#but the moment he runs out of force points and jumps into the fray he goes down. sigh

[hiddenbeks]

more than a month after my previous kotor update i am happy to announce that i have finally met jolee and had him join me <3

[authortobenamedlater]

*slides this E4 deep dive under the door right before the deadline*

Sick of being sick, this took forever to finish.

The good:

I really liked the touches of “ordinary people doing extraordinary things.” Louis is blind but he still shoulders the grenade launcher. Danilo is a physical therapist and runs into the fray to aid the wounded. Talia is a Marine, sure, but she’s a basically a radio operator. She probably joined to pay for college or something. And she goes with John to FLEETCOM after he said she didn’t have to. Then she flies a bunch of civilians to safety while a bunch of jackals are eating Jacob Keyes for dinner. Riz and Vannak and John are made for this, literally, but many people who weren’t went above and beyond to defend Reach in a losing fight.

John going up against the cloaked elite (the Var Gatanai mentioned at the end of last episode, I assume) is pretty great, as is Talia jumping in with a tire iron. And the energy sword fight toward the end? Mm-hm.

Soren’s “kid watching Mom and Dad fight” moment with Jacob and Halsey 😂 Why do I think little Soren drove Jacob to the edge of his sanity?

John’s FACE when he gets called up during Jacob’s speech. I’m never going to stop finding that funny.

The episode does a good job letting the audience breathe in between the action. Soren especially provides some levity.

The bad:

Vannak deserved better.

Jacob got a great ending, better than his game self, but we never even got to see him step foot on a ship. His promotion to admiral doesn’t even make sense. However, he was the only flag officer who didn’t bug out and deserves props for it.

No Kai, but I didn’t expect her since she’s likely on her way to Onyx with the S-IIIs. She’ll probably be furious once she learns Reach fell and she wasn’t there to fight.

I want The Chief & Cortana Show. This is why I’m here. I will forgive the absence of my faves if we get lots of John comforting Cortana after she leads the Covenant to Earth. Or just a really good reunion.

Questions/speculations/wishful thinking:

Why did Ackerson take the Spartans’ gear? Mr suspects personal vendetta but I wonder if Ackerson has reasons beyond that. He said the Master Chief is “just a guy in a suit.” Does Ackerson want to put someone else in the suit? It would fit with the running theme of the people In Charge want John to be replaceable. Halsey wanted to replace John’s mind, does Ackerson want to replace his body?

One of the trailers shows John walking out of FLEETCOM in his armor, so he obviously gets it back at some point, but I want to know Ackerson’s agenda.

John says they need people like Keyes giving orders, or they’ll be left with people like Ackerson. Well, now Keyes is gone, so who will be Ackerson’s foil? I can’t really think of anyone on the show or in main canon. Miranda is the only possibility and smart as she is, she’s not ready for that.

I don’t think Reach has truly fallen yet. There’s enough footage in trailers (like John walking out of FLEETCOM in his armor) to make me think this is going to drag awhile. Will we get Operation: First Strike? Maybe I’m majoring on a minor, but in an S1 episode Parangosky tells Jacob to call Admiral Whitcomb. Admiral Whitcomb leads Blue Team and friends in First Strike.

Cortana will be forced to lead the Covenant fleet to Earth. This is how we get that shot of John on the drop ship with Jupiter in the foreground.

Vannak is dead and Kai is leading the S-IIIs. Silver Team is getting split. Is John going to get a new team or is he going off by himself? I’m inclined to think the latter at least for the immediate future.

Vannak is going to get hauled to The Body Shop better known as Castle Base for some new parts. They did it with Kelly.

It’s hard to speculate on what next week holds, since aside from Kai with the S-IIIs and John getting to the Halo, Paramount is being tight-lipped about the back half of the season. From the trailer, I suspect we’ll find out what role Kwan plays going forward and what happened with John and Cortana getting separated, and we’ll meet the S-IIIs. Next episode is called Aleria, which according to Halopedia is some butt-end of nowhere colony nobody cares about. I’m not even sure what to make of how it could relate to the episode based on what I’ve seen.

[2x4plank]

TWDG S1 Character Opinions

At first, I was gonna do a ranking but I soon realized how fruitless that was as I enjoyed pretty much every main character in Season One and don't wanna do any injustice any character.

Lee - Literally who doesn't love Lee (except Larry). He is a rational, patient father figure who takes it upon himself to take care of Clementine. And to the end of his life, he keeps that purpose at the top of his mind, crossing a sea of dead and devising a way to get her out of Savannah safely. He also gets points for the open sesame joke ( and his great sense of humor in general), the way he raises his hand when questioned about his interest in civil war history, being a black protagonist, and so on and so forth.

He has the unsaid sadness of losing his family and not even the chance to lean on anybody because he doesn't want his past crime to be revealed. He has to perform a balancing act of keeping the group together through starvation and their arguments. He stacks the responsibility of a child ontop of that. 111111/10 character!

Clementine - She's literally my daughter. She's everybody's daughter--you adopt her the moment you see her. She's quiet at first but has streak of mischief and resilience. When you find out she's been led on by the stranger with her parents being the carrot on the stick, you realize that the disappearance of her parents affected her way more than what she let's on. She might seem "tough" (and to some degree she is), but she's also a child and we shouldn't expect her to just get over anything. I find the stranger leading Clementine away after stalking your group to be one of the stronger horror elements in TWDG and its an aspect I think about a lot.

As time goes on, we see Clementine grow up with Lee no longer around. The man who protected her will be replaced with adults who don't treat her like the child she is. She suffers from their incompetence and toxicity and is forced to make calls she shouldn't have to make. This constant reliance on her factors into her adoption of AJ, as not only have his parents died, but she wants to take care of him just as Lee took care of her, and sees herself as the most fit to do so.

Kenny - Oh goodness. He makes me feel confused, and not even when talking about his season two incarnation. I like him lots and lots. I hate him, sometimes, also. I feel confused. He has a very funny onscreen presence, but sometimes, quite an offensive one. I'm speaking from the place of someone who would be affected by his bigotry for a multitude of reasons.

Kenny starts as a cowardly man, but someone who is willing to run into the fray for those who are on his side. He comes back to save Lee and considers him a good friend. If you agree with his decision to kill Larry and protect everyone in the locker room, he'll work with Lee to kill Danny and grow even closer to him, making him one of your closest comrades and a ride or die once his family's gone. Being there for his family was one of the caveats that kept him from coming to the rescue, outside of general self preservation. I don't think if they were still around he would've jumped down for Christa.

Another big thing with Kenny is his explosive dogmatism. You need to agree with him and do it HIS way. If you don't, it's a whole argument. I love when he starts shit in Episode Three with Lilly and then he's like, "We can work this out! Everybody calm down." KENNY!!! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STARTS STUFF! YOU'RE THE AGITATOR!

Katjaa - I love her so much! I love her design, I love her voice, and I love the way she handles shit to the best of her ability. Not only is she willing to get sad and bloody (even before the apocalypse, being a vet and all), but her awesome bravery (is that the word I should use?) when she's holding onto Duck as he's dying. That is an incredibly painful thing to do but she remains so memorably steel-faced (like that expression she gives is seared into my brain), knowing that as a parent that she should provide Duck comfort in his last moments (UNLIKE KENNY, WHO CHICKENED OUT AT THIS POINT!) even though she has to be so close to his suffering.

She's often gentle but she can be stern when the time comes. 12/10 no notes!

Duck - Awh, he's adorable! I will never understand why people could hate this kid. He's literally just a busy body. I was personally on the other side of the spectrum, being pretty low-energy at that age, but I'm not gonna hate on the little guy. He didn't do anything wrong. I will always get a laugh at how no matter how explicit you were that they were all eating Mark that Duck will pause for only a second, look slightly confused, and then resume eating. It's so funny and I respect his disengagement with the situation at hand. He's perfect.

Carley- My favorite thing about Carley is the fact that she never dropped the reporter voice. She's locked in. She's one of the most "regular" people--and not in a bad way. She's kind, funny, and thoughtful. I don't know how she didn't figure out that there were no batteries in that radio, though. I like her lots and lots.

Doug - My experience with Doug was secondhand because one of my relatives picked him by accident. Poor Doug! Anyway, I like him a lot. He's very funny (I say that a lot don't I?) but he's got that reasonable bravery. He saves Carley and in his last moments, he protects Ben. Personally, I like Lilly shooting Carley on purpose better than accidentally shooting Ben but I think its something more interesting and scary for Ben to grapple with.

Glenn - For the short time we spent with him, he was incredibly funny. I liked him a lot and how he just always spoke his mind no matter the circumstances.

Lilly - OOH! OKAY! I LOVE LILLY!

She has obviously been treated like terribly by her dad despite how much love she has for him, and because she acts tough about it, she expects the same of others. The fact that Larry is so quick to tell her to "shut up" and that whole anecdote she tells in the fourth season does reflect something nasty about her home life. I didn't read much into the "he's probably gonna keep treating you like shit" line in reference to Larry and just thought it was funny because it's a weird thing but I soon realized that was her reaction and she just expected others to cope like she did.

Now, do I think Lilly's toughness is just a front? No. I do think she was actually tough, but too much is too much. Starvation, apocalypse management, and watching your dad be murdered while you're restrained/trying to revive him is pretty traumatizing--no matter how much of a dick Larry was. I don't think her anger, sadness, or general mental breakage lessens her toughness in the slightest, but her actions eventually run counter to morality (see: shooting Carley in the face).

Mark - lol this guy had it rough! He was introduced and eaten within the same episode. I like his smile when you offer him rations and his small jokes. He's one of the more average characters but 1) that is not a bad thing at all and 2) we don't get a lot of time with him. I really liked getting to know this guy before he got hammed.

Mr. Parker - Loved his jumpscare!

Travis - Talking all tough and he didn't even learn the rule of not tripping during the apocalypse. Better luck next time.

Ben - Jeez. I should have been nicer to this guy.

Starting out, Ben is very awkward and clumsy but that's to be expected of a high schooler. He fumbles and is not held in the kindest regard by the rest of the group, who seem to see him as incapable. He struggles to prove otherwise.

Yes, trading with the bandits was wrong, but there is a question of if his isolation from the group made the desire to have his friend back that much stronger rather than telling the group about the offer and seeing how they handled it or even if they would be concerned about his problems as a newcomer. Sure, Lee, Glenn, and Carley were willing to help that woman in the motel, but there are a lot more caveats to dealing with human enemies.

I love the shock of his initial confession and even though he picked the worst possible time to tell everyone else, the guilt of all those deaths would weigh on anybody and I don't think he was equipped to make the best decisions.

Looking back, dropping him was a terrible decision and I probably would have pulled him up if the zombies weren't so close. Maybe I was also a little jealous at how tall he was.

I'll pull him up next time. His death was also way more painful than expected and I do really believe he didn't deserve to die at all.

Andy - He's my favorite of the St. Johns which is a hard ground to clear. He is just so unapologetically evil it rounds back into comedy. Nothing is ever his fault and nothing he ever does is wrong. And he could've kept getting away with it if it wasn't for that meddling Georgia State professor.

Danny - He was so committed though! I heard they had some icky things planned for his character originally but I'm glad that it didn't make it into the game or canon because him being the "loyal dog" to cannibalism makes him a character you can love and hate. Also he talks to the cow.

Brenda - Literally all she wanted was to run her dairy, man. It's hard raising two kids and managing a farm. I love her voice and I would totally be eating like Duck because I know her barbecue was blue ribbon worthy.

She likely has the most conscious of the St. Johns which is...not a high bar but she seems to not want to be involved in the act of murder. She wants her hands clean and her men slow-cooked.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeene - Love her crossbow. Her story is horrifying but well told as an aside to the episode. I wish she got to see her daughter again because what happened there is terrible.

Bandits - Ew.

Chuck - I like him. I love his speech about "you're not boy, you're not a girl"--he said nb rights! But anyway, he popped in and died in like the next episode with his body discovered in like...the episode after that. Shame what happened to him but I like the time he had.

Christa - Tough but incredibly fair! I like her lots. I like how she was portraying herself as willing to walk away from the group but she's also willing to cut Lee's arm off for him after like...a day of knowing him. She was a rider.

It's hard to find the words to talk about her, but don't take that for disinterest.

Omid - Funny. I have said that a lot in this writing, but it is still true. He is very cushy and pleasant and definitely a well-placed bright spot after everything that happened in Episode Three.

Vernon - I love his name and his dry sense of humor. And also he got that devious lick in the end.

Okay, so I wouldn't give him flack for stealing the boat for his crew if not for the fact that he was leaving a child, or possibly two children, without any food.

I like the small taste of betrayal before the bigger one in S2.

Brie - I love this cheese. I like her design a lot too.

The Stranger - Bro this is why stranger danger PSAs are so important. GET OFF OF MYSPACE MAN! He was CREEPY and deranged and though I understand why somebody would think he came out of nowhere I do like his conclusion and think his part is very well done.

I think it was an extremely interesting thread of the story that I wouldn't expect in apocalypse media. To take a child away using means well known to us in current year. The parallel of a guardian who sought to protect her as soon as he met her to a man who had bad intentions as soon as he got the opportunity. Pretty good!

And also the bowling bag head reveal was hilarious. Way to respect your spouse.

[broke-art]

Red Son x Healing reader

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You chanted as you tried to clean up the glass shards littering the floor.

You had been doing the dishes for your grandmother when a wet plate slipped out of your hands and smashed on the floor.

"It's alright y/n." Your grandmother soothed keeping her distance. "It was an accident. Just don't cut yourself." Your grandmother had always been patient with you and kind. The exact opposite of your parents.

Since you were little they beat you, viciously. They were emotionally manipulative and frayed every heartstring you ever had.

You blamed yourself for just about everything, always apologized, remained silent most of the time, and flinched anytime anyone attempted to touch you.

Your grandmother had got custody over you a year or two ago and insisted that you stay with her while going to college and trying to get a job. You guessed she was trying to rehabilitate you for the real world.

You did your best to improve and make her proud. But you still couldn't handle anyone attempting to touch you. Much to your grandmother's heartbreak.

"You just work on those dishes and I'll start on di-Ah!"

You jumped to your feet at her yelp ready to run.

Your grandmother pressed a hand over her heart and grimaced in pain.

Your fight or flight response eased as you came back to reality and fear was replaced with worry.

"Grandma?"

She shook her head and gave you a dismissive wave when her pain seemed to leave slowly.

"I'm fine, dear. Just an old heart." She turned her back to you preparing the stove for cooking.

You frowned in worry and reached out to stop her, but halted your hand only inches from her back. You retracted your hand and opted to speak instead.

"Grandma, let me buy some take out. I saw a barbeque place down the road. I heard they have the hottest food in the country." You bribed with a kind tone.

Your grandmother was a sucker for spicy food and you swore she had a gut of titanium.

"I don't want to spend your money, dear." Your grandmother said turning to you.

"I do though. And besides, I think it might help." You were no doctor, but maybe the spice would help her heart. You weren't sure why but that seemed right.

"Well alright. But please be careful and don't spend too much."

You nodded at the instructions and rushed out the door.

Once outside, you avoided looking up as much as possible keeping to yourself.

That was until you came to the barbeque stand and forced yourself to smile although it was shyly.

"Excuse me?"

A man in a red trench coat with fiery red hair turned to you with a clearly forced smile.

"Well hello valued cu-" his eyes locked on you and he froze mid-sentence. He stared for a moment then shook his head. "Valued customer. What can I get you?"

You ordered trying not to let your smile slip. So, you studied the man while he worked. He looked handsome and confident. You caught yourself staring and blushing so you quickly looked away.

Unfortunately, he noticed the red on your cheeks and smirked.

"May I ask your name for the order?" He quirked a brow at you. His smirk turning flirtatious.

"Y/n." You said sweetly.

"That's a lovely name." The man said as he started to pack your order.

"What's your name?" You asked curiously tilting your head.

The man chuckled.

"Don't you know?"

A small gasp escaped you.

"Are you a celebrity? I'm sorry I'm terrible with celebrities."

The man laughed lightly.

"You could say that. I am Red Son. Son of the Demon Bull King and Lady Iron Fan!" He declared proudly.

You stared dumbfounded.

"Oh you're the guy who tried to take over the weather station."

Red son cringed at the mention and you bit your bottom lip.

"Well technically, you did succeed for a while." You pointed out kindly.

Red Son paused in shock then smiled at you.

"I did, didn't I?" He stood a little straighter.

You nodded with a giggle. He was so easy to please.

Red Son offered you your order and you waved goodbye walking home.

Your grandmother adored the food and you ate yours with a quiet smile and light blush. Then as you finished you found a small piece of paper at the bottom of the bag. It held Red Son's name followed by a series of numbers.

He had given you his phone number. Your heart stuttered at the realization.

You pulled out your phone and dialed the number, then sent a text.

Soon you received a return text and without much time at all you two were texting everyday. You would go on walks with him to the grocery store and he would sometimes stay and help you make dinner for your grandmother and you.

He enjoyed cooking with you and your grandmother was in love with his spicy food so it seemed like a good situation until one time in particular.

You chopped the vegetables while the stove simmered next to you and Red Son worked on filling dumplings to your left.

"Are your parents ok with you being here?" You whispered glancing at him.

Red Son chuckled.

"Oh please, mother is ecstatic that I'm talking to someone as lovely as you and father adores your food. Of course they are overjoyed that I am here."

Your cheeks burned red at the compliments and you smiled lightly.

"I'm glad you're here too."

Red Son turned suddenly as you finished the vegetables. In doing so he knocked down a few dishes off the counter. The collective crashes sent you back to when you lived with your parents. 

You screamed and covered your ears falling to your knees.

Your grandmother came around the corner with a worried frown just as Red Son reached for you.

"Don't, don't touch her." She informed him carefully. "She's reliving very painful memories."

You attempted to breathe as tears streaked down your cheeks your mind slamming you with all the most painful of your memories.

Red Son knelt next to Y/n carefully. Her sobs and gasps for air tore at his  heart. He had no clue what 'painful' memories your grandmother meant, but he intended to stay with you until they passed.

"What memories do you mean?" He asked as he snapped his fingers igniting a small flame in his hand.

You stared at the flame and slowly started to breathe evenly again.

Y/n's grandmother informed him of the past abuse and the years Y/n suffered. It became difficult to keep the flame in his palm small as he heard the stories, but he urged himself to have patience.

Caring for y/n was his first priority. So, he waited until her grandmother finished her tales and Y/n had calmed down some before speaking.

"Y/n, can you hear me?" He addressed you quietly.

You nodded.

"May I touch you?"

You paused but after a moment you nodded.

Red son pulled you against his chest and lifted you bridal style and walked towards the living room.

"Where are we going?" You whispered.

"You are going to rest on the couch. I am going to finish the food. We will eat, then you and I are going to talk." His tone sounded tense but simple.

He finished the food, you all ate, then Red Son leaned over as your grandmother left.

"You have been hiding your pain from me. Care to explain that?" He frowned almost angrily. But you could see worry behind the frustration.

"I didn't want you to worry. And I'm getting better at dealing with it....just not with loud noises."

Red Son sighed and pulled you against him.

"Well we are working together on it from now on."

You smiled and cuddled into him and after a while you slipped off to sleep.

Red Son grinned at you lovingly.

The next day it was reported that your parents' house had caught fire in the night with no survivors. Red Son claimed he had no hand in it. But then he always did smirk when you asked.

[violetswritingg]

Canary Cry

Robin/Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x OFC!

Description: Her violence was silent. Until it wasn't.

"I'm fine."

"Fine is just another word for drowning."

