#cw: death of a parent

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieangstyaugust.

Different Lessons

Day #6: "Who did this?" | Word Count: 3300 | Rating: T | CW: Death of a Parental Figure, Grief & Loss, Language, Smoking | Tags: Future Fic, Established Long-Term Steddie, Hurt/Comfort, Beloved Uncle Wayne, Life Goes On, Even If You Don't Know How

It's all still here. 

Eddie stands there, hand resting on the light switch, and he doesn't know why that surprises him so much. Of course it's all still here. Where else would it go? If he didn't move any of it, and Steve didn't move any of it, well, Wayne definitely didn't. 

Not now. Not ever again. 

Eddie looks around the large shop down the gravel road, beyond the house. He didn't understand why they were building it. Not at first. Wayne worked like a dog for decades in that goddamn factory. Why would he want to continue to work in a shop during retirement? How could that possibly be fun? But Steve assured Eddie that this was different.

Making, creating, building for the love of it, was, in fact, different from manual labor for a paycheck.

They kind of looked the same to Eddie, but if Steve and Wayne both said so, well, who was Eddie to argue?

So, the land was cleared. Leveled. And a quonset building went up. Metal, rounded, and fucking huge. With big, handmade wooden barn doors installed. And a smaller, regular-sized door next to it that Eddie was tasked with painting. He was pretty sure that was just to keep him out of the way, but he chose red and painted it, and standing here looking at it today, he realizes it could use a fresh coat. 

Wayne and Steve built the barn doors themselves. Wayne taught Steve as they worked, patient and willing to answer all of his questions, as Eddie sat on the workbench, taunting them. Being annoying, he's sure. But the doors still got made, and now they're gorgeous, sanded, stained and finished. 

It took all of them to hang them. Wayne and Steve, Eddie. Gareth, Jeff and Goodie. Everybody working together to ease them onto the tracks, hoping like hell that they'd fit and work for fuck's sake once they were up there, after all that trouble.

They did fit. And they still glide like goddamn butter, so much so that Eddie can't believe Wayne and Steve made them with their own hands.

Everything in here has Wayne's fingerprints all over it. The machinery he rigged to work just the way he wanted. The coffee mugs that never seemed to make it back to the house. Now being used as pencil holders, or sorters for nuts, bolts and screws.

It's home, in here. Sure, the house up the road is home, too. But this feels different than that. 

This was Wayne's space. All his own. 

Eddie isn't religious, but this is his sanctuary now.

Because the shop is exactly the same as it was the day Wayne died in it. His last coffee mug is still on the window ledge. Liquid long evaporated, only the dark stains inside the porcelain proving that it was once there, once used. 

That Wayne was once there, using it. 

His cheaters are on the counter. And the bench. And a pair hanging from the coveralls pocket. Cheap drugstore reading glasses he needed to see anything up close. Eddie would tease, and Wayne would reassure Eddie that his day was coming.

It hasn't, not yet, but if it does, apparently he has a stockpile of glasses to choose from.

Eddie looks around, and it looks like Wayne'll be right back. Like he stepped out, just for a minute. 

Not forever. 

Eddie knows he won't be back, he knows, but it still feels like he'll come back any day now. Like it's all just waiting for his inevitable return. 

Like Eddie is still waiting for his return, because anything else is unfathomable. He can't be gone. Not when Wayne's stuff is all right here, just where he left it.

But no. He is gone, and there's not even any ghosts lingering, just his stuff. This is just a shrine that was accidentally left behind in his departure. 

The motor of the bass boat is up on a worktop, half broken down, torn apart. He doesn't know how to fix that, and he supposes Steve doesn't either. Is it destined to just sit there, just like that? In limbo? Forever?

That boat was a splurge, a want, not a need, and Eddie was happy Wayne decided to get something that he wanted, just for himself. 

After a lifetime of sacrificing for Eddie, Eddie just wanted to pay him back in any way he could. 

A boat, a home, anything at all. 

Eddie damn well knows the town likes to whisper behind their backs. Like Eddie is aimless, shiftless. The weird, queer freak that was incapable of flying the coop. Incapable of growing up. 

The one that somehow brought the Harrington boy down with him.

That they were flitting around, no jobs, living off the old man. 

That's not true, of course. 

Yeah, they were traveling around the world, fixing problems that came from beneath. Whispered secrets, unknown horrors, with very few explanations.

Experts in a field Eddie wished they knew nothing about. 

Hawkins has forgotten. Eddie hasn't been allowed to, not ever.

But maybe they were right, in some ways. Eddie still doesn't feel grown up. But they acted like his relationship was somehow less, just because Wayne was living under the same roof. 

But it was more. 

Eddie knows that. Having these extended years with Wayne, extra years that Eddie hadn't been promised, was good for all of them. 

Eddie loved having him here any time they came home. And he thinks Steve did, too. 

Wayne stayed with the house while they worked, sometimes going job to job for months at a time. Living out of suitcases. But he was always waiting here for them to return. Home. 

Wayne was home. 

And now Eddie's home has left him. 

Eddie misses him desperately. There's a gaping, bleeding hole in his heart, and in their home. 

Wayne's last pack of cigarettes sits on the wooden worktop, six of twenty remaining. Eddie has counted, and re-counted, without moving them. They're right next to a notepad and pen, and Eddie wonders if this was the last thing Wayne ever wrote. It means nothing to Eddie, just shorthand chicken scratches, measurements for something, a rough design plan, maybe? It doesn't matter. Except it does matter to Eddie. They're important because they were Wayne's thoughts, put to paper for a later date that would never come.

Eddie reaches up and runs his hands along the worn coveralls, hanging on a hook. One of several identical pairs. He died in another, that and his work boots.

Dying in your work boots and your worn coveralls isn't a bad way to go, all things considered. That's what Wayne always said.

There are worse things in life than death.

And:

I'll die with my boots on.

Both premonitions, it turns out, and painfully true. 

Steve and Eddie on the road, a message from Gareth waiting at the next checkpoint, telling them to come home. Now.

