.

Later that evening, the BAU team, along with SWAT, raided a luxury apartment building in Downtown Brooklyn. Upon entering the only penthouse, Derek broke the door with his strength. The group of agents entered the area and in the middle of the living room, was Taylor Evans. Black mascara ran down her cheeks as she held a gun in her left hand and the final tarot card in the other.

“Just in time for the show, agents.” Evans croaked. Her sad grey eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed from her mental breakdown.

“Taylor… Listen. You’re young. You don’t have to do this. If you come with us, you can get a lighter sentence and live your life.” Emily said to calm down the broken girl.

More time passed by as Emily and Spencer tried their best to negotiate with the unsub, but the end was already written. Taylor Evans planned to do an end game, one where she put herself out of misery.

“I’m sorry….” the blonde girl whispered. In a swift motion, Taylor pulled the trigger onto herself and shot herself underneath the jaw. Her body dropped quickly but Derek ran up to the body to catch it.

“Damn it,” Derek said. “She was young. Broken. Felt like she had to prove herself that she was something.”

“There was nothing we could have done to help, Morgan. She already had planned her end. She was long gone before anyone else could have noticed.” Hotch responded to Derek’s little monologue.

Right next to her body was the Emperor card. A beautiful deep purple with gold lining depicting an emperor. The gold detailing reflected against the tall mirrors in the room. The card was reversed, like if she purposefully did that to tell the end to her story.

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @lgbtbau / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @pen3mily / @morcias / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @notsosmexy / @rxcklessly-bratty / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp

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jade-of-mourning · 3 years

Text

theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.

theformat wrote,

[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]

"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

Hi,

Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do?

Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.

Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that.

See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower.

You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower.

At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.

See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.

Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"

We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…

I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.

The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?

At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.

I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship.

I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.

This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.

It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.

It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…

In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.

So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".

Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen.

I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool!

He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.

Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.

I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.

It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped."

When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."

The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression.

I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.

Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.

[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.

Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.

Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it?

We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.

Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.

It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept.

In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?

My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.

I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.

Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.

Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!

So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.

After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road.

On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.

They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?

The Vanity Label was born.

The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened?

We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.

In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.

So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.

"Hello?"

"We're releasing it on the website today."

"Wow."

So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.

Without further ado...

"Dog Problems"

- Nate

#dog problems #the format #nate ruess #basically: dog problems; a lyrical & musical & emotional masterpiece #i honestly feel like i don't even need to write that essay anymore wtf #4.2k words baby that took me ages to edit bc he has the WORST typing habits #every half statement is interspersed with ellipses and there are no apostrophes and everything was no caps lmaooo #moving on #this is absolutely my favorite album ever and holy shit #finally reading this post in its entirety gave me so much more insight it's wild #i'm like so fucking emotional help jhfhbjgfhsdkg #i'm just glad he's doing alright now and having a good time even if music isn't a big part of his life anymore #and i also feel like i understand the breaking up of fun. a lot more as well #hell i just really understand nate ruess in general a lot more and it's really nice #bc he's been my favorite artist for a while and i know a lot of people shit on him for his personality but like. fuck off people are people #and u know. if work permits is my favorite song so hearing shit about it makes me happy #truly makes me appreciate the album more than i already did #and makes me get why it's the only part of his discography he still actually likes #even though OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING they are all Excellent but okay then nate

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jflashandclash · 3 years

Text

Tales from Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced III

That was how they spent the days: composing songs, learning instruments (he the harp and she the guitar), splashing in the ocean and the freshwater lake, lazing in the warmth of the beach, composing ballads about the clouds—he would sing one verse, then she; the next, until they had a full heavenly court composed of fluffy monsters.

Jack assured that he would stay to heal for three days and nights, but time in Ogygia didn’t move right. He counted. He’d stayed out the second night, watching the stars and the silver slit of a moon. There was an epoch he’d written for Flynn (she hadn’t heard it yet) that lasted thirty minutes when sung at the correct tempo. It was designed to cycle between Mandarin and English, so it would take an hour in total. Calypso came to join him in the garden.

The stars and moon never moved throughout the song.

Time does not have the same meaning here.

Did Calypso have any control over it? Was Jack experiencing more per second or did Ogygia have a different sun, ticking away on its own orbit exterior to the rest of the world? Would he leave in three days and Flynn be old? He didn’t mind her being old, but it broke his heart to think her worrying over him for or their time together stolen by old age.

Memo to self: find way to spend entity with Flynn. Jack reasoned they could, whether or not the war was won. Either they’d end up in Elysium together if they won or the Fields of Punishment if they lost. That’s where Greeks went when they died, right? Jack didn’t mind either way, as long as he had Flynn.

***

Jack found the body on the morning of the third day.

Calypso went to bath. Jack learned not to be easily stumbled upon when she bathed, so she had plenty of space or time to find items she may have forgotten—combs, jewelry, soap, shampoo, clothing.

The morning was pleasant, though everything had been pleasant, like the weather itself didn’t want to leave an impression that could indicate the passage of time.

Jack hadn’t explored the island yet. He had wanted to spend as much time working on Calypso’s feelings for Odysseus, but she avoided the topic. The Greek hero must have hurt her bad. She asked uncomfortable questions about Flynn—ones that grew more uncomfortable once she discovered that Flynn’s face was scarred. Jack loved her scars. Calypso had used a word he didn’t like: disfigured. Disfigured and barren, she mused. As though Flynn wasn’t beautiful because she had marks from living life. Jack had never known Flynn without those markings. There was no figuring to disfigure. It was just part of Flynn.