Rating T-M (mentions of blood, child abuse, mental health, cannon situations of violence and the like. Loss of parents, hard of hearing/deaf character, poorly written fight scenes lol)

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

5

SANTA PRISCA

July 22, 23:08 ECT

"Uh... Goldie, you got a little something-" KF pointed at her shoulder, withering under the glare the blonde sent him from her position leaning against a tree. 

"I'm fine." Kate pushed out, "And how many times have I told you? Don't call me Goldie!" She harshly whispered, pushing off the tree and leaving a bloody handprint behind.

"GF..." Robin trailed off worriedly, his own gloved hands reaching forward and touching the wet blood. He turned his mask covered eyes to her shoulder, seeing the graze but not seeing blood. His eyes moving down to where she had been holding before. Her side. "It's going to keep bleeding until it's stitched up."

"Which isn't an option right now. I'm fine! I'm good to keep going. Let's go." Kate snapped again, weakly pushing past Robin and KF, Aqualad stopping her by latching onto her uninjured shoulder.

"Goldfinch, you are injured, worse than I thought and a team is only as strong as its weakest link-"

"I am not a weak link." Kate growled ripping herself away from the leader. "How many times do I need to tell you I'm fine before you believe me?! I've taken a lot worse than this on my own and kept going."

"I did not mean to offend-"

"Yeah, well you did. I'm okay to keep going and kick some cultist ass. I won't say it again." Kate steeled her failing center of balance by sheer force of will and continued in the direction they needed to go to get back to the factory.

The team shared a look and followed after their injured member.

~~*~~

Kate went over the plan in her head again as they waited, taking a breath. Ignoring the multiple sets of eyes boring into her being.

"Here." Robin appeared at her side, a container of water in hand and being offered to her. "It should help the dizziness."

With narrowed eyes Kate hesitantly took the offering and gulped down some water. Feeling a bit better as she wiped her mouth with the back of her glove. "Thanks."

"I don't think BC would be too happy if we came back with a dead Goldfinch." He joked, successfully making Kate chuckle. His grin growing at the sound.

"No, no she would not. She would undoubtedly find a Lazarus pit, revive me, only to kill me again. Then bring me back one last time just to make sure I learned my lesson." Robin managed to smother his laugh with his hand at the girl's matching humor.

"Why didn't you use your canary cry back there?" Robin asked, as if knowing he was treading on thin ice.

"What have you done?!"

"It's not exactly inside friendly, and with ceilings like that it would be echoing so loud we wouldn't be able to hear ourselves think." If her response sounded practiced, it's because it was.

"Right. I should get in position, good luck out there." Robin seemed to know that's all he was getting from her, and he left. Taking one last moment to herself Kate looked down at the water in her hands. Finishing what was left and making her way to her position. Superboy a little way off.

"You good?" The clone asked neutrally, Kate simply nodding in response. Which was enough for the clone as he mirrored the action and jumped.

Kate made her way into the thick of it as KF ran around and Aqualad took on big guy. Superboy keeping Sportsmaster busy while Robin disappeared into the fray.

"Come get me." Kate laughed as multiple men in red cloaks came to circle her. Running two steps forward she jumped, her legs locking around the shoulders of her target. Her body weight and momentum taking him to the ground as she twisted around him. Quickly pulling one of her batons she knocked him unconscious and moved on. Dodging bullets as she grappled off the man and landed behind some crates on a knee, hand in front of her to balance herself.

Climbing over she greeted the first person she saw with her boots to their face. Landing over their unconscious form and going right into another fight. And then another, and another. She couldn't keep this up, if her spinning vision said anything. She couldn't hold back anymore.

The amount of red hooded bastards seemed never ending, and she was out of options. She couldn't see the others through the smoke and the bodies, but she knew where they were if they were following the plan.

"What have you done?!"

Planting her feet, she built up pressure in her throat, and screamed.

Kate heard the planned explosion of the helicopter and looked up with a smirk, seeing someone jump just before the mode of transportation crashed into the factory in a fiery boom. Something Kate had thought she'd only see in action movies. Until her life seemingly became one that is.

The blonde's attention was stolen away by a yell, her blue eyes took in the position Robin was in, Kobra leader's foot on his chest as he struggled to breathe, the blonde freezing in place.

"What are you gonna do huh? You weak little-" The foot on her chest, keeping her down, kept her from breathing. She couldn't breathe. He was so much bigger than her and she couldn't breathe.

Robin got out of the pin the Kobra leader had him in, flipping away and landing in front of the team. Kate snapping out of her memories and planting her feet once again. Ready to make this guy's hearing go bye-bye.

But of course, Walmart Voldemort took the cowards way out and backed up into the jungle behind him, "Another time then." Robin leaped after him as he disappeared between to trees, melting into the shadows in a way that would make Batman jealous.

Kate looked around, now that they were relatively out of danger. The loud fire raging in the factory behind them filling her ears with crackles and pops as thick black smoke rose into the sky.

"Looks like we chose the right guy to lead," Robin said, walking up to Aqualad, "Automatically making you the right guy to explain this mess to Batman!" Robin laughed and Kate couldn't help but chuckle as she passed them.

"Good luck, I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers." The blonde smirked as the Atlantean gave her a small smile.

~~*~~

STAR CITY

The Arrowcave, Queen Manor

July 23, 03:15 PDT

"Dinah- Ow!" Kate yelped as her mentor all but slapped the bandage on over the freshly stitched bullet wound.

"What happened to recon Kate? Observe and report. That's all you had to do. Yet here you are, down a pint of blood and collecting bullet wounds like the doll maker collects victims." Dinah Lance was a strong, independent woman, and was not to be messed with when she went into what Kate and Oliver had coined 'mom-mode'. It was best to just apologize for whatever you fucked up and hope for the best.

"Things evolved in the field, like they always do. Plus, it didn't help that for the first half of the mission Wally and Robin were bickering like an old married couple about who would be a better leader." Kate rolled her eyes, pulling up the collar of her oversized t-shirt that may or may not have belonged to Oliver at some point.

Hopping off the cold medical table, Kate walked over to her bloody suit.

"You have to be more-"

"Careful, I know." Kate poked a finger through the hole in the shoulder and sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll do better."

"Kate, I didn't mean-" Dinah cut herself off, taking a breath before starting again. "You did well, don't believe for a second you didn't. Most seasoned veterans don't adapt as well in the face of exigent circumstances as you and the team did, especially you." Kate looked to her mentor out of the corner of her eye, still fiddling with her suit shirt. "I'm so proud of you, I would have wanted you to come back without two grazes, and with all your blood in your body, but that doesn't make me any less proud."

Kate dropped her eyes to her uniform, feeling a burning sensation in her eyes that was worse than being shot.

She hadn't known that she had wanted someone to say those words to her, not until she moved in with Dinah and was surrounded by warmth, love, and acceptance. Things she had never truly experienced in her life and were completely foreign to her.

It was overwhelming to the teen, to have people actually care about her, if she was alive or not, if she was eating right, or was feeling okay emotionally. She had always had to be fine, because no one had ever been there to lift her back up when she wasn't, she had to do it on her own.

But she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve Dinah's... everything.

"I froze." Dinah just looked at the girl, letting her speak in her own time, "Robin was pinned under some Walmart Voldemort's foot and- and I froze." Kate finally admitted, the confession having pent up in her from the second she failed in the field. "I could have helped him... but it was like my legs were stuck in concrete and all I could think of was back in one of my group homes – I couldn't breathe."

"It's okay-"

"How? What would have happened if Robin got hurt? If any of them got hurt and I could have stopped it but... didn't. Because of my own fucked up head."

"Hey." Dinah's voice steeled, "It happens to the best of us, it's even happened to me. We may be heroes but we're not perfect and that's okay. All you can ever do is your best." Dinah wrapped an arm around the teens shoulders gently and just let Kate feel what she needed to feel in that moment.

"I don't want to disappoint you." Kate's voice broke under her stress. Dinah was shocked, her eyes going wide, a slight sting as she took in Kate. Seeing the stress in her sagging shoulders and the worry in her misty eyes and wanting to kick herself.

"You could never disappoint me."

Dinah was almost knocked off her feet when the younger girl turned abruptly and wrapped her arms around her waist, clutching onto the woman tightly.

The older woman, feeling her shoulder dampen, held on just as tightly. Petting the girl's hair that was an exact shade match to her own. Gently cooing to her as Oliver came down the metal stairs, freezing when he saw the scene before him. Not knowing what had happened but joining in on the hug anyway.

The feeling of Oliver's presence was what made Kate break, a quiet sob ripping itself from her throat as her body began to shake, the two adults only held on tighter as if they could put her broken pieces back together, if they just held on tight enough.

Kate slowly calmed down, sniffling quietly against Dinah's shoulder, "Guys? I can't breathe." Oliver and Dinah chuckled and gave the girl some space, her deep blue eyes bloodshot and the tip of her nose was a shade of red that could rival Rudolph's. "I'm sorry about the suit."

"Not a problem, a new one can be made. You though? Irreplaceable." Oliver said wiping away the tears tracks from her cheeks and pinching her chin. Drawing a stuffy chuckle from the girl, a smile coming to her face. "The next one will definitely be a Kevlar tri-polymer, so that this doesn't happen again." Oliver gestured to her shoulder, where the thick white bandage was peeking out of the short sleeve of her shirt.

"Thanks Ollie, Dinah," Kate said quietly, her voice rough, "For everything." Kate felt a lump grow in her throat and if she hadn't of just expelled every last free drop of water in her body, she was sure her eyes would have started to water again.

"No need to thank us. You're family, and we love you." Dinah smiled gently at the girl, her eyes holding an intensity that gave no room for Kate to doubt her words, "Now, come on, I'm sure you're tired, you've had an eventful night." The older woman led Kate to the metal stairs, Oliver trailing behind them as they all entered the Queen Manor.

"Get some rest kiddo, you deserve it." Kate smiled tiredly up at the two adults and started upstairs, stopping at the landing.

"Goodnight, love you."

Oliver and Dinah's eyes went wide, growing to the size of plates. But before they could say anything the teen disappeared down the hallway. The two adults shared a look and Oliver slung an arm over Dinah's shoulder, kissing the side of her head.

"She's going to be okay, she's strong."

"Yeah, she is." Dinah muttered, letting Oliver pull her up the staircase opposite the one Kate had gone up, leading her to their room in a separate wing of the house.

~~*~~

MOUNT JUSTICE

July 25, 13:06 EDT

The day had come, Batman was finally here to give them the bat glare of all bat glares. The team standing side by side as if in a firing line. That's what it felt like to Kate anyway.

"A simple recon mission. Observe and report. You'll each receive a written evaluation detailing your many mistakes. Until then... Good job." Kate, along with the rest of the team did a double take, had Batman just... complimented them? On their shit show of a first mission? Is this real life? "No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy, how you adjust to the unforeseen is what determines success. And how you choose who leads determines character."

The blonde, as well as the rest of the team, stood a little taller, their posture a little prouder.

This whole team thing... might just work out.

~~*~~

[goobiegoobert]

maybe im just,,,, thirsty and requesting sm but like SINCE YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE THIRSTY FROM MINE I HAVE TO SEND YOU SOMETHING IVE BEEN THINKIN OF,, how would sun/moon react to a parent!reader? (kinda like the milf!reader and dilf!reader fics going around) and theyre just feral for reader because they just know how to take care of the kids and when they offer to help?? makes sun/moon short circuit and fight the urge to foam at the mouth for parent!reader

i love the thought of them going crazy for the hottie that parent!reader is sighh

What a lovely dream...

_____________________

A/N: I'm not the dad friend for no reason, time to put my dilfery to use <333

Warnings: Smut, Dubcon, brief overstim, obsessive behavior, light daddy mention, Dom reader

18+ DNI with this post if underage, you will be blocked

Word Count: 1.2k words

[ Male Reader, will post female version later. Request if you'd like trans reader versions! ]

_____________________

It wasn't expected for this to happen, but to whatever creator was above watching it truly blessed the two daycare attendants. See, most of the day had run past as usual of hassling kids around and forcing them down for a nap at this point, it felt quite tedious. That was until you'd arrived at least!

Sun was busy helping a child with their glitter glue by opening the bottle and passing it back staring intently at what they were gonna do, only to have the child's head perk up and start to beam for the first time all day! Oh, joyous day! Children smiling was always something to make the attendant melt at the wires, so badly did he want to scoop one up and keep them all night to have a friend to play with, this child simply did just that.

Though it took moment to face and giggle at whatever the child was seeing the toddler jumped up from their seat across the room latching onto the leg of something, raising their eyes slowly began to overwhelm the poor sun mas the fans kicked on once seeing their processors heat up significantly. Oh, dear. ❝ Daddy, look! sun sun helped! ❞

There you were, Mister. Y/n, standing above the children with an all too familiar expression as you'd bend down to pick up your child with a grunt spinning them around remarking how big they'd gotten since you saw em this morning! The child was full of buzzing with excitement and clinging to your pant legs practically ready to climb on top of you, and to be honest Sunny was too. His head was spinning in a delight almost kin towards how children described feeling sick.

How come he was sick? Oh, oh no were the mechanics gonna have to fix him?? Sunny didn't like being away from the daycare it was always too dark!

But the fluttery feeling as their circuits fried left him far too gone to exactly care, but then it happened. Sunny shut down from overheating and fell to the foamy mats below with a hard thud of their long tangly limbs.

By the time everything has been repaired from frayed clothing to melted wires you'd long since been gone, which saddened the daycare attendant to bits. But what really made it up was the next morning when you'd dropped off your kid.

Just the right size for him, sure you were smaller everyone was, but to Sunny seeing you hold up a tray of cookies to the various children with their parent's consent made the poor man's heart swell beyond anything, you were perfect. A work of art, something colorful and shimmery with glitter glue everything he liked in a man! Well.. You currently seemed to be the only person capable of keeping such an infatuation going for more than a day. Time flew by and Sunny desperately was a lost puppy trying to gain your love in return, from pulling you into a giant hug lifting you above the rest. Even giving you drawings he'd spent the day fumbling over as he thought about you, each word from his voice box struggling to come out when you'd speak.

One day you'd came to the daycare when your ex-spouse had the child, Sunny was confused why you'd come out here? It was surely a bit silly, it wasn't until everyone, and I mean everyone, had left did the daycare attendant understand why you'd come here. Understanding the way you'd been pressing soft kisses along his casing praising each ridge of texture into the wide plastered smile. Sunny felt like he could die at this moment, you'd guide a caring hand towards your pants mentioning he could touch there if wanted, and boy did he do just that. Eagerly touching your cock curious beyond anything trying to remember the sweet sighs and rumbles of noise being heard. Practically begging as any words slipped out to try and let him closer to you

❝ Mean, mean! Please, oh please love you so much, much love let me take care of you! ❞

Sunny didn't want to ever hear anyone else make such beautiful sounds, nor did they want to share. Almost wanting to cry out about how he wanted to try and please you more than anything only for your grip to loosen allowing feathery light hands to press against the wires along his neck causing a high pitched squeak to emit out of the daycare attendant. You wanted to hear more allowing him to direct you to what felt like heaven to him and abusing those areas to your hearts content.

You weren't going to let him please you like the attendant so graciously craved but you offered so much more in return that made his head spin with a ticklish delight. Such a lovely game!

❝ Such a good plaything you are, right dear? ❞

A short cry erupted from Sunny as their system started to reach its peak sparks flying off the back of his head as an odd wave of white flashed over, unable to comprehend your kind words talking him down back to everything. Putty in your arms he truly was crying about how he wanted more and to please give it to him, but being quite the meanie it was decided against as you'd fix them up to what you could know pressing small kisses to the flaps of his sun rays. Truly feeling upset at this Sun began to throw a bit of a tantrum lightly hitting his hands on the floor wanting to cry at this. Sun just wanted to make love with you and have millions and millions of kids like everyone else does! how come he can't now? This little hissy fit was quickly cut off with the lights turning off, it was silent for a bit but you could clearly recognize the foamy hands pulling harshly on your arm to the point it truly began to sting. ❝ Naughty, naughty boy. It's past your bedtime. ❞

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

[fartoo-sensitive]

better homes and gardens

eeep i'm not sure about this one, i was super excited when i started writing it but it didn't turn out how i wanted it to;; i hope it's good for y'all<3

word count: 1220

warnings: canon typical violence, possessive and morally questionable reader, allusions to sex

character(s): bo sinclair x gn!reader

"now what are you doing?"

bo pulled the already filthy rag from his back pocket, wiping his oil and muck stained hands on it. "i'm not explainin' everythin' i do to ya, y/n. i know you don't give a shit. get the hell out of my hair." he went to flick the rag at you, but you jumped away just in time.

you rolled your eyes at him, walking back over to the counter and pulling yourself back up onto it. "fine, i didn't wanna keep you company anyways!" you yelled at him.

bo ignored you and went back to working on the truck, that disgusting rag stuffed back into his pocket.

it was a deathly boring day in ambrose. lester was busy with work, vincent was working on a couple of sculptures, and bo was fixing up his truck after a run-in with some rowdy young adults on their way to a football game went south a couple weeks ago. you'd decided to keep bo company but even the magazines you had brought along and the music he was playing weren't enough to keep you occupied.

you reached over and plucked a lollipop from the dish you kept on the counter, unwrapping it and popping it into your mouth. you picked up the old copy of better homes and gardens from beside your thigh and started flipping through it again. maybe you’d find some inspiration on how to fix up the living room on your second look through it.

a soft ping from behind you drew your attention away from the glossy pages and you looked over your shoulder, seeing the tiny screen of your cell phone lit up with a notification saying you had a message from lester. you had forced all of the boys to get cell phones once it was clear you were sticking around; not only did it make it easier for them to contact each other, but it was for your peace of mind. you also liked being able to talk to vincent without being in the same immediate vicinity as him, and spent many nights on the phone with lester when bo was at the station late. you reached back to grab the phone, clicking through to open the message.

girl comin thru. 5 mins maybe.

you typed out a quick reply, thanks, les!, then relayed the information to bo. “we’ve got company comin’.” you shook your phone at him, the message thread still on the screen though he was too far away to see it.

bo looked up from the contents under the hood of his truck, nodding at you once before going back to what he had been doing.

a few moments later, the door to the station was pushed open and a girl who looked to be in her early-20s walked in. she saw you on the counter and waved. "i was told to ask for bo?"

you gave her an easy smile in return, your arm lifting and hand pointing across the room to where the man was standing. "he's-"

"that's me." bo had taken a - new, clean - rag and was wiping his hands, walking into the main part of the station with his most charming grin on his lips. he held out a now mostly-clean hand for the girl to shake. "pleasure to meet ya, miss."

a glint came to her eyes as she stared between bo's hand and his face that had the smile you'd put on dropping almost instantly and a knot forming in your stomach that only twisted and frayed when she wrapped her dainty fingers around his and let out a chiming giggle.

"what can i do for ya…?"

"missy. my name's missy." she smiled a sickly sweet little thing up at bo, and you could see from your place on the counter he was eating it up. the knot grew thorns.

bo led missy over to his truck to talk while he was working, and she explained to him with her big sad doe eyes that she'd gone over some scrap metal in the road that tore up her front tires, and she'd just be so grateful if he could help her out.

"i don't have a whole lot of money," she said, batting her eyelashes up at him. "i'm drivin' 'cross the state to see my papaw, and all the money i saved has been for gas and the like. but i'm good at other things," she trailed off, bringing her hand up to whisper her fingers over the arm of bo's shirt.