There are worse things in life than sudden, swift death. Here and gone. No suffering. One breath you're fine, and the next you're just not here anymore. Eddie's experienced both. His mother's long, drawn out death. The anticipation, the suffering, the anxiety.

And now, the opposite. 

Even if Eddie wasn't here. Even if he missed it. Even if Wayne died alone, with Eddie and Steve several states away. Eddie'll still take that option, if he gets to choose. He'll go like Wayne. Just blinking out, no fanfare. Wayne's death, exactly how he lived. Quiet, alone, and independent as fuck up until the exact moment he headed off into the sunset.

Eddie doesn't know where Wayne is now. 

Probably nowhere, Eddie thinks. Besides the ground.

Steve thinks otherwise. Steve's an optimist, though. 

Eddie often wonders what the fuck that's like? He's just too self-sabotagin' for that ever to be true for him. They go into jobs the same way, Eddie pessimistic and looking at all the bad. He wants to hear the worst of it. But Steve's beside him, ever optimistic, looking at the good. At the hope.

They make a good team, a good balance. Always have.

This was meant to be their house. Wayne was just keeping it company until they were ready to settle down. That was the excuse to get his stubborn ass into it, anyway. 

Eddie's ready now. There's no place like home is fucking true. The rest of the world holds no luster for him now, not anymore. The shine dulled and tarnished.

But, home?

At home, it's all still here.

And Eddie's just filling the spaces around it all. Around everything Wayne left behind. Absorbing it into himself. Into his bones. Wayne's stuff getting pushed to the back of the medicine cabinet. His clothes shuffled to the back of the closet. 

But still here.

There's room enough for all of it.

The phone rings. The red one. Eddie doesn't answer. He's not leaving home, not yet. Maybe never again. 

He's really sorry that the rest of the world has problems that maybe they could help fix.

Right now, Eddie can only try to fix himself. 

Eddie hears the saw. On, then off, then on again. The high-pitched whine of it.

When he rounds the side of the house, those beautiful barn doors are thrown wide open. Steve's leaning over a table, noting measurements. Scribbling with a pencil, one of the big rectangle ones, that won't roll away.

Referencing back and forth to another set of papers. 

He's got on a backwards cap, one of Wayne's from the wall inside, Eddie's pretty sure. 

Ear protection. Eye protection.

Carhartt overalls, and a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Eddie's sure it's one of Wayne's that worked its way up from the back of the closet. 

Things are starting to get moved, here and there. Used again. Time marching on.

If Wayne could see Steve now, he'd be proud. Eddie knows it. Even if once, he was sure Wayne thought Steve was a goddamn yuppie like the rest of Harringtons. But Wayne learned just how goddamn tough Steve is, fast. Eddie slung over a shoulder, Steve marching him back from hell. Alive. Somehow.

And that's all it took. Wayne loved Steve, and over time, loved him just as much as he loved Eddie, Eddie's pretty sure. 

He misses Wayne, and he knows Steve does, too.

They both feel closer to him here.

Eddie thought he'd have more time. A lot more. He should have listened more, learned more. He should have helped build those doors. 

But he didn't. Wayne taught him different lessons. How to play the guitar. How to do the nightly crossword. How to survive.

Wayne taught Steve others. 

And where Eddie's done it in the house, Steve's filled the spaces around the things left behind in the shop. 

Eddie puts down the lemonade, poured into a familiar mug, right next to the pack of cigarettes that are gathering more sawdust, and waits. Doesn't want to startle Steve, though, if Eddie knows Steve, he already knows Eddie's there.

It's his job to not be snuck up on. 

Eddie notices the boat motor has been moved. 

The sawing stops, and Steve comes over to him.

"Who did this?" Eddie asks. "What are you doing with it?"

"I moved it. Goodie's coming tomorrow. Thinks he can fix it," Steve answers, then he's downing a big swallow of lemonade. It's just from the canister, but made extra strong, just like Wayne taught him. 

Goodie is good with motorcycle engines. Eddie doesn't know if that translates to boat motors or not. But what can it hurt to let him try? It's just been sitting here, waiting for Wayne to pick up where he left off, which is never gonna happen.

The next night, Goodie and Steve are leaning over it, heads together. They've been tinkering all day. Thinking they've got it, putting it into a five gallon bucket of water to test run, and then shaking their heads when it refuses to fire up.

Eddie watches it all through the big, open doors. Gareth is poking at the firepit. Jeff cooking on the grill. Kids and spouses hanging out, playing or talking.

His family is here, just. It's not everyone, there's still a missing piece. And there always will be, now. It's a hurt that settles deep in his chest, and he knows he'll have to carry it there forever right next to the loss of his mother.

He hears the motor rev to life and Steve and Goodie are screaming in delight that they finally fucking did it, and Eddie smiles. 

Maybe they'll take the boat out this weekend. 

Eddie uncovers the boat, and it's another time capsule under the tarp, one he hadn't considered existing. Fishing poles, still baited with hooks and lures. Empty cans, dead leaves.

Another pack of cigarettes. He laughs, and pockets them. One shrine is enough. These? Maybe these he'll smoke. 

They take off across the lake, getting up to speed. The wind is rushing through Eddie's hair, and when they slow to turn, Eddie cups his hands, and lights one of Wayne's cigarettes. 

Breathing deep. 

Then, coughing. 

It's stale, and tastes bitter.

Thankfully, Steve and Goodie can't hear him, as he tries to expel it all in an unattractive fashion. 

He hasn't smoked in years, and his lungs are protesting. He laughs, and just holds it in his hand, and enjoys the ride. 

Gareth and Jeff are on the shore, waiting their turn, but are also the rescue crew if the motor fails mid-lake. 

Eddie can swim to shore, has done it once before in this lake, but would really rather not repeat the experience. 

The motor sings, and when they pull up to the dock, Steve and him get out, letting Goodie take the others out on the water. 

"Smoking again, are you?" Steve asks. But there's no judgment. Steve never judges him, somehow. Even Eddie judges himself. That Steve doesn't is a miracle. 

