#don’t ask about Maryland I couldn’t find a better way to explain what he’s got going on

[derek-draws-stuff]

More headcannons

Connecticut’s closet is stuffed with hoodies, like, he can barely fit them in there anymore

Massachusetts just has a bunch of hats, bucket hats, beanies, baseball caps. He just has them and has worn them at least once each

Gov definitely has a drawer of just random things that he swears he’ll end up needing one day, like a broken pencil or some random bouncy ball he found on the ground somewhere

New York is literally good at most things art related, drawing? He’s got it down. Painting? Too good at it. He’s got all the skills

If the states play dnd (sometimes they do), they have home brew classes that are just their state’s stereotype (ex. Florida man)

Maryland crab walks in shallow waters at the beach and probably crawls out of the water basically submerged. Just crawling out on his elbows or something

New York is REALLY good with languages, he’s fluent in a lot and is almost fluent in the rest

Connecticut has Lyme disease, this isn’t a debate

West Virginia has two bulldogs; Babydog (who he definitely didn’t steal), and another named Daisy because he couldn’t bear letting Babydog be alone without a friend.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Hello love! Could I request Who by Lauv ft. BTS, slow burn love and Skinny Sisk? Nobody ever writes about him. He’s so underrated!💓

Hello angel! Thank you for the request!! 🤗This was so fun, Skinny really is so underrated! (P.S. I'm slowly making my way through the rest of the requests. THANK YOU to everyone who sent them in, it's been so fun writing these.)

Skinny downed the rest of his beer, which was mainly froth now. He was supposed to meet Dalia half an hour ago but she had only just arrived and seemed in no rush to find him. They hadn’t even made eye contact yet, but he had spotted her. Like always, she was the most striking woman in the room, impossible not to notice. When she first entered she had been immediately rewarded with greetings from acquaintances, mostly men. Skinny wasn’t really the jealous type; he was only jealous of her time. Dalia didn’t seem to have a lot of it. The time she did have was often split between many people and Skinny had to wait his turn. That night, he noticed gloomily, she had brought a golden haired friend dressed in yellow. She was beautiful, but Skinny only saw her as one more person he had to share Dalia with.

He and Dalia had been dating - well kind of - for months now. After a string of successful dates Skinny had asked Dalia if she would like to go steady with him. She explained she wasn’t ready, so Skinny was patient. After a few more weeks he asked again, but Dalia had another excuse. She continued to flirt with him and Skinny continued to wait anchored in the hope that one day she would accept him as hers. But lately he was beginning to feel like a chump.

Finally, Dalia made her way over to him, the girl in the yellow dress trailing behind her.

“Hi Wayne,” Dalia gave him a kiss on the cheek. He leaned in to kiss her on the other cheek but she was already moving out of the way. He let his hand linger around her waist as she introduced him the stranger.

“This is Natasha, she’s an old friend from home,” Dalia smiled toothily, “I brought her to work for you boys.”

“Yes,” Natasha’s smile was strained, “Dalia was kind enough to recommend me for a job.” It was clear that they had recited this script more than a few times.

“Nice to meet you,” Skinny shook Natasha’s hand. He was keenly aware of Dalia’s eyes on him and he wanted to make a good impression. “So you’re from Maryland too?”

Natasha nodded, “never lived anywhere else, until now that is.”

“And what made you want to work here?” Skinny asked politely. He felt Dalia on his right turn to respond to another man’s catcall. She giggled and it took all of Skinny’s concentration to focus on what Natasha was saying.

Suddenly, Dalia touch his arm, interrupting the conversation, “I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere you two,” she winked at them then disappeared into the crowd.

Skinny stared helplessly at Natasha for a moment before regaining himself. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” Natasha smiled wearily at him. They approached the bar and continued talking.

“So you're one of Dalia’s boyfriends?”

Skinny nearly spilled the drinks in surprise, “um not quite. We’re dating but…”

“but can’t get her pinned down?” Natasha accepted a glass from him.

“We’re taking things slow.”

Natasha nodded but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Much to Skinny’s disappointment he didn’t see much of Dalia for the rest of the night. She was busy talking and flirting with other groups of the bar’s patrons. Every time Skinny began to feel down about it he reminded himself that Natasha had it worse. Her friend had all but abandoned her; at least Skinny knew other people in the bar. Natasha was new to the city and had no one. Skinny made a point of sticking with her, which turns out was far from a burden. Natasha was fun to hang out with. She was kind and had this quiet humor about her that Skinny found quite entertaining. He wasn’t the only one to notice either.

“Who was that dame you were chattin’ up Skinny? Don’t think I’ve seen her around,” Joe Liebgott asked as they walked home together.

Skinny dug his hands deep into his pockets, trying to get his mind off of Dalia. “That was Natasha, Dalia’s friend from home. She just moved here.”

Joe raised a curious eyebrow, “she got a fella?”

Skinny shrugged, “dunno.”

He soon found out that Natasha was in fact single but not looking. On another night out Dalia had once again abandoned them. Skinny, the dutiful wannabe boyfriend, stuck by her friend. As Skinny’s friends were collecting refills, he and Natasha enjoyed the last of their drinks. That’s when a drunken soldier came up to them. Natasha grabbed Skinny’s arm when the soldier began hitting on her.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that,” she responded when he invited her to do some explicit things in the back alley.

The soldier looked at them suspiciously, “he’s your boyfriend?” he gestured sloppily at Skinny.

Skinny was lost for words but he nodded his head when Natasha looked up at him with a pleading look. The defeated soldier scoffed but stumbled off to find a new victim for his harassment.

“Thanks,” Natasha said, but there was little gratitude in her voice.

“Does that happen often?” Skinny asked with concern.

“All the time,” Natasha smiled dryly at him, “not to brag.”

“Do you actually have a boyfriend?” Skinny asked.

Natasha snorted, “no, but are you surprised? When those are my options?” she gestured at the retreating soldier. Skinny took the opportunity to really look at her. They had spent all this time together but he had always been so distracted by the distant shadow of Dalia. The faintest freckles were endearingly sprinkled across Natasha’s nose, and her hair shone bright even in the dim lighting of the bar. Any guy would be lucky to have her, Skinny thought, no wonder she got hit on so often.

Skinny and Natasha found themselves in each other’s company many times as he continued to pine after Dalia. At points, he wondered if he actually knew Natasha better than he knew Dalia. But those thoughts quickly dissipated as soon as he lay eyes on Dalia again. Sure, Natasha was easy to be around; Skinny felt like himself when he was with her. But Dalia was electric. She was beautiful, and charming, and he was addicted. He was willing to do anything just for a few moments of her attention.

One night Skinny settled into a chair beside Natasha, his eyes on Dalia.

“You know you don’t have to sit with me,” Natasha said. Her feet were propped up on a stool and her dress skirts hung messily, hiked up her legs. Skinny shrugged in response.

“Go have fun with your friends! Or go talk to Dalia!” Natasha urged him.

Skinny looked over to where Dalia was laughing with a co-ed group, “she’s busy, I’ll talk to her later.”

Natasha smiled pitifully at him.

“What?” he asked.


“You’re a sweet guy, Wayne,-"

“You know you don’t gotta call me that,” Skinny said, “really only Dalia does. Everyone else calls me Skinny or Sisk.”

Natasha nodded, “well maybe it’s not my place, but if it were me, I don’t know if I’d stick around for Dalia.”

“What do you mean?” Skinny asked innocently, though he had idea of what was coming. He had heard if from his buddies before: whipped.

“Dalia’s an old friend, I think she’s lovely, but she’s always been like this,” Natasha said. “How long have you guys been dating? How long have you been waiting around for her?”

Skinny didn’t respond but he turned to look directly at her. Natasha’s eyes were like pools of melted chocolate and Skinny felt the oddest sensation looking into them. “Clearly she’s not giving you the attention you want,” Natasha continued, “and you deserve someone who gives you what you want and need.” Skinny looked away, those round brown eyes were making his stomach flip in the most peculiar way.

He shrugged, “yeah, maybe.”

“Anyways,” Natasha sipped her drink, “that’s my two cents. Do what you want with it.”

Skinny tried to ignore Natasha’s words but they gnawed at him every time Dalia rebuked him. Slowly, his thoughts of Dalia began to be replaced by images of Natasha; of her laughing, playing darts, and those big, warm eyes.

One weekend Skinny and his friends met up with Dalia and Natasha a dance in the local city hall.


“You gonna ask her to dance or what?” Joe Liebgott pointed to where Natasha was sitting on a bench on the edge of the dance floor. Dalia hadn’t left the dance floor since she got there. It seemed nearly impossible to get on her dance card.

“You’re not seriously waiting around for a dance with Dalia are you?” Joe asked him.

“I don’t know who else to dance with!” Skinny said.

“Natasha,” Joe gestured, “obviously!” Skinny hesitated. “Skinny, Dalia is a khaki wacky, it’s about time you get over her. There’s a perfectly good dame over there who you’re clearly into!”

Skinny stared at his friend in confusion, “into? Who? Natasha?”


“Yes.”

“I’m not into Natasha.”

“Are you kidding me? You two are inseparable,” Joe said.

“We’re friends,” Skinny shrugged.

Joe rolled his eyes, “sure, well, go ask your friend to dance. She looks lonely over there.” Joe disappeared into the crowd, leaving Skinny to his own devices.

Skinny finally asked Natasha to dance but of course, with his luck, as soon as they were on the floor a slow song for lovers came on. He wasn’t going to be rude and ask her to wait for the next song so he pulled Natasha close and they began to dance. The lights dimmed as the music slowed. The scent of rose wafted up from Natasha’s hair and Skinny couldn’t help but think how perfectly she fit in his arms. He didn’t think of Dalia once, that is until the song came to an end. Natasha reached up and pressed her lips against his. For a moment, Skinny leaned into the kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, her breath sweet. Then a vision of Dalia came into his mind. Skinny broke the kiss and was met by Natasha’s questioning brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked.

“But we’re, we-,” Skinny stumbled, “we’re friends?”

Natasha stepped out of his embrace, her face flushed pink. She turned and hurried off the dance floor. Skinny followed after her, “Natasha, wait!” he called. But she didn’t slow down until she reached a corner of the hall.

“What?” she hissed. Her arms were crossed and her eyes darted around the dance hall to see who may be eavesdropping.

“That kiss,” he gestured at the dance floor, “I just- you kissed me.”

“Yeah, and?” she demanded in a hushed voice.

“Well, we’re friends,” he repeated dumbly.

“No, we’re not friends,” she said coldly, but there was hurt in her eyes. “You’re just an idiot in love with my friend, and I was a fool to think you’d ever get over her.”

Skinny looked as if he had been smacked. His mouth hung open in shock as he desperately searched for the words to respond.

“See you around, Skinny.” The disappointment was clear in her voice. And then the girl in the yellow dress was was gone.

Skinny wandered back to where Joe and their other friends were standing around chatting.

“What wrong Skinny?” Floyd Talbert asked.

“I fucked up,” Skinny said. Mentally he was kicking himself. Why had he reacted so stupidly? He had enjoyed that kiss!

Joe looked at him with a knowing look. “What happened?” Floyd asked.

“I just- I didn’t realize what was right in front of me until it was too late.

Joe nodded sagely. Floyd looked between Skinny and Joe in confusion, “what was right in front of you?”

“You know what you gotta do right?” Joe said, ignoring Floyd.

“What?” Floyd asked.

Skinny swallowed and looked at the floor, “it’s too late, I embarrassed her. She’ll never forgive me.”

“All ya gotta do is say you're sorry!” Joe said, “and mean it!”

“I don’t know Joe,” Skinny said hesitantly.

“Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” Floyd asked flatly.

“The longer you wait, the worse it's gonna get,” Joe insisted.

Skinny took a deep breath considering his friend's words. He exhaled, and after a pause said, “okay, okay,” he felt the confidence growing inside of him, “okay, I’ll see you fellas later.” He dashed off out the door hoping that Natasha was still nearby.

“We won’t wait up!” Joe called jokingly after him, but Skinny hardly heard him. He was off to win over the girl he wanted and the girl he needed.

[kl4us4]

AMPLIFICATION (Spencer Reid x Profiler!Reader)

Summary: S4 E24, where Spencer is poisoned by anthrax.

masterlist

Warning: angsty, bit sad, building tension

Within 18 hours of their common time together, 12 people who visited Quiet Hills Park in Annapolis, Maryland, have died from anthrax poisoning, with at least 13 more in emergency rooms headed in the same direction. You were with Emily and Rossi when he had gotten the call from Morgan. At the time, you weren’t sure what the hell it was about. Another attack maybe? The unsub’s been poisoning areas around town, spreading powdered anthrax into the air. It takes as little as three hours to settle into its victims’ system, filling their lungs and brain with blood before they die.

Rossi’s face fell slightly, you noticed it. If it had been anyone who knew him less, they wouldn’t have taken note of his change in demeanour. But you know him. And the way his eyes flicked to you before he hung up the phone had made your stomach sink. He wouldn’t provide any updates, only that you were all needed back at the BAU HQ.

“Hotch wants to speak to you himself.” That was all Rossi had said to you. And that was it. You kept quiet the ride to the office. Emily and Rossi spoke about the case and the possible unsub. You’d have joined in but an unsettling pain in your gut was making you feel uneasy.

And when you had walked into the office, you felt Hotch’s eyes immediately find you. They had lingered on you. That was when you got the first inkling that something was off. Something bad. Hotch mumbled something to a military officer, walking past him to stand with JJ and Garcia as the rest of the team approached. Everyone was on edge, that much was clear. The air in the office was stale and riddled with nerves. Spencer and Morgan weren’t there, that was the second clue that something had gone horribly wrong.