"well, i'm sure we can work somethin' out. pretty lil thing like you can't be stuck out here." bo smirked down at her, allowing her fingers to graze to over his bicep.

by this time you'd seen enough. the knot was a blackened stone, covered in barbed wire, rolling through your chest and clouding your thoughts. you hopped lightly down from the counter and made your way to where the others were standing, too distracted by each other to notice you creeping up behind the girl.

the switchblade lester had gifted you the previous year for christmas was heavy in your pocket, whispering to you to do what you had to do. who were you to deny it? you slipped the blade from your pocket and held it up the side of the girl's neck, then, without a moment's hesitation, pressed the release.

warm blood soaked over your hand, and it felt good. you had the brief thought that maybe you understood why bo liked his dungeon so much. the girl struggled for only a moment before gurgling, coughing out a bubble of blood, and collapsing onto the floor. you smiled down at her, using her back as leverage to yank the knife from her neck, then looked up at bo.

"goddammit, y/n! what in the fucking shit was that?" he yelled, walking around the body to get in your face.

you shrugged, wiping the blade on your shirt then closing it and putting it back in your pocket. "i didn't like the way she was talkin' to you."

bo let out a half-strangled laugh. "you're a real piece of work."

"she was lookin' at you like you're cattle at an auction," you griped, crossing your arms.

"and you didn't like that?" he took a step towards you, that infuriating smirk coming back to his lips.

"you're not for sale," you said, turning your face away when he brought his close to yours. "you're mine."

bo was so close you could feel his breath on your face, the lift of his mouth as his smirk deepened. "if i'm yours does that make you mine?"

you finally looked at him, arms falling to your sides but a challenge still present in your eyes. "what are you gonna do if i say 'no'?"

bo clenched his teeth, a growl coming from deep in his chest. "guess you'll just have to find out." he grasped you roughly by the hips, leaning down to shove his shoulder into your stomach and toss your upper body over his back. he turned without another word and walked with you down the stairs at the back of the station.

the knot in your stomach was gone and replaced with a ribbon of fiery anticipation.

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

Permanent Tags: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “…Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund’s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Reply/message me to get added to the tag list! 💖

[holdingforgeneralhugs]

Bitter Pill to Swallow

Chapter 18 (Chapter Masterlist)

Shoutout as always to the lovely @tvserie-s-world for her lovely screencaps💓

"Are you ready for a ceasefire on the cold shoulder yet?"

Valerie scoffed and shook her head. "That depends," she replied tersely, glancing sideways at him, "are you ready to apologise for being jerks in Eindhoven?".

"C'mon Val," he sighed, "We're not an occupying force, it's not our place to come in and police the Dutch. You can't be mad over something that we couldn't control, regardless of how crap it was." Deep down she knew he was probably right, that they really couldn't have done anything even if they'd wanted to.

"I guess you have a point," she conceded, her shoulders sagging slightly. She peered at Lew from under her helmet and rolled her eyes at the pleased look on his face. She'd found that ever since she'd gotten to know him properly it had been awfully hard for her to ever stay mad at him for too long. She had an awful soft spot for Lewis Nixon, and damn if he didn't know it and exploit it.

"Well that's great Val," he grinned cheekily, "now if you could tell Dick the same thing and kiss and make up with him then that would be the cherry on the cake."

Valerie bristled at the mention of Dick and the idea of apologising to him in any capacity. "Yeah I think I'll pass on that if it's all the same to you." She had not spoken to Dick since their argument in Eindhoven, and she had absolutely no intention of breaking the silence anytime soon. Even if he hadn't been able to do anything about those poor women, he was still a massive hypocrite.

"Why are you being so hard on him Val? he asked, giving her a look of disbelief, "he's taking it pretty hard you know."

"Oh is he?" she said tersely, "well how unfortunate for him because I don't want to talk to him right now." Valerie crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, looking out at the passing countryside. Sure it was petty, but she didn't care. In fact she wouldn't even care if she never spoke to him again.

Lew didn't have time to respond as the convoy of trucks began to slow as they approached Nuenen. The air around them had grown thick and charged, and Valerie thought it was all a little too quiet. There was a brief moment where everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and then all hell broke loose.

Valerie jumped out of the jeep and roared intro action, gathering her platoon and leading them into the fray. Bullets pinged by their feet and skimmed over their heads as they ran into the town.

"Shifty," she called as they ducked by the side of a building, waving him forward, "sniper in the upstairs window at the end of that street, think you can spot him?" Shifty peered around the corner and nodded, lining up his rifle and taking the shot with ease.

Things only got worse after that. The whole plan went to complete shit. The German army were swarming in all around them, pushing them back with ease. All around her she could hear the shouts of her comrades piercing through the constant gunfire and explosions. She tried her best to keep her men on the move and out of harms way, ducking around walls and buildings to avoid being out in the open.

"C'mon Valerie, we're pulling out," Talbert called as he came round the corner of the building she was taking refuge behind "goddamn Tigers, we're sitting ducks here."

"They're completely swarmin' us," Valerie cried, peering around the corner and scoffing at the burnt out British tanks, "And the Brits are fuckin' useless." The wall beside them exploded, showering chunks of bricks and wood everywhere. Valerie hissed as a splinter pierced her arm, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. She stood and started to run back towards the road out of the town, shouting for her men to follow.

"Get back to the trucks," she heard Dick shouting as she approached the parked jeeps. She could see the trucks parked not far ahead, and she paused for a moment, frantically waving the men on in front of her so she could make sure they all made it back to safety. When the last man ran past her she turned, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw Lew collapse.

"Lew," she screamed, her boots slipping in the gravel as she skidded around the jeep and fell to her knees beside him and Dick. "Fuckin' hell Lew are you alright?" She croaked, her eyes roving over every inch of him in search of a wound.

"Chrissakes would you two quit looking at me like I'm dead?" He grumbled, pushing Dick's hands off him and pulling himself to his feet, "I'm fine. It's just a scratch on my forehead and a dent in my helmet, so you two mother hens can relax."

Valerie and Dick shared a concerned look, and for a moment she completely forgot why she was even angry with him, her concern for Lew drowning everything else out. But then her gaze flittered to his lips and she was once again reminded of the woman in Eindhoven. Her gaze hardened and she looked away again, watching the last troop truck pull away.

"C'mon Val we need to get out of here, and you need to get that checked out," Lew said, grabbing her by the elbow and helping her into the back of the jeep. Dick took the wheel, and they trundled back down the road behind the trucks at speed, leaving the disaster of Nuenen behind them. They drove in silence, and it was only when they were at a safe distance from the madness that the pain in her arm started to make itself known.

She glanced down at the jagged piece of wood sticking out of her arm, wincing when it bumped against the side of the jeep and shifted slightly. It wasn't even that big, but it was pointed and it was digging into her arm at an awkward angle. She didn't want to pull it out until they were safely back in town, just in case it would bleed too much, so she tried to keep it steady.

Once the jeep skidded to a stop she hopped out, cradling her arm against her chest to keep the wood from moving any more than it already had. She gritted her teeth to try and stay calm, the pain seemingly increasing by the second now that the adrenaline rush of the battle had worn off.

"Valerie are you alright?" Dick asked worriedly, rounding the jeep and reaching out towards her, "you need to go and see Doc." She met his gaze, and for a moment all she wanted was to step into his arms, but then her gaze hardened and she looked away again, backing away from him.

"I'm fine," she said cooly, "and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Dick looked away and shook his head, his hands fisting at his side. "I never said you couldn't, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said tersely.

"Well I don't need you to," she bit back, her eyes narrowing, that dark gnawing feeling clawing its way through her ribcage and wrapping around her heart like a shell.

"Fine, next time I'll be sure not to bother caring," he snapped, marching off through the crowd without a backwards glance. Valerie watched him go, huffing and kicking at the gravel petulantly. She could feel Nixon's eyes on her and she glared daggers at him.

"Don't you dare," she warned sharply, and he held up his hands in surrender. With a final parting glare she stomped down the road to where she'd spotted Gene bustling about, trying to check on everyone. He looked frazzled and exhausted, and she wished she could wrap him up in a blanket and hug him close like they used to back home.

When Gene saw her walking towards him with her hand cradled to her chest he raced over, his brows furrowed with worry. "Dammit chérie you need to be more careful," he sighed, leading her over to a crate and sitting her down with a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure, next time a building decides to explode behind me I'll be sure to tell it to leave me alone," she snarked, and Gene arched an eyebrow at her tone as he pulled supplies out of his bag. He didn't respond for a moment, concentrating on pulling to wood out without hurting her too much. She winced as he pulled the wood free and quickly poured sulfa on the wound.

"Okay now that that's sorted why don't you tell me about what's very clearly eatin' away at you, hmm?"

"There's nothin' to tell," she replied, unable to meet his gaze.

"Oh I think there is," he persisted as he wrapped the bandages around her arm, "you only get snarky like that when there's somethin' botherin' you. So spit it out."

Of course he knew, he always did. No matter how hard she tried she'd never been able to keep things from Gene, because he seemed to have this sixth sense when it came to her.

"I'm just...." she started, huffing out a breath, "I'm just angry about what happened those women in Eindhoven, and the fact that Winters didn't step in and do something."

"It was bad," he agreed, nodding sadly, "but there was nothin' anyone could do. Its up to the Dutch how they police themselves, and it ain't our place to tell them how to do it."

"That's what Lew said," she sighed, shaking her head. She looked around at all the men bustling about around them, and her eyes fell on Dick. She watched him for a moment, her stomach tying itself in knots.

"Somehow I get the impression that's not the only thing bothering you," Gene observed, his eyes flitting between her and Dick knowingly. Valerie looked away from Dick and met the eyes of her best friend, huffing and shaking her head.

"Chérie..." Gene pressed.

"He's a hypocrite," she exclaimed, banging her free hand on the crate in a fit of temper, and once she'd opened the floodgates she couldn't seem to stop herself from spilling it all, "he's a goddamn hypocrite telling the men not to fraternise and then going around doing it himself."

"You're jealous," Gene stated softly after a beat of silence. Valerie clenched her jaw and glared at him, her heart thudding in her chest.

"Don't be ridiculous," she dismissed him firmly, "I just think it's completely hypocritical of him."

"You should talk to him," he continued, waving off her protests, "There's no room for bad blood between friends when you're at war chérie."

Valerie picked at a piece of dirt on her pants, unwilling to meet his eyes. The rational part of her mind knew he was right, that she should make it right. But every time she looked at him and considered it that angry little monster inside her told her not to, that she was completely justified in being angry.

"Just think about it," Gene sighed, squeezing her shoulder gently as he stood up and fixed his bag, "and you make sure you keep that arm rested."

Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled fondly at him as he left her. She stood then and wandered off herself, checking in with her platoon and making sure they were all alright and looked after. After everything that had happened they were shaken, and Valerie tried to give them what little comfort she could. By the time she'd gotten to everyone darkness had fallen, and she wanted nothing more than to find a quiet spot and close her eyes.

The chilling sound of the Luftwaffe flying overhead drew her attention to the sky, and she watched in horror as Eindhoven was plunged into flame. She walked slowly over to the bank of the dike and looked down on the city. To think those people had cheered and welcomed them as though they were saviours, and now all they could do was stand back and watch while the people of Eindhoven fought for their lives. She glanced down the road and saw Lew and Dick standing on the bank also, watching the nightmare unfold. Her eyes briefly met Dick's sad gaze, and seeing that utter helplessness in his eyes she longed to run down to him and tell him it would he alright. But she didn't. She turned her back on him and walked back aross the road, her stomach churning and her mind reeling.

Taglist:  @tvserie-s-world @geniedocroe @generousdreamlanddestiny @sunsetmando @cagzzz107 @howunexpectedlyso @alejodi0nysus @sunflowerchuck @now-im-a-belieber @its1000cuts @50svibes @eugene-emt-roe @pennyllane @televisionboy @sparkyluz @ask-you-what-sir @parajumpboots @mads-weasley @iilovemusic12us

[ultraimaginez]

My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go. 

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point. 

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don’t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall. 

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon’s door you begin to pound on it aggressively. 

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks. 

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him. 

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it��s something you know he reserves for only people close to him. 

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious. 

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand. 

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him. 

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all. 

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...” 

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again. 

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you? 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?” 

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking. 

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.” 

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment. 

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

[spinchip]

It’s Not That Bad

Wordcount: 2400 Ship: Mountaingshipping, Cole/Zane/Kai Warnings: Broken bones, blood, violence, injury

Summary: Zane hides an injury.

The fight can’t even be classified as a real fight, in Coles opinion. It’s a street brawl, raw knuckles and split lips- the remaining members of the SOG are brutal when they catch the scent of blood. Without leadership the gang has devolved into troublemakers and men itching for violence, and they’ve gotten bolder- the fight taking place in broad daylight near the center of town. Two weeks ago they’d taken Jay down in the middle of a scrap, a bat to the side of his temple when the group had been separated (he’d been laid up in bed in the dark for days afterwards with a concussion) and since then they’d gotten cocky about the Ninja's weakness.

Lloyd had been adamant about showing a united front- the Ninja team had to be unflappable, rigid and strong to show the growing gang that they were not so easily beaten. They couldn’t afford to give them another inch, which is why it’s so frustrating when they get separated once more. There’s a new player on the gangs side this time, a big man hefting a hammer that could hold its own against Coles. He’s not particularly fast, but the others in the group keep them occupied while the man swings his weapon with bone breaking force. His presence was not something they could ignore, splitting their attention dangerously, making their formation too easy to break.

And it’s not Jay this time, but Zane, who is pushed into a throng of enemies all looking for blood.

Cole doesn’t see what happens to get them to this point, he misses the moment Zane is surrounded, but Lloyd urges the others to make their way to him over the clash of fists. Zane’s always been capable, and today is no exception- but just like before when it had been Jay, there are too many, and it’s not long before a lucky shot sends Zane to the pavement. A sloppy leg sweep Zane wasn’t expecting, going sprawling onto his stomach. It’s simple enough to recover from just fine.

Except the big man swings his hammer before Zane can get his hands underneath him. Down down down in a deadly arc-

There’s no warning Cole can give, no speed or strength to stop it, random men pushing him away from his friend but not crowded enough where he can’t watch it happen. The head of the hammer hits the base of Zane back and the sound it makes- Cole can feel the impact in his bones, his stomach churning and nearly making him gag. The crack of the anvil on metal makes him feel ill.

Zane doesn’t yell or scream, his fingers dig into concrete so hard they leave gouges, and then he goes completely limp. He looks dead, lying facedown on the pavement. The gang members hoot and holler, their fight rejuvenated, and they jump into the fray with more vigor than before.

Slowly, the man brings his hammer up and Coles realizes he means to hit him again.  He pushes frantically through the fight, blows glancing off his shoulders as he barrels through. Nya appears at his side, hair askew, and throws waves of water that sweep several people off their feet, dumping them clear of the path. Cole slams into the big man's side before he can deliver another blow, knocking him back from Zanes still form. Before either of them can get to the downed nindroid, new adversaries file in to try and beat them back, the fight resuming- but the ninja now scrambled and panicked at the loss of one of their own, and the gang member reveling in it.

The man with the hammer, he’s got thin blonde hair and dark eyes, manages to keep up with Cole. Despite Coles obvious skill and experience, he’s making stupid rookie mistakes. Internally cursing, Cole urges himself to focus- rushing into the fray to protect Zane would mean nothing if he fell to the man's hammer too, but it’s looking increasingly grim. The man is pushing himself faster, sweat beading on his brow, and he’s strong.

A smaller man darts past the two of them in a planned maneuver. The big man steps back and Cole is thrown off kilter as his hammer swings wide, and realizes too late that the smaller man has a knife- he can’t avoid it now. He twists, steps back, tries to minimize the damage- and then the man’s legs slide out beneath him and he hits the ground hard, head bouncing off the ice-slick pavement. Zane appears at Coles side and throws ice hard, frost and big chunks of ice invigorated by the wet pavement from Nyas last attack freeze the big man's legs to the road. Cole falls into place at his side, the two fighting off a few more before the gang realizes Zanes back on his feet.

Their bravado and cockiness vanishes. One man turns and runs, and at that the gang scatters- the one who are able to, of course, and are not frozen to the sidewalk or knocked unconscious.

Cole spins around to face Zane, who’s surveying the scene silently, “Are you alright?” He asks, hovering his hands over Zane as if to feel out the injury by aura alone.

Zane’s eyes are trained on the alleyways the gang members disappeared into, mouth a thin and calculated line, “I am alright. The Sons of Garmadons strength is dwindling.”

Cole blinks, frowning. It was almost like Zane wasn’t speaking to him, but the backs of the men hiding away in the dark corners of the streets. As if he was making a point.

The cops show up and begin to load the remaining men into Police Cruisers or ambulances, depending on their state. The ninja did not always pull their punches, especially after Zane hit the ground.

Zane watches as the man with the hammer is loaded onto a police cruiser.

Lloyd motions the two of them over, the others are gathered near a throng of policemen milling about, and Cole reaches out and sets a hand of the small of Zane's back to lead him- Zanes shirt is soaked through and ice cold. The moment his fingers make contact, Zane jolts forward with the barest intake of breath between his teeth. Cole jerks his hand back, the pain flashing across Zanes face almost impossible to catch, but Cole knows his boyfriend better than anyone. A blank mask slips over Zanes face as he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the act, striding across the pavement before Cole can comment.

Cole trails after him, and now that he’s really looking he can see a dark outline of what looks like water straining the back of Zanes gi. In the heat of battle, if Zane got a particularly bad scape, he’d do some emergency first aid and patch himself up with ice like a scab. The hammer hit him hard, it must have jostled something loose- Cole tries not to worry too hard, Zane is still standing and had even fought with him. They just needed to wrap this up quick and get him home. He has half a mind to scoop the nindroid up gently and carry him back right now- but Zanes' words from earlier hang around his ears. Treating Zane like a delicate injured flower in front of any of the new SOG was bound to encourage their violence, just like in the aftermath of Jay. Like Lloyd wanted, a united and unbreakable front is what they needed to project.

Zane is hiding an injury, and for the sake of reputation, Cole has to allow it.

The police chief is standing with the others, and by the time Cole catches up Zane’s already reassuring everyone, “I am fine.” he says gently, Kais worry coming off of him in waves, “Is there anything we can help with?” He directs his next question to the police chief, clasping his hands in front of him.

Cole, along with the rest of his little family, zeroes in on the way Zanes hands are trembling.

His face is completely serene, his gi is soaked through as his ice patch job struggles to stay frozen, and he’s shaking badly enough for even Nya to notice, shooting him a concerned glance as the Police Chief thanks them. He drones on about safety measures and clean up and other things Cole wants him to shut up about so he can bundle Zane up in his arms and kiss and make it better.

Finally, once the conversation draws to a close and they can excuse themselves from the scene, they unconsciously box Zane in as they walk back to where the bounty is parked. The ramp is down and they surround him protectively as they trek up it. Zane still doesn’t hint that anything is wrong, the silence stretching over them tense as they wait for something to happen.

Nya lifts the bounty into the air, and still Zane doesn’t say anything as he pensively stares over the edge of the railing. Cole can’t stand it anymore, he turns around as the city disappears beneath the clouds, “Zane-” he starts.

“Cole.” Zane gasps, grabbing at Coles shoulders as his knees buckle, the calm mask cracking down the middle as he collapses. Like on the pavement before, Zane clenches his hands and bunches Coles gi in his fingers. Cole, startled, grabs Zanes waist- he gasps and whimpers, and cold fear snaps across Cole's mind. He’s never heard Zane make that noise before.

“Not there,” he shakes his head, Cole moves his hands up to cup under Zanes armpits, and while he doesn’t seem to be happy he doesn’t make that awful whimper again.

Jay and Kai are at his side, fluttering their hands in a panic. They want to help but Zanes reaction makes them reluctant to put their hands on him.