"Not well," he admits, sliding the pack back into his shirt pocket. Where he just might carry them from now on. Over his heart. 

One pack watching over Steve in the shop, one pack watching over him, everywhere else. 

"Boat's running good," Eddie offers and Steve smiles. 

Steve drapes his arms over Eddie's shoulders, leaning up against him, hands resting on Eddie's chest. Over his heart, hugging him from behind. 

Steve tells him all about the motor. What they fixed. What they can still fine-tune. 

Then.

"I miss him," Steve says. 

And yeah. That's the long and short of it. 

"Me too." 

Winter comes, and Eddie glances out the kitchen window, spotting Wayne splitting wood. 

The thought is fleeting, painful, and it sucker punches him when he hadn't seen it coming. He grips the edge of the sink, fingers digging in, as he doubles over, trying not to cry. 

When he looks again, it's not Wayne at all. 

It's Steve. 

Ax in hand, the heavy Carhartt coat on his back. Eddie's not sure if it's actually Wayne's coat, or just something that he associates with Wayne so strongly, that it feels like it's his. 

When Steve hauls the logs in later, Eddie holds the door open for him.

After he's done, Steve shrugs out of the coat, face red from the cold. 

Eddie just stares at him. 

When did Steve grow up? They were just kids a second a go, Eddie's sure of it. But Steve's going gray at his temples, and he's not old, but he is all grown up. 

That means Eddie must be, too. 

Wayne's gone. His mother's gone. Fuck knows about his dad. 

He suddenly realizes he's the older generation, and the thought of that is suffocating. He still feels like he needs to look for real adults, and now there's nobody left to turn to for guidance. 

Steve is an adult. 

So, Eddie pretends he is, too. 

The red phone rings again. And again. 

Steve finally unplugs it from the jack, and unscrews it from the wall, shoving it into the closet, on top of a box of Wayne's old boots. 

They can always plug it back in. 

Just. Not today. 

Today, the guys are coming over to jam. They've been doing that more and more since Eddie's been home. 

They will never be anything except what they are. A middle-aged Midwestern garage band. Comprised of a relucant monster hunter. A lawyer. A mechanic. A loan officer. 

Best friends. Still. All these decades later. 

Steve is in the shop, the heater red hot, and Eddie had dragged down Wayne's easy chair from the house with Gareth's help the other day, so now he can sit in front of the heater and read while Steve works. He rocks gently, his foot pushing off of the dirty floor to keep him in constant motion.

He feels better moving, always has, and this rocking soothes that part of him well. Especially since his whole life has come to a standstill. 

All the noise Steve's making is a comfort, familiar. It's a hug. A hello. 

An echo, still ringing through the night. 

Eddie can dig in the back of the closet, too. Tonight, he's wearing a heavy, buffalo check flannel coat. It's worn on the sleeves and collar, but Eddie swears it still smells of cigarettes and Wayne's cologne. 

His cologne is still in the bathroom in the house, his cigarettes are still on the table, out here. 

Still six in the pack. 

He's everywhere, and nowhere, all at the same time.

Steve comes over holding up a piece of wood, holding it up, showing it off. 

Eddie's not sure what it'll be, but he smiles encouragingly. 

Steve smiles back and then leans down, kissing him. It's quiet, this life they've decided to live. Too quiet, sometimes. But Eddie's happy.

He wasn't sure he would be again, but here he is, with Steve. 

At home.

It's peaceful.

And this becomes their new routine. Eddie sits, Steve works, and the winter wind blows against the shop. 

Tonight, Eddie must have dozed off, because he jumps when Steve touches his arms. 

"C'mere. It's done," Steve says. 

"What's done?" Eddie asks, but he takes Steve's offered hands, getting pulled to standing. 

In the back there's something with a drop cloth thrown over it. 

Steve is giddy, and it's contagious, "What is it?" 

"For you, I think. If you want it," Steve says, as he yanks the sheet off. 

It's a cabinet. A hutch. Like for storing the fancy dishes. 

Okay. 

"It's pretty," Eddie says, because it is. "Who did this? You? Wayne?"

Steve squats down and plugs it in, "Both of us."

When it comes to life, backlit and beautiful, there are heavy hooks inside instead of shelves. 

"For your guitars," Steve says, grinning. "It took me a few tries to decipher his plans. I got some things wrong. And I probably did things differently than he would hav-" 

Eddie cuts him off, kissing him. Hands grasping Steve's back. Holding him tight. 

When Eddie pulls back, he knows he has tears in his eyes. He doesn't care. 

"You really did this?" 

"Well. It was Wayne's idea, I just interpreted the plans I found," Steve says, and Eddie pulls him close again. Clinging to him. 

He loves it. He never expected to get something from both of them, not ever again. 

"Thank you," Eddie says, and he's talking to Steve. 

And to Wayne. 

Wherever he is, or isn't. 

Eddie may never get that answer, despite solving so many mysteries for other people. 

But, right now? It doesn't feel that mysterious at all. 

He's still here. 

In the shop. In all the things that live here in their home. In Steve.

In Eddie's heart. 

In all of it.

Always. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieangstyaugust and follow along with the fun angst! 😭

Notes: I saw this tiktok the other day and cried. Then it manifested itself here, because the truth of it needed to be jotted down. Also inspired by Bass Boat by Zach Bryan. And his Pink Skies, too. It's been my sad song album this past month.

[fiorexiv]

FFXIV-Write 2024: #2 - Horizon

When the sun sank at the end of the funeral rites, Fiore wandered alone. After burying his mother, he didn’t expect to feel like he could run along the coast from Red Rooster Stead to Aleport and back and still have the energy to prepare breakfast. This, he concluded, must be an abnormal processing of his grief. His sisters had sobbed and whispered quietly amongst each other (leaving him out as they often did) until they both fell asleep, exhausted from the day. Fiore, contrarily, was restless. Knowing that he couldn’t stay at home, he decided a short walk might be what he needed. Even with his mother gone, he took extra care to be silent—avoid the squeaky fourth floorboard from the wall, lift the door upwards by the handle so the hinges won’t squeal, twist the knob so the latch won’t click, hold the keys with two hands so they won’t jingle while locking up.