That was their talk over breakfast, then she’d gone to bathe. He just hadn’t wanted to be easily found, but not wanting to be easily found quickly turned to the realization that he could continue out of the hiding spot.

At Camp Othrys, there was always someone to make sure he was in the right place, at the right time. Someone checked to make sure he did his voice exercises before breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Someone walked him to his monster meditation sessions, his band practice, his room. Life was a continuous carousal of Flynn’s, Luke’s, his boys’, and the titans’ faces. Before that, the riders had been switched out for his family, teachers, pastors, and youth directors.

When was the last time he’d been alone?

Stepping alongside the cave, gliding his fingers along the rough, chilly exterior as a guide, he jittered with terrified delight. Hollowness fogged him for the first step: he missed band practice; singing with Calypso made him nostalgic for it. He missed Phil and the other monsters; recounting stories to Calypso conjured up their memories. But…

Everything was sharper here. Maybe he was allowed to explore.

There was no schedule. There was no “someone.” He had some time before Calypso would come looking for him—whether if she paused half way through a bath to come find something or finished off completely.

There seemed no badness on this island. No monsters. No death. He didn’t need to fear the walls screaming nor the ocean coming to eat him. This world felt less dangerous. Emptier. Sadder. Ethereal at times. But less dangerous.

With the excitement of calculated fear, Jack traced his fingers along the exterior of the cave.

***

He did not expect to find a groove in the façade and a second three feet after: a doorway tucked tightly behind aspen trees and foliage. When he sang to it, mimicking the gentle trill of Calypso’s voice when she called her invisible servants, he did not expect the stone to give way to a passageway. Peering inside, he didn’t expect to find a naturally-lit cavern, a mirror image to the one he’d been enjoying.

Winged creatures—birds?—exploded upwards from the hideaway, into some unseen escape above.

For a heartbeat, Jack wondered if Calypso had been wrong: maybe he did need his medication on Ogygia. This felt too fairy tale, too much like a demented stumble into a rabbit’s hole. This cave eerily reflected Calypso. Here, the harp was abandoned in the corner, wood warped and strings broken. The ingredients and herbs in the shelf looked rotted to black dust. Mold and moths crumbled the white linens of the bed into a green moss. The crystalline ceiling caved to allow gentle, pleasant sunrays to golden the center of the room, where Jack saw the unmistakable shape of a skeleton.

He froze, staring. Sometimes, if he looked long enough, things would go away. Sometimes, they were a trick of the light. His therapists and counselor told him to wait before panicking.

His chest hurt. Had he been holding his breath? Jack leaned forward, his hands still trailing the wall. There were more grooves, these much closer, much more systematic.

Upon checking the markings on the wall, Jack’s stomach dropped. There were numbers. The same kind some of the titans and monsters used: ancient Greek. They were carved into the walls—all of the walls. They twisted around the room, growing into longer numerical values. All of it was disrupted by one massive word, something that someone must have written in desperation or obsession:

Πηνελόπη

Jack knew enough Greek to read it.

PENELOPE

He took another step in.

More birds fluttered up through the hole in the ceiling. Jack flinched. No matter how many times he looked away, no matter how many steps he crept closer, the skeleton didn’t disappear. Jack knelt on the grassy mattress to inspect it. Judging from the size, he guessed it was a child or a very small person. There was a hole in the top back of the cranium, sending spidery fractures around it like rims of embroidery. It could have been broken when the roof caved in or maybe it was a death infliction—Jack didn’t have the coroner background to say.

Someone inhaled behind him.

Jack shrieked. He jumped, almost stumbling onto the skeleton. Instead, his legs buckled on a nearby box—a funerary box.

Calypso stood in the passageway. Her hair was damp, tinted to a deep brown. Its ends brushed her white dress, making sections semi-translucent. Wetness clung to her cheeks, but he doubted that came from her bath. Despite her eyes being shadowed, they were too wide.

Unless Jack sprouted wings to sore with the startled birds, she was in the way of his only exit.

Her voice was thick with emotion. “All ancient versions of the story have Odysseus leaving me with a child. Did new variations forget to mention that?”

Jack swallowed, horrified. He hadn’t found a mirror world of their little relaxing paradise; he’d found Odysseus’. His prison and his child’s tomb.

“You made it sound like the stories lied about you keeping him here against his will.” Jack scrambled off the funerary box, glad it hadn’t crumbled into a heap of rotted children’s toys. His skull hurt—he was tugging at his hair too tightly. He removed one hand to gesture at the walls. “Are these—are these markings about how many days he was here?”

She laughed: bitter, dark, heartbroken. “It’s not my fault he couldn’t keep track of how much time passes on Ogygia,” she whispered, “I gave him everything. Was kind and gentle. I offered him everything…” The wetness spread down her cheeks to drip into the increasing dampness of her dress.

Jack’s hand trembled. He forced himself not to curl into a ball, to rock, to banish the reality of the situation with thoughts that Flynn would come to save him. “B-but, he had a wife to go home to—”

“He had a terrible fate to bear!” she snarled.