“How can we help? What’s hurt?” Jay asks as Cole pulls Zane closer, pressing them together to help stabilize him.

Zane doesn’t attempt to stand on his own, “Shut me down,” He pants, “It’s- the hammer. He broke my spine.”

Jay pales dramatically, weaseling between the two of them to gain access to Zanes chest compartment. He pried it open quickly, reaching it with practiced ease and resting his finger on the switch off button.

He hesitates, under normal circumstances Jay was to never use this button, “Are you sure?”

“Jay.” Zane stresses each letter, and tears spill over his eyes.

He goes limp- again- as Jay pushes the button, his forced shutdown stealing the iron grip from his hands and the tension from his body. He ragdolls in coles arms, slumping bonelessly into his chest. With no ice to keep him stable, Coles can feel the way his body- it’s… it’s not quite right, the break in his spine sending intense warning siglas to coles head where he’s laid against him. The same bone deep wrongness he’s felt once, in dance class when he was 12, and a girl landed wrong doing a complex dance move and her hand had twisted the wrong way- it’d made him sick, seeing the new bend in her wrist where there wasn’t supposed to be one. It makes him feel sick to carry Zane down to the garage when the dock at the monastery, legs trailing behind him and waist a little too loose where the rigid metal casing was snapped.

Jay's prognosis is, “It’s better than It could have been.” Which is not reassuring to Cole, but Nya seems to lose a bit of tension at.

Zane's artificial spine worked much like Cole or Kais, a bundle of ‘nerves’ and wires and other tubes strung through it to keep it safe. The blow had broken through the outer protective metal but the main cord and delicate wiring was largely unharmed. A few pinched and torn wires, mostly- Zane's ice brace kept the wound from deteriorating drastically. Jay wouldn’t comment on how much pain an injury like this would heap onto their friend, but Cole remembers the way the blood had drained from his face at Zanes confession.

“The fact that he could even move…” He mutters to Nya in awe, delicately and oh so gently maneuvering wires. Nya nodded, mute.

Once their repairs reach completion it’s nearly dark out, Jay flips the on switch back up, and they wait for Zane to turn on.

He wakes up with wet eyes, a few stray tears slipping down his face as the leftover pain signals work their way out of his system. He twists over the edge of the table, looking for relief from the hazy pain, nearly taking himself to the floor if not for Coles gentle hands steadying him.

He clutches at Cole again with a low sound of pain, and slowly his eyes clear.

Cole holds him as Zane buries his face in the soft of his gi top, hiding his eyes against Cole's collarbone. Kai moves in and starts to pet his hair soothingly, warmth spreading through his hands.

“You should have said something.” Cole murmurs, “This wasn’t a loose tube or a scrape, this isn’t something you should have powered through. You should have stayed down.” Cole doesn’t dwell on how much it must have hurt for Zane to get back on his feet, and how if he hadn’t the grunts knife would have struck home.

“I could not.” Zane breathes, pulling a way to readjust so he’s resting his cheek against Cole and his face is bare, “If the SOG knew they had hurt me-”

“We would have dealt with it just fine.” Kai says firmly, “Zane, this- you can’t hide an injury that bad. Watching you collapse, knowing how badly you were in pain…” He can’t finish his sentence, huddling closer and clutching at both his boys.

“I apologize,” Zane mutters, his eyelids flutter.

“We can discuss this tomorrow.” Cole says gently, “But I think we’re all exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”

Kai looks like he wants to say something else, but Zanes dazed and sleepy expression makes the words die on his tongue. He runs a hand through his hair, and Cole watches the weight of the day fully settle on his boyfriend's shoulders, “...Yeah, that sounds good to me.”

Cole carries Zane up to bed, Kai immediately taking up a spot at their boys' side. Zane curls into the warmth of Kais embrace as Cole turns out the light and crawls in behind him. Cole cuddles into Zane, who’s already asleep again, and idly traces the near imperceptible scar on his back where the hammer had split metal.

He stares into the patch of darkness where Zanes head is, and thinks about Zane lying prone on the pavement. He pulls him closer, wraps him up in his arms and holds on tight.

He closes his eyes, and sleep doesn’t hesitate to come.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (13)

word count; 14,463

summary; in the aftermath of an unusual rescue, some big revelations come to pass.

notes; y’all are gonna hate me but love me.

warnings; descriptive gore, gun use, reference to death, violence, gang activity, reference to drug use, reference to arson, reference to house fires, main character injury.

It was a known fact that it took three whole seconds in the morning before you could process where you were, and remember anything other than your own name.

That first second was spent in a quickly disseminated state of serenity. Your head wasn’t yet hurting, and you eased back into consciousness with a slow start, the darkness surrounding you oddly reminiscent, but the chilling cold and the damp was less so.

The second was when panic rushed through your system.  Your throat felt blocked as you came back to consciousness, the pain in your head came crashing back over you like a crushing tidal wave, the blood rushing on your head as coughs racked your body, trying to take a deeper breath, and panic filled you.

The third second made you roll onto your side, spluttering a little as pain throbbed behind your eyes and your head was spinning, making you feel like you were falling for just a second, before your nails were scraping at the material underneath you as you tried to sit up, everything along your body screaming out in agony and almost giving out with your weakness. It wasn’t soft cotton like your sheets, it was gritty like stone, tearing at your nails.

And then, you remembered.

You remembered exactly where you were, and what had happened, and why you were here. Well, that part was still a little fuzzy, you’d never really been given a reason. The pain in your body made sense, the dull throbbing in one eardrum more than the other and the shock of residual adrenaline left in your sore body that was beginning to make a resurgence in your fear, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The familiar burn of tears in your throat as a lump formed and the stinging of salt in your eyes as they threatened to fall, and then you found the strength to sit up, to blink and clear dust-filled eyes a little more, before wiping a hand over your face to get rid of it all. There wasn’t much light where you were, but there was a clear spot of musty-yellow lighting in the centre of the room, your body curled in the corner, dumped in uncomfortable positions that made your legs ache, and there was a figure you recognised leaning over the table.

Covered in blood, frantic, brown eyes fixed on you that glittered under the low light, you swallowed thickly.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty. Think ya’ can come give me a hand over here?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece the puzzle together, but then there was a clicking that made you jump unnecessarily violently in fear, the memory of the last time you’d heard it flashing behind your eyes like a scene from a movie. Newt was panicked, but clearly trying to stay calm, his eyes widening just a fraction in a messaged for only you to hear, and despite the pain you felt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Your bag was weighing you down, medical supplies rattling, and you stumbled on feet that you could barely feel until your hands were braced on the edge of the table, and you could see what was going on a little better.

A gunshot victim, at least four bullet wounds, two packed with gauze that was rapidly soaking through as Newt had pressure on two others; swapping between them frantically if the pile of blood-sodden gauze on the floor was anything to go by. You assumed from the recognisable tattoo on the other half of this mans face too that he was a part of whatever gang this was, and clearly, an important member if they were willing to commit these kinds of crimes to save his life.

“You got more gauze, ‘cus I’m running out, and I could use your help getting him fixed up before we both end up looking like him.”

His words were low and whispered, and you gaped as you stared at the man. “This guy needs a hospital, and a team of professional medical surgeons. Like, Derek! Or, Dr Lahey! We aren’t trained for this!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all he's got.” Newt huffed, a spit of blood leaving the unnamed man’s body between Newt’s gloved fingers as he tried to shift his weight, a whispered curse from his lips as he tried to stop the flow again.

You nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the pain bouncing around the inside of your skull. You assessment the scene, noting the Newt really hadn't been able to do much, and thankfully, if the change in the daylight outside was anything to go by then you had only been out for an hour or so, maybe a little longer, light still coming in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The man in the corner was slumped in his chair, gun sitting beside him on the table, and your heart was racing so fast that the headache you sported was only getting worse. Your voice felt raw and hoarse as you tried to speak on it, squeaking and cracking the first time you tried to speak in anything above a whisper.

“We’re gonna’ need some water over here, boiled if you can to stop an infection, but even just bottled water would do at this point.” The man sitting on the chair stopped his rocking, the groaning of the seat against the concrete pausing, and you jumped as the front two legs slammed back down onto the floor. He stared at you for a moment, analysing you, before giving in, wandering over to the door and undoing a heavy deadbolt to open it up, never turning his back to the two of you and keeping his gaze locked with yours before throwing a demand for bottled water over his shoulder.

There was scuffling, various sounds of movement on the other side and you assumed there would be multiple people, before the door was closing once again, and the grating sound of metal was making itself knowing again in such a piercing scream along the lock that you shivered, wincing at the chill it gave you, stomach twisting.

“All right, this is a fucking mess.”

“You don’t say, love.” Newt grunted, a soft laugh falling from him as you opened up your bag, hands shaking as you tore it roughly, the zip ricocheting along its tracks to expose the contents to you. A fresh pair of gloves, and two of the strongest painkillers you could find that you forced yourself to choke down dry, and then you were attempting to focus.

Your scissors came first, chopping around Newt’s hands as best you could to remove the sodden clothing that covered his body to expose blood-smeared and frayed skin, torn from bullet wounds and bruised from the bleeding under the skin. Pushing the fabric aside, Newt pressed down a piece of gauze that was turning redder from pink by the moment, no white left on it, and the colour of his skin was beginning to turn sickly pale.

Grabbing for your flashlight, you noticed it was gone, left nowhere on your bag and missing from your person, patting down every pocket, before your partner simply huffed. “I wanted to do a trauma exam, except my torch is on my keys, too, and they took those a while ago because they have things that could be used as a weapon on them.”

“What, like my star-shaped plushie keyring?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes, reaching a hand up to the lamp overhead, and tapping your fingers against the metal, hissing at the heat building up along the cover of the lamp, but deciding it would have to do. It wasn’t ideal, and it wouldn't give results all that accurate, but if there wasn’t any functioning or reaction at all, then there was no point in doing this at all, because the bleeding in his torso wouldn’t be the bleeding that would kill him.

Grabbing onto the stem instead, you covered his eyes with one hand, adjusting the lamp to sit a little differently, holding it over his head. Moving your hand back quickly, you lifted his eyelid, his pupil sluggish in his movements, but there was definitely a reaction, and you let out a little breath of relief. One more thing you could deal with. Checking the other eye, just to be certain, you got much the same reaction, not a speed you were overall happy with, but certainly better than nothing. This guy really had seen the worst of it, there was swelling along his jaw, cut and battered, a blackish bruise forming above his cheekbone and burst blood vessels in the same eye, and that was just his face.

He was coated in blood, and you couldn't tell whether it was his or someone else’s, some dried and other patches still oozing, body marred with bruises and cuts, both old and fresh, most of which were unrelated to the gunshot wounds he had. A fist came banging on the door, just in time, water bottles being handed through when it was cracked open a fraction, and there was only six of them by your count, eyes flittering over the sealed packets of water that hadn't even been opened, and you’d have to stretch it to make it last.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than this guy, he has a bullet in his thigh.” The joke was to brush off his own pain, but for the past couple of minutes, he’d been shuffling his weight from one foot to another, and you glanced around, noting the box that was sitting only a few feet away. The unidentified man set to guard the two of you was coming over, the door sealed up tight once again and the packet of water in his hands.

“Can you put them down on the box? We could use the extra surface?”

He paused, glancing at it, considering the request, before agreeing. Silently, albeit, he accepted your request, dropping the bottles down onto it and kicking the crate across the floor to you, wooden container scraping over the stonework and bumping against your leg roughly, and you tried not to glare at him as your leg buckled.

A coppery taste filled your mouth as you licked over your bottom lip, wincing at the slight pain of the cut, swollen and sore, but not as much as the pain along your forehead, a cut you assumed you gained on the drive here. “So, first up, we need to try and stitch up those holes.”

“If I let go of these cuts, he’ll lose a lot of blood.”

“I know. We can work fast, but I need you to do the stitching, because I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.” You held your hands up, the uncontrollable trembling taking you over was far too violent to be able to do sutures, but you could definitely hold down pressure. Newt nodded, your hands closing over his, the squeeze of cold blood between your fingers from the gauze making you gag slightly, choking down that feeling of nausea.

His hands slipped out from underneath your own, and you pressed down the second they were gone, the man underneath you groaning under his breath as he constantly walked the border between conscious and unconscious. As you held down, Newt reached across his body, snatching up the first of the water bottles. Unscrewing the lid and placing it down, he left the cap beside it, before he was shuffling through his bag.

Pulling out the kit with needles and thread in, your emergency stitches kit that you’d ever actually to use in the field, and you were having flashbacks and pinpricks of pain along the tips of your fingers as you remembered practising the stitches in the academy, constantly poking your fingers with the metal thread.

The strongest antiseptic followed, dark brown liquid in a half-empty container sloshing against the sides, and it dripped across the edges, spilling a little in his haste, before he was diluting it in the first bottle. Lid back on, shaking it to mix, the once drinkable water turned a murky brown colour, and your eyes were stinging a little front he still open bottle letting strong fumes out into the air.

“I’m thinking chest, stomach, stomach, thigh.”

“Should probably elevate his legs if you wanna’ go thigh last, it’s pretty close to his femoral.” Newt nodded, glancing around, before realising there wasn’t much for the two of you to work with.

“Alright, chest, thigh, stomach?”

“I guess.” You mumbled, none of the odds being in either of your favours, and you watched as your partner pressed his fingers down against the pulse in the man’s neck, frowning at what he found and holding the position down for longer than what was good, the results silently given to you simply by the actions. “Do you need me to push the cut shut so you can stitch?”

“I do, but if you let go of those other ones, he’ll bleed out.”

You gnawed a little on your lower lip, fear and panic building once again, because every slip this man made closer to death, he was dragging both you and Newt with him. The words hadn't been specifically spoken, nothing was clear, but you could read between the lines, and if this man didn’t survive the day, then neither would you and Newt.

You didn’t know what had happened to him, you didn’t want to. Whatever kind of illegal activities, gang territory fight or simply men wreaking havoc upon one another had caused this, you wanted no more part of it than keeping him alive long enough to hope that you and your friend might get out of this situation. The hand under your heart thudded a little more violently as he surfaced back into total consciousness once again, a gasping breath followed by sputtering, fresh red bubbling in his spit as he tried to clear the blood that was pooling in his throat, before an agonising sound was leaving him.

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

You jumped at the loud voice, yelling from across the room and the gun clicked again, the sound a threat that made your entire body stiffen painfully, nails digging into the mains chest as your hands tried to ball themselves into fists.

“We’re trying to save his bloody life!” Newt yelled back, and you gasped, eyes widening a little, because if the two of you had already learned anything from talking back to these people it was the risk of a ruptured eardrum and a killer headache. Clearly, this wasn’t the same man who’d taken you hostage, the rasp in his voice a little different and this man simply grunted at the pair of you disdainfully, rolling his eyes and shuffling in his seat beside the door.

“Alright, what if we use the bags for weight? It’s not ideal, but if we work quickly, I can hold one shut while the bags put some pressure on the other two, and I can hold it shut.”

The blond before you flicked his eyes over everything, fiddling with the tools as he toyed with the tweezers he had retrieved, wiping them down as best he could with some tissue dipped in the antiseptic water. “This guy is so gonna’ fucking die.” He whispered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that left you, swaying on your feet a little as you did, the rush of a chemical other than adrenaline being overwhelming.

“Well, we’re all he’s got.” You repeated his words back to him, a cheeky flash of white teeth in a smile that was gone as fast as it came, before you were shaking your head and refocusing on the task at hand, chasing away anything else you might be feeling in the moment. Daring to free one hand from his thigh, you watched the rapid spurts of blood that came free, trickling over his trousers to the table below, before you were putting your bag down on top. You couldn't see much, whether or not it was even working, but it was the best chance the two of you had.

Newt copied your action, placing his bag down over the wounds on his stomach, much like you had done, giving the two of you the chance to focus on the wound on his chest.

Taking the disinfectant from his hand and pressing down a cotton pad over the end, you soaked the small white ball in the liquid, packing it into the wound as Newt tried to clear the area to see what he was doing, but really, it was only smearing the blood around further. You could clean him up and do a better job of it later, but the first thing you needed to do was get the blood flow under control and wash off the antiseptic once it was clean.

You pinched the hole shut, temporarily stopping the floor, beads of red pooling at the corners, and Newt spilt water over the tops of your fingers, the cold feeling making you shiver, because despite the freezing temperatures in whatever kind of warehouse you are trapped inside of, the layer of clammy sweat coating your skin was hiding you from the chill. Once you could see what you were doing, Newt sighed, taking the tweezers in one hand, and nodding his head.

“Push up around the edges to stop the bullet slipping, I should be able to get it pretty quick. I was good at this part.”

“You scare me a little, why the fuck were you a bullet removal prodigy?” He shrugged, winking a little and holding the metal tongs over the wound, before nodding his head once. Slipping your fingers out of the way, you pressed down around the edges, blood spurting up again but you pressed down, stopping the bullets from shifting as Newt pushed into the man's chest through the hole already made. There was a scarcely audible sound, one deaf to the untrained ear but like sirens to a paramedic, the cling of the tips of the needle against the tip of the bullet, and newt shifted his fingers a little.

Letting the metal open back up from where he’d squeezed them closed like a bullet, the edges of the hole stretched around the expanding metal, and an intense look of concentration took over Newt’s face, not even looking at the wound but staring at the wall behind you, looking right through it as he operated purely on instinct and the touch as he felt his way through it. He let out a victorious little noise, pulling back, and as he did, he brought out the shell of a bullet, one that looked to be homemade, though that didn’t exactly surprise you, and it let out a much louder clanging as he dropped it back down onto a metal tray beside the victim’s head.

You moved instantly, the second that it was pulled back you were pushing your thumb and forefinger back up against the edges of the cut to contain the bleeding. Holding it tightly, Newt picked up the next set of his equipment, an atraumatic needle, one of ten and you hoped he was as good as he boasted being because you only had ten between you both, and you’d need two per wound with the length of these wires to seal them up tight enough.

You watched, carefully, as Newt threaded the first of the holes through the wound, pulling it out of the other side with the tweezers, and beginning to tie a series of surgical knots to keep them closed. He gave it a test tug, the skin pulling as he did, but it didn’t rip or tear, neither the wire nor the flesh, a solid base with which he could work. Beginning to sow him up further, Newt moved in steady motions, each gap only two millimetres apart at the maximum, pulling them tightly enough to stop the blood flow and allow tissue repair to began, but not enough that it would tear at the inevitable strain it would undergo when it was done up.

As soon as she was halfway through, attaching a new thread to continue with, and the wound was getting closer to being shut, allowing you to move your fingers out of his way, a slight breath escaping you as your breathing hitched each time the needle or thread came too close to you, because the last thing you needed right now was to get an infection from someone else’s blood and a dingy warehouse, or to lose time on this man’s life by having to start disinfecting everything all over again.

As he sealed it up, he pulled all of the threads a little tighter, working his way along to make sure the thread was evenly distributed, before fastening up the thread. He pulled back, the both of you waiting with bated breath to see whether blood would come free or whether they would bust open once your fingers moved, and while they pulled tautly, they never broke or tore.

You flooded with relief, Newt letting out a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, relief overlaying it all, and you took just a second of reprieve to know that you were just one step closer to this all being over. Opening your mouth, you weren’t sure what was coming, words of gratitude and accomplishment sitting on your tongue, aimed at any kind of higher power that might be watching over the two of you right now, but your partner beat you to it.;

“Let’s check the bag wounds.”