Outside, the stars were long in full bloom overhead, their cool glow giving him enough light to walk despite the thin grin of the crescent moon. Chilled air bit into his exposed arms, but it was too risky to turn back for a coat. If he went inside, he might convince himself to stay there, or worse, be caught and scolded by his sisters. The cold was a mild inconvenience in comparison, and nothing movement couldn’t stave off. So he walked. One step, and another, and another, eyes straight ahead to where the road curved out of sight.

Every ten steps brought a thousand thoughts with it, most about his mother’s life. There were no sparkling memories of time spent with her, no bright days of laughter and kindness to reflect on with fondness. She had been far too sickly, too paranoid, too hurt to be a doting parent. Perhaps—no, he knew for certain—it was because she lamented leaving her home behind for her unborn’s sake. For his sake. While his sisters had many tales of their childhoods with their mother playing with them, bringing them treats, and teaching them skills in the “homeland,” their mother’s agony, guilt, and loneliness tainted his own. His homeland was La Noscea; his stories were of time locked inside, apologizing to her while he cooked and cleaned. The woman they knew never made it across the sea.

It wasn’t as though he was happy she was gone. There was a strange emptiness in the days since her passing that left him feeling aimless now that he didn’t have to be her caretaker. He had never considered his mother’s death—the Viera lived too long for that, and she should have had much more time. She had escaped the brutality of invasion to save her children, but in forsaking her people, her culture, and her family, she cut herself off from any answers that would have brought her a semblance of peace. His eldest sister’s words from the funeral rites echoed in his mind. ‘Grief wields death’s scythe with a firm grip.’

What of his grief? Perhaps walking a bit further, he might find it.

—

Fiore wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he left home. The route was so familiar and his head so clouded with thoughts that he had walked in a trance. When he double checked his surroundings, he realized he was already halfway to Limsa Lominsa. Hours, then. Like finding a paper cut on a finger, the knowledge of the time made his pain set in. Not the aches in his feet, nor the screaming of his calves, nor the tenderness of his skin in the cold—but the sense of sadness. He wasn’t without sympathy, no matter how much he wished she had been different. However neglectful and broken that she was, his mother wouldn’t have been in such a state had she never been forced from her home. The years of making sure she was fed and comfortable were more than enough to give. There was nothing more he could have done, even as her only son.

He lifted his gaze, tears unfurling down his cheeks in an unending stream, their warmth stinging against the cold of his skin. In looking up, he realized that the stars had already begun to wink away and acquiesce to the rising sun. How strange to see that she should raise her head over the horizon to light the realm, knowing his mother would never raise her head again.

[spicy-apple-pie]

One thing about kids is that they will casually trauma dump to you and not bat an eye

Also sorry about the nothing burgers lately, I just prepping for the... next arc...

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Commission Info / Kofi

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[jesncin]

A Father's Farewell: The End Of The Road.

Our take on Hellblazer: Dead In America's ending, focusing in on John's relationship with Noah, legacy, and parenthood.

[schnuffel-danny]

The info is right there on his wikipedia page, Danny, you really have no excuses for this one

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 136

 There is a small child floating in the Watchtower. 

They’re visibly not human, a too-big cloak of purple (what shade no one knows, all they can describe about the cloak is purple, nothing else) hanging from them as big Lazarus-green eyes glare down in something of a pout. The child huffs, blowing white hair out of their face despite it shimmering and shifting on its own already. 

How the child, inhuman or not, found their way into the Watchtower- without setting off an alarm no less- is a concern. A very large concern, but it can wait because there is a four-year old (if the child is the equivalent of a human child that is) at oldest staring down at them. 

 “Do you know where the speedsters are?” the child piped up after an awkward stare-down, none of the league members present quite sure what to do in this situation. It was probably around time to call Batman… or they could call Flash instead. 

[stars-obsession-pit]

In the League of Assassins, Damian had had a younger brother Danyal. He’d loved Danyal with his whole heart.

He’d loved him too much, in the eyes of Ra’s al Ghul. Especially as Danyal turned out to be noticeably less capable than his older brother.

And so, Danyal became a bargaining chip.

As long as Damian kept up his progress, Danyal would be safe. Still trained to fight, of course (this is still the LoA), but not as harshly as he could be. But if Damian ever faltered, the punishment would be placed on Danyal. His training raised from intense to outright torturous, being denied meals, contact between the brothers being cut off, or worse.

Damian swore to himself that he would never let that happen. Perhaps he even foolishly believed that he might actually succeed at that oath.

But this was the League. He was being trained as an assassin. Of course they wouldn’t let him always succeed at protecting Danyal. That sort of care was a weakness—a usefully exploitable one for the moment, but one that they would want to stamp out eventually. So the standards got ever higher. Impossibly high.

Eventually, after a certain failure, they forced him to watch Danyal be killed. They did let him lower the body into the Lazarus Pits, but Danyal never emerged.

Even before he joined Batman and learned more about normal morality, that moment cemented the fact that Damian would never be truly loyal to the League again.

However, unbeknownst to them, the revival did work. Danyal just emerged elsewhere, appearing out of a short-lived portal to the Ghost Zone.

From there, he was taken in by an “eccentric” (crazy) but loving scientist couple named the Fentons.

[phlurrii]

I liked cubone before I had anything incommon with it >;T

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

[gffa]

Update on the Lumi: I'm going to try not to disappear, because I've already spent a lot of time away from friends and social hobbies over the last month+, but I recently lost a longtime friend suddenly and, with it being in the same week as the one year anniversary of my dad's death, it's been hitting me hard, so be a little extra gentle with me if I'm more scattershot than usual. I'm processing the feelings, it's just very sudden and deeply unfair, so it's hard to get my heart around it. I'll try to get to messages and asks soon, but just know that sometimes I'm going to seem very upbeat and cheerful, which may even sometimes be genuine, but that I'm going to be easily slipping from one mood to the next. Thank you for your patience and compassion ahead of time. <3

[winniefrez]

Wasn’t sure about posting this one, but peeps seemed to like it on bird app so here it is, with a maybe excessive angst warning BUT basic comic premise is “spar sessoin goes wrong and Irep accidentally gets everything he used to think he wanted >:3c

Part two will be posted momentarily!