“But he didn’t! After he left you, the Phaecians crafted him a marvelous boat, and sure, Poseidon destroyed it, but he fights off all of Penelope’s suitors, and he—and they—you—you kept Odysseus prisoner from his wife for seven years for no reason! You are an evil witch! A ‘terrible fate…’” Jack’s mockery died to horror. He took another step back, so the waterfall of sunlight and the child’s skeleton lay between their two spaces of shadow. Jack pressed against the cavern wall, feeling Odysseus’ scrawling, the numbers of days he’d desperately clawed out before he was allowed to return to his love. “‘A terrible fate…’” His memory whirled in the alarm. “That’s what you said about me… Oh titans—Oh Flynn! How long have I been here?!” He racked his fingers across the grooves in the wall, as though Odysseus’ ghost had kept a record in Jack’s absentmindedness.

How many other caves did Calypso have hidden? Ones with corpses of other lover’s children and other lover’s imprisonments.

“Jack…” Calypso’s voice chipped with emotion. She opened her hands towards him, as though for an embrace. “Come here. Let’s get away from this tomb. Let’s go sing on the beach or collect fruits and vegetables for breakfast…”

Something made Jack’s skin tingle. Hands, gentle but firm, clamped around his arms and dragged him forward, towards her. Her invisible servants.

Jack squirmed and fought, but each heartbeat glided him past and away from the dead child, from where Odysseus carved his days and the name of his love, and towards the outstretched arms of a spider in a woman’s skin.

The invisible hands released him at the edge of her fingertips. The warm, soft skin graced his neck.

Jack wrenched back. He ducked under her arm and out the tomb. Tree branches and foliage lashed his face and arms as he stumbled outside. The ground felt warm against his bare feet, the ocean breeze as soothing as a tranquilizer. His heartbeat pounded in cacophony to the easing whisper of the incoming tide. He kept running until he found the beach.

“Jack… you can’t leave.”

Her words came directly behind him, steady, with no indication that she’d run to catch up.

He whirled to find her standing there: perfect braid still dampening her dress, frown dripping with tears, face something he would find on a stained-glass window instead of before him in the planes of reality.

Water lapped up against his ankle. He swallowed down the salty air to quiet his stomach and the panic screaming in his head. “They’ll come for me,” he said, taking another step backwards. The rush of water hit his calf.

She shook her head. “They can’t.”

“I’ll—I’ll try every day!” Something sharp—maybe a shell—split Jack’s heel, but he refused to look away. If he blinked, she might grab him again. “I’ll swim as far as I can swim until I can’t swim anymore.”

Her throat bobbed with a sob. “I will not let you kill yourself in such a way! Besides…” She stared off into the distance, the dawn’s glimmer reflecting off her almond eyes. “Don’t you think Odysseus tried that? Where do you think he ended up as soon as he lost consciousness?”

Jack’s jaw dropped. He shook his head and stomped a foot into the surf. “No—no—there must be a way—”

“Jack, you can’t get away.” All the mirth and sweetness left her voice reduced to a clogged drone. “There is no leaving this place. No matter where you go—”

“No—”

“—all roads lead back to me. And—”

“Shut up!”

“—I’m tired of being alone.”

“I said shut up!” the words vibrated painfully in his throat.

Her lip quivered. “Why must you be so cruel, brave one?”

“Cruel? Cruel?!” Jack laughed until his voice felt hoarse. “What’s cruel is keeping me away from my home—”

“I get you for at least seven years!” It was her turn to ball her fists in a fit of temper, like the pastor’s daughter caught taking ice cream money out of the donation box. “If you stay, you’ll have immorality. You’ll have agelessness. You’ll have your sanity!”

“I don’t want any of those things! All I want is my family—”

“I can be your family—unlike that barren, disfigured whore who refuses to be your wife.”

Jack’s terror and panic twisted tightly in his stomach. Blood thumped against his ears. His fingers trembled as he clutched at the guitar string braided around his wrist. “You can’t assume every person that washes ashore will fall in love with you, you presumptuous—”

“But, that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. You will love me.” That fragile, kindly veneer chipped.

Jack thought about the notches Odysseus carved into the wall, about the other dead children probably hidden in caverns throughout the island. How many times had Calypso been abandoned over the years? He may have pitied her if it hadn’t broken her mind and warped her into the exact, spoiled goddess Camp Othrys sought to destroy.

Sanity. She offered me sanity. Jack didn’t want this ability to reason. Life made sense here and the sense it made was cold, dark, and absurd.

“Ms. Calypso,” he whispered, “I know you’re too old to be acquainted with this, but, Stockholm syndrome isn’t love. It’s exhaustion, compliance, and distorted empathy. Forcing someone to love you by wearing them down isn’t love at all—it’s perversion, it’s defilement—” He scowled, locking his jaw. “Take back what you said about Flynn.”

Calypso’s beauty soured with anger. The island itself seemed to thicken with fog. “I don’t want to hear anymore about Flynn.”

“Why? Because what Odysseus said about Penelope doesn’t apply here?” Jack demanded, reviewing the verses of the epic. Odysseus had complimented Calypso, caved to her, if nothing else than out of fear of a wrathful goddess. Jack snorted, “’I know that my wise Penelope, when a man looks at her, is far beneath you in form and stature.’ You’re not better than Flynn. She doesn’t base her worth off needing a man’s romantic love, you delusional, archaic bitch. And I’m never going to stop trying to get back to her. And if you think you won’t let me go…” Jack’s nails dug into the metal of his guitar chord. “I’m going to make you.”

Calypso’s eyes blazed with rage. The air went static, breeze abruptly dying, and the tide seemed to smother its unending whisper. As Jack had experienced some of the times Luke lost his temper to Kronos, Jack realized he was in the presence of a goddess—an immortal being with powers he could not fathom. And he was about to fight her to go home.