You nodded your head, swallowing back whatever you were going to say, beginning to feel a little dizzy as your head spun, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, containing the way you were feeling. Lifting away the bag that was sitting over his thigh, you were both surprised and impressed that the bag method had held reasonably well. There was more blood than there would be if you’d held it yourself, but you could work with what you had, and as your eyes flicked to where Newt was checking his stomach, you found similar results. Your gut was twisting again, bile rising in your throat at the sight of the blood in various places, an unusual phenomenon as blood had never bothered you before, and you turned away, gagging as vomit threatened to make itself known, and you tried not to clap a blood-soaked hand over your mouth, the thought only sickening you further.

“Woah, you alright?” You gagged, dry heaving a few more times as you tried to keep back the vomit that was on the verge of making itself known, tears lining your eyes and heat flooding over your cheeks as everything within you threatened to let go, but you managed to keep a lid on it. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. Just aftershock, I think. Hunger, too, maybe, been a long time since I had anything real to eat, I think my body is just all fucked up right now.” His eyes narrowed on you, but he nodded, accepting the answer because the two of you needed to focus on things that were more important.

Once you had suppressed your nausea, you were picking the scissors back up, Newt resetting and disinfecting the equipment once again as you cut away at a patch of the ruined jeans the man was wearing. The denim was stiff while wet, and you struggled to cut it, your fingers aching as the metal of the handles pressed into the edges of your fingers, and you released a breath as you were holding as it was finished. Wiping down the area and packing the hole with disinfectant to make sure it was clean.

The procedure between the two of you started up again, only a second later you were pinching the wound shut, waiting for Newt to extract the bullet before moving to knot the thread and begin to fasten the stitches. It felt like time was coming to a stop while also speeding along, your fingers moving to the pulse point on his neck to monitor how it was going, counting the beats you could feel and trying to remember how light it felt so each period check would reveal whether it grew stronger or weaker.

You felt like the clock was ticking by too fast, every time you glanced up to the musty glass barrier hanging over the door seemed like it was spinning by at double speed, the hand constantly moving in starling jumps around the clock, the shadows in the room growing more pronounced and sharp as the sun moved across the sky, the light becoming duller as the one hanging over you both seemed to become brighter, and you watched Newt work.

As a team, you stitched him up, making sure that each wound was sealed up tightly and that they wouldn't burst, the pair of you physically exhausted. You could see the ache in Newt’s leg, he’d given up on even trying to hide it a while ago, as the two of you had moved onto the third bullet hole, all of his weight sitting on his good leg as he balanced barely anything on the bad one. Four bullets were sitting in a row, lined up neatly beside his head, and you let out a sigh, scrubbing over his skin carefully to wipe up the traces of blood.

Once he’d been stable enough, you checked his vision again, his reaction times having increased by a fraction of a second, but it was enough to mark an improvement, and his pulse was picking up with both strength and speed. You could see the bruises and cuts along his skin more clearly once you’d wiped him down of excess blood, littered with marks that would fade, only the bullet holes to turn pinkish-purple with scar tissue eventually, to join all of the other battle wounds along his flesh. Various tattoos to match the symbols on his face were across his body, and you made sure to treat every single cut, not wanting to leave anything up to chance, your body screaming out in protest as your adrenaline died down, and exhaustion was crawling in.

You were overwhelmed, tears building in your eyes, and Newt mentioned nothing as a few fell free, because you were sure that at some point - perhaps before you’d surfaced back to consciousness all that time ago - that he would have done the same. The situation was terrifying and you were struggling to process it all, every thought you had was like a swirling hurricane, melded with every other thought and emotion you were feeling, leaving you hopeless to process your thoughts but just lay rampant to them.

Anxiety was spiking through your system, choking it down by focusing on the methodical cleaning of the man, but eventually, there was nothing left to do. Fresh gauze and bandages were stark in comparison to his sickly-coloured skin, wrapped neatly and tightly and finally staying crisp and clean as you had everything under control, and your legs were threatening to buckle. You packed away slowly, stepping back from the table, and removing your gloves to join the scattered piles of medical waste that covered the floor and the edges of the workspace.

Newt didn’t even bother to put things back properly, to look after the equipment, he simply dropped it all inside, doing the zip up enough to hold it shut, before it was dangling from his fingers by the straps, and you followed suit.

Noting the movements, the man in the chair stood, his movements slightly wobbly from how long he’d been sat down, and you realised how long must have passed. As he approached, he kicked one of the empty bottles aside, all six used to the last drop for cleaning and disinfecting, and he pulled the gun from his waistband, making sure his finger was over the trigger in case either you or Newt made an attempt to pull something.

Not that you had any chance, there was a pile of everything that could possibly be used as a weapon over on the table beside where he had been guarding.

“He’ll live?”

You raised your hands, folding them behind your head in a symbol of your cooperation as he turned to you, and you tried not to sway too much in your weakness, simply nodding your head to him, and swallowing thickly. “He’ll need to keep those wounds clean, you can take the stitches out in about a month, or longer, wait until they start to form flesh for a scar but take them out before the skin gets too puffy.”

He nodded his head before lifting the gun up a little higher, motioning to the bag you held, and you trembled, his finger flexing a little on the trigger. “Whatever we’re going to need to keep it clean. Get it out. Put it on the table here, and then walk over to the wall until your back is pressed to it.”

You lifted the bag slowly, the dragging of the zip over the metal was all that field the room, tense silence taking over before you were reaching inside, daring to take your eyes off of the man and quell your fear to be able to reach inside. Pulling out both the diluted and undiluted bottles, you hoped he didn’t notice the lack of canister spray you’d left at the scene, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the life you’d left hanging in the balance, and wondering whether he’d survived.

By now, the shift at the firehouse would have been over, and you did not doubt that a missing persons case would have been filed for you and Newt, the abandoned ambulance after over an hour of no check-in would lead them to know something had happened, but you didn’t know how long it would take to find you, or if they even could.

Placing the bottles, spare bandages and wraps, as well as some painkillers down on the table, you stepped back, fastening your bag up.

“He’ll be in a fair amount of pain for a while, they should last two weeks, he can’t take any more than two a day, or else he’ll OD.”

The man nodded, motioning backwards toward the shadowed walls, and you stepped back slowly, Newt following when his command was given, and his hands were held up into the air too, both of you proceeding with caution.

While one danger had dissipated, another was making itself known, the purpose of being brought here was over, you and Newt had served your purpose, and if the man asking for supplies and advice was anything to go on, it meant that either they planned to let you go or planned to kill you, because you clearly wouldn't be sticking around to follow through on a treatment plan.

Once your back hit the wall, you stilled, Newt coming to stand beside you. The door was unlocked, several more men coming in, and the four of them all lifted their comrade carefully, carrying him out, and the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you both in cold silence. This area of the room seemed even colder than that of your impromptu operating theatre had, the shadows creating a drop in temperature, but you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Your head was still throbbing, your eyes felt heavy each time you tried to hold them open, the adrenaline and fear in the situation had been all that had helped to even keep you awake, and you rolled your head from side to side, trying to ease the pain in your neck.

Newt followed beside you, your legs pulled up before you as his stretched out, your bags abandoned together between your bodies, and your head came to rest on his shoulder, a heavy sigh let out.

“I think you have a concussion.”

You chuckled, but it was dry and humourless, simply a sound made to fill the silence and bush him off, but he wasn’t accepting that answer. His hand closed over yours, lacing your fingers together comfortingly and squeezing tightly, and you did your best to squeeze him back just as firmly. “I don’t have a concussion, I just have a headache.”

“Yeah.” He hummed, and you thought for a second, you may actually have won an argument with him. “But you also have nausea, you passed out, you’re a little confused, you’re weak on your feet and you can barely stand up straight.”

“It’s a-”

“You say aftershock and I’ll slap you.” He teased, a genuine laugh leaving you this time, and your shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “When we get out of here, w-”

“If.”

“When we get out of here,” His voice was a little firmer, commanding you to have as much faith as he did, “Will you please just get it checked out? Just to make me feel better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes behind closed lids, and groaning when he jostled his shoulder to wake you back up to the fullest alertness you could muster. “Fine! Fine, when we get out of here, I’ll get it checked out.”

Silence encased you both, darkness taking over, and the man who’d been tasked with guarding you both returned, taking his seat again and setting up to play on his phone from the second that he was comfortable, and you waited. He said nothing, not noticing the stare both you and Newt had fixed on him, your heart sinking as he remained quiet. The longer his lack of information dragged on, the more you felt doom beginning to sweep over.

The fact that he had nothing to say to you both screamed volumes into the void. There were no threats to keep your mouths shut, or looming promises of what would happen if you exposed the group’s location, or even any information on when you’d be leaving, and it seemed that they had no intention to let you go at all.

As you wiggled a little against the concrete, butt becoming numb from the stone underneath you, your legs stretched out to match your partners, and your eyes closed. You were fading away again, drifting towards sleep as it called out to you, the spinning of the room, the dizziness that was bordering on vertigo and the nausea with the headache, it all seemed to lessen as you slipped from consciousness.

Newt was talking to you, forcing you to stay just enough awake that you didn’t drift completely, but you weren’t processing what he was saying, the words just becoming background noise that disturbed you from being able to slumber, but you suspected that was the whole point. He wasn’t talking about anything important, he was telling you his mother’s recipes and the time he once went to buy new work shoes but almost walked out of the store while wearing an un-purchased pair because he was so tired from a double shift.

You missed the banging in the other rooms, you missed the actions taking place, barely roused by the sudden shaking your body felt, and you only snapped back to consciousness when you felt hands on your body. You kicked roughly, Newt barely avoiding the blow as all the pain you’d felt came flooding back over you in shockwaves, making you shudder violently at the surge of pain and nausea, before you were blinking at the dull lighting in the room.

“Stick with me, love. Tommy would kill me if we had to take you to the hospital after the final hurdle because I couldn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh, shut up.” Your words were slurred, and you shook your head, eyes squeezing closed at the throbbing taking place behind them. “You’d love that, I’m surprised you haven’t sacrificed me for a trip to the ER yet, anything to see Dr Derek in his lab coat, right?”

Pink flushed his cheeks, his eyes flickering over to the door, and he leaned in a little, hugging you tightly and shaking you enough to jolt energy through your body, a groan on your lips as he did. “Something is going on outside, and I never pass up a chance for an I-told-you-so!”

“A what?” You questioned, confusion still washing over you, but you never got a chance for an answer. The sound of a bullet pinging against metal was so sharp that it left another ringing in your ears as you cupped your hands over the sides of your head just a second too late. Newt did the same, falling away from shock with a grunt, and the man beside the door was in a little more agony at his close proximity to the sound.

You blinked blurry vision clear, watching smoke curl up from the lock, before the heavy metal door was falling open. It was a uniform you recognised, one of the police members you’d already seen much of over the last few cases, your brows raising a little as you watched them enter. You kept your hands over your ears, at least two more shots reverberating through the air and you felt them more than you heard them, body feeling the impact and breath feeling knocked from your lungs at the vibrations over the airwaves.

It was all like a dream, detached from reality as you were pulled to your feet by an officer, Newt’s hand dropping away from yours and you stumbled, feelings as though your movements weren’t your own. As you were guided through the halls, you tried to remember some of it, any of it, but everything you saw and heard seemed to be going in one ear and out the other.

Flashing blue lights outside with wailing sirens signalled the police cars, and several men around you were all being arrested, pinned down face first and snarling as they were cuffed, but you didn’t have enough energy to feel intimidated right now.

The fresh air was a shock, like plunging into water below the freezing point, and you took a sudden and gasping inhale, coming to a full stop, and everything out of focus suddenly went into overdrive. As you stepped out of the building the haze seemed to drop away, and you took another lungful of the air, panting breaths as you tried to fill your lungs with the source of oxygen, a panic attack building as you finally let everything cup back through, and gentle hands were guiding you to an ambulance.

You recognised the paramedics waiting inside, they were friendly as they greeted you by name and you recognised them from another case, perhaps the one on the bridge or at the chemical plant, you weren’t too sure, but it didn’t matter. An oxygen mask was placed over your face, fresh breaths of air racing through your lungs on a steady distribution that forced your breathing to even out, and you were grateful for it, not wanting to break down until you were curled up in your own bed tonight.

You winced at the flashlight that flickered over your eyes, stars in your eyes flashing for a second as you blinked to clear them, and while the paramedic around you shuffled within their own devices, you shifted yourself slightly on the stretcher, turning to stare out at the collections of cars instead, trying to see more than just the inside of the ambulance.

You searched for Newt, unable to find his blond hair for a good few minutes, before finally, you spotted him. Messy mop head in a far corner, beside a collection of cars that didn't belong to the public services, but instead to the members of the public services.

He was wrapped up tightly in his best friend's arms, Thomas patting his back comfortingly, as Minho all but bounced with excitement at his side. Brenda was leaning on her car, and Gally was standing beside them, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. They were all in casual clothing, clearly having changed since the end of their shift had rocked around so long ago, the night sky closing in overhead as the day was being chased away, and you took another deep breath through the mask, smiling again.

Just the sight of your team was reassuring, to know they’d found you, they’d come to collect you, to make sure you were okay, and your heart thumped steadily and surely in confirmation that you needed their comfort right now. They were talking, Newt using a lot of hand gestures and while you couldn't tell much about their features, you knew they’d all be flickering from amusement to confusion to horror. Newt was quite the storyteller, at any time, no matter the trauma.

They turned, Newt pointing over to the ambulance you were within, and you raised a hand to wave to your friend as you watched all of their attentions move to you, before the paramedic before you was summoning your attention once again. You turned to her, the call of your name snapping you to the moment, and as much as you didn't want to look away from them all, you knew you’d be reunited with them soon enough.

“Well, you definitely have a concussion.” She confirmed, and you pouted, taking a final deep breath from the oxygen mask, and then taking it off.

“Newt is going to live for the ‘I-told-you-so’.” You scowled, and she seemed to come into more focus within your memory now. You remembered her, she had been there at the chemical plant, she’d been new at the time, a trainee, fresh out of the academy and on one of her first cases, and you’d tried to comfort her about the card system, making sure to navigate as many red cards away from her as you could to make a hard day just a little easier.

She grinned, handing you a plastic cup with some tablets inside, and a bottle of water, with the lid already unscrewed. “I’ll spare you the medical analysis, I’m sure you know what to do.” You only nodded, taking both from her gratefully and tipping the pills onto your tongue, before following them with a gulp of water, and taking them down eagerly. “Two painkillers to keep the headaches and muscle soreness at bay, as well as the nausea.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, I’m going to have to rain-check. Am I good to go? I’m desperate to just get home.”

She chuckled, nodding, and you stood up, still feeling a little unsteady and lightheaded, but it was beginning to get easier. Giving her a final thanks, and climbing down from the van, you closed the doors up for her, banging on the back when they were sealed up, and she gave a thumbs up from inside of the window, before sorting everything out and preparing for their journey back.

Turning around, there was a body directly behind you, and you cursed loudly while jumping, eyes trailing up from a familiar chest to his face and raising a brow as warm honey-coloured eyes stared at you. “Fuck, Tommy, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone who’d been freshly rescued after an abduction? We tend to be jumpy.”

He grinned, shaking his head a little at your words, before your own smile was following. His hands came up, cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the warmth that his palms brought over the cold skin of your face, sagging a little at his touch. “I have a lot of questions, but the main one is; are you okay? I just need to know you’re alright, and everything else can wait.”

“I’m okay, Tommy, I promise. A little battered and bruised, but hey, what’s new?” He rolled his eyes softly, a yawn following on your lips as you covered it, not missing the fond look he held as he continued to stare, eyes sweeping over your features. You waited for a second longer, before nudging one of your feet forward to bump your toes against his, your brows raising a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just really fucking worried about you.” He whispered, eyes dropping down a little, fixing on your lips, and licked over his own. His hands fell further down, sitting over your jaw and he dragged a thumb across your lips a little, your mouth pouting instinctually as he did, and his lips flicked up at the edges, never taking his gaze from where his finger was resting. “Chasing after you is like being on a damn rollercoaster.”

“How’s that?” You mumbled, breath clouding in the cold air slightly but the words were whispered, and his lashes tickled against your cheek as he shifted to bump his nose against yours, dragging them together slowly, his lips pressing to his own finger on the other side.

“Exciting, addictive, a total rush, but a little scary right at the big drop.”

You brought a hand up, sitting over his cheek, his head tipping into your hand, and his thumb slipped away, leaving nothing between you to stop you from being able to taste the overly sweetened coffee on his breath that he drank whenever he got worried. “Don’t kiss me yet.”

“Why not? It’s me and you, and now I know you’re okay, and I just really want to.” He teased you, pushing in enough to trace his lips very gently against your own, sparks of electricity shooting along you at the fleeting brush that you could still feel but wasn’t enough to be a kiss, but already left you wanting more. “If you don’t give me a reason soon, I’m gonna’ kiss you breathless, and they’ll need to put you back on that oxygen mask.”

You let out a soft breath, an airy laugh, before finding the strength to pull back by a fraction. “I have a concussion.”

He snapped back, eyes wide and brows furrowing so tightly you thought he'd get permanent perry lines, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You said you were fine! You little liar!”

“I am fine!” You took his hands, pulling them away from your face and weaving your fingers with his on both sides, before rocking up on your tiptoes, and pressing your lips to his lower cheek, hearing him whine a little at the near-miss kiss. “I’m just a little woozy, and tired, and shaken up.”

“You promise that’s all?”

“I swear.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your own cheek in return as he respected your boundaries. “If you can set rules for our first kiss, then so can I. I want to be at my peak when we do, I don’t want anything to spoil it, I want to remember it perfectly, and not have such a killer headache, preferably.”

“I can live with that. We’ll wait. For now.” You nodded your head, foreheads resting together once again, and your eyes closed, simply soaking in how it felt to be surrounded by him, before a loud and exaggerated clearing of the throat was breaking you apart, and Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, a wicked smirk on her face as she stared at you both.

“Do we get any greetings, or do we not matter anymore? Because I was kinda’ worried about you too.”

You grinned, the woman who you were proud to call your best friend was holding her arms out for you, and you dropped Thomas’ hands, feeling him let you go and step back just as quickly now that everyone else had come over, and you wrapped her up in your arms as she squeezed you tightly, rocking you from side to side. Another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you grinned as the familiar smell of your partner’s aftershave overwhelmed your senses, the man clinging to you from the back as he wrapped his arms around the both of you.

Minho followed, a wicked grin on his face as he draped himself across Brenda’s back, squeezing all of you even tighter, and Thomas followed beside Newt, Gally and Fry coming next, until you couldn’t see out past the mass of bodies that had joined, feeling as though you were in the middle of a rugby scrummage and you could barely breathe, the laughter you were letting out doing nothing to help.

Eventually, Brenda was elbowing the men back, letting you slip free when they all backed away, and you missed all of their body heats, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself to keep warm All you had was the thin material of your uniform shirt, soaked in blood and clammy sweat, as well as various medicines and chemicals, with a vest underneath. It was doing little against the cold of the night closing in, twilight well past as stars started to make themselves known.

You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, wondering how Newt wasn’t feeling the cold, but he was excitedly retelling the tale already of the surgery the two of you had been forced to perform, a story that would last him for ages, no doubt, but it was his way of processing the trauma; to turn it into something he was proud to remember instead of something he was scared to think about, something that made him feel bold instead of terrified, and you wanted to support that, so you kept your mouth shut.

Stepping back over to Thomas, his gaze left his best friend, flicking down to you, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and raising a brow when you tugged his arm out of his pocket. He let you, his arm limp in your hold as he let you guide him, a soft pink flushing his cheeks as you tucked yourself under his arm, your cheek moving to rest on his shoulder, your hands tucking into his pocket and one set of fingers weaving with the fingers of his that were still inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before turning to look up at him as his arm squeezed around you a little more tightly.