“Some of you have heard,” Hotch began, his solemn eyes moved around the group with an intensity you’d never seen before. His eyebrows were furrowed more than usual, and his posture was stiff. But you could tell at the time that he tried to come off as casual and calm. “Morgan and Reid visited the potential unsubs house. They found traces of anthrax. Morgan didn’t make it inside the house but Reid is in there now getting intel on our unsub. I can confirm he has come into contact with anthrax.”

You can’t even explain how deeply your stomach had sunk in that moment. There was a chill that settled in the room, you felt it raise the hairs on your arms as it brought a cool sweat to your neck. The only thing you could think of was that young girl you and Reid had spoken to in the ER just hours before. She was coughing up blood and could barely move, all because of anthrax. The same anthrax that was making its way through Spencer’s body, destroying everything it could as fast as it could. And by the end of it, he wouldn’t be able to even say his own name. 

When Hotch spoke your name, if broke you free of your panicked mind and you met his concerned gaze, “Got that? Help Garcia make a geographical profile, look for anything in his past that could tie into a new target area.” You just nodded at your superior and everyone left to do their assigned jobs. “Y/L/N,” Hotch muttered, his voice deep and quiet but stern enough to get your attention.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before you turned back to Hotch. You did everything you could to keep eye contact with him. “Sir?”

“I need to know your head is in the right place,” He states, his voice wasn’t harsh or disappointed; it was calm and understanding, “I need everyone’s full attention on this case, many lives depend on it. If you’re unable to work this case, let me know now.”

“I’m able,” you responded quickly, with an eager nod, “I’m sure.”

Hotch seemed... unconvinced. But if he was truly worried, he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t pull you from the case or grill you harshly to see where you’re truly at. Hotch had seen the eager way you tried to assure him that you were okay. And in that moment, where you had given him a desperate nod, he realised that you needed to work this case. If you didn’t, you would have nothing to keep you distracted from the impending death your boyfriend was in. So, Hotch, being ever formal, just gave you a small nod. And he placed a gentle hand on your tense shoulder. It was comforting, you needed it. It made you feel less alone. When Hotch left you, you couldn’t help but stand there for a second with your eyes shut. You tore any thought of Spencer from your mind. This is a case. You reminded yourself. This is an important case. And when you opened your eyes again, you headed straight to Garcia’s lair.

You stared at the map of the area. The abrasive red, showing the places he’s already attacked. The yellow, showing possible targets. And the blue, his residence. It was almost as though your eyes were engrossed by the blue as you watched, thinking, analysing, profiling where an unsub like this would go next.

“Spencer,” you snapped your head to Garcia, seeing her smiling as she placed a hand on her headset. Your eyes were slightly wide as you watched her, seeing her press a few buttons.

“What, no witty greeting?” Spencer questioned, his voice sounded rough and dry. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of it. For all you had known at the time, that was possibly the last time you would ever hear his voice.

“It’s hard to be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” Garcia admitted to her sick friend, her brown eyes were stuck to the floor.

Spencer took a pause, shuffling around a bit. You could almost picture him holding his phone up to his ear, leaning against a table with his other arm. Or sitting down, one leg draped over the other, looking around the room as he speaks. “Uh, Garcia,” he took a shaky breath, “I need a favour.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to - to send my mom a message. From me. I just... I need her to hear my voice - if anything happens to me.”

It was too much. It was way too much. You quickly left the room, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears from coming. This is a case. This is an important case. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. You hung outside of Garcia’s room, unable to hear the muffled conversation until she pulled the door open. Her face was on the other side, giving you a sympathetic and kind expression; one that you couldn’t return even if you tried.

“Any updates?” You asked Garcia, wishing that her eyes didn’t look so curious. She looked like she wanted to question you about the whole thing like she wanted to press you about sharing your emotions. This isn’t an unfamiliar thing for Garcia to do. So you knew the look she was giving you at the time.

“They know who it is. They have a location.” She responded, watching as you reached for your gun and badge. She gave you the address.

“I can kill everyone here!” The unsub now screams, his voice echoing through the tunnel of the subway. You watch as he grips his duffel bag by his side so hard that his knuckles turn white. No one understands, no one can possibly know why he’s doing this. He’s trying to help. He wants everyone to know that THIS is what happens when people are unprepared - when people don’t listen. You see Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss aiming their guns at him rapidly. They’re watching him like hawks watch their prey. But you can tell they’re afraid. “I’ll do it!” Chad shouts.

“Why would you do that?” you ask him calmly, lowering your gun gently and placing it back into your holster, “We have the General of Detrick who wants to meet with you. He’s on his way down right now.”

Hotch quietly speaks into his radio, requesting the General to come down to the subway with them. “He... he is?” Chad asks, his grasp on the duffel bag looser now.

“Of course he is,” you give him a small smile, “You created a strain of anthrax never seen before.”

“I did,” he mumbles to himself, letting go of his duffel bag, “Where is he?” He asks, more forcefully now. When you don’t answer straight away, he grips his bag tighter again, “Where is he?!”

“Right here.” General Whitworth speaks up, descending the subway stairs. He walks to Chad, a calm yet slightly forced smile on his face. “Chad Brown, yes? I’m General Whitworth. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now.”

The way Chad’s face lights up gives you some hope. An unsub like this wants recognition from a high power or authority. Now that he’s getting it, he won’t try anything else. “Really?” Chad mumbles, in awe of the man in front of him.

“Really,” the General responds, “Now, how about we get that bag from you so we can talk, huh?”

Chad nods, removing his bag gently and handing it to another officer. And just like that, Morgan is by Chad's side, handcuffs on his wrists and arresting the confused man. You can’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. Not yet. Turning to Hotch, he hasn’t even put his gun away when you walk up to him.

“Sir,” you get his attention, “Can I - uh, may I go-”

“Go,” he nods, “Go see him.”

Rushing through the emergency wing, you search for him. There are so many people, you almost walk right past him. But there he is, curtains draw around most of his bed as he sleeps. Making your way beside him, the closer you get, the slower you move. God, he looks so tired. He’s always had bags under his eyes but with the way his skin has gone pale, they look multiplied. His forehead glistens with a bit of sweat and his hair is messy. But his vitals seem steady, you sneak a look at his chart, flicking through to the most updated page.

Stable. Positive outcome. Treatment successful.

“Hey... That’s personal information.”

Looking up, you see Spencer squinting down at you as he tries to open his eyes fully. “Spencer,” you breathe out, rushing to his side. You pull the chair closer to his bed, sitting down beside him, “Don’t, don’t move too much. How do you feel?”

He lets out a grunt, ignoring what you say and sitting up anyways, “I’ve been better.” He admits. His voice is still rough and dry, despite there being a glass of water on his bedside table. It must be a side effect.

“Here,” you mutter, gently handing him the glass.

He takes it, hands slightly shaky with weakness as he brings the glass to his mouth and takes a sip. You place it back on the table for him. It’s only then that the two of you share a look. It’s filled with the silence of the curtained square but the bustling hospital outside.

Just like that, solely from being able to meet his gaze, you feel tears beginning to build up in your eyes. “No, no,” he mumbles quietly, arms stretched out towards you, “No, don’t cry.”

Spencer cradles you in his arms, bringing your head to rest on his chest. His hands rub your back, attempting all he can to soothe you as you sob gently against him. “You’re such an idiot,” you grunt against him, pulling back to wipe at your eyes, “You’re such an idiot, you should’ve left that room.”

“You know that I couldn’t,” he responds casually, knowing you don’t mean it - you’re just allowing all the built-up stress to flow out of you now that you’re no longer on the clock. “I’m sorry I had you all worried.” He gives you a small smile, “I’m okay, really. The doctor said I’m going to be fine.”

You nod, inhaling deeply as you sit back in your chair. You hold his hand though, squeezing it tenderly. “I could’ve lost you today,” you admit to him, “All I wanted to do was see you - but I couldn’t. I had to make a stupid map,” you let out a pathetic laugh, “And the whole time I just kept thinking-” you cut yourself off, shutting your eyes as more tears find their way to your cheeks. The same sinking feeling makes your chest ache and you begin to feel like you can’t breathe.

“No, Y/N, it’s-”

“I just - I kept thinking about when I could finally see you. And I - I didn’t want to be late. I kept having this thought that I would rush here and it’d be too late and I - I-“ you sniff, letting out a sob as you shake your head, “I’d just be too late and you’d just be... gone.” You admit to him, letting the tears coat lines down your face. Spencer listens, eyes stuck on you as he tears up at seeing you cry. “I didn’t make it in time and you were alone.”

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here.” He squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a long, slow kiss to it before he looks up at you, “And so are you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, giving him a small nod and gentle smile. “Now, come here,” he gives you a smile, gesturing for you to be closer to him.

Letting out a small chuckle, you lean forward to Spence. You meet one another in a slow kiss, savouring this moment. When you pull back, Spencer presses his lips to your forehead.

“I brought Jello.” Sitting back, you turn to see Morgan holding a red cup in his hand. He gives Spencer a grateful smile, “Good to see you, kid.”

“Likewise,” Spencer responds, giving Morgan a friendly expression. Morgan notices the tears on both your faces and the way the two of you try to discreetly wipe them away. But he says nothing, he just sits down beside you and begins to eat his jello as the conversation moves on.

[hopscotchandlemon]

All She Ever Wanted

Prompt number: 10. All I ever wanted

 Fandom: NCIS

 Rating: Teen

 Warnings/Tags: Mentions of Death and Child Abuse

The drug paraphernalia scattered next to the empty crib made Gibbs shudder internally. The dead Marine in autopsy was somehow linked to this nondescript house in Maryland and the more they saw, the more sordid it became. Ducky had said the Marine died of a heroin overdose but a lack of track marks or any physiological signs of drug use meant it looked like this had been their one and only foray into the use of intravenous drugs. Indeed, they passed a drugs test only 4 weeks earlier. He ordered Bishop and Torres to bag and tag the evidence before going outside to take a look at the neighbourhood.

The house had been empty when they’d arrived and the homeowners seemed to be long gone along with their foster children. His phone rang, it was McGee.

‘Boss, all the foster kids are in school apart from Maisy, who is a 14 year old girl who quite often doesn’t attend and has been reported missing to local police.’

‘Ok McGee, send over her photo so we can keep a look out,’ he replied.

A moment later his phone pinged and the photo of an unhappy looking girl with her brown hair and green eyes appeared on his screen. He looked up, aware of someone walking up the sidewalk. He watched as the girl from the photo ground to a halt on seeing all the cars outside the house. To compound things, a police car lit up behind her. With a terrified look on her face, she ran diagonally across the road and Gibbs tried to intercept her.

‘Maisy wait, you’re not in any trouble,’ he shouted across to her, moving closer and closer. The police car accelerated past her. As Gibbs managed to get to her she started lashing out and was able to land a punch to Gibbs’ mouth, splitting his lip. He managed to get his arms around her as she attempted to hit and kick him. One of the local LEOs drew their gun and pointed it towards the girl. Her legs immediately buckled, meaning Gibbs had to lower her to the ground as she screamed hysterically.

‘Put the weapon away,’ he yelled at the police officer, letting go of the girl who had now curled herself into the tightest ball. Her sobbing nearly broke his heart.

‘Maisy, my name is Special Agent Gibbs. You are not in any trouble, we just need to ask you some questions,’ he held a hanky to his busted lip.

The girl remained on the floor, clearly terrified. By now Torres and Bishop were with him and wondering how the timid looking child on the floor had managed to swing a punch at Gibbs. They obviously knew better than to say anything though. Ellie got down to her level and tried to reassure her, putting a hand on her shoulder but she flinched instantly, making Ellie retract her hand.

Having managed to stem the bleeding from his lip, Gibbs mused as to what this poor girl must have been through in her life to make her so terrified. Once he’d been to ball out the LEO who had drawn a gun at her (and by default, at him) He crouched down to the floor. Her watery green eyes were looking at him.

‘Are you ready to get up?’ his voice was gentle. His battered lips smiled at her.

She nodded. He offered his hand which she took and slowly got up. He explained where they were going to take her and reiterated that she was not in any trouble. Ellie led her to the car and she got in without any resistance.

Back at the office, Gibbs went to find Jack, sensing that he’d need her to help him question Maisy. Jack grimaced when she saw his now bruised and swollen lip.

‘A 14-year-old did that? Not good for your reputation Gunny,’ she teased.

Gibbs gave her a look before relayed the story to her, how she’d just crumpled when the gun was pointed at her.

‘Do we have her file from children services? Might help with questioning.’

‘Torres is requesting it now as well as an advocate. Bishop is getting her some food because it doesn’t look like she’s eaten in a while.

Once Sloane had read her file she sighed loudly and put it down on the desk. Gibbs walked in.

‘Useful?’ he asked, motioning towards the file.

‘I can see why she reacted like she did at the scene. Poor girl has a history of physical and sexual abuse from her dad, who was a cop.’

‘Gibbs took a sharp intake of breath, his face uncomfortable with what her had just learned.

In the conference room, Jack led the questioning. Maisy kept looking at Gibbs, a worried look on her face.

‘Is everything ok Maisy. Would you prefer Agent Gibbs left?’ Jack asked.

She shook her head.

‘I’m sorry,’ she spoke nervously, her finger pointing towards Gibbs mouth.

He smiled at her. ‘It’s ok. I know you were scared.’