“I’m going to make you sick.” Jack laughed. This wasn’t the overpowering need to quiet his siblings. This was a much more calculated hatred. “And if you still won’t let me leave, I’ll make you sicker. I’ll give you leprosy to rot off your nose and show you what superficial love gives you!”

She may have been a goddess that cornered Odysseus, but he was Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, the Scourge of New Rome, the Shame of Apollo and he was ready to sing.

“Darling, all night

I have been flickering—”[1]

Calypso’s anger melted back to sadness. She raised a hand, and Jack wondered if here, already, was a sign of defeat.

The collar of Jack’s shirt constricted. The strings—so carefully spun on Calypso’s loom—obediently stretched up his neck. Folds of cloth twisted into his open mouth. The song died. He choked on the gag.

Jack fumbled with the material. He clawed where the ridges dug into his cheeks. As soon as his forearms came up, the front of his tunic fused to his shirt sleeves. The material tightened, binding him until he was stuck in the position of Van Gogh’s Scream.

Something tugged at his feet. Jack frantically searched down. Strands unwound from the end of his pants, crisscrossing and weaving. He managed one step backwards before it cinched his feet together.

His choked screams clogged to whimpers. Jack collapsed into the water, thrashing. Salt water splashed into his eyes, mixing with his tears. The material soaked up what had once been a refreshing coastline.

Flynn! He wanted to shriek. Oh, titans, please—Flynn! As Calypso’s wet dress sashayed closer, the pounding in his head increased, encasing him like the full body straight jacket she’d hidden in his clothing.

Calypso’s dress winkled with the layering of stratocumulus clouds. The soothing lull of water resumed, a mocking cacophony to his clashing heartbeat. He wished the ocean would overtake him, that the waves would encircle him like this binding and drag him into its uncaring depths, away from her caring embrace.

Fingers graced his cheek. They were warm to the touch in the iciness of the island. Jack sobbed, thinking about kissing after Flynn’s fingers in the morning, about never getting to feel her calluses again.

These fingers, Calypso’s fingers, were silky, salacious, and knew the methodical patience of a spider feeling its web vibrate. “No, Jack,” she cooed, lifting his head from the sand and water. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay here.” She curled the strands of his hair off his forehead. Her dress—more suffocating material—pressed into his cheek as she lay his head in her lap. “And we’ll be happy together forever.” Or for seven years. Or at least until a god came to save him.

They sat on the edge of the beach, staring off into an eternal sunrise with the sound of her hums and Jack’s whimpers in euphony with the tide.

Seven years. Or until a god saved him.

Jack had forsaken all gods and time didn’t pass in Ogygia.

***

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! and thank all of you for your patience at this time and your continued interest despite my hiatus! I hope you enjoyed!

Footnote:

[1] Silvia Plath.

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #TOO #Traitors of Olympus #Jack #Calypso #AND THE REVEAL

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baroquebucky · 4 years

Text

Italian days

request: could you write something about going to Italy with timothee? Im just imagining how cute and romantic it would be 🥺

a/n: this is so cute !!! prepare for typical tourist attractions also i have no idea where any of these things are in relation to each other so :-) i literally googled what to do in these places bc I’ve never been sorry guys:-( this ones long so strap in and get ready !!! let me know what y’all think abt it ! i kinda wanna make headcanons about this too hehe >:) I hope you all enjoy it and send me some requests 🥰

You quickly finished packing your last t shirt in the already full suitcase, putting your weight onto it so that you could zip it up fully. You were excited for the trip that timothee had planned for the two of you, giddy to finally spend some alone time with you favorite boy. “ma cherie are you almost done?” you heard timmy call out from the living room. Quickly you grabbed the final bag off the bed and scanned the room, going over a mental checklist to ensure you didn't forget anything.

“okay i have everything, did you get everything? Do you have all the things you need? What time is it? Are we gonna be late? Oh god what if the plane leaves without us” you began to ramble, going through every worst case scenario possible. Timothee looked at you in awe, he had never seen you this nervous about anything before, he least expected it to come out right before a romantic getaway.

“angel, calm down, it’s fine let’s go to the airport we’re right on time” he smiled at you, giving you a quick kiss before he helped you with your bags and you two headed to the Uber waiting outside your shared apartment. As you helped him squeeze the luggage in you both sat in the backseat, you were so excited for the trip.

“You know we should go to Paris for our next anniversary” timmy spoke offhandedly, mindlessly playing with your hair as the movie you had chose played on the tv. “That would be fun, I’ve never been there” you smiled, looking at him briefly before your eyes settled on the screen again.

“where have you traveled to?” He questioned, curious as to all the places you’ve visited. “mmm i mean I’ve never been to Europe, i left the state a couple times for road trips but that’s about it” you replied, not thinking anything of the question. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been to Italy?” He gasped and you laughed at his shock.

“We aren’t all stars or rich Chalamet” you suppressed laughter but one look at his facial expression caused you to burst into a fit of laughter. “That’s it im booking a flight to Italy, we can go to venice and oh we could even travel to where we filmed call me by your name! And then we could go to Rome!” He gushed, moving quickly to get his laptop.

You were excited, until you realized you had $20 in your wallet and maybe $67 in you bank account. “Timothée wait no” you spoke, rushing behind him to stop him. He turned around confused as to why you didn’t want to go.