[tidalfoam]

"Lonely"

so, in my AU its GodLamb and VesselNarinder, but Aym & Baal aren't with Lambert. So the question had come up before in convos with friends "did Lambert have their own Aym and Baal?"

And yeah, they did, but not for long.

Lambert didn't want the lambs to suffer a life stuck in purgatory with them, and painlessly killed them so they'd be free in the afterlife with their parents. Though they always felt pained by this, they couldn't let Shamura see their weakness. They were still pained by what had happened between them and the siblings. Later they would confess to Narinder that they did feel guilty for killing them, but knew it would've been crueler to let them grow up chained to purgatory.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Keep Living with Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Andersen!cop!reader (r's mom is Captain Zoe Andersen)

Summary: You fell in love with Tim Bradford quickly, and he receives your mother's blessing to propose. After you watch your mother's murder, his plans are thrown off and he gives you a place to heal.

Warnings: spoilers for ep 1x16 "Greenlight," parental death (Captain Zoe Andersen), grief, panic attacks, nightmares. comfort at the end! not proofread

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“Good mornin’,” Wade greets as he enters roll call. “Before we get started let’s give a warm welcome to our newest Andersen. Welcome, all the way from Chicago! I know your mom is here so we’re all too scared to give you any grief, but I hope LA treats you well.”

“Thank you, sir,” you reply, nodding to the officers beside you.

“Andersen?” Tim whispers.

“Captain Andersen’s daughter,” Bishop answers. “She was working her way toward detective in Chicago but transferred a few weeks ago. Wanted to be closer to her mom, from what I’ve heard.”

“Meaning that if you want to lay some Bradford charm on her, you’d have to answer to your boss,” Angela adds.

“Cute,” Tim replies, giving Angela a fake smile.

“You said it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Bradford,” you call, jogging to catch up to him. “I just wanted to say thanks for the assist back there. I don’t know how that second guy got past me, but I’m sorry for not paying attention.”

“It happens,” Tim offers with a shrug. “And it’s my job to have your back.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some thanks every once in a while. I’ll let you get back to your rookie, but, seriously, thank you.”

“No problem.”

Tim doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point, after you arrived in Los Angeles, he got attached to you. Now, he keeps an eye out for you and shows you a side of himself that very few people are lucky enough to meet.

Calling your name, Tim beckons you back to his side. “Let me buy you dinner? As a thanks?” he asks, squeezing his hands together nervously.

“Why would you be thanking me? You saved me,” you remind him. 

“Just-“

“I’d love to. But I’m paying,” you answer, smiling before walking away again.

“Doubtful,” he murmurs to himself before returning to his shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

Two weeks after your first date with Tim, you smile at him over your shoulder in roll call. You haven’t told anyone about your feelings, and Tim is just as happy to keep your relationship private for now – that’s something he made clear from the beginning, private not secret.

“Bradford, Andersen, the captain wants to see you,” Wade says as he enters the room. Neither you nor Tim move until he adds, “I think that means now.”

Once the door is closed behind you, you promise, “I didn’t tell her.”

“Relax,” Tim demands. “It’s probably not about us.”

He opens the door to your mother’s office, and she points for both of you to sit. Pulling your hands into your lap, you fiddle as she looks at a paper on the desk before her.

“Care to explain?” she asks.

“Explain what, ma’am?” you reply.

“You’re in here as my daughter, though I’m not thrilled to learn you and another officer are dating without my prior knowledge.”

You look at Tim, but he seems content observing this confrontation.

“Mom, I-“

“It better be a good reason,” she interrupts. “Because it’s been weeks since Tim asked me if it was allowed.”

Looking over at Tim, your mouth gapes before you accuse, “You told her!”

“I had to,” he answers. “I wasn’t dealing with her wrath, as captain or your mother.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?” your mom asks. “You chose the best of them.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tim says happily.

“Don’t think that makes you infallible,” your mother threatens. “I have a gun and I can fire you, and what I choose to do depends entirely on you.”

Tim nods severely, and they both chuckle when you release a relieved sigh.

“Congratulations,” your mom tells you. “I’m glad you’re happy, and I’ll see you both at dinner on Friday?”

Tim leads you out of the office, and you ask, “What’s Friday?”

“Probably a chance for everyone who loves you to threaten me.”

“Sounds fun.”

Tim reaches out for you, but you turn away quickly. 

“You told my mother without telling me. No hugs for you until Friday.”

Smirking, Tim replies, “Yeah, you try holding out that long.”

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“I’ll be back in a few,” Tim tells you, kissing your forehead.

“Where are you going?” you ask, looking up at him from your spot on his couch.

“To get your favorite breakfast,” he answers. “Because I love you.”

“Be careful. I love you.”

After a year of dating, you and Tim easily acknowledge the depth of your feelings for one another. He makes you feel important, loved, and like the center of his world. It was easy to fall in love with Tim, yet every moment spent with him makes you happier.

While you wait on his couch, Tim heads to your favorite café. Fiddling with the box in his pocket, he smiles as he thinks of you. You’ve gotten to know him so well you have become practically impossible to surprise. (At least since he first told you he loved you, holding you close under a starry sky in the California desert.) This, though, should be the best surprise yet.

The bell over the door chimes as Tim enters, and he quickly finds the woman he’s here to meet.

“Good morning, Captain Andersen,” he greets, sitting across from her. She looks at him until he amends, “Sorry, Zoe.”

“It’s been a year, Tim, you’re going to have to get used to it at some point,” she teases.

“I will. I actually asked you to meet me here because I have a question about my future with your daughter.”

Zoe’s smile grows, sure that she knows where this is going. Tim removes the velvet box from his pocket and slides it across the table.