Jack carried out the interview and Maisy was forthcoming with information, telling Jack about the drug dealer foster parent. She didn’t recognise the Marine but she was able to provide information that was useful to their inquiry.

Gibbs knew the information she’d given them put her at risk and he put in an application for protective custody. When it was granted, Jack agreed to stay with Maisy at Gibbs’ house. It was a sad inditement on her life as a foster child that she didn’t even question it, she just appeared resigned to going where she had to. Gibbs drove her home while Jack went to the shops to get Maisy some clothes and toiletries as well as picking up takeaway on the way home. Once Jack arrived, Gibbs got the plates out and dished up the food. They sat at the table together to eat. Jack what chatting away about nothing important. Gibbs was giving her his patented ‘what-are-you-talking-about’ look. Maisy twiddled her fork around in her food. Gibbs noted how the unhappy girl from before was smiling. She caught him looking at her, smiling every bit as much as she was.

‘Hey you look happy. Or are you just amused at us two?’ Jack commented.

‘I don’t usually get this this sort of normality when I get to a foster home. Usually it’s bad because my last placement couldn’t handle me or something like that. But this, just sat here eating noodles and listening to you two, it’s good and that’s all I really wanted.’

Gibbs and Sloane looked at each other, almost telepathically telling each other to look up how to register as a foster carer in the morning.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

i wanna know what love is - 30

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: y/n’s exit is definetely inspired by peggy olson. the next chapter is the last one and i’m very emotional. enjoy xx

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

It had been the best first weeks of her life. She had her own little office space, had people who’d come to criticise her work instead of asking her to proof read theirs, people would listen to her, people would even allow her to decide what topic to write. It was her dream come true, somewhere she could grow without being stunted. However, her heart was still broken, she was doing everything to ignore thinking about Sebastian or even hearing about him. She had given her article to Rolling Stone, remembering that she had promised Sebastian to help clean up his imagine, he deserved that at least.

She returned to her flat around night-time, tired yet pleased with today’s work. Y/N opened the door to see her grandfather sat on her coach. Suddenly she regretted giving her mother one of her flat’s keys just in case. He was probably here to tell her that he was right about Sebastian and that she should have gone with who he thought was better for them. In reality, none of them sounded like a good idea right now.

     - Your mother told me you got the New Yorker job. - he started before Y/N could even close the door behind her. - I just wanted to congratulate you on it. I know you always wanted it.

    - I thought you were here to talk about how right you were about Sebastian. 

    - I’m actually here to talk about Sebastian. - he spoke, patting the seat near him. Y/N sighed, it wasn’t like she could kick her grandfather out, she wasn’t heartless. She took a place near him. - Your mother also told me you two aren’t together anymore.

    - You were right about Sebastian, he doesn’t want to be with me. I don’t think he actually ever wanted to be with me.

    - No, darling. I was wrong, I was wrong about him. He is a good man, a good man who loves you. Trust me, I really wanted him to be a bad guy because that meant I could introduce you to someone who could provide to you but the thing is, you don’t need no one to provide to you. You have your own home, you made it on your own. - he held her hands. - I heard him on the phone with the New Yorker back in Maryland asking them to look at your university articles.

    - But he said ... - her mind seemed to shut. It couldn’t be true, she had read the magazine, he had ignored her once they got back to the bus. He’d stopped calling her a day right after she stopped answering him, she’d even heard rumours he was back to his womaniser behaviour. - I read it in the magazine.

    - You’re a writer, not everything writers write is truth. - he patted her on the shoulder. - You don’t need a perfect relationship, those don’t exist, darling. You need a relationship where both parts love each other and push each other to be better. You’ve always pushed everyone around you to be better and by making that call, he’s forcing you to be a better professional. 

    - He’s not the man you want me to bring home.

    - But at the end of the day, he is the man you want to bring home. 

He hadn’t stayed longer but after he left his words were still tattooed on her mind. She had read the words, he hadn’t even tried to explain them to her but on another point of view she had also not tried to get into contact with him, she had been an impulse driven woman scared to get heartbroken again.

She picked her phone from her wallet, going through her contacts and finding Mary’s number. She still talked to her, messaging her ever so often under the rule that Sebastian’s name wouldn’t be mentioned. She pressed the phone symbol, hearing the phone ring until the very familiar voice of the redhead came through. 

   - Look if it isn’t the big shot writer. How are you, lovely?

   - Can I speak with Sebastian? - she said before she lost the courage.

   - Aw, darling. He’s not touring with us anymore, he quit early. 

   - Do you know where I can find him?

   - I don’t know. Fred thinks he might be in Brooklyn but we don’t know exactly where. 

   - Alright, thank you.

   - Wait, you are not gonna skim the entirety of Brooklyn to look for Sebastian. I know you live by the Upper Side which is relatively easy to navigate but Brooklyn isn’t.

   - We’ll I’m gonna try. It can’t be hard. 

Good thing about working for the New Yorker was that she had access to fact checkers who found it very odd that the new kid was already asking for favours but they decided to help her out. There were 10 people with the same name as him and same age range on the Brooklyn area. She quickly got into a taxi which drove her to Brooklyn. She decided to do the rest of the walk on foot as the addresses weren’t too far apart from each other. The first 9 ones had been a disappointment with people who definitely weren’t Sebastian. The final house didn’t even answer leaving her to sit on the sidewalk.

This had all been her fault, if she had been a rational being which she always had pride herself in being none of this would have happened if she had decided to maybe storm into his bedroom and demand an explanation. 

  - Excuse me, darling. - she tilted her head from the floor to see an old woman staring at her. - The second hand shop down the street, back when he was a kid he used to sell a lot of stuff to it, maybe they know where he lives.

  - Thank you. - she gave her a kind smile clutching down her wallet as she walked to the second hand shop. She opened the door, a bell ringing as she entered. A man standing behind the checkout looked at her, he was probably in his mind sixties, busy polishing a hunting knife. Y/N gave him her “I don’t mean harm smile” and walked up to him, eyes particularly fixed on a old beaten up guitar hanged on the wall. It wasn’t exactly something you’d hang there. - Hi, a lady on the street told me you could possibly help me.

  - It depends, sweetheart. - he stopped polishing his knife. - What do you need? 

  - She told me you could possibly tell me where to find Sebastian Stan? - she knew she probably sounded like a crazy fan but she didn’t mind. She was tired, all Y/N wanted to do was to find him so she could try and explain why she acted the way she acted. 

  - It depends, sweetheart. What can you give me? - Y/N sighed, opening her wallet, she only had 30 pounds which she slammed on the ground. - I know where his mum lives. 

She knew Sebastian and his mum weren’t in the best of terms but she could possibly know where his place was. Besides, he had met her family so maybe she could ask his mother about him. The man scribbled an address on a piece of paper, sliding it up to her. 

  - Why do you have that broken up guitar hanged on the wall? - she asked as she looked at the address, making sure she wasn’t being scammed.

  - Belonged to the person you’re looking for, sweetheart. - Y/N’s ears perked up. She should do something nice and she remembered how much he would smile when speaking about that guitar. - 100 dollars.

  - No way, it’s broken up besides I just gave you 30 dollars, that’s all I have.

  - Those are some nice earrings you have there. Real diamonds?

  - The earrings for the guitar and a bag. - Y/N negotiated, bringing her hand to her ears to pull the earrings off, placing them on the balcony. - That’s my last offer.

He shrugged, handing her the guitar on the bag. She placed it over her chest like a cross bag and rushed out of the store. Y/N put the address on her phone and started to walk to Sebastian’s mum’s place. She suddenly despised the fact that she had decided not to change out of her work clothes and looked like an absolute fool.

After a few minutes of walking in the most uncomfortable heels ever created, she reached a small apartment whose door luckily was opened by a man who was already coming in. She entered the lift pressing the 5th floor wondering about what to say to his mother. What was she supposed to say, “Hi I left your son because of my stupid behaviour”? No. 

Anyway, she didn’t have enough time as she found herself knocking on the door which was opened by a woman who had the same eyes as Sebastian’s, she would recognise those eyes everywhere.

  - Hi, darling. You’re alright? - she asked in a very soft and kind tone of voice.

  - I’m sorry to be bothering, I know it’s late. I just ... I really need to speak with Sebastian. Do you know where he is?

  - SEBASTIAN! There’s a girl here for you. - she turned her head to face the inside of the house, calling out for her son, surprising Y/N. Had they finally made up? - Quick, now. 

  - What? - Y/N saw his head peaking through the door. He placed his hand on the door, pushing it wide open, his expression tense. - Wiley, what are you doing here?

  - I need to speak with you. - she pulled on her nail, eyes on her heels as she didn’t dare look at him. 

  - Right, I’m gonna make some tea. - his mother interrupted, sensing the tension between them.

  - C’mon. - Sebastian gestured her to follow him. Y/N followed him through the flat and into what she thought was his bedroom. It was a simple bedroom, too simple for the persona she knew he liked to pretend he was. He scanned her up and down not believing she was here and not knowing what to say. - Where are your earrings?

  - What earrings? - she pushed her hair to cover her ears, taking the guitar from her back and handing it to him. He furrowed his brows, taking from her hands and opening the bag to see his old guitar, a smile stretching on his face. - I’m so sorry. I just, I read ...

  - Did you sell your earrings? - he interrupted her. - Y/N, you shouldn’t have sold you earrings.

  - I just, I needed to apologise to you. I should’ve at least started with you, like a regular girlfriend but then I read that you had said that we weren’t dating and I thought you only wanted to sleep with me and I ...

  - I told them we weren’t dating at the time the picture was taken because I didn’t want them to think you’d gotten the job because you slept with me. I know I acted like an asshole before but I didn’t want to jeopardise your career, I wanted you to be criticised for your writing not because you were with me. 

  - I’m so sorry, Seb. - she looked at the ground. - I feel so stupid. 

  - It’s okay. - he wrapped her arms around her. - I’ve done my fair share of stupid, pretty sure I’ll make even more stupid.

  - Wait! - she tilted her head to stare at him. - You’re forgiving me?

  - Well, yes. You are an heiress. - he chuckled, making her playfully slap his chest. - I love you, Y/N. There is little I won’t forgive you for. 

  - I know it was you who got the New Yorker to read my articles and I’m really grateful. I just have something bothering me.

  - What?

  - Did you sleep with my boss? Because if you did, you have to tell me or it’s gonna be really awkward during the Christmas’ office party. 

  - No. - he laughed, pulling her against him. All he wanted right now was to hold her and make sure she wouldn’t leave. - Me and Helena went to school together. She copied off me once, owed me a favour.

  - So you’re friends with my boss? That is somehow worse.

  - I see you got the job then. - he sat down of his bed, pulling her down with him. - Y/N, marry me. 

  - Yeah, alright. - she chuckled, rolling her eyes. Sebastian placed her down on the mattress, walking over to his bedside and pulling a small blue velvet box. He put himself in front of her, getting down on one knee. - What are you doing?

 - Look, I know that we haven’t been dating for more than a year but I love you. I can’t think of myself with anyone else but you and no one else knows me but you. We don’t need to get married right away, we can even stay engaged for the rest of our lives. I just want to wake up everyday next to you with the hope that one day you’ll give me the pleasure of being my wife. Y/N Wiley, will you please marry this dingus?

 - Did you just call yourself a dingus? - she crotched next to him, staring at him with loving eyes. - Yes, I will marry this dingus.

[beanie-beebo-writes]

Highway To Hell

Series Summary: An all-too-real nightmare and a missing brother sends Dean, Bobby, and Cas on a frantic search. All the while, what may be a bad dream leads to a probable jump-start to Dean's true worst nightmare, Sam jump-starting the end of the world. Set in season 4; consider this a parallel canonverse fic

Previous chapter, Masterlist

Chapter 3

A/N: I believe I didn't post an update this friday, so I'm SUPER sorry about that. My life is super messy rn. Anyway, here it is, a day later 😅

Dean awoke with a gasp and looked frantically around the motel room. He panted and wiped the sweat from his face after realizing where he was. He barely even noticed Bobby watching distantly from the foot of the bed.

"I was going to wake you, but I know you needed some rest, so I figured you could ride it out." Bobby said.

Dean gulped and quickly tried to regain his composure, despite Bobby probably have seeing him at his most vulnerable state.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked.

Bobby looked down at his watch. "About three hours." He replied, pulling his chair back to the small table he was using. "So, while you were sleeping, I figured.. Whatever took or has your brother, it had to leave a trace somewhere. So I searched around in the local papers, scanners, etcetera." -Dean made his way over to Bobby's laptop- "It turns out, demonic omens have been increasing around here within the past couple of days."

"But there was no sulfur, I checked." Dean said.

"Yeah, but we should definitely check it out. I think this may have to do with Sam." Bobby said.

"Why would you say that?" Dean asked.

"These omens aren't your average omens, Dean.. They're mixed in with some stronger storms, and it's almost like they're leaving a direct trail. And they're lasting for days." Bobby explained.

"So maybe a different type of demon or entity?" Dean inferred.

"Correct. Plus, the trail of omens start right here, Pontiac, Illinois," Bobby said.

"..Which is where we are now." Dean finished.

"Mhm. And they end there, Ilchester, Maryland." Bobby said.

"So that's where Sam is." Dean concluded.

"Most likely." Bobby said.

"Then we need to hit the road, now." Dean said.

"Woah woah woah son, we can't hunt something if we don't exactly know what it is." Bobby said, stopping Dean from grabbing his things.

"It's a demon, Bobby. What don't we know?"

"If it's as powerful as it looks, it may need some looking into."

"We have the colt, isn't that good enough?"