“do you not wanna go? I thought you liked Italy? You show me videos about people going there all the time” he asked, searching your face for an answer. “I do! I’ve always wanted to go there” you stated, sighing as your gazes met. “it’s just- how am i gonna pay for my ticket? I don’t have enough money and-” before you could finish timothée cut you off.

“what makes you think you’re paying?” He grinned, running to the room to get the laptop once again. You messed with your fingers for a second, you didn’t want him to spend money on you, you’ve always felt bad about it.

“timmy no you can’t just buy me a ticket there” you spoke, walking into the room, seeing the boy sitting on the bed, legs crossed with the laptop in his lap. He furrowed his brows and replied without looking up from his screen. “Why not? You’re my girl, think of it as a present” he smiled, you opened your mouth to protest but he quickly stopped you.

“i just bought them so you can’t take it back” he beamed, you frowned for a second before he gave you the puppy eyes. Of course you couldn’t resist, you tackled him with a hug and kissed him, thanking him a million times.

And so here the two of you were, sitting in the backseat on your way to the airport, going over the loose itinerary timothée had made for the two of you once you landedin Venice. He had gone beyond what you expected to make this trip memorable despite telling him to not worry.

When you got to the airport everything went surprisingly smooth despite you being nervous the whole time. The two of you bought breakfast and ate it in the little food court, then headed to the gate which your plane would be in and played games while waiting to board.

Once the plane arrived the two of you got on, of course he had bought first class, you wanted to scold him for spending so much but as soon as you saw how excited he was you couldn’t be mad at him. “look! we get pillows and everything” he giggled, you smiled at him and nodded, equally as excited as him. The two of you ended up watching two movies, falling asleep during the second one.

You woke up first, smiling at the sight of timmy with messy hair, mouth slightly parted and cheeks lightly flushed as he slept. You decided to wait on waking him up, instead you occupied yourself by looking out the window and listening to your music.

The landing woke timothée up and he smiled at you brightly, it took him a couple minutes to really wake up, mumbling incoherently before he came fully to his senses.

As soon as you got off the plane you were excited, pulling timothée along to get out of the airport as soon as possible. When you finally got everything and exited you got into the car timothée had ordered for the two of you and headed to the hotel to unpack.

Timothée posted a picture of you staring out the window in awe onto his Instagram story, “she’s excited right now, just wait until she sees the canals” he wrote, smiling as he thought of all the pictures the two of you would take.

You expected an average hotel room, if timothée really splurged then maybe above average, you did not expect to get the presidential suite at a five star hotel. The smile on your face made everything worth it to timothée, he made sure this trip would be memorable. “Timothée Hal Chalamet! How much did you fucking spend!” You squeaked, rushing around the room to check everything on.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is that you get changed and get ready, we’re in Venice for two days before our next stop and I have so much for us to do” he smiled, pulling you in for a kiss which you quickly returned. Resting your head on his chest you sighed, taking a Monet to let everything sink in. You’re in Italy with the love of your life. Holy shit.

Timothée had bought multiple disposable cameras for the two of you to use, wanting to develop all of them by the time you guys got back home.

Before you knew it you were wandering the streets of Venice, a permanent smile on your face as you took so many photos of the scenery and of timothée and of course together. The two of you visited the top tourist spots like Saint Marks Basilica, the both of you in awe of its beauty and laughing until your stomach hurt feeding the pidgeons.

Timothée was scared for his life when a pidgeon landed on his shoulder, immediately going stiff and begging for you to help him. You quickly pulled out your phone, recording him and zooming into his face, a face of pure fear. After you posted it you quickly shooed the pidgeon away, holding his hand and a small pidgeon landed on your shoulder and you fed it out of your free hand.

You smiled brightly at timothée who had moved away from you slightly causing you to giggle. “You laugh now but I’m gonna be the one poop free, those things are ruthless” he stated, a serious look on his face which quickly turned soft as you attempted to pet the bird on you. “Look at him he’s so cute!” You gushed, drowning as it flew away.

“Cmon sweet girl, we have a ride to catch, in the canal” he winked and you gasped, pulling him before you stopped, realizing you didn’t know where you were even going.

When the two of you arrived he helped you into the boat, it was only the two of you and the one driving the small boat, you were sitting next to each other, pointing at everything, a constant smile on both of your faces. He held your hand the whole time, most of the time looking at you rather than the sights you were in such awe of. A small smile on his face as he admired how beautiful you looked, you looked so stress free and happy and he knew everything else he had planned was so worth it if he got to see you like this.

After the ride on the canals the two of you ate at a small little restaurant, drinking some wine and talking about the days events.

“I just think it’s funny that you were that scared of the pidgeons” you giggled, and he frowned at you, “i wasn’t scared, i was just- cautious” he smirked, watching you roll your eyes at his remark.

The two of you finished dinner, walking around the now calmer streets, admiring everything at night for about an hour, kissing under streetlights and chasing one another through the streets, laughter bouncing off the buildings.

The two of you showered once you got back to the hotel and absolutely crashed after you had snuggled under the sheets. The two of you exhausted from the plane ride and walking everywhere all day.

You both woke up late in the morning to the sound of timothées alarm, you yawned, burying yourself more into timothées side, wanting ten more minutes. “Wake up mon amour i still have some stuff planned for today before we leave for Florence” he spoke softly into your hair, kissing the top of your head. He had decided to skip on taking you to Crema, deciding it would make for a good excuse to come back.