“I want to propose, ask your daughter to spend the rest of her life with me, but I refuse to do that without your permission. So, Zoe, my question is, will you allow me to marry your daughter? I can’t bring her half as much happiness as she brings me, but I will love her until my dying breath.”

“Tim,” Zoe begins, pressing the ring box back into his hand. “I would love to have you as a son-in-law; of course, you can marry my daughter. And if your proposal is anything like that, I can’t imagine her saying anything other than yes.”

“Is she going to cry?”

“Most likely,” Zoe answers with a laugh. “But you should get going before she gets suspicious.”

Tim stands with Zoe, pulling her into a hug as he thanks her. She reminds him that the family is having dinner together on Friday, and his standing invitation still stands.

“We’ll be there,” Tim promises. “And I’ll let you know when I pick a date.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knocks on Zoe’s door a week later, entering her office and closing the door behind him. 

“I’m proposing this weekend,” he tells her, smiling as he thinks of you.

“Take it easy this week, then. You want everything to be perfect,” Zoe reminds him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you okay?” you ask Tim. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’m great,” he promises. “Just ready for the weekend.”

You nod, unconvinced by his brush-off answer. Trusting Tim is easy, so you know he will tell you when he’s ready. As the day progresses, with IA reversals, celebrities, and an attempt on Nolan’s life, you’re not sure you and Tim will be able to talk about whatever bothers him.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you hear about the shots fired and the greenlight on Nolan, you don’t hesitate to meet your mother at the scene. Not telling Tim yourself wasn’t a conscious decision, simply the result of your adrenaline surging and concern for your fellow officers. Lucy is talking to Nolan as you approach, walking behind your mother, and you notice Tim standing to the side, sending him a concerned look.

“According to intelligence, you’ve bee greenlit by Southern Front,” Captain Andersen – no longer acting like your mother – announces.

“How’s a rookie get greenlit before me? I gotta step up my game,” Tim adds.

“It’s not a badge of honor, Bradford,” you reply, giving him a stern look.

“I was kidding,” he promises, his full attention on you.

Listening to the facts and learning why Nolan is being targeted, you know that finding the gang in a city as big as LA will be next to impossible. As your mom and Nolan leave, you rush to catch up with them.

“I’m coming with,” you announce.

“Officer Andersen, no,” your mom argues.

“I have more gang experience, I assisted in countless cases in Chicago. You need to let me help.”

Shaking her head, your mother gestures for you to join them. You know you’ll get yelled at, lectured, and, if you’re lucky, encounter the wrath of a concerned mother rather than an undermined captain when you get home later.

✯✯✯✯✯

“K-9 unit already swept the property,” Zoe says as she leads you and Nolan into his place.

“Uh, no, Ben left for New York yesterday. So, what’s happening here?” he replies.

“The DA approved a VARDA alarm. It bypasses 911, sends a red alert to all the cops in the area.”

“So, what’s next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I mean, I can’t just go to work, right? I’d be endangering everyone who came within five feet of me.”

“Being a cop is being at risk.”

“You’re saying I should just report for duty, act like nothing happened?”

“I think we tell the criminals what to do, not the other way around.”

“No matter the consequences?”

“No matter the consequences. But, look, it’s up to you. No one is gonna judge you either way.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Nolan, this isn’t about bravery. You have a family. Any cop who’s ever worn a badge understands that. It seems the system is up and armed. We have a unit parked out front. Try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll stay,” you offer. “And I’m sure West and Chen are on their way.”

“You call me if anything happens,” your mom demands. “And make sure West and Chen know that, too.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, when you and Nolan enter the station, Tim gives Nolan a nod of approval. The rest of the officers break into a round of applause, and Tim’s eyes move to yours.

“You need to be careful,” Tim mouths.

“I promise,” you reply silently. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Riding in the backseat of the shop, you listen to your mom and Nolan while thinking about Tim. Being careful has always been a priority, but knowing that you risk not going home to the man you love puts everything into perspective.

The radio comes on as dispatch announces, “7-Adam-15, possible 459 in progress, 1936 Kristol Lane.”

“7-Adam-15, show us responding,” Nolan responds. “I hate this. Feels like everyone’s fighting my battle for me.”

“City still needs policing,” your mom points out.

An engine revs behind you, and you glance out of the back window, quickly noticing the nondescript van behind you. “Uh, mom?”

She nods once, removing her gun from its holster as the van moves into the lane beside the shop. You and Nolan similarly prepare to defend yourselves. The van sits beside the shop momentarily before turning onto another road.

“Uh, that was…” Nolan begins.

“Exilirating,” your mom finishes.

“I was gonna say ‘terrifying.’”

“What if we meet in the middle and say ‘dangerous,’” you recommend.

“That’s a good choice too.”

“7-Adam-15, go to channel 2 for Sergeant Grey.”

“Andersen,” Zoe calls after switching to the proper channel.

“It worked,” Wade says. “Midas forced Cole to lift the greenlight.”

“I guess you are back to being just another rookie,” Zoe tells Nolan as he takes a deep breath.

“But maybe keep your guard up for a few more days,” you suggest. “Just because there’s no greenlight doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“Does this mean this little partnership is over?” Nolan asks.

“We got a burglary call to take,” Zoe answers with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

Following your mom and Nolan into the open door of the burglary location, you take the left side as your mother goes straight, and Nolan goes right. Nolan turns off a radio before a flashbang is thrown into the room. You cover your ears and move toward an assailant before he throws you onto the floor, taking advantage of your disorientation as another man sticks a cattle prod to Nolan’s chest. You’re unsure where your mother is, but as your eyes close, you hope she proves she’s always been the best cop in your family.

✯✯✯✯✯

You regain consciousness first, but the men don’t seem to care about you as they watch Nolan. Handcuffed to wooden chairs with your backs to the pool, you don’t have many options to break free, so you can only hope that your fellow officers have noticed how much time has passed since you radioed a code 6 upon arrival.