"I'm not too sure, but it wouldn't hurt to keep it in mind."

Dean sighed. "Sam could be in serious trouble here, Bobby!"

"Calm down, they wouldn't kill him, not likely. The demons might want him for his abilities."

"Alright, fine. Where do we start?"

                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~

They both spent countless hours searching up numerous different types of entities, as well as trying to trace weather specific omens. Many of the omens derived from different demonic presences, which only made everything all more confusing. Some demons seemed to match the profile, but when summoned, they all seemed just as clueless as everyone else. They were of course put to the test, but either they couldn't care a less (knowing that Dean would likely exorcise them anyway), or simply were clueless.

"Hey, did you happen to contact Ruby?" Bobby asked, cleaning up some of the previous ritual scatterings.

"Yeah, but I guess she couldn't get ahold of Sam either, just like I told you with Cas." Dean replied.

"Well, what if she was covering up?" Bobby said.

They both looked at one another and ran to set up the ritual Dean had performed earlier that day. After finishing preparations, they both exchanged another glance before igniting the contents in the small cauldron. Almost instantly, Ruby appeared in the devil trap, appearing more annoyed than ever.

"Are you serious? Honest to whatever God you believe in, I don't know where your Winn Dixie ran off to." She retorted.

"I say guilty." Bobby said.

Ruby scoffed. "Whatever you believe, I honestly don't care."

Dean gestured to her with the knife, firmly holding it against her vessel's throat. "How would you know we wouldn't summon you for something else?" He asked.

"What do you think I am, stupid?" She spat. "Why else would you summon me twice in one day? Now I told you before, I have no freaking idea where your freaky ass brother is hiding."

"Watch your tone," Dean said through gritted teeth. "before I slit that pretty throat of yours."

"You don't scare me, Winchester." She sneered.

"Dean, just wait a minute, she might be our only lead." Bobby said.

He slowly stepped away from the demon, not breaking eye contact once. He kept the knife at a ready stance, ready for any possible move she could try and pull off.

"I'm gonna ask nicely, only this once." Bobby said. "Where, is Sam?"

"Kiss my ass, I already told you dimwits three times."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"That's for you to figure out."

Ruby glared, not having the slightest idea how she could prove herself in this situation. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in her head.

"Why don't you call your angel lover? I bet he could figure out if I was lying." She said.

Before Bobby and Dean could consider the thought, the flap of wings echoed into the room. They all turned to the trench-coated angel, raising their eyebrows; Ruby smirked knowingly.

"No word on Sam." Cas said, slightly out of breath.

"Well hello to you too, Cas." Dean remarked.

Ruby sarcastically motioned her head forward and cleared her throat.

"While you're here, Cas, I was wondering, could you confirm something for us?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, sure." He replied.

"Ruby?" Dean turned around, gesturing for the demon to continue.

"As I was saying to these hard-heads, I have absolutely no idea where Sam was or is. He seems to have warded off every major creature that could possibly track him down, so I can't go and find him." Ruby explained.

"Well, is she lying?" Dean asked.

"I don't think she is, Dean. I just finished talking with Crowley." Cas said.

"And?"

"And he said that he can't get to Sam either."

"Why would you believe The King Of Crossroads?" Bobby asked.

"Because I threatened something in his possession; he admitted this against his will." Cas replied.

"Okay, another dead end." Dean sighed.

"Wait," Bobby said, turning to Ruby, "When did you last see or hear from Sam?"

"The last time I both heard from him and saw him was over a week ago." She said.

"What for?" Dean asked defensively.

"For demon blood, we were preparing to take down Lillith." Ruby admitted reluctantly.

"What?!" Dean fumed, closing in on her.

"We had no other choice, Dean." She started.

"Oh yes you did, don't pull that with me." He seethed.

"Really?! Because do you know what Lillith has been doing? She's on the final seal. She could break a number of them, at any second." Ruby spat.

Dean started to walk away but then turned back to pound her face into a battered tomato. The only things that held him back were two pairs of arms behind him.

Ruby smeared the blood off of her vessel and flipped her stray hair strands back onto their original sides.

"Punch me again Dean, I bet all of that angst will definitely help you find your brother." She remarked.

"Shut up you bitch!" He shouted, still struggling in Bobby and Cas' grasps.

"Dean, enough. This isn't necessary." Cas said.

"Cas is right, boy. Come on, use your head." Bobby agreed.

Dean grunted as they pulled him onto his feet, anger still coursing through his veins.

"Is that all?" Bobby asked.

"No, but the knight-in-shining-armor wouldn't let me finish." She responded, "Sam kept demanding for more blood. I don't know if it was for the addiction, or if he was going to practice on his own, but he wouldn't tell me."

"Don't tell me.." Dean started.

"He had to get better and I thought maybe some self-practicing would enhance him. So I supplied him, with gallons of the stuff. I got permission from some peers, and we all chipped in." She explained.

"You stupid bitch.." Dean whispered.

"I tried texting him, to ask for progress, but he never got back to me, not once. I couldn't even track him down, not for this whole week." Ruby finished.

"Yeah, that's great." Bobby said.

"So maybe he is just running around rampant from the demon blood. Do you know if he got more?" Castiel asked inquisitively.

"No, I don't. I know just as much as you do." She said.

"So we don't even know if he is in Ilchester." Dean said to Bobby.

"Yeah, but it's worth a shot anyway." Bobby said.

"Are you nuts? What if he isn't there? We don't have any idea how bad this is for him right now! He drank gallons, Bobby." He said.

"I get it, I do. Sam's your brother. But we have to treat this like you were hunting the demon. You didn't know what you were looking for, remember?" Bobby reminded him.

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. You followed anything remotely weird, and eventually figured out a pattern. Maybe this is what we need to do with Sam. We will find him, okay?"

Dean sighed and looked at the ground. This was always the hardest, staying calm while your other half was in danger. Without Bobby, he probably wouldn't be able to.

"Okay." Dean said quietly.

Bobby smiled and patted Dean's shoulder in reassurance.

"Awe, how sweet. Now, can you let me go?"

Castiel walked over to Ruby, pulling out his angel blade from his sleeve. She looked up slightly, staring straight at the silver blade. He glared momentarily before kneeling to the floor and scraped off some of the trap's paint. Cas slowly stood up, looking her straight in the eyes. Ruby glared back at him and disappeared.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Cas asked.

"I think that would be a smart idea, could you ward all of us?" Bobby asked in response.

Cas raised his palms as a bright light filled the room, causing slight discomfort in both hunters. The light quickly faded and the men searched their bodies for the warding.

"Is that it?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, you are warded from the inside." Cas replied.

"Alright then, let's go." Dean said with slight pain to his voice.

[angryinternetduck]

Sunflower, Volume One

Hello and welcome to the first part of the Sunflower Series! It’s about 3k words, and I can’t think of any warnings besides a bit of bad langauge. This is the first super long fic that I’ve ever posted, so I hope you like it :)

“Hey, Liv, it’s Harry. It’s, er… been a while, but you were bloody brilliant on the guitar in Arizona and… uh, well, I dunno, I’m putting together a band… If you’re not… busy, you can come and… I dunno… audition… I guess. Think about it. Call me back. Lots of love. Cheers, now.” 

______________________________________________________________

She came in like a hurricane, clothes and little bits and bobs spilling out of bags and yellow sunglasses slipping off her nose. She was humming, whistling from a mile away, and Adam was already giving him a strange look before she even walked through the door. 

“Harold!” she exclaimed upon her eventual entry. 

“Hey, Livia,” Harry replied, laughing as she threw her arms around his neck in a hug. She smelled like peppermint and roses and pushed her sunglasses up through her hair when she pulled away. 

“So, this is Olivia Robinson. Liv, this is the band. Adam, Sarah, and Charlotte.”

“Hi!” Olivia chirped, shaking each of their hands. 

“Er… let’s get started then, shall we?” Harry said after she’d finished and gotten distracted with the row of guitars lined against the back wall. She looked up, her eyes bright with excitement, and asked, “May I?” 

“‘S an audition, innit?” Harry laughed. 

“Je-sus,” she breathed, picking one up and swinging the strap over her shoulder. 

Harry stepped back a bit, leaning against a table in the back with the others. He leaned over to Charlotte as Olivia messed with the strap. “Be honest with me, yeah? Might be a bit biased with this one…” 

Charlotte grinned. “We’ll try our best.” 

They’d gone through quite a few guitarists, as they needed the perfect candidate and couldn’t seem to find them. Harry had explained the whole Olivia situation after they’d gotten desperate. He’d explained how they’d met when he’d been in the boy band, when they’d done a show in Arizona and she’d opened for them. He explained that they had hit it off and she’d given him her card and… well. Adam had shrugged, and Charlotte had shrugged, and Sarah had said, let’s give her a shot.

So here they were, listening to Olivia, who Harry hadn’t seen in about three years, crank out one of the sweetest riffs he’d ever heard. Here they were, listening to Olivia strum her way through the beginnings of Sweet Child o’ Mine. 

“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered. 

Despite himself, Harry was surprised too. He didn’t remember her being this good. 

“I love her,” Charlotte said. 

“Give her that disaster thing,” Sarah murmured as Olivia finished up and looked over at them expectantly. Harry nodded, shuffling through his sheet music before finally finding the scrap of paper with his chicken-scratch ideas that Sarah seemed to like despite his thinking that it was nonsense. 

Harry walked up to her, grinning, and handed the music to her. “I love it, Liv,” he said, and she beamed, and he said, “Try this, eh? It’s just the beginning, but, uh - yeah.” She nodded enthusiastically and set it down in front of her. 

“Wow, neat handwriting, huh?” Olivia laughed as he walked away. 

“Fuck off,” Harry replied with a smile. 

She worked her way through the first couple of chords. 

“I love it!” she called. 

Sarah grinned. “I love her. She’s got my yes.” 

“I second that notion,” Charlotte said. 

“Agreed,” Adam said. 

Harry laughed, running his hands through his hair as she came to the end. 

And then she did come to the end, and he started walking over. 

But… she kept going. 

“I love it, I love it!” she yelled, looking down at her fingers as she continued with the song off the top of her head. Harry froze. “Jesus Christ,” he heard Adam mutter. “What is she, a bloody prodigy?” 

She went on a few more seconds. Harry shook his head in wonder. Jesus. 

And then, “Thoughts?” Olivia asked, clapping her hand against the guitar. 

“Well, that wasn’t exactly part of my song, was it?” 

“My ass, it wasn’t. The better part of it, if I do say so myself.” 

“Well, you’re in.” 

Olivia blinked. “That - that’s it?” 

Harry laughed, throwing his hands up. “Fuck’s sake, Liv, you made up a song off the top of your bloody head. ‘Course you’re in.” Olivia grinned, squealing excitedly and throwing her arms around his neck again in a bit of an awkward hug, seeing as how she was still wearing the guitar. 

Harry grinned. 

This should be fun. 

______________________________________________________________

Harry stared at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round and round and - 

He rolled over. Stared at the wall. 

It was the second week of their “retreat” in Jamaica. It was hot. Harry had never been so thankful for air-conditioners. The first week and a half had been fun. Not very productive, but fun. The food was heavenly. The beaches made it a literal paradise. 

But Harry was getting antsy.

He sat up, looking around the small bedroom for a second before standing and walking to the door. He swung it open, looking left and right before deciding on left. There was a little porch out there, where - 

Oh. 

Where Olivia was sitting. 

“Hullo,” Harry said. 

His voice was a bit raspy. 

She looked up. “Heya,” she said. 

He sat down next to her on the wicker bench, and she blew a puff of smoke into the air. 

“I’ve always wanted to be able to do one of those smoke rings,” she said. “Like Gandalf…” 

Harry grinned. “Gandalf?”

“Yes, sir. Gandalf.” She smiled, lifting a cigar to her lips, and Harry scoffed. “You’re smoking a bloody cigar?” She shrugged. “Yeah.” Harry laughed. “I thought you were smoking a joint or some shit.” 

She sighed. “I don’t need drugs to get high, Styles. It’s already a part of my personality. I’d be frickin’ insufferable if I was high. Can you imagine?” She didn’t let him answer, just held the cigar in front of his lips. “Try it.” 

He just stared at her, and she laughed again, sitting up to nudge it against his lips. “Come on. You know you want to…” Harry sighed. Opened his lips, inhaled slowly. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?” 

He exhaled. “Eh.” 

“Eh?” she echoed incredulously. 

She sighed. Settled back down, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Styles,” she said. 

“Hm?” 

“What’s this little band of yours called?” 

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t thought ‘bout it.” 

“Why?” 

“I dunno, Liv,” Harry chuckled, slipping the cigar from her fingers. 

“Ha! A little more than eh if you’re goin’ back for seconds, huh?” 

“Oh, come off it.” 

A pause. 

“I’m thinking… the Antonio Goldfish.” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Perfect,” he said. “Just perfect.” 

She looked up. “You think so?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“What about… the Kiwis? Like that disaster of yours? Nice and simple.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Kiwis, eh?” 

“Yeah! Like the little birds.” 

“Not the fruit?” 

She waved her hand around. Grabbed the cigar. “The fruit’s just an added bonus.” She exhaled. “Seriously, though. What’re you thinking? You musta thought about it a little.” Harry shrugged. “Not really, no.” 

“The Salty Lemons,” she murmured around more smoke.

“The Crazy Camels.” 

She giggled. “Wow, you’ve got the alliteration there, too…” 

______________________________________________________________

Harry dumped a spoonful (or two) of sugar into a teacup and mixed it around. 