You woke up slowly, getting ready and waiting for timothée on the bed once you had finished. You were starving but you didn’t want to eat without him. You laid on your stomach and dozed off only to wake up to a now fully dressed timothée, smiling at you and kissing your nose. “let’s go eat and then we can head out” he whispered and you nodded, getting up from the bed and following him out the door.

The two of you spent the day walking around and seeing anything else you wanted, eating much too much food and buying way too many souvenirs. The day seemed to fly by and before you knew it you were headed to Florence, of course shoving all your luggage into the bus that the two of you were taking to the wonderful city. You slept most of the way while timothée read through a script for a new movie. He woke you up gently when you guys arrived, piling out along with everyone else as the two of you found the car timothée had ordered for this city, heading to yet another 5 star hotel with an amazing room.

It was late at night so the two of you only slipped into bed and set an alarm for later tomorrow morning, cuddling through the whole night, waking up once to eat some of the fruit that the hotel had given to the two of you as a gift.

The next morning the alarm went off and you quickly turned it off, placing your head on timothées chest, a smile on your face while he played with your hair.

“let’s get ready, i have something special planned, wear that one outfit you brought, you know the one that you said you’ve always wanted to wear?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and nodded, going to get ready.

After you finished you scrolled through your phone, replying to people and sifting through the pictures from Venice, deleting the ones which turned out bad or way too blurry. You decided to lay on your side, thinking you wouldn’t fall back asleep but you were wrong. Before you knew it you felt a gentle nudge.

“Cmon sleeping beauty i have a picnic for us” he beamed, a twinkle in his eye. You woke up quickly, a giant grin on your face as your mouth fell open. “A picnic? Oh my god this is a dream, angel you’re so amazing oh my god! I love you so much” You gushed, tackling timothée once you got off the bed and hugging him tightly, kissing him all over his face.

“i love you more ma cherie, now lets go” he smiled, opening the door for you and quickly taking your hand while walking down the halls.

You had ended up accidentally falling asleep in the car, head on timothées shoulder, he recorded you, saving it but not posting it, knowing if he did you would get him back and start a full fledged war.

As the car approached the Piazzle Michaelangelo he shook you softly, your eyes fluttered open and a small smile overtook your features. “Oh my god it’s so pretty” you gasped as the two of you stepped out of the car and onto the concrete floor, he got the picnic basket from the car as you went to save a spot on the steps. He quickly found you and opened the basket between the two of you, eating the food and making conversation, laughing and enjoying the fact that both of you were in Italy, overlooking Florence.

After sitting there for a while, cuddling and pointing things out the two of you drove into the city, excited to see everything the city had to offer. The two of you walked down the streets hand in hand, taking pictures once more and in awe of the beauty the city offered.

Of course the two of you drove all over the city visiting museums, seeing all the statues and artworks you had always admired through your phone screen. You almost wanted to cry of happiness seeing everything in person, you walked quickly in the museums, timothée barely keeping up with you as you rushed everywhere, making sure you absorbed every last detail.

Of course timothée took the typical you looking at art picture, and of course he posted it and captioned it “art looking at art” causing his fans to go feral, everyone tweeting and posting about how cute the two of you were. You held timmys hand when you realized he was dragging behind, pulling him along and forcing him to move at your speed.

“oh my god I love this painting, look at the brushstrokes! I read once that when he was painting this-” you began, going into detail about said artists life. Timothée stared at you, his chest swelling with love, a smile on his face as you went on and on about the paintings, he hung onto every word you said, loving the way your eyes lit up and the amount of emotion in your voice as you spoke of what you loved.

After you had visited the museums l, the two of you walked all over the city, taking in the culture and also taking many breaks and calling a cab to go to places he had planned to take you. Of course he set up a reservation at a fancy restaurant, eating to your hearts delight and drinking amazing wine, overseeing the bustling city as the sun set.

“i cannot believe we’re in Florence Italy” you sighed happily, looking out at the city while you sipped on your wine, timothée smiled at you. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you enough angel, you really made my dreams come true” you spoke, turning towards your curly headed boyfriend and he shook his head.

“you don’t have to thank me ma cherie. I love seeing you happy, you deserve the world and I’m going to give everything i can to you, you’ve always supported me through anything and everything, you know me so well, i just love you so much” he answered. “but- you can thank me by letting me post a bunch of pictures of you everywhere” he smiled shyly, blushing slightly. You smiled brightly at him, your love for him growing. “oh baby of course” you giggled.

The next day was just as action packed, going to multiple cathedrals and basilicas which you hadn’t gotten to the day before, and then spending time in the gardens, taking so many pictures of each other, half of them turning out blurry because the two of you couldn’t stop laughing.

He held you hand the whole time, keeping you close to him the whole time, kissing you at times and always looking at you with so much love. All over Twitter and Instagram were pictures of the two of you holding hands and laughing, many of them with one of the two of you pointing at something, many of the ones with you pointing had timothée looking at you with a smile rather than what you were showing him, it gave you butterflies.

That night you headed to the hotel early, packing everything to catch the late night flight to Rome, the last destination on the trip. The two of you packed quickly, racing to see who would finish first. This made timothée sneak up behind you and unfold your tshirts, run back to his area and rush to finish, an attempt to beat you. You were one step ahead, you had hidden his shampoo so you had no problem re folding while he ran around everywhere.