There was a grin on his face, one with a hidden meaning as he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain it. “You know, Newt is gonna’ give us shit for cuddling.” His fingers were moving over your back in slow patterns, large palm rubbing slowly and transferring warmth back to you where you were chilled to the bone.

“I don’t care. I’m fucking cold, and you’re nice and warm.” You moved, face pressing into him a little further, the rest of your words becoming muffled, and he chuckled.

“Well, in that case,” He simply rested his chin on the top of your head, freeing up his other arm to hold you more securely, and letting out a slow breath that became a slight yelp as you pressed cold hands under the edge of his hoodie to sit on warm skin, grinning cheekily at the scowl that formed as you did. “Is any of the story Newt is telling actually true?”

“Surprisingly, most of it.”

“Well, which p-” He was cut off, the gruff clearing of a throat making him fall silent, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed as heat made itself known along your cheeks when you found the police officer to be looking for you, the rest of the squad falling silent too and all turning to look at you, following the officer’s gaze, and you untangled yourself from Thomas.

“Sorry to interrupt you all. I just need your statement, ma’am, it’ll only take a moment.”

“You haven’t given your statement yet?” Newt quizzed, clicking his tongue in a tutting fashion, and you stuck your tongue out a little bit at him.

“You still haven’t been checked out by a paramedic yet?” You mocked, his amused face falling as he mock-glared at you, Minho pinching his arm as he tried to insist he was perfectly fine, his friend telling him otherwise.

“I’ll meet you over by that car in a moment, it’ll only take a few minutes to get your statement.” You nodded, the policeman giving you a polite smile, before tapping his pen against the pad in his hand and wandering away to the vehicle.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lips brushed against your ear, making you jump a little, and you turned back to face the man behind you, your lieutenant standing back up to his full height as you did, and raising his brows.

“No, I want you to take Newt over to an ambulance and force him to get a check-up. He’s more than happy to diagnose me, but he won’t do a self-diagnosis.” Thomas laughed, a hearty and full sound, and you assumed there were memories flashing behind his eyes of a childhood full of similar circumstances. “I’ll come and meet you over by the cars afterwards. I’m going to need a lift home, y’know..”

His hand came up, tucking away stray hairs behind your ear, and nodding his head. “I was already planning on that, don’t worry.” You smiled, head ducking a little, and you tensed up a little at the clenching in your gut again, fearing it was another bout of nausea rising, but instead, your stomach rumbled, loudly. There was a snicker, hidden in your hairline, and your lips pursed, a shy feeling growing within you once again. “I’ll take you to get some food, too.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, a finger hooking under your chin, pulling your face up, and there was a smirk there that only made you flush further. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re adorable? Because, you are.” You scowled, blush only growing stronger, and he smoothed a thumb over your cheek as did, glancing away over your shoulder for a second. “Go give your statement, I’ll wrestle Newt into an ambulance.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.” You twisted your head, nuzzling a little into his palm for a second, before pulling it away from your face and squeezing his hand. “I want McNuggets. McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

You raised a brow, hand smoothing down over his chest to sit just above his stomach, and his eyes dropped, following your hand, a slightly more vulnerable look on his face when he turned back to you; wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

You tugged on the front of his clothing. “Can I wear your hoodie?”

He froze for a second, before a rush of a breath was leaving him like a punch, and he smiled, reaching behind his head with one hand and tugging it up, stripping the garment off and shucking it down his arm, the long-sleeved shirt underneath rising up a bit as he did, and you forced your eyes away from the happy trail revealed or the flex of his biceps, taking the warm garment from him. He held it out, soft green material looking warm and inviting, flooded with his body heat and the smell of him, your fingers twitching to take it.

Undoing the buttons on the front of your shirt, you cursed under your breath at the cold while taking it off, just a tank top left underneath, before taking the hoodie. It caught on your ponytail, Thomas helping you to adjust it over your head before taking the ruining uniform from you and draping it over his arm like a waiter’s towel, nodding his hair and lifting your hair free from the collar.

He leaned in, lips pressing to your forehead, a soft kiss given to you, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go. Go give your statement, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we get you those nuggets. I’ll meet you at the cars.” Tucking your hands into warm pockets, you wandered away, bumping your hip against Brenda’s as you did and she stumbled a little from where she’d been balancing mid-yawn, flipping you off as you laughed while walking away, and making your way over to the officer.

He stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against his car as you approached, offering you his hand and introducing himself politely, and you freed up a hand to shake, giving him your name for the record, before your hands were once again clenched with the oversized hoodie’s pockets.

It was a simple case, there wasn’t much to tell. In all honestly, you didn’t know much. You wouldn't be much help, you’d been unconscious for the first half of the journey and in the midst of your concussion symptoms the second time, and you’d never seen the man pull up. You did tell him what you could, about the unusual call, you and Newt splitting up to check the area, before finding the man under the bridge. You tried your best to patch him up, before the two of you had been taken at gunpoint, and you’d lost consciousness when you’d been put in the car.

You asked about the fate of the man under the bridge, your heart sinking a little at the answer you got. He hadn't made it, he’d tried to use the equipment you’d left him but had passed away before the hour mark had passed, and you gripped onto yourself tightly to contain how you felt. He attempted to comfort you about it, to tell you that it was the gang activity you and Newt had speculated it to be, and that the man who’d been stabbed was a criminal, but it did little to ease your suffering.

You were a big believer in second chances; if you didn’t you wouldn't be in the place you were now, with the family you’d found.

Once he had you sign off on the confidentiality forms and disclosures, your name signed next to Newt’s chicken scratch signature, you were free to go, more than ready to just go home. Everything ached, you were still sore and covered with pain, your muscles all tensed up and torn from the strain of the day, your hunger making you feel like you were being eaten from the inside out by your own stomach and the headache that came with it wasn’t a highlight of your day, and your bed was calling out for you.

As promised, the teams were over by the cars, music playing on the radio from within Brenda’s as the door was open, letting her lean against it, and Newt was sucking happily on one of the lollipops reserved for little children that some of the ambulances carried, his tongue turning purple from the false-grape flavour of it.  

He saw you coming, a little bounce in his step as you approached, before he was coming to stand before you, a smacking sound making itself known as he pulled the sweet treat away from his mouth. “You okay? Did he tell you about the guy?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, and he frowned, shrugging a little, but holding his arms open.

“He was a bad guy, you can’t save everyone, but you tried, okay? You gave it your best.” His words were true and you knew they were, you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity, you’d done everything you could without losing your one life, in which he would have died too, and you were trying not to risk your own life as much these days. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, and he squeezed you a little tighter, clearly not accepting that answer, and waiting for me. “God, I hate this job sometimes, but I love it too. We save more lives than we lose, we change more lives for the good than bad, but every job has its bad sides.” It felt like you’d been having an awful lot of the bad side lately, but that only meant there was a lot of good to come to balance out the scales. “Have you texted Derek, yet, I bet he’s pretty worried.”

Newt let out a breathy sound at the mention of his crush, sagging in your arms a little before pulling back, and pale cheeks were flushed with warmth, the men avoiding your gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. “Not yet. Bren had my bag in the car, I got a lot of missed texts and a missed call, but I don’t really know what to say. It’s late, he finishes shift soon, I figure I’ll just wait until I get home.”

“Maybe you should go and see him.” You teased, poking at his shoulder, and your friend’s flush only deepened, shaking his head a little.

“I want to take a hot bath, and watch embarrassing rom-coms and eat an ungodly amount of food in a very unattractive way, and I don’t think me and Derek are quite at that stage. Yet.” He added the last word on, smirking as that cheeky attitude came flooding back, and you felt a presence coming to stand behind you. You knew who it was without having to turn, feeling it instinctively as a slight thrill raced through you, before a kiss was being pressed to the back of your head, an arm slipping around your waist, and a chin hooking over your shoulder.

Newt smirked, eyes moving over the pair of you slowly, and you ignored the look as he busied himself by moving to the backseat of Brenda’s car to retrieve your bag as well, and rifling through his own for his phone.

“Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” You relaxed a little further into his hold, his fingers toying with the stitching underneath the pocket of the jumper idly as you sagged into him, feeling the movement of the muscles in his chest as he shrugged.

“Whole teams here, and you’re kinda’ the centre of attention right now. You and Newt. I didn’t really wanna’ push my boundaries, but I’m kinda’ afraid that if I let you go again, you’re going to get into some more stupid shit and get me all riled up again, and I’m still all full of adrenaline form these last few hours worrying about you.”

You moved to the side a little, twisting your head to be able to look up at him, eyes scanning over his face as you analysed his words, nothing but honesty and vulnerability shown to you. “Hey, I didn’t get myself into this one, it just happened. For once, I have no blame! I was cooperative with the criminal, kept my mouth shut, for the most part, you would have been proud of me.” His lips twitched with a soft form of amusement at your joke. “Besides, they all know how I feel about you, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle about it, and neither are you. I don’t think whatever this is, is exactly a state secret.”

He beamed at that, you weren’t sure why, but his face lit up with pure joy, and he nodded his head sucking down to peck the tip of your nose with a sweet kiss, one that made you feel ticklish, your face screwing up slightly. Turning back to your friends, you watched Newt stare at his phone for a second, considering accepting a call as his finger hovered over the accept button, the vibrating device with Derek’s name flashing along the top going off after a second, and you frowned.

“You sure you don’t want company tonight, Newt?”

“Yeah, I don’t really think either of you should be alone. Especially not with your concussion.” She pointed at you, but her attention quickly moved back to Newt, and the lanky blond shrugged. “How about a girl’s night? You can join in, Newt, because you can talk guys, so you’re acceptable.”

“Wow, thanks, Bren.” His tone was sarcastic but his face lit up a little, and he chuckled. Brenda turned back to you, raising her brows.

“Girl’s night?”

“How about a girls day tomorrow?” She pouted, and you grinned. “You’re right, I really shouldn’t be alone for forty-eight hours with severe concussion symptoms, but I think I can monitor them myself by tomorrow night.”

“Exactly, tomorrow night! Who’s gonna’ look after you tonight, huh? Girls. Night.” She punctuated her words with emphasis, and you tried to hide your giggling at her confusion behind your hand as even Minho groaned, both Fry and Gally snickered. “What?”

“Brenda..” Minho sighed, nodding his head towards you, where Thomas was squeezing you a little tighter, pressing a series of kisses along your hairline, and she studied you both for a second, before scoffing.

“Really? You’re taking Thomas home instead of me? Boo, you whore.”

You gaped, not sure whether to be offended or amused, and Thomas made the decision for you, protesting in offence on both of your behalves as he questioned why he was deemed as a ‘bad’ choice. “He’s bigger. He gives good cuddles. He promised me McNuggets. He smells good. Those are compelling arguments.”

Thomas’ chest puffed out a little against you and the compliments. “Uh, I smell excellent, I give great cuddles, I’d buy you a share box of nuggets that you wouldn't have to share, and I could put on tall boots.” She raised her hands, her voice teasing now, and your head tipped to the side as you stared at your best friend. “But, fine, girl’s day tomorrow it is.”

“I’ll come to that!” Newt chirped, sticking his hand up, and you nodded your head, Brenda taking the opportunity to high-five him.

“If Newt gets to go, then I’m staying.” You huffed, Thomas squeezing you a little tighter, and you lowered a hand to rest over his, soothing as his intense affections were based on the need for his comfort as well as your own.

“Uh, no.” Brenda deadpanned, her bluntness making you laugh. “You’re one of the main topics we’re going to be talking about. Newt gets to come because he can talk boys, and he tells me about hot doctors.”

“So I can’t come?” Minho chipped in, pouting a little for effect as he stared at Brenda, and her words went silent, no arguments to offer as her eyes narrowed on him, a silent argument between two colleagues that only you knew to be between two lovers, and you chuckled to yourself. He knew he’d won that battle, a smirk taking up on his face, and she huffed.

“If Min gets to go, can I come then?” Gally took a more polite approach, and you nodded your head.

“Sure you can.”

“You’re gonna’ fit all these people into your living room? On your two-seater couch?” Thomas teased, a couple of smirks being thrown in his direction at his reference to knowing your apartment so intimately, and you hadn't even realised that you’d been so freely inviting people to your home until now. You felt a little winded by the realisation, by the idea that it would be so simple to accept someone into the place that was so private to you, the place you’d retreat to after a long day to get away from work, but now, work was your family, and you wanted to share it with them.

“Well, Tommy-boy here can drive himself and you over to my place instead?”

“Team day at Minho’s!” Newt cheered, throwing his hands up in the air, and you laughed, the sound fading into a yawn as you covered your mouth.

“Okay, but late afternoon, because I’m exhausted, and I want a lot of sleep.”

“Late afternoon.” Brenda teased, rolling her eyes. “Midday. You better be there.” She barely gave Newt the chance to get the bags from the backseat before she was slamming the door closed, Gally twirling his keys on his finger and Fry already leaning against the car, half-asleep as his head was popped up on his hand.

You took your bag from Newt, who was catching a ride with Gally, the member of the firehouse who lived the closest to him. Brenda’s car was leaving first, spinning dangerously on mud-tracks as she left, and you were impressed with how recklessly she dared to drive surrounded by cops, but that was probably playing it safe for her. The rest of the team slowly followed, Thomas’ arm still wrapped loosely around your waist as he guided you over to his car, fresh mud spattered up along the polished paintwork, and your bag was placed on the backseat.

He was holding open the passenger door for you when you were ready, and you sank into the seat, offering him just a smile in acknowledgement, before he was rounding the vehicle to get in too, car starting up smoothly, and his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed out of the spot.

Switching gears, he inched forward slowly, pulling up the track carefully, and glancing back in the mirrors, before both hands were sitting on the wheel, and he was flicking on the indicator for the highway.

“You still want to go to the drive-thru?”

You considered it for a second, watching the road as he pulled out, before giving in to your craving. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a hand reaching down to find one of your own where it was sitting in your lap, linking his fingers together loosely with your own. The radio was playing softly, the cars were flying past you on the highway as you weaved between lanes, an area you didn’t recognise, and clearly, Thomas wasn’t all that familiar with it either because he didn’t talk much, instead, focusing on the signage along the road for a long time.

It was a longer journey than you’d expected it to be, almost thirty minutes passing before you were entering an area of town that you began to recognise, the very edges of your territory as far as you’d expanded so far, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter, letting him go every so often when he needed it to change gears or to drive, but his hand always seemed to find it’s way back to being pressed up delicately with your own.

Your mind slipped a little bit, wondering just how it was that you found yourself here.

It had been a long time since you’d allowed yourself to trust anyone, to really let anyone in, and now you found yourself surrounded. Your entire team had shown up to collect you tonight, all of them wanting to make sure you were okay; honest and true with nothing to gain from it themselves except for knowing that you were safe, and the man beside you had let himself dig in a little closer.

Instead of just holding your heart, he’d managed to let himself inside, residing there and making it his own with everything he did. The moment you’d laid your eyes on him, you’d hated him, hearing him already hate you felt like a bittersweet mouthful, making it easier not to get attached but hard as it always made you one step further from home. You’d spent so much of your life forcing people away while dreaming about one day finding your home that you’d never stopped to watch the time slipping away around you as the chances seemed to get further and further away, until Newt had forced you to.

You had your own history that made you the way you were, but you’d never stopped to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt that he did, too, and you’d taken out your anger on him when it was unwarranted. He’d clearly forgiven you for it and moved on, but you’d never really apologised.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He frowned, the neutral expression he’d held switching to a frown as he began to slow the car down, navigating through the car park as a surprising number of cars still milled around, shopping at the mall in the stores with later hours into the night and various fast-food joints, the illuminated letter ‘M’ calling out to you, and Thomas joined the queue of cars.

“I never said sorry for the way I treated you. I had stuff going on, I had a lot of issues, but I didn’t stop to think that maybe you had stuff going on too, and I’m sorry.”

He seemed stuck for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he sank into his seat a little bit. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You didn’t know I had stuff going on at the time, I shouldn't have been mad at you, either. I took it out on you, but really, I had issues with someone else.”

The name was on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak your next words, the static of the intercom requesting your order made the both of you jump, and Thomas rolled down the window. It took a moment, deciding as quickly as you could and putting in an order for what it was that you were craving as your stomach rumbled again, that typical greasy smell of fast-food drifting through the open window.

You stayed quiet for the rest of the transaction, reaching out to turn the music up a little bit as you switched over to a classical station, finding the latest chart-toppers to be a little overwhelming in the moment, but late-hour classical piano and violin notes were much more comfortable. The bags were hot in your lap as Thomas handed them over clutching his McFluffy in your hand carefully and staring down longingly at the chunks of chocolate candy and caramel sauce through the lid, somewhat regretting your decision not to get one when he’d offered you one.

Parking up at the back, a little bit away from where everyone else was, and you unclipped your seatbelt, watching him do the same, before he was pushing his chair a little further back and getting comfortable. You handed him over his cheeseburger, and the fries that followed, stealing one from his portion and watching as he grinned, sitting them on his lap and unwrapping the burger, while you opened up a box of nuggets, offering one to him.

You sprinkled some salt over the box, shaking the nuggets after he’d taken one to mix the seasoning, but you couldn't eat one, couldn't focus, not when a certain question was still hanging on the tip of your tongue.

“What’s up? They make it wrong? It’s pretty hard to mess up chicken nuggets.” He teased, leaning over to inspect them and winking cheekily as he plucked another from the large box, popping it into his mouth and chewing happily, a sound made as if to confirm to you that they were okay, but the food wasn’t what was bothering you.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise you’ll answer honestly?” his brows furrowed, but he nodded, taking another large bite of his burger. You hesitated, picking at the edges of the bag, ripping the brown paper slowly, and you sighed. “That woman in the bar, that was Teresa, wasn’t it?”

He stiffened at the mention of her name, his face falling, and he was stiff as his head turned away from you to stare out of the dashboard, and your lips pursed, anxiety coursing through you at the time that it took him to reply. He chewed slowly, eventually swallowing his mouthful, and you took a cautious bite out of a chicken nugget as you waited. “Yes.”

You nodded, keeping it to yourself and looking through the bag for a packet of ketchup, opening up the small tub and dunking the savoury treat inside, swirling it around, and eating the other half. You licked salt from your lips as you finished, and turned back to look at him, where he was staring down at his food, a confused look on his features. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He took a breath, seeming to have an answer ready to go, as though he’d anticipated your words, before his jaw snapped shut, and he put his burger down, sighing a little and nibbling on his lower lip, before giving in. “I didn’t want you to know.” You raised your brows, not the answer you were expecting, and he turned to look at you, taking in your expression, and shrugging a little. “You said you wanted honesty.”

“But why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to know that was her?” You nodded, and he took a bite of his food, prolonging the suspense as he procrastinated on his answer. “I guess,” He spoke through his food, grimacing a little upon realising, and you couldn't help your smile, eating another one of your chicken nuggets. “Because you’re nothing like her, and what we have isn’t the same, and I didn’t want you to have to cross with her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.” He didn’t pause this time, stiff once again as he gave you the truth without even considering lying, and you felt conflicted. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to reach out and comfort him, or comfort yourself and put your walls back up; in the end, the person best at comforting you was Thomas, and so you needed to be that for him. Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, and he jumped at the contact, seeming shocked by it. He turned to look at you, eyes dropping to where your hand was sitting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t have anything to be mad at you for, Tommy. I’m just sorry you got hurt.” You whispered, and he let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to sit on your cheek, his face dropping to bump his nose with your own, sharing a breath and nudging into you.

“Just so you know, this is one of those moments that I would kiss you, if we’d already had our first kiss.”