“Why’s it called French Toast?” Olivia asked at the stove, prodding a piece in the pan. 

“Well,” Adam said, “if I had to guess, I’d say it’s ‘cause the French made it up.” 

“Do ya think the French just call it toast?” 

Adam grinned. “Probably.” 

Olivia frowned, flipping the bread over even though it wasn’t ready yet. “I wonder if they call hamburgers American Hamburgers or somethin’... What did us Americans come up with, anyway?”

Adam snickered and took a sip of tea. “Twinkies,” he said, “and fried food.” 

“Didn’t even come up with fried food themselves,” Sarah replied. 

Olivia frowned. “We’ve gotta have stuff. Maryland crab cakes? Lobster rolls?” 

“Cornbread,” Charlotte chimed in. “And, uh - Cobb salad?” 

“Oh, please,” Harry said. “Not real food.” 

Olivia scoffed, flipping the bread over again. “You’re one to talk, Styles, all the way from, what - Manchester, England? Are you just saying it’s not real food ‘cause it’s not boiled?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “Better boiled than fried.” 

Sarah grinned. “I think the conclusion here is that neither one of our countries has proper cuisine.” They all laughed, and Olivia nodded. “I’ll agree to that. Although - why don’t we attach the country to it? Unless it’s French? French toast, French fries, French -” 

“Your toast is burning,” Charlotte told her, sliding past to get coffee. 

Olivia gasped. Slid it onto a pan. 

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin and took a piece of toast and drowned it in syrup. 

______________________________________________________________

They went into town that day. 

Olivia bought a pair of neon orange sunglasses. 

“They’re awful, Liv,” Harry laughed as she proudly pranced out of the little shop. 

“Not your best,” Charlotte agreed.

“I love them,” Olivia said. 

“They’ve got character,” Adam said, and he nodded his approval. 

“Yeah, they fit you,” Sarah said. 

Olivia giggled, pushing them up and using them as a headband. “Why, thank you.”

Lunch was great. Some sort of chicken. 

They made it back, relishing in the air-con, and Olivia knocked on his bedroom door at around four o’clock. She was carrying a guitar and a notebook. “Hello,” she said when he called her in. She tossed the notebook at him. “Read,” she ordered. 

He looked at the scribbled notes. “Christ, woman,” he laughed. “Not so neat yourself, are you?” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut your trap and read it, Styles.” He tried, scanning the page quickly, but it was just notes. No lyrics. 

“It’s chords, Liv.” 

“No, no, there’s -” She pointed at a line. 

He squinted. It was crammed in a corner. 

Comfortable silence is so overrated

“That’s - that’s it?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “I mean - I mean, no, but, like -” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, just play it, Liv.” 

“Well, gee, since you asked so nicely.” 

She grabbed the notebook back and started strumming, scatting here and there in an attempt at an imitation of drums. Harry liked it. It was catchy. Kinda slow, a little bit sad. He really liked it. 

She stopped, looking up, and Harry hesitated, thinking. 

She flushed red. Picked up the notebook. “You hate it,” she muttered. “Sorry. I - um.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “No, no, I like it!” 

She shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. 

And she walked out. 

Jesus Christ, Harry thought, staring at the closed door. What did he do? 

______________________________________________________________

Harry dug around in his bag, looking for a notebook. 

Problem was, there were a lot of notebooks. 

And most of them weren’t even all the way filled. 

They were like, halfway done. Not even. 20% nonsense, 80% blank pages. 

Which made it very difficult to find something specific. 

“Find it yet?” Adam asked from the doorway. 

“Nope.” 

“Jesus,” he said, looking at the mess of notebooks on the floor. “How many do you have?” Harry shrugged. “I buy every notebook I like.” He looked up. Grinned. “I like a lot of notebooks.” 

“Yeah, I see that much.” 

Harry shuffled through a few more. 

Where was the bloody thing? 

“Hurry up, mate!” Adam exclaimed, rifling through with his foot. “I’m bored as all hell. C’mon.” Harry frowned, looking at one that had surfaced, and flipped through it. Last page, a few scribbled lines… 

Ah, there it was. 

It was almost done. 

Carolina. 

______________________________________________________________

Harry played through what he had, picking through the notes a bit choppily. 

“I like it,” Charlotte said when he’d finished. 

“It’s bouncy,” Olivia said, smiling a bit. She picked up her guitar. It was yellow. It had a little sunflower in the corner. She started playing what he’d played. Harry blinked; he hadn’t even shown her the notes yet. But she went on nonetheless, Charlotte following her lead, and Sarah started tapping along on the table. Adam grabbed his own guitar and stole the notebook to start plucking out the notes. 

Harry stood up. Walked around. Snapped his fingers. 

“She’s got a family in Carolina…” 

______________________________________________________________

Woke up alone in my bedroom… 

Talked to - 

Harry snapped awake. 

Gotcha. 

He stood up, halfway to the door before he realized that that was nothing. 

It didn’t even go along with the rhythm all that well. 

He groaned, running his hands through his hair. 

It wasn’t enough. 

He sighed, and then walked out the door.

She was sitting on the porch again. 

Smoking a cigar. 

Again. 

“Do you ever sleep?” Harry asked. 

“I try not to,” she replied. “It’s unproductive.” 

“It’s also necessary.” 

“Necessary is subjective.” 

He sat down next to her. Slipped the cigar from her fingers. Inhale… exhale. 

“Tastes different.” 

She grinned. “It’s chocolate.” 

“Got that much.” 

A pause. She took back the cigar. “I love chocolate.” 

“Who doesn’t?” 

“I had a friend in high school. Said it was ‘too sweet’ or some shit. Frickin’ ridiculous.” 

Harry smiled. “Too sweet? Bloody hell.” 

Another pause. 

“I got another line.” 

She frowned. Looked up. Her eyes were hazel-y. Blue-ish, tinted green and brown. 

“What?” she said. 

“Woke up alone in my be-edroom,” Harry sang. “Talked to… nobody…” He faded off. 

A pause. 

“Where were you,” Olivia finished for him. Then she sighed, settling back down. “I thought you hated that. I was just messing around.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I never said that, Liv. You’re just -”

“Yeah, well, it was pretty obvious,” she interrupted. 

“Liv, I said nothing.” 

She waved the cigar around. “Oh, it was what you didn’t say.” 

“Bloody hell, I hesitated. If you’d have given me another minute -” 

“Don’t lie, Styles.” 

“Christ, what is wrong with you?” Harry blurted. 

She flinched. 

Shit. 

“Jesus,” she muttered. “Sorry.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry, I meant I - I - I liked the song, Liv. If you’d just listen.” 

“Right.” 

Harry sighed. Stole the cigar back. Chocolate was bloody wonderful. 

______________________________________________________________

A week later. 

They were eating breakfast. Leftovers from dinner the day before. 

Harry was eating some sort of oxtail stew. It was amazing. 

“I have a question,” Olivia announced. 

They all looked up. 

“Shoot,” Charlotte said. 

“What’re we called?” 

“Humans,” Adam said. 

Olivia grinned. “Really, that’s questionable,” she said, and shook her head. “But - no, I meant - I mean, like, this band, or whatever.” Sarah shrugged, glancing around at them. “I dunno. We haven’t talked about it, have we?” 

Charlotte shook her head. “Nope.” She looked at Olivia. “What were you thinking?” 

“I dunno. Just wondering.” 

“Something alliterative,” Harry said, stirring his stew around. 

“Something to do with food,” Olivia said. 

“Kiwis,” Harry mused. 

“Kiwis,” Sarah echoed, and Harry looked up. She was smiling. “I like that. Like your little disaster, eh?” Harry shook his head. “Oh, I was jo - it was Olivia’s -” But Olivia cut him off,  grinning. “The Kiwis,” she said. “I love it.” 

“I dunno,” Adam said. “I like the stuff with all of our initials, you know? Like…” He looked around the table. “H, S, C, O… A…” Olivia’s nose wrinkled. “That’s so much work.” Adam shook his head. “No, no, it’s like… I dunno, Oscha? Or, like, Schoa? You know? Or - Oshac?”

Harry frowned. “OSHAC. Isn’t that - the American thing?” 

Olivia raised an eyebrow. And then laughed. “Oh, yeah - the Occupational Safety and Health American Council.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, perfect.” Charlotte bit her lip, looking thoughtful. “That’s a good idea, though… Hasco? Ascho?” She grinned. “Achoo?” 

Adam looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Maybe not, then.”  ______________________________________________________________

tell me: 1.  if I’m not as clever as I think I am and you already figured out what the band’s name is gonna be with Olivia 2. how mad you are that I was so rude to mitch lol  3. if you’ve ever heard of OSHAC  or! tell me anything!!!! feedback is always much appreciated :) 

if you like what you see, you can find the Sunflower Series’s masterlist here, Fine Line: Side A’s masterlist here, and my complete masterlist here! 

part two

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Agent Gale.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3348

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Fifty-Eight

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

The days after I first met Julian to work with him, Mags and I had the first ultrasound to meet our baby, when we first found out about her state, she was barely 7 weeks along, and we had to wait the remaining time for the 12th and the ultrasound. I'd noticed Mags had a little bump below her belly button, I was used of her stomach laying straight down all the time, and the smallest change I noticed in a second. She was still blissfully unaware of the shit show that was going to fall upon us.

Julian was an extreme researcher, he really got into the mind of the perpetrator, in this case Reddington. He knew every detail in the reports of the victims, he didn't miss a date, a connection, he reviewed everything a thousand times. Working with him brought me back on some level of attention to detail I'd long lost.

The following days, with Reddington dealing with his own stuff and chasing the cleaner, I got word from a detective in Philly who said he could have a break on my case. I went home to pack a bag and let Mags know I was heading there to talk to her.

That was the single worst decision I'd made. The witness was a set up.

I found myself now in a containment cell back in DC with a terrible headache, a pit in my stomach of thinking what they would do to me, and another even darker pit of knowing that I'd been pumped full of drugs, that's what I was worried about the most. I didn't wanted my past addiction to be a thing again.

I'd been stripped from my badge, taken out of the taskforce, treated like a criminal, I'd been manipulated, used, wronged, and I couldn't reach the only person who would make me feel better.

"You've got five minutes" I heard one of the guards say, I lifted my head up towards the door of the cell with a frown, then watched as Mags figure appeared from the side.

I stood up and walked to her, my arms slipped between the bars to hold her by the waist.

"Maggie, Mags I-"

"Hey hey" she stopped me, placing her hands on my neck and looking into my eyes "Samar told me what happened, alright? I'm just here to see how you're holding up and to tell you that everything is fine"

I shook my head and pressed my forehead to one of the bars.

"This is not fine, none of this is fine"

Mag's hand lifted up to the side of my head.

"That's an awful bruise, what was that?"

"I'm sorry" she moved her hand down on my cheek, stroking it slowly.

"None of this is your fault Don. Out of all the people Kate could've gone after you weren't supposed to be one of them. But they're working on getting you out alright?"

I couldn't look at her, I was so ashamed, ashamed for being manipulated the way I was, for being weak.

"Hey, stop it" she said pulling my head up to look at her again, as if she knew what was going on in my head "none of this is your fault. You'll be cleared tomorrow, and hopefully we can laugh about this whole situation in the future"

When I heard the footsteps walking down the hall again, probably to retrieve Maggie, I held her hands and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" I nodded, kissing her hand one more time before she was led outside.

I felt terrible with myself, specially after Cooper told me I was under investigation and out of active duty. I was free to work with Julian, but I didn't wanted to have anything to do with anything. The whole situation left me nauseous, I hated everything and everyone. Reddington, Hitchin, Kaplan, Krilov, Gale, everyone. I felt like everyone was out to get us.

The next day, when I was released under investigation, I headed to Mag's work, she had to be at the construction site almost everyday, and I knew that's where I'd find her.

She'd been reached on the radio and made aware of my presence, after a few minutes I exited the car when I saw her make her way to me. I held her tight, feeling her body mold to mine.

"Told you everything was going to be fine" she assured, I sighed and pulled back, holding her by the neck and pulling her for a kiss.

"I'm sorry"

"Stop" she shook her head "stop being sorry, you have nothing to feel sorry for."

"I'm going to find a way to make everything alright"

"I know you will" she leaned in to kiss my lips again, and I moved my hand from her waist to her stomach. I'd never done that, but I'd seen her absentmindedly rub it when she was sitting in the sofa, or on the computer. "We're fine, and I need you to be fine as well. So do what you have to do"

I nodded, kissing her lips again and hugging her tight. I was going to do anything in my power to stop the indictment, Gale, whoever was fighting Reddington, everyone. For Mags, for the three of us.

I resumed my work with Julian, he was always in the morgue, always looking at the bodies, always trying to communicate with them.

I don't know how he'd gotten my address, but he had, and one night he showed up with three boxes of files for us to look up.

I was a little confused when I opened the door and found him standing on the other side, and immediately got worried because Mags was supposed to be back in an hour, and I couldn't afford her saying something she wasn't supposed to.

"Are you gonna stand there all day?" He asked, I opened the door further and grabbed one of the boxes he was holding, releasing some of the weight from him.

"Who gave you my address?" I asked, he walked in and I shut the door with my foot.

"The bureau, why? Are you hiding something?"

I motioned at him to keep walking, then set the boxes on the kitchen table.

"No, but I don't want people to be looking at these" I opened one of them I looked around, most of the files that were here were redacted by me. Most of them were from people we'd tried to get them to give up information about Reddington, we promised protection, and here's where they'd ended up, in a box, a file number, a casualty.