“I’m done!” You announced proudly, smiling at your boyfriend and he rolled his eyes, a pout on his face. “That’s not fair! I finished before you i just lost my shampoo” he responded, you smirked at him. “Check under your pillow” his eyes went wide and raced to get it, jaw dropping when he found it. “y/n i swear one day im gonna beat you at these competitions” he huffed, pushing you playfully and you shoved him back laughing.

The two of you cuddled the whole time in the airport, attached to the hip, and napping until your flight boarded, where the two of you also slept the whole time. When you finally arrived in Rome, you both headed to the hotel, knocking out there too, excited for the next two days in Rome before returning home. The two of you only had two cameras left, it filled you with excitement to get the photos developed, knowing you would have so many pictures of him to post and an endless amount of wallapapers.

When the two of you awoke the next morning you headed out quickly, excited to spend yet another day together.

“timothée oh my god look at that dog! Do you think he speaks Italian?” You questioned, smiling at the small dog that walked past the two of you. “I’m sure he does my angel” he replied, laughing. Pulling you along the busy street, putting his arm around your waist.

The two of you marveled at the colosseum, mind running wild at the thought of people using it. “You think they ever had a concert in there?” You asked your boyfriend who giggled, “im not so sure they did my angel” you thought about someone using it today. “What if someone tried to have on in there today” you smiled and timothée quickly replied, “as soon as the speakers start blasting everything would just crumble” you laughed at the thought of someone wanting to have fun only to ruin one of the most iconic pieces of history.

The two of you walked along the streets, holding hands and swinging them back and forth, debating where to go next. “How about the pantheon?” You suggested and he nodded with a smile, “you read my mind darling.”

The two of you got there surprisingly quickly and sat down for a second, both of your guys’ feet hurting. You put your head on timmys shoulder, closing your eyes for a second, you could hear everyone talking, the sound of cars and the wind. “Are you tired mon amour?” Timothée asked, not wanting to tire you out so much, he wanted you excited and happy not tired.

“just a bit, but I’m sure it’ll leave as soon as we see the Vatican” you spoke, a smile forming on your face as you opened your eyes and looked at the brunette next to you. He kissed your cheek, getting up and extending a hand to help you up. “Let’s go see what all those shops we passed have had to offer later yeah?” He grinned and you nodded, stretching a little before falling into step with him.

The two of you arrived at the Vatican and you swear you had never felt more in awe than staring at everything inside, everything was so adorned and beautiful, even the pillars on the outside when the two of you were waiting (only for like 5 minutes) made you smile in amazement. Timothée and you kept pointing out everything, a smile on both of your faces. Both of your cheeks hurt from smiling so much but neither of you complained, too happy to care.

After the two of you walked around for a bit more you left and entered the busy streets of Rome once again, taking pictures of each other all the time and stopping to look at anything and everything. “Let’s go get something to eat” you suggested. “Oh yeah I’m starving after all that walking” he replied, pulling out his phone to find a nice place to get food.

Soon enough he found a nice spot and the two of you arrived there quickly, excited to eat. After ordering and eating the two of you sat in comfortable silence, taking the time to wind down before going back out. “can we go to the Trevi Fountain? I brought coins for us to throw in” you asked and timothée wanted to kiss you all over and hug you and never let you go because god you were so fucking cute.

“of course we can go mon amour, are you ready to go right now?” He asked and you nodded, he paid quickly before taking his hand in yours, the two of you walking slower than before, you were leaning on him slightly, he was talking about some story that had happened to him in high school. You don’t remember exactly how the story had come up but you were grateful that it had.

As the two of you continued walking hand in hand and smiling at the sights you realized that no one had disturbed the two of you this whole trip which was very surprising, but you were grateful that his fans were respectful of the two of you. “okay i told you am embarrassing story of me in high school you tell me one” he pushed and you groaned, stealing the water bottle from his hands and gulping down the drink.

“i wasn’t really embarrassing in high school, i had like five friends and we always looked out for one another, middle school i was the biggest emo alive” you shuddered thinking back to all the diary entries you had made. “I remember i wrote this one poem that was so cringe and i thought it was the best thing ever written” you cringed at the memory and he bursted our laughing, leaning into you as he did so.

“Do you still have said diary?” He questioned, a mischievous smile forming on his face, “back at my parents house yeah” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him, “but you will never lay your eyes on a single one of those pages Hal” you sternly replied, smiling as he rolled his eyes and pulled you closer to him, putting his arm around you. “We’ll see about that one” he smiled.

“oh my god! Timmy there it is!” You shrieked, energy suddenly overflowing as you ran, pulling timothee with you causing him to almost trip over his feet. You pushed through the crowd, saying excuse me and sorrys until you got the the front of the fountain. Timothée arrived a couple seconds after you, out of breath and amazed at how fast you had ran.

“ma cherie you need to slow down” he spoke, leaning over to catch him breath. You stared at the fountain in awe, a smile sprawled across you face, taking in the beauty of it all. “I can’t believe I’m really here” you whispered, timothée got up, wrapping both his arms around your waist. “Believe in my love” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek.

Suddenly you heard a crack of thunder and soon enough rain started pouring, the once crowded area was now close to empty as everyone ran for shelter, you and timothée didn’t budge, mainly because you didn’t even flinch and refused to move.

you turned to timothée, hair sticking to both of your foreheads a wild smile on your face as you dig into your pocket, looking for the coins you had brought. Quickly you handed one to timothée. “Ready?” You smiled and he nodded. “Okay, 1, 2, 3!” You shouted, the coins flipping into the water at the same time. Turning to timothée you found him smiling at you and you laughed.