“I’ll remember that.” You grinned, bumping back against him, before pulling away, and eating a chicken nugget as he whined slightly at the loss of intimacy.

“She, uh, she was a paramedic. You reminded me of her, at first.” You turned, realising that in the interest of honesty, he was going to tell you it all; the information that other members of the team skirted around and answered vaguely, a mystery that had been locked up tight to keep you out of, all of them having gotten hurt in some way. “She had the same attitude you did, she didn’t really let people in; a lot of walls. We were.. something. She didn’t want to put a label on it, she wanted me behind closed doors but never wanted me near her in front of the rest of the team. She had boundaries, she wanted me to come over late but never wanted me to stay the night, she wanted to have dinner and drinks but never in public. It felt exciting, but wrong. But I couldn't stop.”

“Thomas, you don’t have to tell me this.” He sniffed a little, eating his fries quietly and shaking his head a little as he relived the memories.

“I want you to know.” You felt touched that he wanted to share one of his deepest pains with you, but it was scary, because it meant you had to do the same. “I should have seen the signs, she always wanted more, and she never wanted to settle down, kind of like you.” His words cut a little, stinging, despite knowing them to be true. “She said she was leaving one day, out of the blue, and I blamed myself for it. We got into an argument, she didn’t even tell me she was moving house until she asked me to sign her transfer papers. We yelled a lot, and I was upset, so I signed them and told her to just leave. She did.”

“Is, uh, is that the day that-”

“Newt got hurt? Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “She left, and I was upset, and about an hour later, we got a call. I’d been too busy pacing my office and seething over it that I didn’t call in for a substitute. Newt told me it was okay, he’d been comforting me. He went alone on that call, got stuck under material that had fallen on his leg. Minho found him and carried him out after he passed out.”

He crushed the empty cardboard carton in his hand, the sudden sound making you twitch at the shock, and he whispered an apology upon sensing the environment he’d created.

“Newt’s been my best friend since I was a kid, and because of my feelings, he got hurt. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but there were just so many similarities, it was overwhelming. I didn't want you to meet her, because you're nothing like her.”

“I’m not? Kinda’ sounds like we’re the same.” You finished your food, packing the wrapped back into the bag, and facing him more confidently as you turned in your chair, and he chuckled.

“You’re nothing like her. She may have been what I loved once, but you’re something entirely different.” He picked up his ice-cream, peeling back the lid on it and poking at the contents with a smile on his face now as he mixed the toppings in. “You’re sweet, you get along with everyone and you want to be with us, I can tell, even if you were going to leave at first. You.. you want me, you don’t hide it. I like that. You’ve spared my best friend a lot of pain instead of causing it, and you make Brenda feel like a woman again when she’s surrounded by men, and you cook with Fry. You’re a real part of our family, I don’t think she ever was.”

Once he deemed it thoroughly mixed, he took a large spoonful of it, holding it up and poking it against your smile lightly.

“Take a bite, I know you want some. You can share mine.”

You did as told, accepting the ice-cream he was offering to you, and relishing in the sweet flavour. He took his own bite, and despite how happy you were, there was still a pang of lingering guilt as you kept back your secrets from him after he’d told you his. “You’re not the first firemen I’ve been involved with.”

“I figured as much.” You were a little surprised, pausing in your words as he looked at you like it was no big deal, and he shrugged, offering you another spoonful. “I mean, I figured you had to have some kind of history in a firehouse, with your transfer record, more switches than a lightbulb sees.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at his joke a little. “Well, you were right. In my first house, I was straight out of the academy and young, and there was a fireman. He was charming, and very attractive, and he had this way that made my heart race.” You reached up, wiping a stray piece of ice-cream for the edge of Thomas’ lip. “Like you do.”

“I make your heart race?” He was smirking, liking knowing he had such an effect on you, and you redirected your attention to the dessert, turning the spoon he was bringing to his mouth and stealing the spoonful, the chill helping to calm your flushing features.

“You know you do.” You swallowed the treat, licking the sugary taste from your lips. “He had a previous injury, and a drug problem. I was young and naïve, and he wanted the ambulance stock for the pain so he could avoid surgery. When the truth came out, I took the fall and lost my job, while he got off with a reprimand and being put on probation. I had to move to a whole new state to escape it and find a new firehouse. When someone tried to get close to me there, I panicked and thought they would use me again. I moved, and I moved, and I moved. Whenever someone got close, I panicked. I got confused. I wanted family, and I was so set on finding that perfect family that I never stopped to let anyone in, until I came to ‘21, and encountered a moody lieutenant.”

Thomas grinned, cold lips pressing to your cheek as he ducked down, and you squirmed at the slightly sticky feeling of melted ice-cream, the cardboard cup empty as it had been shared between you both.

“My real family, there’s not much to say about them. I don’t have much, my mother hasn’t spoken to me in a while, she sends a birthday card every year, and that's about all there is for me. Until I found all of you.”

“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid, and there was a house fire. She’s never been quite right since, I grew up looking after her, and Newt was the kid across the road who brought me trays of food his mom made for us, and who brought me the homework sheets when I had to leave school early. He’s my family, too. This whole squad is.”

You felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest from the confessions, from finally trusting someone enough to tell them your story, feeling the burn of tears in the back of your throat, but you were too tired to cry, having no tears left to give. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we go home now?” He nodded, starting the car back up, and you leaned over the centre console a little to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him turn to press a kiss to the top of your head. “When we get there, I want to go to bed, and I want you to stay the night, and then I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow, in front of our family, without hiding anything.”

He took a second to reply, letting out an unsteady laugh, before starting up the car and nodding for you as you pulled back. “I would fucking love that.”

[lazuli-bloom]

Roses and Styx

Chapter 2 – The Man In The Rotting Suit

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5051

You get to go home early, which is nice. Now if only you could shake that guy from the graveyard. It doesn't help that no one else is able to even see him. There has to be some way to get rid of him, right?

Last Chapter | Archive | Next Chapter

--=--=--

Deep breaths. Inhale through the nose, and exhale through the mouth. You're fine. Just ignore the man grinning at you seated in your passenger seat. Everything was normal and fine. He's not really there.

"So, where to, babes?"

You sucked a long sharp breath and glanced over to the delusion. He definitely looked at home in a graveyard, with the patches of moss on pale skin and sporting a frayed suit coated in dirt and grime. The man flashed you another grin showing off sharp teeth that likely have never seen a toothbrush.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and ignored the apparition while you get your shitty car started. A few minutes later, the car clanged and sputtered awake. You shoot whatever was in your passenger seat a glare before pulling out of the small lot and headed home.

The man next to you groaned after you passed the first stoplight. You glanced over to him. He crossed his arms, and wore a frown on his face. The green color in his hair dulled from when he was in the store. His tone looked to be a more purple hue.

"Come on, babes, I know you can see and hear me!"

You stayed silent and tapped your fingers on the steering wheel while stopped at a red light. He was right—much to your vexation—you could perceive him. In more ideal circumstances you'd seek professional help from a doctor or therapist, but that costs money. So you're forced to bank on the hope that ignoring the delusion makes him disappear.

He huffed and pouted more. "You have no idea how long it's been since anyone could see me. I ain't leaving so soon."

You press your lips tighter into a line and kept your eyes on the road. His peculiar wording bounced around in your head for the next few stops. Soon that bled into playing the events of the funeral. He was there, bugging the mourners and going unnoticed.

"Fine. What are you?"

You catch the dimmer purple wash away from his hair and brighten to a vivid green.

"Aw babes, I knew you'd come around!"

"Please answer the question."

"Oh, and so polite! Alright sweets, since you asked so nicely; I am a ghost!"

You spared a glance over to him as you turned onto the dingy road leading to your apartment. The skeptic in you wanted to counter and say that wasn't possible, but you doubted voicing that would magically make your unwanted passenger disappear.

"Alright then, mister ghost, why are you following me?"

"Already told ya, you're the first breather able to see me in a long time."

"So, are you planning to haunt me? Make my life worse than it already is? Because so help me god I'll kick your ass straight to Hell if you try."

You parked your car and turned, giving him a pointed glare. His citrine eyes lit up as his grin stretched so large it threatened to split his face.

"Feisty! I like that in a breather."

You grumbled under your breath and looked around the parking lot. Your car was one of maybe four parked there. There weren't any milling tenets out, either. Nevertheless, you weren't keen on staying out in your car the entire day talking to a ghost.

"I'm going inside. If you want to follow me, then you're going to have to answer my questions. Got it?"

"Anything you want, babes."

You breathed out through your nose and unbuckled yourself. As you stepped out you caught sight of the ghost floating out the front of your car where he waited for you on the curb. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he rolled back, putting his weight on his heels. The ghost flashed you another grin, and you doubted any good could come from this.

No second guesses or weaseling out by that point. You told him to follow you as you made your way to the apartment. Up the flight of stairs and to the end of the hall, you were almost home free.

"Parker!"

The harsh rasp of a smoker shouted at you. Every fiber of your being tensed up, and you fought to put on a smile in front of the dragon. She marched up to you with narrow eyes locked on you.

"Hi Donna."

"Who the hell left your apartment yesterday? I swear if you're smuggling a roommate in there I'm going to raise your rent."

"That was my friend, Sam. They're moving and stopped by to say goodbye. Wait, how did you know Sam even visited? Didn't you go out last night?"

"I got complaints about you."

You keep your mouth shut for the moment. This was a conversation you preferred not to drag out. You simply nodded to her as you carefully thought over your next words.

"Sam only dropped by to say goodbye."

"And who is 'Cassie'?"

You tensed up to the point your muscles could turn to stone any minute. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands and you struggled to keep up a friendly act.

"They're a co-worker."

Donna huffed at you, followed by a sneer showing off tobacco-stained teeth. She waved you off and turned, pulling out her smokes as she left. Donna uttered an insult your way before descending the stairs.

"Ain't she a delight."

You whipped your attention to the gravelly voice and found the specter with narrowed eyes pointed at the landing. His brow and nose scrunched up as he glared and you noted odd flecks of red in his hair.

You got your keys out and unlocked your door. "She's a bitch, but this apartment was the best I could afford. Easier to just grin and bear it."

"You know sweets, we could help one another with our problems." He said. You raise a brow at him before you stepped into the apartment. While he didn't exactly need you to, you stepped to the side and held the door open for him. "Babes, you are adorable. I'd give ya a big ol' 'thank you' kiss if I could."

"Please don't," you said, closing the door.

He let out a hardy laugh and then winked your way. You frowned and leaned against the wall with crossed arms. He scanned over the apartment while you studied him. The ghost's ragged appearance gave the impression that he recently crawled out of the grave. His pale skin grew bits of moss that blended into his hair. Dark rings circled his amber eyes. And a layer of rot and grime coated his odd frayed suit.

"Like what ya see, sweets?"

Heat rushed to your face, and you furrowed your brow at that. "You could use a bath."

"You breathers and bathing. What's even the point of it?"

"Health. It cleans away dead skin, and any diseases stuck on you, helps with sore muscles and aches, and can just help improve your mood overall."

"Shit. I didn't expect you to actually have an answer."

"Had one or two school wide lessons back in high school telling the kids that body spray was not a substitute for a shower."

He blinked at you. He shrugged a moment later and took a step closer, with his hands behind his back. "Anyway, back to my point. I think we can help each other out."

"How?"

"You and me could get rid of that awful hag! Decapitation, eaten alive by rats, electrocution, I'm open to suggestions!"

"Real casual with murder, huh? Yeah, no, not interested."

"Wait! Okay, it doesn't have to be murder. I could scare her so bad that she runs off and never comes back! We can workshop that later. But first I need you to say my name!"

"What would saying your name do to 'help'? And I don't know your name, you never said it."

The nameless ghost rolled his eyes and heaved out a sigh. Did the dead still need to breathe? That didn't seem right.

"Right now I can't affect much of anything. You saw how that guy walked right through me, right?"

You nodded.

"But if you say my name three times, I get my powers back and won't be stuck being invisible." There was a certain excitement in his tone when he said that. One that lit up his amber eyes with... something.

Your lips twitch downward as you mulled over his words. He said earlier you were the first person to see him in a long time. How long you couldn't be sure without asking, but truly any stretch of time sounded so lonely. However, you couldn't just let him have free range to do whatever he pleased. He already proposed murder as means of dealing with your landlady. This ghost could be impossibly destructive if unleashed.

"I don't know. How can I—"

A vicious yowl made you jump. It came from the other side of the wall.

"Shit!"

You rushed around the corner and opened the bathroom door. A white blur ran past you to the underside of the coffee table. Aqua colored eyes glared at you, only to shift focus in the ghost's direction.

You ignored that for the moment and instead turned your attention to the bathroom. The smell hit you first, the acrid scent of cat piss. You groaned as you looked over the state of the bathroom. The toilet paper shredded in tethers on the cheap linoleum, food and water bowls flipped with contents scattered, and a yellow puddle next to the litter box. Fantastic.

"Why was your cat locked in the bathroom?"

"I'm pet-sitting for a friend, and I can't have pets in the apartment," You said while you dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink. "I'm keeping him mostly confined to the bathroom, so it's not obvious a cat's here for two weeks."

"Why are you pet-sitting if you can't have pets here?"

"Because my friend couldn't board their cat anywhere else. They promised me a couple hundred bucks to do it too, so I bit the bullet."

"If you're hard up for cash, I know an easier way to get it."

You glanced back at him with a raised brow but kept quiet to focus on cleaning. A minute later, once cleaned of Rigel's mess, you tossed the toilet paper in the bathroom trash and asked, "And what method would that be?"

"Just taking it! I won't get caught, babes, and even if I did, there's nothing a breather could do about it. Come on, all you gotta do is say my name three times in a row!"

You stay quiet for a minute as you washed your hands. You dried your hands and turned to face him, saying once more, "I don't know your name."

"Well, I can't say it."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm cursed. I can't say my own name."

"Is it... Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Sweets, that hurts. You really think my sexy self could be that little imp?"

"Well, other than taking more shots in the dark, how else would I figure out your name?"

"We could..." He trailed off, scratching the stubble on his chin. His face lit up a moment later as he said, "We could play a game or something so you can figure it out!"

His grin stretched wide as he wore an earnest hope on his features. It was rather sweet, strangely enough, and made the notion of turning him down seem harsh. You mulled over your decision. While you didn't want to say no, you weren't keen on agreeing either. If you said yes, he'd expect you to say his name afterwards.

"And if I figure out your name, then what? Setting you free doesn't seem like a smart idea."

He instantly deflated when he heard that. Smile gone, brows furrowed. Even the vibrancy of his green hair looked like it dulled to a blueish purple. He looked crushed, and knowing you caused it struck you with a bit of guilt. You couldn't blindly trust him, but you didn't want to see him so hurt.

"Look. We just met. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Cause we're BFFFFs Forever!"

"B-F-F—... You want to be friends?"

He nodded vigorously, with a glimmer of hope rekindled in his eyes. Your guts twisted into tighter and tighter knots the longer he gave you the lost puppy look. If he truly was alone and unseen for any stretch of time, then desperately wanting a friend made sense. And for whatever strange reason, you were the one able to see him.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. We can be friends, but I won't free you until you've earned my trust. If I feel like I can trust you by the end of the month, then I'll say your name."

His grin reappeared, showing off sharp yellowed teeth. His hair also grew to a vibrant green. "Aw babes, you're the best! We are going to be great friends!"

You gave him a half smile, finding his excitement endearing if not a tad contagious. You finished up with cleaning the rest of the mess, and while doing so, you threw out a few more guesses of what his name might be. They were all wrong, but "Cthulhu" got a laugh out of him.

Once done with tidying the bathroom, you check on the furball under the shoddy coffee table. The devil cat hissed at you and swiped a clawed paw at you for daring to get so close. His eyes were thin slits and seemed to shift between yourself and somewhere behind you. You followed his gaze and landed on the ghost. You even asked him to move and the cat's gaze followed him.

"Huh. Looks like Rigel can see you."

"Rigel?"

"The fuzz-bucket of pure rage over here. His name is Rigel."

"Like the star in Orion?"

"Yeah, actually. The bright white star, that's why Sam named him that."

"Do you know any other stars in Orion?"

"Not off-hand. Why?"

"Eh... can't say."

You raised a brow at him. You wanted to find out the other stars in the constellation after he asked that—but with no internet access at the apartment or even a smartphone, you couldn't do that. All you owned was a cheap little prepaid flip phone straight out of the early aughts.

You shrugged it off and made a note to search that the next day on the store's computer. In the meantime, you sat down on the couch, kicking your shoes off to pull your feet up too. You didn't want to take the chance of that cat getting ballsy and going after you.

"So Mr. Whatsyourname, how am I going to figure out your name?"

He floated down to the other end of the couch and shrugged. You pressed your lips tight and hummed in thought as you worked out a means to find out his name.

"Well, playing twenty questions is getting us nowhere. Then again, throwing out random guesses isn't how you play that, but whatever. You can't spell it out, can you?"

"No, I suck at spelling it. And I can't, cause that would count as telling you it."

"Hmm, do you think you could use pictures to 'spell' it? Like using—a fly, a car, and a dog, to get the result of a flying carpet?"

"That might work, but I can't affect things, babes."

"But I can. Give me a sec, I'll get some paper." You rushed off to your bedroom and come back with a pencil and sketch pad. You took your seat back on the couch and turned to sit side by side with the ghost rather than facing him. "Alright, you tell me what shapes to draw."

You flipped to a blank page, skipping the older pages filled with various sketches and doodles. Once you got to a clean page, you held the book at an angel he could easily see.

The first thing he said to draw was a rectangle, a narrow one standing upright. Then a shorter and much thinner one at the top of the first. Followed by a third the same size as the second but connecting with it at an angle.

"Is that a juice box?"

"Nix the box."

"Juice?"

He nodded with a Cheshire grin. "Great! Now draw a circle on the front of the box."

You did so, as well as draw the six lines going out from the circle like he asked.

"Bug?"

"No, more specific. Draw lines on it in a 'T' shape."

You drew the segments on the bug, which gave it a distinct head and a line along its back. You look over the drawing and ask, "Is it a beetle?"

"Yes!"

"Beetle... juice?"

"Yes! You got it!"

You hum to yourself and look over the picture more. Such a strange name. Was that his name in life, too? Or did he get a new name upon death? Does everyone? Can you choose your name?

"I can see why your name's Art."

You shook out of your thoughts and jerked your head to the ghost—Beetlejuice—sitting beside you. You huffed a small laugh and closed the sketchbook.

"That's not my name."

"But that guy at the store—"

"I don't put my real name on my apron."

"Okay, Parker—"

"Not my name either."

"What? But that bitch called you Parker."

"I don't want people knowing my name. So, I don't give out my real name."

"Not even to your BFFFF Forever?"

"How about instead of telling you, you try to guess it? No hints either."

Beetlejuice groaned and whined at that, but you didn't budge. You instead gave him a sly smile of your own. He puffed out his cheeks and glared at you, and you did your best to not break into laughter. How was that disheveled ghost able to look so cute?

"Babes, tell me! You know my name now, I want to know yours."

"I had to play a game to figure out your name, only fair you have to do the same to learn mine."

"I'm cursed though. I can't say my name. Well, my middle name anyway."

You blinked and tilted your head as you processed his last comment. His middle name? How odd. You shrugged at him and said, "You can either try to figure out my name or maybe if I end up trusting you, I'll tell you. But for now, you don't need it."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"You've been doing just fine with nicknames like—babes, sweets, and breather."

"Fine. But I want to know your name at some point."

"When I'm more comfortable, it's a personal thing. What about you, though? Can I call you by a nickname?"

"Sure! You could use—sexy, or handsome, or hot stuff."