"Wow, wow" I lifted my eyes to Julian, who was holding a framed photo of Mags and I on our wedding "is this the missus?" He shot me a glance.

"Yes, that's her"

"Where did you get her from?" He placed the frame back down in the table and opened another one of the boxes.

"She's from Maryland, she moved here 5 years ago, that's when I met her" I explained a little.

"Does she know what you do?"

"She knows the necessary. And I would prefer it if she didn't came back from work and saw the kitchen table full of bodies"

He just chuckled and got to work. Most of the people in the ice rink I had accounted for, and we were able to set up a timeline. Julian had a few other bodies who were identified but he hadn't been able to get the files, all of them were names on the blacklist, I knew not being able to get the files would spark some suspicion in him.

We'd set up the victims in a timeline, and some of them dated years back, the John Does that he had the bodies but not the files dated from 2013, which is roughly the time when the Reddington taskforce was disband, and a new Reddington taskforce was created.

The front door opened and in came Maggie, phone in hand.

"Can you do me a favor and look up in the file the name of the person in charge of the project?" She left her things on the kitchen island and walked around it towards the fridge, she hadn't noticed us. "Oh my God that's my name! And because it is my name you are going to do exactly as I say, and if I say the walls need to be 5 inches thicker, then you will make them five inches thicker, and I don't care if you have to tear them down and redo them, you wouldn't have to if you'd followed my instructions in the first place."

Boy was she mad. I walked to her, she gave me an annoyed roll of her eyes when she saw me.

"And tell Gabriel this is the last time I'm working with him- no no no" she said quickly "I've had you scheduled for a month in advance, first he fucks up and delays the start, now he fucks up the measurements that I personally reminded him of five times. I'm one mental breakdown away from pulling your people out of the site and hiring someone new."

She handed me her water bottle, which I took and opened, she started angrily at it, then took it whilst listening to the other person talk.

"You're gonna stay after hours to fix up this fuck up, and next time you or Gabriel cross me... You don't want to see me mad" she threatened.

She hung up and gave me a chuckle.

"Was that too much? You think he bought it?" She gave the water a big gulp.

"I bought it" I leaned in to kiss her lips, then motioned at Julian, who had witnessed the whole charade. "Baby, this a friend from work, Julian Gale"

She turned wide eyes to him, placing a hand on her chest.

"Oh my God" she gave me a little look "Donald what the hell, I'm going full mafia on people with the police in the house?" She walked to Julian and extended her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that" she said with a smile. Julian shook her hand "I'm Maggie"

"It's a pleasure, Donnie here is very hush hush about you, I'm pleasantly surprised"

She chuckled and moved her eyes to the table, quickly turning away.

"On my God baby, is that like, dead people? Ugh" she exaggeratedly shivered. "I'm sorry I'm too queasy, especially now" she moved her hand to touch her stomach.

"Oh, wow, you're multiplying already?"

She gave him a smile and looked at me.

"Yeah, Agent Ressler here can't keep his hands to himself" she kissed me on the cheek and patted my shoulder. "okay, I'm gonna go upstairs to yell at more people who think they know more than I do at my own job, and leave you guys to keep working" she motioned at Julian "it's been a pleasure."

She gave me one last look before taking her things and going upstairs.

We spent another two hours working on the files, but there was not much else we could do besides waiting for the remaining files Gale had requested. Those obviously will never reach him, the classification levels on them were too far from his reach. He politely declined Mag's offer to stay for dinner, and left shortly after that.

She'd moved her laptop back down to the table and was looking into the fridge for something to cook.

"Your acting is very impressive" I said to her, she gave me a little smile and closed the fridge, taking some ground beef with her.

"Do you think he bought the unaware wife role? The last thing we need is for him to know that I used to work for Reddington as well" I agreed.

I stopped to look at her cook, and tried to make a mental check of when was the last time I'd actually stopped to look at my wife.

She'd gotten a haircut, she thought I didn't noticed but I did, it was extremely subtle. She'd also gotten the finger tattoo she told me about ages ago, two little letters were now printed on her skin forever, D.R. She was using her reading glasses more often, since she was constantly on her phone or computer, and when she wasn't she was reading papers, prints. The most notorious change was her stomach, she barely had anything noticable for anyone who didn't spent that much time with her, but I'd grown to know every curve of her body, and the little one forming on her stomach, the one that signaled she was growing someone else inside of her, that was my close second favorite, the first one will always be her smile.

She'd busied herself with dinner, but when she had to stand still next to the stove, I led my hand to her stomach again. She looked down at my hand and then up at me with the biggest of smiles.

"You're showing a bit"

"Yeah?" She asked taking her shirt and pulling up "I don't know, I think it's too early."

"I would know, this wasn't here before" I placed my lips on her shoulder, watching her cook from over her shoulder.

"Your friend sound like trouble" she commented.

Yes, he was trouble. He was even more trouble when he ID'd Tanida. That gave him a direct jab at me, and I had to tell him everything, because in his head I was the only one involved in this Reddington thing, but the truth was that I was dragged into this.

I became a mess of a person when Mags called me that very day in lunch time, to tell me that Julian had intercepted her at lunch.

I'd run a program to encrypt the call, just in case Julian had tapped my line.

"Talk to me" I said as soon as the program finished.

"I'm having lunch at the cafe and he just sat down and began rambling like 'do you know what your husband is up to? He's into some serious shit, he might go to jail. If you tell me everything you know, if you testify I can protect you' bla bla bla."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him that I didn't know what you were up to, and if you were in trouble that you knew what you were doing and if you knew the risks, so did I. He also insinuated something about Raymond like he mentioned his name and were like 'do you know this guy' whatever, I told him to leave me alone or I would call the police and he left"

I was in my desk, sitting and listening to her, I gave her a tired sigh and rubbed my eyes.

"Is this happening like right now? The jail thing?"

"Yes, why do you think I'm so disturbed?"

"I thought this could take months, like most trials do" she excused herself. She sighed out loud "I'm like getting lightheaded, I don't need this right now"

"Hey hey hey" I tried to calm her down "take deep breaths okay, we're working on an angle for Reddington to help us with the indictment. Don't worry"

"Okay" she said quietly "when's the trial?"

"Aram was called tomorrow afternoon to testify to a grand jury, he's not going to give us up, I'll fix this"

"Okay" she repeated "I believe you" I sighed again, rubbing my forehead "we need a vacation after this" she said with a little nervous chuckle. I half smiled and nodded my head.

"Yeah, we do. I'll call you later okay?" I said when I saw Liz walk in the office "I love you"

"I love you too" she said, then hung up the call.

"It was Mags" I said throwing the phone on the desk "says Gale is going at her."

"We're on our way to talk to Dixon's brother, hopefully we can work this one out before tomorrow."

Luckily, we did, but I didn't expect it to be at the expenses of Reven Wright's case resolution. Knowing that I'd somehow failed her made me nauseous, Hitchin got to walk free, and so did we. What I had to give up, I gave it up because of Mags, and our family. I couldn't afford her going through me going to jail, and the both of us having to raise a child in those conditions.

Maggie had to delay telling her sister about her pregnancy for almost two weeks after we did the ultrasound. Between all the comings and goings of Red's problems, she'd had to reschedule dinner with her at least three times. When I arrived home after being in the clear from the grand jury, I saw her sister's car parked outside.

I opened the door to see her poke her head from the kitchen, then walked quickly to me.

"What happened?" She asked with a frown.

"We're good" she lifted her eyebrows at me.

"For real?" I hummed affirmatively and held her by the waist, kissing her lips quickly.

"Yeah, Reddington helped. Is your sister here?" I pulled her to the kitchen, walking as we spoke.

"Yeah, she just showed up,she got mad at me for postponing dinner so many times she just dropped on us, we were going to ask for pizza."

"Have you told her?" As soon as I walked to the kitchen, Madison was sitting in the kitchen table and heard me.

"Told her what?" She asked whilst she took a sip of her glass.

"Maggie's pregnant" I said. She instantly choked on her water, making Ethan next to her stiffle a laugh and pat her back.

"I knew that already" he said smugly

"No you didn't" Mags walked to her sister with a kitchen cloth. Madison rose up from her seat to hug her, and I assumed the tears on here eyes weren't just from the water she'd tried to drink.

Madison didn't leave Maggie's side during the dinner, she just looked at her and hugged her and reached out to touch her stomach. I just assumed it was her motherly instinct taking over, Madison had basically been Mag's mom, she's taken care of her, half raised her.

Once the dinner was over, Mags was upstairs undressing and changing into her pajama when I entered.

"So" she said looking at me "what happened? How did you fix it"

I sighed in a little annoyance and sat on the bed, getting changed as well.

"I had to give up Reven Wright."

"Give up who?" She asked.

I laid on the bed and waited for her to turn off the light and make her way to the bed.

"Reven Wright, Hitchin killed her, and I've been going through her reports to see if she'd slipped on something so I could charge her. She hired a fixer who cleaned the traces. He led us to her body, and I had the proof I wanted to charge Hitchin. I had to give it away if we wanted her to squash the grand jury investigation"

"Ow" she lamented, placing her hand on my chest "I'm sorry baby. But Reven knows you know the truth, I bet she's thankful you found her and were able to give her some peace."

She moved closer, my hand landed on the side of her thigh and pulled it over on my stomach, feeling her closer.

"So you're going back to work?"

"Yes, I have to go and retrieve my badge tomorrow. Still, I don't know what's gonna happen, Reddington is broke and powerless. It could take time and I want to do other things"

"What other things?" She inquired.

"Well, house hunting, we need a bigger house."

"We 100% do not need a bigger house"

"Yeah we do, where are you going to put the baby?"

"I'll move my office downstairs and get rid of the guest room"

"No, we're getting a bigger house."

"We're not"

We were.

[drunkcomicbookrants]

ROBERT KIRKMAN AND THE END OF AN ERA

Walking Dead was the first comic book I read.

Before that, I mostly knew comics from 90s cartoons I watched when I was a kid. 

I would read about comics on wikipedia and get excited, the fact that Spider-Man and the X-Men shared the same universe was REAL NEAT in a way that I couldn’t quite explain, the idea of Big Events like House of M and Secret Wars was REALLY COOL to me, but I didn’t actually know how to go about reading those. I bought a couple issues off ebay, I wanted to like comic books, but I didn’t have enough context to really get into it. I had no idea that comics came out every Wednesday, or that there were options outside of MArvel and DC.

I was in college, working a shitty retail job, with a manager who saw through the veil. Life is meaningless, we’re all gonna die, humans are caterpillars with wasp eggs in our brain.

(this was before zombies or superheroes were cool, yes I know how hipster that sounds, whatever it was the early oughties)

So when this coworker pitches WALKIND DEAD to me I am ALL EARS. He tells me to check out the first trade paperback. I didn’t know what that meant, but I went to BARNES AND NOBLE because that was still a thin. This was the description on the back:

(I just dug this out of my closet, feels weird man)

and yes I know how edgelordy it seems now, but back then THIS GOT ME, this tapped into a frustration or frascination or SOMETHING that nothing else ever had in the same way

SO YEAH I GO AHEAD AND BUY THOIS FOR NINE DOILLARS AND NINETY NINE SENCSE

I read that first trade, which in hindsidght collects the first 6 issues, and then I’m at a loss. How to read more?? I wait for the next trade, and the next trade. I would go into barnes and noble every couple months and check if the next book was there (again, this was before I knew what I was doing, before everything was shoved down your throats, back when Walking Dead was something that nobody else heard about, yes I know I sound like a grouchy old man)

At this point I’m living in the cornfields of Lancaster county. I’m like 19, not sure if I should drop out of college or not.

I decided to Google the author Robert Kirkman, and I found out he wrote a bunch of other books. He wrote Wolfman and Brit and Battle Pope, the list goes on. WAIT A SECOND YOU CAN JUST BUY COMIC BOOKS OFF THE INTERNET?

So down the rabbit hole I go. Of course I stumble upon INVINCIBLE which is THE BEST SUPERHERO COMIC IN THE UNIVERSE so I start picking up those trades. This leads me to other trades, I read through WATCHMEN and DARK KNIGHT RETURNS and ULTIMATES and NIGHTLY NEWS. It’s all fuckin really exciting because these are some of the first comics I’ve read, and I’m going in completely fucking blind. HERE HAVE A NEW ART FORM WHY NOT READ JUST THE BEST THINGS FROM HISTORY HERE THEY ALL ARE AT ONCE

At this point it’s like 2009 and I’ve graduated college, I live in Maryland now, and maybe I’m going through some shit and one day when I’m getting a California Tortilla burrito I decide to step into a comic shop

“uhhh I’ve been getting the Walking Dead trades and the Invincible collections, I’ve read up to this point, how do I start reading the single issues or whatever you call them?”