Nolan groans as he wakes, and you can’t warn him to stay quiet before he’s noticed.

“Look who’s awake,” Cole says as he turns toward Nolan, holding up the electrical prod. “Packs quite a kick, doesn’t it? It’s got four times the voltage as LAPD uses. Could probably cook the eyeball right out of your skull.”

Leaning back, Nolan replies, “Look, look, I did not intend to disrespect Astrid, okay? Or you, okay? And I would be happy to apologize.”

“Too late for that now. Only way this ends is with you dead.”

Your mom chuckles, and your head snaps toward her as she continues, “Yeah, I, uh, I’d heard that you were dumb, but it is shocking to see it in person.”

“Dumb?” Cole repeats.

“Dumb,” you say with your mother.

“Who lured you into an ambush with a false surrender?”

“Does your father know that it was false? Huh, junior? I can’t imagine that revelation’s gonna go too well, huh?”

“I think it’ll go fine.”

“Oh, he’s dumber that I thought. What’s my rank?”

“What?”

“Her rank, idiot,” you interject. “You should be able to tell by her uniform.”

“Who cares?”

“I have a feeling you will.”

“You put a hit out on a rookie,” your mom adds. “But two bars and a badge that says ‘Captain’? You’ve just crossed a line that anybody with half a brain would run screaming from. A line that even your father might whack you for crossing. Understood? So, let me tell you how this is gonna go. You and your little goonies are gonna-“

Cole lunges forward, pressing the prod against her. You pull against your restraints as she yells in pain.

“Hey! Cole! No!” Nolan yells. “Hurt me! Right? I’m the one you want hurt, right? Killing me, that’s trouble you can handle, okay? But not her. You need to let her go.”

“Do you think I’m dumb, too?”

“No.”

Cole looks back and forth between Nolan and your mother. When he moves toward her, you and Nolan yell, “No!” but can’t stop him from kicking her chair into the pool.

“No! No! No!” Nolan chants, fighting the handcuffs.

While you pull as hard as you can, attempting to break free, you begin tipping your chair back toward the water.

“If the line’s already been crossed, then there’s no going back. Which means non of you are walking out of here. As long as your bodies never turn up, the murder can’t be pinned on me,” Cole says.

Twisting in your chair, moving onto two chair legs, you watch your mother struggle underwater through blurry eyes, your vision affected by your tears.

“No, you’re wrong,” Nolan answers before offering to make a video apologizing to Astrid. “Just get her out first. Right now,” he adds after Cole agrees.

“No, you got to make the video first. Come one!”

“Nolan!” you grunt, hoping he makes this quick.

Turning back to look at the pool, you think your mother’s arm is free, and as she swims to the surface, pulling one of Cole’s “goonies” into the water, Nolan tips his chair to tackle Cole to the ground. You move toward the other man, unconcerned, when he points a gun at you. Headbutting him once you’re on the ground, you flinch when a gunshot sounds in the pool.

“No, no, no,” you repeat lowly, turning toward the water’s edge.

Your mom raises over the edge, shooting the man standing above you.

“Mom, no!” you warn as Cole reaches for his gun.

You and Nolan struggle against the cuffs, and when a bullet hits your mom’s neck, time seems to slow down. She presses a hand to the wound before she lowers back into the water.

“No!” you scream, your voice cracking with emotion. “No, no, stay up!”

“No, Cap-“ Nolan calls.

“Mom!”

Nolan breaks his chair and dives into the pool as you watch helplessly. 

“Come on,” Nolan repeats, beginning chest compressions.

“Nolan,” you whisper, sobbing against the wet concrete beneath you. “It’s too late.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Nolan tells you to stay still while he breaks your chair, but with your attention on your mom, that should be the least of his concerns. He frees you, pulling one end of the handcuffs away from the chair so you can move.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It- it isn’t your fault.”

You begin crying again, looking at the bloody water as you kick the pieces of the chair away from you. Releasing a pained yell, you move to your knees, sitting beside your mom as sirens approach.

Nolan is beside you, unmoving, until Wade places a hand on his shoulder. Tim rushes to your side, kneeling beside you as he pulls you up.

“It was Cole,” Nolan says.

Tim leads you away from the pool as the coroner moves your mom into a flag-covered coffin. As you follow the procession through the line of officers, you stop beside Tim, waiting for his nod before you continue.

After the coroner leaves and Wade dismisses everyone with instructions to find Cade, you avoid looking at Tim. You can’t fall apart until you catch her killer. 

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into roll call the following morning, Bishop offers you her seat, and you gladly take the place beside Tim. He slides the black strap over your badge before taking your hand under the table. You stay behind the roadblock, letting Nolan and Tim approach Cole to make the arrest. Once he is in cuffs and in the back of a shop, you holster your weapon and keep your eyes on Tim.

He rushes to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you cling to him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says against your hair. “Do you want to go with them?”

Shaking your head, you move toward Tim’s shop, and Lucy nods as she finds another ride back to the station.

“I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her, Tim,” you say when you’re alone.

“The hurt never goes away, but it lessens,” Tim promises. “And I’m right here.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Somehow, you manage to get through the funeral without falling apart. The moment you prepare to go home, to begin a life without her, that changes. You freeze on the sidewalk, looking back to the headstone.

“C’mon,” Tim murmurs as he approaches you. “You’re not staying alone tonight.”

“I can’t do this, Tim.”

“Yes, you can. Look at me. She loved you, and she wanted you to live and love, and do what you wanted to do. Do not let that monster take your life, too.”

Tim cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead as you nod.

“I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize. It- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re not alone, okay?”

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim holds you against his chest until you fall asleep, but you don’t get much rest before a nightmare wakes you. Slipping out of Tim’s arms, you walk into his backyard and close the door behind you. Sitting on his deck, you feel like you’re back in Cole’s yard, frozen and unable to do anything more than scream. Why didn’t you take action like Nolan? Get the gun somehow before Cole got away from Nolan? … Why didn’t you save your mother?

Pressing your hand against your mouth, you attempt to silence your cries, but you should have realized that Tim would notice the moment you left his side. He closes the patio door softly, sitting beside you.