“When in Rome” you said before bunching his shirt into your fist and pulling him into a kiss, you eyes shutting as rain fell around the two of you. The kiss was what you imagined the movie ones were like, passionate and loving. You smiled into the kiss before you opened your eyes and pulled away.

“you drive me crazy y/n” he whispered, a giant smile on his face as you wiped away the water from your eyes and pushed the hair out of your face. “Should we get out of the rain?” You giggled and he nodded, “probably, we don’t wanna get sick” he joked and you punched him. “Don’t fucking jinx it!” You yelled, running to the nearest shelter you could find, which so happened to be a tourist shop.

Shopping with timothée was always fun, shopping with timothée in another country was another level. He wanted to buy you everything you looked at, he would buy you at $50 shirt if you really wanted it. The two of you were dripping wet and needed to buy new clothes or else you would definitely get sick. You ended up wearing tacky tourist shirts, getting matching ones of course and buying souvenirs for everyone back home as well as a few things to decorate and to keep for yourselves.

Considering how hard it was pouring and the fact that the two of you now had wet socks you decide to call it a day and go back to the hotel room, not wanting to get sick considering tomorrow was the last day. You were glad that it was already 5 pm, you wouldn’t have missed that much that you had planned and you could easilh get to them tomorrow.

You guys quickly got into a car and made your way back to the hotel, opting on showering together. As the two of you stepped in you let out a sigh at the feeling of the warm water. You let the water rinse the two of you off before shutting it off and getting timothées shampoo, telling him to turn around so you could wash his hair.

“thank you for this whole trip baby, it’s really been a dream come true” you spoke, massaging the shampoo into his hair. “Im sorry that it rained sweetheart, i really wanted us to be able to do everything because this was supposed to be perfect and-” you frowned at him despite his back being to you. “Timothée you can’t control the weather! And even then this trip is already perfect because I’m here with you. I’m in Italy with the love of my life dammit, ive drank so much good wine and eaten even more good food! We haven’t gotten this much time alone in god knows how long, you’ve literally had a chauffeur in every city so that we didn’t have to worry about parking and you made us an itinerary! Everything about this trip has been perfect, even the hiccups in the road.” You stated, smiling at the memories the two of you had already made.

You turned the water back on to rinse the shampoo out of his hair and he smiled at you, kissing you on the forehead. “And plus, i finally got my kiss in the rain AND it was infront of the trevi fountain, how am i supposed to complain again ever?” You smiled up at him, he laughed and quickly closed his eyes as shampoo rinsed from his hair. He grabbed your shampoo and began to wash your hair, you relaxed at his touch and closed your eyes.

“I love you so much angel, you don’t even understand” he whispered, you hummed in response. He gave you a soft kiss to your neck, giving you goosebumps.

Soon enough you guys hopped out of the shower, warm and clean and changed into some pijamas, snuggling into bed and looking out of the giant window next to you. Between the sound of the rain hitting the window and timothées soft breathing, you quickly dozed off, not caring that it was only 6:30 pm and you’d probably wake up at 2 am with an insane amount of energy. Timothée asked you something,confused as to why you weren’t replying until he looked at you, a bashful smile on his face when he saw you sleeping.

“you know i love you so much, you mean the world to me mon amour, there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for you” he whispered, brushing your hair lightly to get it out of your face. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, turning the lights off in the room before closing his eyes and drifting off the sleep alongside you.

You ended up not even waking up throughout the night, instead sleeping until early the next morning. You hadn’t realized how tired you had been until now since you were more energetic than ever, excited to get as much in on the last day.

Timothée was the one dragging you around everywhere today, determined to get through the list had made, you smiled at him as he explained everything to you, surprised at how much he knew. “When did you make this list anyway?” You asked over lunch, looking up at him after you chewed your food. “I woke up at 2am and i couldn’t sleep but i didn’t wanna wake you up so i made this list and researched everything so i can give you the full tour guide experience” he replied, a giant smile on his face as you gawked at him.

“yeah that’s it, I’m gonna marry you” you shrugged, continuing to eat as timothée blushed and kept eating. The conversation flowing easily between the two of you and a comfortable silence falling into place at times.

The day continued quickly, visiting many more sites and before you knew it your disposable camera came to an end, and 30 minutes later so did timothées as the sunset. The two of you sat down on a bench, waiting on your guys’ driver to arrive so the two of you could pack up and head home.

“i can’t believe it’s over” you smiled softly, sad that it was over but happy that it happened. “Don’t worry mon amour im sure we’ll be back soon enough” he smiled and you put your head on his shoulder. “I love you with everything I have timothée” you spoke, looking up at him from your position. He kissed your forehead gently, “i love you so much more y/n” he smiled.

The two of you once again raced to pack up, you purposefully ‘lost’ your favorite shirt and let him win, although he would always hold it against you, it didn’t matter because you would lose over and over and over again if it meant seeing the amount of joy on his face when he shouted “IM DONE” and looked over at you with an unzipped suitcase.

As the two of you were waiting at the airport gate you had to make the obligatory Instagram post, gathering pictures of the two of you together and of yourself to post, you smiled as you picked out the photos. Searching the internet to see if anyone had caught the two of you kissing in the rain in front of the fountain, which of course they had. You looked over at a napping timothée, smiling as you set the photo as your lockscreen and added it to your post, quickly you typed out your caption.

“Italian days <3”

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