Fucking honestly great job @bigplanetcomics​ in Silver Spring MD. Super welcoming to a newbie, and honestly helped me through some shit

They point me to the single issues of Walking Dead and Invincible. For a while I go there monthly, pick up the single issues, get my hair cut at Floyds, and eat a burrito for lunch. I start picking up other issues, the habit is certainly forming

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZfKOmygkr4

This doesn’t mean anything to you but that is a TIME IN MY LIFE that I guess I’m being nostalgic about now. This was how I discourved comic books, mixed in with learning how to be an adult in a city that didn’t feel like home

Eventually I move to Virginia, it’s 2012 now and at this point I’m going to Big Planet Comics Vienna every Wednesday (that’s when new comis books come out, WHO KNEW, honestly they don’t tell you that and THEY REALLY SHOULD). I’m still picking up WALKING DEAD and INVINCIBLE, but I’m also picking up pretty much any new #1 that comes out, for better and often for worse

if you hand me an old issue of WALKING DEAD or INVINCIBLE right now, I can tel you what was going on in my life when that issue came out. What girl was I dating, what was I doing at my job, where was I eating lunch on Saturdays. Again, not super interesting to other people, but for me each issue is a window into my life that month, it’s 22 pages of who I used to be

The point I want to make but haven’t yet is that these books lead me to OTHER BOOKS. Robert Kirkman was always very open about WAlking Dead being a GATEWAY DRUg: “The Walking Dead, although I love it, is far from the best comic being published today.” so without Walking Dead, I would not have read PRETTY DEADLY or ALEX + ADA or RESIDENT ALIEN or EAST OF WEST or SQUIRREL GIRL or MS MARVEL or LUMBERJANES

Fast forward a few years, through some fuckin chapters in my biography, it’s 2016 now and I’m about to move to California. This is going to sound dumb but I only cried twice when I was moving. Once when I said goodbye to the girl I thought I would marry, and once when I asked for my pull list from Big Planet Comics for the last time.

Before I move to California, one of the first things I do is look up the local comic shop. I find one that’s between my apartment and my job. I go there the first Wednesday after I move, and I’ve gone there every Wednesday since then.

Whatever else is going on in my life, picking up my books on Wednesday has been a part of the routine for the last 10 years or so. And for that entire time, WALKING DEAD and INVINCIBLE have been with me through it all.

SO FUCK ME RIGHT when Robert Kirkman stabs me through the heart and tells me that INVINCBLE is ending. THAT LAST ISSUE IS like jumping ahead 50 years and looking through a photo album of the best friends you made in college, living life, finding meaning, and moving on without you. RYAN OTTLEY’s art has been a part of my ACTUAL FUCKING LIFE for so long that MY EYES AREN’T SURE WHAT TO DO WITHOUT HIM (other than to buy Spider-Man).

But Walking Dead is still going strong, right? WRONG. Extremely recently, Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard and Cliff Rathburn PULLED A FAST ONE ON US and ENDED WALKING DEAD without announcing it ahead of time.

I bought issue 193, thinking it was a regular issue. It was not. It was the end.

I had no idea this was coming. 

And as part of that issue, one of the characters made this speech:

PLEASE UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH OF A MOMENT THIS WAS FOR ME

this was the excerpt I read in barnes and noble when I was 19 living in Lancaster not sure if I should drop out of college, passing through the years of monthly comic shop trips by myself in Maryland, through Virginia and lending out books to anyone who would listen, to California where my comic shop now has palm trees and I now have gray hairs and eye crinkles

Since I started reading Walking Dead and Invincible, zombies became overdone, superheroes went from “Jessica AlbaFantatsic Four movie” to Avengers Endgame. I went from terrified 19 year old to crinkly-eyed 33 year old. It’s hard not to look back on that transition and not feel.... sad

Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard and Ryan Ottley you sons of a bitches. I know it’s basic to like zombies and superheroes now, but YOU GOT ME THROUGH SOME THINGS and I honestly feel... thankful for the time we spent together. I know you’re working on other stuff now, and I’m excited for it. I’m also excited about other books like GIDEON FALLS and EAST OF WEST and PAPER GIRLS and SAGA. But I’m going to mourn this end of an era.

tl;dr: Invincible and Walking Dead are over. So are my twenties.

[followerofmercy]

So YET ANOTHER of my friends just announced their decision to kill themselves. 

A quick message from me to anyone out there considering suicide.

Don’t. 

It will IRREPARABLY screw up your friends, family and anyone that even sorta knew you for life. My roommate remembers the kid that sat behind her in elementary school that killed himself. My mother just... isn’t right (she walked in on the aftermath. At age 9). You know I get anxiety attacks whenever people that I haven’t spoken to in awhile text me out of the blue now? I almost threw up in a Walmart today. Turns out my hunch was right. 

If you care about them at ALL, you will do the literal bare minimum of surviving for their sakes. Get help. The US’s hotline is 1-800-273-8255 and there’s an online chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/. Generally speaking, you can call whatever your nation’s emergency number is and they will get you to someone you can speak with. There is no shame in getting help, real help. It’s certainly better than having all your relatives, friends and acquaintances crying and drinking at 4:00 4:30 5:00 in the morning.

And if you think that’ll prove they care?? YOU WON’T BE AROUND TO ENJOY IT. If you really aren’t getting the care you want/need, get help, or get new friends AND get help. 

Didja know suicide is as traumatic on the survivors as murder? Because it is! You’re killing their friend! Violently! 

Didja know it can cause suicide chains? One person’s suicide can be the last little push for someone else on the brink. Didja know it can cause intrusive thoughts in otherwise mentally healthy individuals? Guess how I know that! It sucks! 

Oh, and sometimes things won’t work out like anyone expects. For example, I got somebody to find my British buddy’s address and call the police on him, from the US. He’s probably in a mental hospital right now. (For a man who supposedly prided himself on being secretive, it was hilariously easy to dig up all his info.) He had a big going away thing planned; sent out an email to everyone he “cared” about, made a discord server so he could talk to a bunch of them at once, got a nice date set up, etc, now for nothing. Because he’s under suicide watch.  I have no idea what’s going to happen to him now.

You think an ocean will stop someone determined enough? A hurricane? National borders? They won't.

My other friend? She actually tried to kill herself, overdosed on something. I found her dad’s number (who was with her at the hospital while she got her stomach pumped) and told him e v e r y t h i n g. 

All those dirty little secrets? All the tearful depression uwu moments? Refusal to go to free therapy offered by the school? The cut scars? Weird religious things? Her girlfriend’s abusive tendencies? Not only did I tell him everything, I wrote it down in a nice little document to hand off to the psychiatrists. Because when somebody tries to take their own life, they have hit rock bottom. It does not get better from there and the secret keeping thing clearly didn’t work. Murderers don’t get a right to privacy, and taking your life is self-murder.

And yeah, I know it’s politically correct to say “die by suicide,” not “committing suicide.” I think that’s horse shit. (Ok to be fair, sometimes there are legitimate hormone inbalances and mental illness where suicide isn’t a conscious, consensual decision. That’s a bit different. That’s getting killed by a disease.) Stop GLORIFYING and EXCUSING suicide. It is NOT okay.

I hated to do that to my friend because she trusted me, but her life and recovery were more important than what she thought of me. We’re all growing up with awareness of mental illness nowadays, and you know that thing about treating suicide threats/attempts seriously? Yeah, that means NOT listening to the suicidal person’s insistence to keep all their urges and attempts a secret. NOT listening to them asking you not to get involved. 

You know, it’s a horribly awkward thing to explain to a 50 year old crying man that his daughter laying on a hospital bed full of tubes is a lesbian in a bad relationship and didn’t trust him enough to come out. He didn’t care, of course, because he loved her more than anything and her sexual preferences couldn’t change that. It’s also horrifically awkward to broadcast my friend’s issues with her mother to her father. She had a younger brother, too. He dropped out of school over this trauma.  

And it’s painful to realize that you’ve been used and tossed aside. We were very close! She drove all the way from Maryland to visit one day!  Anyway, she called me about four months prior to her attempt to tell me that (paraphrased) “I don’t feel anything for you. I don’t love you. I fake it. It’s like a game, putting on a new persona every place I go. I’m a sociopath.” 

I could smell the bullshit through the phone. 

So I told her I loved her anyway, (I believed what she said about the sociopathy, for some reason, and didn’t know how else to respond) and she got so mad because I wasn’t playing into her “See! Nobody cares about me!” act. She started yelling at me over the phone, “WHY DO YOU CARE?!” And I was just like, “I dunno. You can’t make me stop tho.” 

Anyway. She didn’t talk to me for another four months, I wanted to give her space and then I get the phone call from a friend. And I ended up having to organize like five people to give a coherent testimony and grief counsel her poor dad, because he had nobody. I talked to her once in the mental hospital to check up on her and then... nothing. 

We don’t talk anymore. We didn’t get closer afterwards, we completely split. It’s been... 2 years? 

Do I seem angry? I am. I cared about these people, still do, and they hurt the people I love. Do I seem calloused for shunting them off to medical professionals? Probably, but the thing is, the records show that I AM CLEARLY UNQUALIFIED TO KEEP SOMEONE FROM KILLING THEMSELVES. NOBODY has a friend who is qualified to do that. Get help. Don’t rely on people who are scared and very possibly in the same boat. It’s not their fault, but they will blame themselves. Look up survivor testimonies before you decide to take your life, see if you really want to inflict that pain on your loved ones. 

TLDR: Killing yourself is the actual cruelest thing you can do to the people you care about. Murder is wrong. If you can’t find a reason to live for yourself, then survive for everyone else. Call emergency services and get help.

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 7) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, pacing up and down the room with your hands in the air, thoughts running wild. “My dad discovered this blue cube – which also just so happens to be an energy source – years ago on one of his missions; he brought it back here, to SHIELD, in hopes to make sense of it, except that no one could. No one, except Agent Smith, who is now under Hydra’s control, because apparently, Hydra knows something about it that we don’t. Most likely, a way to cause mass amounts of damage. Which is why they launched that attack on HQ – so that they could steal it. What’s more is, my dad decided to name the cube ‘Snowflake’, which was also his nickname for me, hence Hydra believes that I’m the key to unlocking Snowflake’s full potential. Also, the man they sent in to steal it – and me – is the same person who killed my parents. AKA The Asset.”

“Correct,” The Director nodded.

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me all of this months ago?”

“Language,” Agent Coulson warned, prompting you to glare at him.

“Because none of it made sense then,” The Director explained, standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “There was no indication that Snowflake and you were related at all. Until now.” He gestured to your necklace, which the tech analysts were urgently examining.

“Sir,” one of them piped up, swivelling in their chair. “It appears that there was some kind of microchip inside of it. Most of the information is nonsensical, but we’re working on it.”

“Nothing Agent (Y/L/N) did was nonsensical,” The Director hummed. “There’s something there, we just have to figure out how to look for it.”

“Well, that’s just great,” you huffed, plopping down on the leather couch in the middle of the room. “I’ve been unknowingly walking around with the secret to the end of my world around my neck for the past five years.”

“You’re lucky we took you in when we did,” Brendon added, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Else Hydra would’ve gotten to you before we even realised what was going on.”

“So it’s a good thing my parents were murdered then?” you snapped, shooting hateful glances at your bodyguard. “Because if they were still alive then SHIELD wouldn’t have the upper hand? Is that it?”

“That’s not what I m-“

“Whatever,” you waved your hand dismissively. “So, since I’m probably the only one who will be able to decode whatever the hell it is that my father cooked up over there, I’m guessing that I’m more of a priority now than ever. Meaning, my bodyguard over there,” you lazily pointed at Brendon, “will be more attached to me than usual, right?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, joy.”

~

“Can we get you anything else, Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, agents.”

The two young agents gave a respectful nod before exiting through the nearby glass door, leaving you alone in the chilly, transparent office.

Exhaling softly, you plopped down onto one of the uncomfortably stiff desk chairs surrounding the massive glass table, drumming your fingers melodically as you stared at the tablet screen in front of you.

Deciphering the codes your father had left was easier said than done. The microchip was a treasure grove of letters and numerical values, all of which seemed like utter nonsense. Had you not known your father and his impeccable disguising skills – when it came to his work – you would’ve just written the data off as nothing of importance.

But there was something there.

Something that you and you alone would be able to detect. You just had to know where to look.

Except that it was proving to be extremely arduous, and you’d caught yourself slipping into daydreams about relaxing your aching muscles in an extra comfy bed all too often.

Blowing a raspberry with your lips, you let your head fall back before rotating it side to side in an effort to alleviate the tension in your neck. You let your arms drop down to your sides while your head remained tilted back; closing your eyes, you tried to clear your mind of the past week’s events, hoping that it would help you with the deciphering.

A fresh gust of wind breezed across your face, prompting you to open your fatigued eyes. You were met by the upside down appearance of your bodyguard; carrying two cups of what was no doubt coffee, he made his way over to you, you returning to a sitting position as he did so.

“Did you find anything?” he questioned, setting down the beverages on the table before drawing up a chair for him to sit on.

You shook your head no as you reached for a cup, sighing contently once the warm coffee cloaked your dry mouth. “Nothing.”

“It’s been three days.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“And you haven’t been able to find anything?”

“If I found something, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, would I?” you snapped.

“Maybe you’re just not looking in the right place,” he suggested, taking a sip from his own coffee, ignoring the harsh tone of your previous comment.

“Oh, you’re right. I’ve been looking at this coded message while there’s been a detailed description telling us exactly what we need to know, right here. Silly me.”

Brendon made a noise that closely resembled a growl. “I meant that – you’re clearly looking for a specific message, hidden somewhere in the data, when maybe, you should be looking for other things. Like clues, or patterns that would make sense to you.”

“You think he left us a code within a code?” you clarified.

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken extra precautions,” Brendon shrugged. “It’s worth considering.”

You kept quiet as your fingers resumed drumming on the tabletop, averting your gaze back to the screen while Brendon kept his eyes trained on you.

“Did you know him well?” you spoke, voice soft.

Brendon squinted slightly.

“My dad,” you elaborated. “Did you know him well?”

Brendon let out a huff and ran his hand through his quiffed hair, leaning back in his chair. “We worked a few missions together a couple years back, but that was it.”