"Or none of those," you said, shaking your head. You did your best not to crack and laugh. "How about Beetle, or Bug? Simple and sweet."

"You think I'm sweet?" He asked with a purr that caused your face to burn.

"I think you're weird, and strange, but not the most terrible at least."

"I'll take it!"

There was that bright smile again. Wide and full of sharp teeth. This ghost was a very perplexing being. The more you saw his smile, the more your own lips curled into a smile of your own.

"Okay, so if you're going to hang around here, we should set up some ground rules and get other things squared away. Like—I don't want you going in my bedroom unless I invite you in and stay out of the bathroom too."

"Aw, that's no fun."

"Do you sleep or anything?"

"I can, but I don't need to. Same goes for food when I'm not stuck being invisible."

"Can you affect anything while you're like that? Lights? Electronics?"

"No. The air gets cold around me. Other than that, can't do much of anything while invisible."

You nodded with a small frown. That must be so boring—stuck watching the world go by, unable to affect anything or even seen by anyone. That experience didn't sound pleasant. As much as you wanted to keep a low profile, you couldn't bear to be that level of unnoticed.

"Well..." you said, getting your thoughts back on track, "If you don't need to sleep, what do you want to do while I'm asleep? You want me to set up a movie for you in the living room? Or I guess you could go snoop around the other apartments and see what everyone else is doing. Lord knows there's always someone awake in this place no matter the hour."

"You're giving me a free pass to spy on your neighbors?"

"You said you can't affect anything other than making it cold, so I don't see a problem. Hell maybe if you annoy enough people with cold spots Donna will have to deal with a bunch of complaints. Maybe she'll even waste money trying to fix things, that'd be fun."

"We are going to be such great friends."

You huffed out a small laugh. As strange as he was—and maybe a little too gung ho with murdering your landlady—Beetlejuice seemed like he would make for... interesting company.

You checked the time on your phone. Five in the afternoon. Only an hour left of your shift. Well, if you hadn't left early. You tossed your phone on the coffee table with a clatter. Your action earned a venomous hiss from Rigel.

"So, um, if you don't need to sleep but can, do you want me to set up the couch as a bed? I don't have anywhere else to set one up and if Donna thinks I have other people living here, she's going to be pissed."

"Good thing I'm dead."

You pursed your lips and rolled your eyes. "Well yeah, technically. Existing here then, which dead or alive; you do exist. And that would still piss off Donna."

He huffed and narrowed his eyes, but glanced away from you. "I know you said you want to trust me first, sweets, but I could do a helluva lot more than just annoy her with cold spots. Just give me a chance!"

"I don't know... I don't like her but I don't think that would be a good idea." You sat looking blankly at the couch cushions as you hummed in thought. Even if he had good intentions going in—or more accurately, intentions that benefited you—things could go wrong and land you in a worse spot. Good intentions paved the road to Hell, after all.

"Babes, please, I'm begging. Ya gotta let me do something! I can even hold back on hurting her if that's what you want! I'll just scare the shit out of her!"

You thought over the proposition, and it sounded enticing. You tapped a finger against your cheek as various scenarios of Donna, scared out of her mind, played out. "That does sound fun, maybe later—Wait! It's October!"

"It is? Huh. I thought it was still July."

"Wait what? How...?"

"When you've been around for over a millennium, you stop bothering to keep tabs on time."

"A millennium? That's, holy crap. Okay, I have questions, but first what I was originally saying; It's October. So that means at the end of the month is Halloween. So, what if, if things go well and I trust you by then we plan a big scare for this All Hallows' Eve?"

The ghost shot up, bouncing on the couch. The sudden movement freaked out Rigel enough for him to scurry off to another hiding spot. "Hell yes! Babes, you're the best!" This ghost vibrated with barely contained excitement and you could have sworn he was glowing green.

You held up your hand to hold in a laugh. Beetlejuice radiated a pure joy that was not only endearing but also infectious. While precious to see him so happy, you asked him to compose himself and sit. Incorporeal or not, it’s difficult to carry a conversation while a ghost jumped on the furniture.

He sank back and sat on the couch, though he chose the arm of the couch as his seat. He faced you, still sporting a grin and vibrant green hue, and you couldn't stop smiling at this happy dork. Wanting to keep your discussion going, you cleared your throat and picked things back up with a question.

"You said you've been around for a millennium. So does that mean you lived during the... eleventh century?"

"I was around then, but I've never been alive. I was born dead."

"Born dead? Do... you mean like a stillborn?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I'm a demon straight from Hell."

"You're a demon-ghost? Ghost-demon?"

"Both, yeah. But enough about me, as great as I am. How'd a pretty little breather like you end up in this shitty apartment?"

You frown and grabbed at your sleeve, not wanting to look him in the eye anymore. "It's kinda complicated and I don't want to go into all of it. I'm just... scraping my life back together and this place is the best I can afford right now." You stayed quiet for a moment before looking back at the ghost. The vibrant joy on his features faded drastically. Guilt stung in your heart for dampening the mood and offered the best masking smile you could muster. You weren't sure it looked all that convincing.

Beetlejuice stayed quiet a moment longer before a smirk pulled at his lips. "Well, now you know who you can call if ya need help dealing with a few problems."

"The ghostbusters?" You asked and cracked a genuine smile.

"Pff. Them? Nah, babe, the ghost with the most! Just gotta say my name three times, spoken unbroken!"

The self proclaimed "ghost with the most" puffed out his chest in a bid to look impressive. It earned a soft chuckle out of you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

A low growl filled the room. Heat seared your cheeks as you wrapped an arm over your stomach. Lunch wasn't as filling as you had hoped. You sighed and stood with a stretch. If you didn't make dinner soon, you'll end up nauseous from hunger later.

Your new familiar spirit stayed put sitting on the arm of the couch. However, when you glanced back at him, his head turned around to face you. It unnerved you, and the longer you looked at him the worse the feeling got.

You shook it off as best you can and headed to the fridge, which hid behind a wall jutting out to separate the living room and kitchen. And right then doubled as a divider that blocked you from view of the couch.

Once you dug out the mixed vegetables from the freezer, you turned and caught sight of a large blur on your counter. You seized up, knees locking, and heard a loud laugh bellow out.

"Aw babes, you should've seen the look on your face."

Beetlejuice wiped away some tears, then snapped his fingers. You blinked a few times, unsure what to think of seeing your face on his body. He twisted his—your? features into an expression of shock before cackling. Your mouth hung open, but you couldn't find any words. So you just shook your head and carried on making dinner.

As you worked on getting your dinner prepared, you pick back up the conversation. You and Beetlejuice took turns asking questions to get to know one another. Beetlejuice opened by sharing about his banishment—no clear details, just stated the fact it happened. He also said he got a kick out of the spread of the bubonic plague through Europe.

You grabbed a bowl and poured in your steaming dinner. The savory flavoring of the noodles mixed with the thawed vegetables and wafted in the air. Once you turned the stove off, you sat back on the couch. In between bites, you divulged a few minor details about yourself, like how you've worked for Mr. Turner close to a year and a half, and your hope to one day work in a haunted house attraction. That topic piqued Beetlejuice's interest.

"So, you get to scare people. As a job?"

"Y-yeah. I've thought being a haunted house actor could be a lot of fun. But there's no acting job close enough willing to pay the rate I'd need to make it worth it. And it's seasonal. So it's gotta stay a dream job."

You ate your noodles and mixed vegetables, allowing the specter to take over the conversation and regale you with various stories. One of his stories got you to laugh so hard you ended up swallowing wrong. It took a minute of coughing and sputtering before you stopped choking on your food. You cleared your throat with a short groan and fought to stop laughing.

After you finished dinner, you checked the time. It wasn't too late, but with everything that happened, drowsiness gnawed at the edge of your mind. You tapped your fork against the rim of the bowl as you walked through the mental checklist of what you needed to do before bed. Beetlejuice asked what you were doing and frowned when you told him.

"You're going to bed already?"

"I have work tomorrow and you gave me a few good scares today. I'm getting tired."

He pouted, but you noticed he cracked a smile, hearing that he scared you. You rolled your eyes and got up to put your dish in the sink. When you returned, you pulled several movie cases and set them on the coffee table.

"Pick whichever one you want, I can put it on for you before I go to bed."

You give him a small smile and leave to get ready. A few minutes later, once in your pajamas with your teeth brushed and the cat wrangled back into the bathroom, Beetlejuice picked out a movie. You got it started and tidied up the couch for him.

"You don't have to clean on my account, babes. I don't mind the mess."

"I don't mind, you're my guest, and I want things to be nice." You said and gave him another smile. "G'night, Beetle. See ya in the morning."

[lowkeyanakin]

Could I possibly hear about “Rako Hardeen - Breathe Underwater/Without you I'm nothing (at all)” for the WIP ask game?

you most certainly can, and im sorry if i made you wait for an entire day!! hope you'll like this 🤍

from this wip ask game!! send me more please, i'd appreciate it xx

Rako Hardeen - Breathe Underwater/Without You I'm nothing (at all)

this started off as a songfic, then became a post rako hardeen arc, with no real canon divergence (except for a couple of things) and now, much to cecilia's dismay, is 10k of me using my pharmacology lessons to inflict as much pain as possible to poor anakin.

basically this is what happens: obi-wan "dies" => anakin falls down a bottomless well of grief => due to the stress and other pre-existing conditions he has a stroke => he develops an arrythmia => finding out that obi-wan is alive overwhelms him to the point he goes into cardiac arrest => he ends up with a pacemaker.

but at least they will have amazing make up sex!!!!! yay!!!

snippet under the cut because it's quite long lol

You don’t even register rushing to the edge of the rooftop. One moment, you’re rooted to your spot, arm still close to your face. The next, you’re watching him fall down from the edge of the building in front of you. It’s something you’re unlikely to ever forget, along with the horrible noise of his bones cracking when his body impacts on a metal cage before rolling down onto the dirty pavement.

“Obi-Wan!” you hear yourself scream. Around you, inside you, everything is tearing itself apart. Bit by bit. All things considered, it’s a miracle you’re still lucid enough to hear Ahsoka’s “I got him! Go!”, lucid enough to see where you’re going when your entire world is fading to a blinding, painful white. If someone had asked you, before, you would have said that you had always imagined death to be nothing but blackness. The absence of everything.

Then why does it feel like the dials of your senses are suddenly stuck on their highest setting? Maybe because you’re not the one who’s dying, and the mere knowledge is enough to make you stumble forward. You see him, running away, and a flame starts licking the inside of your heart. A flame that threatens to envelop you whole when the sniper jumps on a speeder bike and drops something.

A smoke grenade, you realize too late, and before you know it the whiteness is no longer inside your head. It envelops you, choking you, as you try to dissipate it by waving your arms around. Soon, it’s gone, just like the sniper. You briefly consider following him but something rips audibly inside you.

It’s like watching someone tear apart one of your favourite robes by the seams: you can see where your connection to Obi-Wan is starting to shred, the flaps fading to nothingness in front of your eyes. Its meaning terrifies you and, without wasting another breath, you’re running back to them. You can still save him, you know that. This is not the first time something like this has happened.

You jump, and jump, and finally you’re there. The Force is still wailing, louder now, and there are strangers gathered around your Padawan, who’s cradling your Master in her arms. Ahsoka’s hands are gentle where she touches his head and hair, too gentle, and you convince yourself that you don’t know why she’s not doing anything to help him.

Why she’s not trying to stop the bleeding on his chest, why she’s looking at you with big aquamarine eyes glazed with tears when you ask how he is. Your voice is shaky, unsteady, and you pretend that you didn’t just feel the other half of your mind being ripped away from you. Only now you notice that the blinding light is gone, and all that’s left is your frayed soul, twitching like a mechanical limb that has just been severed.

You could pretend that Obi-Wan’s simply unconscious, but it wouldn’t make it easier. Nothing could ever make it easy, seeing the agony in your Padawan’s eyes when she meets yours.

All you can do is fall to your knees and call his name, begging him to stand up, hoping that it’s enough to bring him back to you. You run your hands over his chest, over his throat, his face, looking for a pulse that isn’t there. Choking down a sob, you push aside the layers of his tunic, uncovering the bleeding hole in his chest. 

Exactly over his heart.

Yes, the light is gone, but now there’s noise. A static sound that threatens to deafen you when you wrap your arms around Obi-Wan’s body, bringing it close to you. You hold him tight and refuse to move even when someone touches your shoulder. 

You never knew when to let go, did you? Why do people think you’re gonna do it now?

[tinyyoungblood]

baila | peter parker

summary: peter and you spend the night together to study but after a couple hours of Going Through It™, peter has taken it upon himself to lift your mood with a couple surprises and a bulletproof plan to run away

pairing: peter parker x reader

words: 1.6k

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: is this a love letter to brazil? is it compensation for my desperate desire to travel? or just a comfort read to everyone who’s struggling with exams and assignments? it’s both. enjoy x

song: baila by now united

               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Not even the French know how to use the damn Subjonctif. Why do I need to know?”

When the first two tries at conjugating your verbs proved unsuccessful, tempers frayed even more. You shucked your pen over your shoulder and burrowed your face in your arms.

“That’s it. I give up. This is my capitulation. France can own my soul.”

Peter quirked a brow as you ripped out a white sheet of paper and waved it half-heartedly. This had been your fourth time declaring defeat that night and it was barely 10 o’clock. Peter had kept quiet the whole time, watching in amusement as you navigated between doing Math homework and studying for your French test.

At some point, he even caught you rattling off numbers in French under your breath, and he was 90% sure you weren’t even aware of it. 

Peter had suggested multiple times that you should take a break, but you had only dismissed him with a lazy wave and a string of uncoherent French vocabulary. So for the most part, Peter stayed out of it. He knew that he couldn’t help you anyway since he took Spanish.

Only now, you were humming what sounded a lot like a drunker version of the national anthem of France, so Peter picked up the pen that you had tossed on his chest and rolled out of his bunk bed to shuffle over to where you sat at his desk.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rested his cheek against the top of your head. “This bad?”

“Have you not been here for the last four hours?” Your voice came out muffled. “I’m this close to selling my identity to avoid that stupid test tomorrow.”

Peter fought off a smile. “Oh yeah?” You nodded. “Where would you go then without an identity and any money?”

You finally lifted your head and looked up at Peter’s face. “First of all, rude. Second of all—” You rolled back on Peter’s chair and stared at the crumpled world map tossed on the ground. You couldn’t remember a time where it was properly stored anywhere else. It made you wonder if Peter had intentionally placed it there as an artistic choice, but you weren’t here to question his taste.

You bent down to pick it up, dusting some chips crumbs off it while laying it on the desk. “How about Finland?”

“You hate the cold,” Peter said flatly and leaned against the desk. “How about Italy?”

You considered it. “Sounds like heaven. But it’s too close to France.”

“So?” You gave him a long look until Peter snorted. “Just stay in the south then.”

“Can’t. The temptation’s too big. They have baguettes and croissants, Peter. I’m not strong enough to resist that.”

Peter hummed slowly and bent down to hook his chin over your shoulder. He scanned the map for a moment, then said, “Stay on this side of the planet then. Ever been to Brazil?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t, but it does sound promising. Brazil is beautiful.” You jumped to your feet. The idea of running away to travel and see the world sent waves of bliss through your body. The map was clutched to your chest. “Can you imagine living in a warm place near the ocean, watching the sunset on the beach and learning about the culture? The gorgeous nature? Trying out new food? That sounds like a dream!”

Peter donned a half grin. He made a little gesture at his chest that you thought was supposed to mean he was curtsying or bowing or something sarcastically gentleman-like. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You were positively beaming, whirling around and imagining another life for you, when you suddenly froze and your face dropped. Peter instantly pushed himself off the desk, expression worried. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that you…well, that you exist.”

Peter gave you a weird look. “Are you being a terrible flirt or is this another existential crisis?”

“Neither.” You laughed. “I meant, what about you? If I go to Brazil, what will happen to us? Will you stay here?”

Peter tilted his head and pursed his lips like he was actually thinking about it. He gave you a shrug before stepping forward and pulling the map out of your grip. It was carelessly discarded to its usual spot before he took both your hands and brought them to his lips.

“If this actually were a real plan and you’d really leave for Brazil…I’d come with you,” Peter said, an honest smile curving his lips.

“Oh?” You smiled back.

He nodded and stepped forward, forcing you to walk backward until your back hit the wall. He let go of your right hand to reach behind you and just with the flick of a switch the entire room darkened—only leaving faint moonlight to pool through the open window. Peter flicked another switch and you let out a soft gasp. Above you, fairy lights glowed brightly in the dark, lightening up the whole room. They were attached to the ceiling, dangling from the walls and spreading wide above your heads. They looked like stars taken straight from the night sky.

“Peter, this is beautiful.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “When did you—Did you use web shooters to glue them up there?”

Peter grinned. “Do you like it? I did it while you were studying.” Your heart melted at the sight of his nervous smile. “I actually wanted it to be a surprise, but you were so caught up with French. I knew you wouldn’t notice anyway.”

Peter reached for your other hand, gently pulling you toward the middle of his small bedroom. You followed without hesitation, keeping your gaze on Peter’s face as it was framed in a soft yellow light. He placed your hands on his shoulders and settled his own on your hips, pulling you closer. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around Peter’s neck and gazed into his eyes. As if he couldn’t help himself, Peter immediately leaned forward and captured your lips in a tender kiss.

“I’d come with you and we would do everything you just mentioned,” he mumbled against your mouth and slowly began to sway your bodies. “Food, music, everything. We’d go to the beach to watch the sunset. We would stay until it would be dark and we could see all the stars.”

You sighed fondly. The thought of it was so grand; it left you unbelievably happy despite the tug on your heartstrings. Resting your cheek on Peter’s shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his torso and took in his familiar scent. “What else would we do?”

Peter didn’t need to think about it. “You’d dance in my arms like you are right now and we’d keep the music playing. We’d dance underneath the stars and act like there’s nobody else around.”

“I’d like that,” you said, eyes closing to focus on Peter’s voice and his hands on your waist. “How long would we stay out there?”

“All night,” Peter replied softly. “We’d keep dancing till the break of dawn and till the music’s out. We’d do it all night long.”

“All night long?” You echoed and lifted your head, meeting Peter’s dreamy gaze. A grin swept over your lips. “That’s a lot of dancing, Parker. You think you can keep up?”

Peter shrugged, a fond smile spreading over his face. “That’s all I want to do. All night long. Feel the rhythm in your coração.”

Your mouth fell agape. Peter had to stifle a laugh. “Since when do you speak Portuguese?”

He shrugged as if it was nothing, but you could clearly see the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Since I learnt that my girlfriend wants to run away to Brazil, leaving me with no choice but to follow.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said, chuckling and shaking your head. “But you’d really do that for me? You’d just up and leave to illegally live with me in Brazil and dance the night away?”

Peter pressed a tender kiss to the corner of your lips, his eyes were aglow with love. “Don’t tell the others I said this, but I’d follow you anywhere.”

You were pretty sure the world had stopped spinning right then and there. Everything halted to stare at the boy in front of you in awe.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, sounding surprised and almost betrayed as you slipped out of his arms and headed for the desk.

“If you can learn some Portuguese because I want to commit identity fraud, then I can get my shit together and conjugate these verbs.” You scrambled for your pen and flipped open your notebook. “Besides, maybe we can also run away to France while we’re at it.”

“I see.” Peter plopped on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Anything for baguettes and croissants.”

You sent him a wink over your shoulder and repeated, “Anything for baguettes and croissants.” It sounded like a promise.

* * *

stay hydrated pals and good luck for everyone who’s Going Through It™ <3