“Can I come closer?” he asks softly.

You shake your head quickly, and your thoughts spiral. So many things could have been done differently, and maybe this is a sign that you should have never come to Los Angeles, never have become a cop and that you are the reason she is dead.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim calls, demanding your attention as he grabs your hand. “Breathe. Breathe with me.”

As Tim grounds you, you crawl toward him, letting him hold you as you fall apart in his arms. Crying into his chest, you eventually fall asleep again, and Tim whispers a promise that he will always be here for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The first few weeks are the hardest as reality sets in, and you relive the moment. Tim never leaves your side, though, offering a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, or a reminder that you are not to blame. As the time between tears grows longer and you can look at pictures of her and smile, you decide you’re ready to return to work.

“Are you sure? If you need more time, that is completely understandable,” Tim replies.

“I’m sure. You told me not to let Cole take my life, and I’m ready to start living again.”

“Still room for me?” Tim asks with a smile.

“Loads of room for you,” you promise, leaning against him.

“Then I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

So, when you walk into work three months later, you assume that Tim is responsible for the round of applause and the “Welcome Back” banner hanging in the bullpen. You and Tim are both surprised by how easily you return to the station, smiling as you greet your friends and able to walk past your mom’s office with nothing more than a sad smile. 

✯✯✯✯✯

After practically moving into Tim’s house after the funeral, you know where everything is. So, when he spills a drink while watching the game, unable to draw his eyes from the screen, he asks you to get him some dry clothes.

“Sure thing,” you reply, smiling at him.

Tim yells when his team scores, and you shake your head in loving amusement as you enter his closet. Moving a small basket to get a shirt from behind it, you accidentally knock something onto the floor. When you stand after picking it up, you realize that it’s a jewelry box. Opening it, you see the one thing you didn’t expect.

In the other room, one of the teams calls a time-out, and commercials begin playing. Tim realizes that you’ve been in the bedroom for a while, so he stands, stretching as he sets out to check on you.

“Did you fall into a-“ he begins, freezing when he sees you staring at the engagement ring.

“Sorry,” you say, snapping out of your shocked stupor as you close the box and put the ring back. “I knocked it off and didn’t think, uh, here’s a clean shirt.”

Tim grabs your hands rather than the shirt, stopping you before you can walk around him.

“I’ve had it for a while,” Tim explains. “I just- I could never find the right time to ask.”

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you press the shirt against Tim’s chest and ask, “Can you get dressed, please?”

“For what?”

“I need a hug, but you’re really wet.”

Tim laughs, changing right beside you before pulling you toward the bed. He rolls onto his side, looking at your face as you reach for him.

“What about the game?” you whisper.

“Who needs a game when I have you?”

“Well, if you’re not using the tv,” you begin, trailing off.

Tim sighs, kissing your cheek as he reaches over you for the remote. He turns on your favorite movie, inviting you to lay against his chest as you cuddle against him.

“Yes,” you say a few minutes later.

“Yes what?” Tim asks, looking down at you.

You pause the movie, rolling toward Tim to look up at him as you lay your chin against his chest. “If you proposed, I would say yes. No matter when or where.”

Tim smiles, and you decide to watch him rather than the movie.

Considering what his proposal may be like, you whisper, “I wish my mom was here.”

“A few months ago, I left to get breakfast, and then I was acting different the rest of the week. Do you remember that?” Tim asks. You nod, and he continues, “I went to see your mom that day. I showed her the ring and asked for her permission to propose. She told me that I had her blessing and she’d love to have me as a son-in-law.”

Tim smiles as he remembers Zoe's excitement after learning about his plans.

“I was going to propose the weekend that – that she died.”

“She loved you,” you remind him as he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks.

“And I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Get dressed,” Tim whispers in your ear as the movie ends.

“What?”

“Put clothes on. Unless you want to go to dinner wearing that,” Tim replies, gesturing to your well-loved pajamas. “Not that you don’t look beautiful, of course.”

“Move,” you mumble, pushing past him to reach the dresser he emptied for you after the funeral.

As he drives you to dinner, you watch Tim’s profile, feeling like the luckiest, most loved woman ever. He stops at a park, exiting beside a tree covered in fairy lights. Walking to the passenger door, he takes your hand and helps you out of the truck.

“Tim, what is this?” you ask.

“Something I should’ve done before,” he begins, kneeling. He looks into your eyes, reflecting the lights above you as he speaks. When you say yes, crying just as Zoe said you would, Tim stands, pulling you into his arms before sliding the ring onto your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi,” you greet, lowering to sit in the grass. You look at the sparkling ring on your finger and smile. “Tim proposed. I- I wouldn’t have seen it coming if I hadn’t found it in the closet.”

The wind blows, wrapping around you like a comforting hug.

“He told me that he went to see you and you gave him your blessing. I know you loved him, and you knew how much I loved him, but… sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve him. He singlehandedly held me together after that day with Cole. And I don’t want to receive more than I give.” Leaning toward the headstone, you read your mother’s name and ask, “What do I do to show him I love him?”

“He knows,” Tim answers, approaching with flowers. “May I join?”

You smile, inviting Tim to sit with you at your mother’s grave. He lays the flowers against her headstone before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“What are we talking about?” he asks.

“Us.”

“That’s my favorite topic.”

As you fall back into conversation with your mom, and Tim joins you, you feel like your mom is sitting across from you. With her love and Tim’s, plus all the love you have to give, you know you will be okay. Great even, you think as you lean against Tim, and the sun glints off the ring on your left hand.

[aghostnamedcalamity]

🪻The life of Miss Millicent Mae Ames 🪻

A Milly art dump, a bit in chronological order of her storyline too I suppose; my beautiful porcelain dancer 💜

I’d love to dive more into her and her relationship with her son, Benjamin, eventually.

[manyunhappygreenies]

"IF your mother was still alive, we would not be here at all."

dad of war but make it shadow and silver.

PLEASE DONT TAG AS SHIP TY