You nodded, feeling slightly disappointed, although you couldn’t say why. Brendon didn’t seem like the type to get to know people more than was necessary – this was evident by the way that he treated you – and you were sure that besides Agent Smith, he kept his co-workers at a distance. He kept everyone at a distance. So his answer wasn’t at all surprising, but you were still hoping for a bit more.

“But I know that he was one of the most selfless, bravest and admirable people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” Brendon added. His words shocked you. Partly because you weren’t expecting him to say any more on the subject of your father, and partly because the praiseworthiness of his words caught you off guard. While you agreed that your father was all of the things Brendon had listed, hearing it come from him – genuinely and with a noticeable tone of respect – was surprising, to say the least. “He was a fantastic agent; always going over and above what was expected of him, even when it wasn’t required of him. He saved countless lives; even mine, once or twice. I know that he loved you,” Brendon paused briefly, so that he could cross his arms on the table, “more than anything else. You were his world.”

You blinked rapidly and bit your lip, trying to fight back the tears you could feel coming along.

“He used to say that you wer-“

“The centre of his whole world,” you nodded, realisation dawning on you, making you scroll hastily through the data on the tablet in front of you, certain numbers and letters suddenly jumping out at you. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner,” you scoffed as you pushed the device away from you.

“You’ve got it?” Brendon asked, perking up.

“Yeah,” you nodded, biting your nails. “Well, not exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…,” you sighed, “that I need to go home.”

~

(Y/L/N) family home, Chestertown, Maryland.

You drew in a shaky breath as you gazed through the windshield of the SUV, which rounded the final corner into your street, the place you’d called ‘home’ for the better part of a decade coming into view. You hadn’t visited the house since that God-awful day three months ago, and if you had things your way, you’d never go back there ever again. It was the place where your world came tumbling down and you knew that visiting the house meant reliving the worst moment of your life all over again. But, it was for the greater good, and if there was one thing would you pride yourself on, it would be that you were always willing to make sacrifices for the greater good.

The SUV pulled into the driveway and came to a halt. You bent down slightly, allowing you to take in the exterior of the house in its entirety. It still looked exactly the same, except now it emitted an aura of grief, as if the house itself was in mourning, crying out for your dead parents. Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and took in another shaky breath, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the next little while.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you out of your trance, and it was only when you turned to your right and saw your bodyguard leaning down with his hand on top of the passenger door that you realised he’d opened it for you, and he now stared at you with expectance – and, was that a hint of… concern? – on his face.

“Do you need another minute or are you ready to go inside?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually soft, as opposed to the cold, hard manner he usually spoke in.

You shook your head. “No. I-“ you sighed, trying to gather yourself. “I’m fine.”

Brendon nodded. “Good. Let’s go inside then. You never know how safe it actually is out here,” he said, the cold and hardness returning to his voice.

Stepping out of the vehicle, your boot-clad feet started slowly and unwillingly making their way toward the front door while your thoughts kept drifting back to that day, forcing you to remember the feeling of dread in your stomach when you’d pulled up and seen the black SUVs parked in the driveway. You scoffed lightly as the irony dawned on you; a few months ago, those cars had held occupants who had delivered information that killed you inside, now, they held the man who was the only reason you were still alive.

As you made your way up the front steps, you tried your best to shove the feelings of emptiness and dread from your stomach. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Instead, the more you focused on not feeling anything, the more you felt. So much so, that when you retrieved the keys from your jacket and attempted to unlock the front door, your hands were shaking so badly that you couldn’t even fit the key into the keyhole.

“Here,” Brendon said, his voice once again becoming soft. “Let me.” He gently placed his much bigger hands over your trembling ones, slipping the keys from your grasp before proceeding to open the door.

“Thank you,” you breathed. You mentally cursed yourself for your inability to even open the goddamn door without needing his help, as well as for the shakiness in your voice. While, yes, returning home stirred up thousands of emotions inside of you, you still didn’t want to show any weakness around Brendon, especially because you were one hundred percent sure that that was all he saw you as. A weak, silly, naïve girl.

He just gave a curt nod in response, holding the door open for you. As you entered the house, an intense wave of flashbacks washed over you, ranging from the very first time you ever set foot inside the house, right up until three months ago. You could hear your mother’s laugh echoing through the halls… You could smell the strong scent of your father’s cologne…

“Where should I put this?” Brendon asked, heaving two suitcases alongside him, and for once, you were thankful to your bodyguard for interrupting your thoughts.

“Uh,” you turned around, running your fingers through your hair and sighing, “Upstairs. My room is the second door on the right and the guest room is right next to it.”

He nodded and made his way up the glass staircase, leaving you to once again bathe in the nostalgia your house offered.

~

“So, what exactly are you looking for?” Brendon rolled up the sleeves of his black v-neck, pressing his palms onto the wooden desk in the centre of your home library.

You chose to ignore his question and continue scribbling down your notes, making sure to take down every detail in your dad’s coded message that now jumped out to you. You were now doing immensely better at decoding the message, which was, admittedly, mostly thanks to Brendon and the comment he’d made the day before, about how much you’d meant to your dad.

“Or just ignore me. That’s fine too,” he grumbled.

You rose from your chair and sprinted over to the world map that hung on the back wall of the room, leaving Brendon to pick up your notes from the desk and read over them, allowing him to finally understand what was currently going on in that head of yours. “Huh,” Brendon chuckled, running his tongue over his lips. “Centre of his whole world. Smart guy.”

“Hey, could you bring those over here? Bring a pencil too.”

Brendon made his way over to you, standing beside you with his arms folded over his chest once he’d handed the papers and pencil to you.

“In geographical terms, the centre of the Earth is right… here,” you spoke marking Çorum, Turkey with a cross on the map. “Coordinates 40 degrees 52 minutes north, 34 degrees 34 minutes east. Then…” you ruffled through your papers, searching for the correct information. “That’s plus 7 degrees 54 minutes north… and… minus 25 degrees 24 minutes east, which gives us… coordinates 48 degrees 46 minutes north, 9 degrees 10 minutes east. And that places us at…”

“Stuttgart, Germany,” Brendon finished your sentence for you as you circled the city, a broad smile on your face, before stepping back and sighing in relief. “Alright, we’ve got a city… now what?”

“Now…” you trailed off, spinning on your heels and making your way to the biggest bookshelf in the room, running your fingers along the spines of the books as your eyes scanned the rows for the one book you were looking for. Your fingers stopped on a brown, leather-bound book, and you removed it from the shelf, dropping it onto the desk and sitting down to page through it.

“I don’t understand,” Brendon furrowed his eyebrows and took a seat opposite you. “What does a family holiday album have to do with any of this?”

“It has nothing to do with any of this,” you shrugged. Using all of your strength, you began tearing the book at the spine, which in turn, allowed the key hidden inside to drop onto the desk with a metallic clunk. Smirking, you held the key up and turned to look at Brendon. “But this does.”

_______________________________________________________________________Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

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[differentnutpeace]

Coronavirus FAQs: What Should I Do With My Vaccine Card? Is Choir Practice OK Now?

Each week, we answer "frequently asked questions" about life during the coronavirus crisis. If you have a question you'd like us to consider for a future post, email us at goatsandsoda@npr.org with the subject line: "Weekly Coronavirus Questions." หวย บอล เกมส์ คาสิโนออนไลน์

GOATS AND SODA

Coronavirus FAQs: Can I Drink Between Vaccine Doses? What Is 'Vaccine Efficacy'?

I've just had my second dose of the vaccine, and now I have a vaccine card. Um, what do I do with it?

That's a good question. The U.S. version bears this instruction: "Bring this vaccine record to every vaccination or medical visit."

In essence, it's proof that you've gotten the jab (or jabs for the two-dose options).

Beyond that? Yes, there are questions about what purpose it can serve — and how to safeguard it.

In the U.S., the card is a 3 by 4 inches. The document will have your name, birthdate and key information about your vaccine regimen: which brand you got, when you received your dose or doses, and where you were inoculated.

The idea of giving out cards to document a vaccination has been around since the 1930s, says Maureen Miller, an adjunct associate professor of epidemiology at Columbia University's Mailman School of Public Health.

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"As people colonized the world, there were illnesses that were endemic to certain areas," she says. "Using cards saw to it that those diseases could be monitored as individuals crossed borders, like the now internationally recognized yellow fever vaccine cards."

Indeed, the COVID-19 Vaccination Record Card is a valuable document. Dr. Amesh Adalja, a senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins University Center for Health Security, "urges people to keep [vaccine cards] safe." So-called vaccine passports will likely soon be needed for some international travel, he says — though the concept is still very much in the development stage. One idea is to digitize immunization records into easy-to-trace systems such as scannable bar codes. Until those systems get set up though, you'll likely need to carry your physical card for international travel — even though its size in the U.S., for example, isn't the most wallet-friendly.

The use of the vaccine card may stretch far past air travel, Miller says. You may need it to enter movie theaters, board trains, even sometimes as a condition of employment. In the U.K., for instance, government officials are considering asking individuals to present proof of vaccination to get access to public spaces such as pubs and sporting events — a provision that reportedly more than 70 lawmakers have announced they'll oppose.

As societies begin to reintegrate and have similar conversations, having a vaccine card will likely determine access to certain services. To this end, "people should be guarding vaccine cards very carefully," Miller says.

So what does that mean for you once you receive your vaccine card?

First things first. Miller says it's prudent to take pictures of both sides of your document as soon as you receive it or find a way to scan it, just so you have a personal record. That's what people often do with a driver's license or passport, she notes. While it wouldn't fly to present a phone scan as proof of vaccination, it's good to capture all the data just in case you lose your card.

(A quick tip for iPhone users is to use the built-in Notes app for a close-to-Xerox-looking clean photocopy.)

Miller also suggests laminating your card, as she did. That way, the card feels a bit less like a random scrap of paper and more like the real, official and important document it is. But some worry that lamination might preclude the ability to update a card with potential immunity "boosters" in the future. Adalja says thinking about "boosters" is a bit premature and urges individuals to do what works for them. And if you opt for lamination, you shouldn't have difficulty fulfilling that goal. Office supply stores such as Staples, Office Depot and OfficeMax have agreed to laminate, for free, your vaccine card if you visit one of their stores. Check to make sure the offer is still on before stopping by.

As to where you'd keep the card at home, Miller says she has hers in the folder she uses for medical insurance and health documents. A safe bet would be anywhere you store important records such as passports. Miller emphasizes it's probably better to keep it at home and not in a security deposit box in a bank.

And in the worst-case scenario, what if you lose your card?

"The physical document isn't the only record," Adalja says.

When you get vaccinated, that information enters your state's immunization registry, Adalja says – so no need to call up your primary care doctor or do any other logistical legwork to make it be part of your permanent health record. That process should happen automatically (although it couldn't hurt to call your primary care doctor just to make sure it did).

In the case of losing your card, your best bet is to hit up the pharmacy or clinic or site where you got your vaccine at and ask for a duplicate copy. This will be problematic if you were vaccinated at a local pop-up effort; in that case, Miller suggests contacting your state board of health. You should be able to get a duplicate, but perhaps not without a fair share of moving through bureaucracy, Adalja says.

Eventually, Adalja predicts, more "durable forms of vaccination status" — aka, records that don't just exist on a flimsy piece of cardstock — will emerge. But until then, it's just a matter of being extra careful.

My choir director says that the pandemic is ending soon and that face-to-face, in-person practice is expected to begin in May. Is it true that vaccinated people can safely sing together? Should people still be wearing masks?

Singing indoors is one of the riskiest things you can do during this pandemic — up there with screaming for your March Madness picks in a packed arena. When you sing or scream, you expel air forcefully, which generates lots of respiratory aerosols that can contain SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19.

We all remember that haunting episode from the early days of the pandemic in which 52 of 61 members at a choir rehearsal in Skagit County, Wash., got confirmed or probable cases of COVID-19 after a 2 1/2-hour practice. Three choir members were hospitalized, and two died.

But the vaccines are powerful tools. So, for advice, we tapped one of the co-authors of the International Coalition of Performing Arts Aerosol Study, University of Maryland mechanical engineering professor Jelena Srebric, and Dr. Jill Weatherhead, assistant professor of adult and pediatric infectious diseases at Baylor College of Medicine.

After Srebric had a good chuckle about the choir director's pronouncement that the pandemic is almost over (as much as we may wish, we're not quite there), she explained the study's most recent guidelines, released in December will hold true for a while — even with the additional protection from vaccines. Here's a summary:

Masks should be worn by choir members and anyone playing an instrument. (Cutting a slit in your mask with an X-Acto knife allows you to fit it over a wind instrument.)

Practice outdoors if possible. If indoors, the choir director should make sure there's a good air filtration system.

Singers should be at least 6 feet apart. Practice no more than 30 minutes at a time. The idea is to move away from plumes of air created from singing.

As vaccines become more widely available, Srebric suggests asking as many members to get them as soon as they're eligible.

"Vaccination reduces the risk [of infection] dramatically, especially for vaccinated people, but we still don't have a clear picture on what is going to happen with variants," Srebric explains. "So, it's very prudent to continue to be cautious."

That's why she suggests sticking to the above guidelines even once most of your choir is vaccinated. Instead of changing your habits when you get vaccinated, she suggests changing your thinking: "The vaccine gives you peace of mind," she says. "You can keep the same precaution measures but not worry as much as people used to worry."

Choirs could also wait to resume in-person practice — and definitely performances with audiences — until more people are vaccinated, Weatherhead points out. "Wait until the community transmission comes down. That is the safest plan."

But don't despair that you will have to follow these rules forever. Real-world studies suggest that vaccines may be efficacious against transmission from asymptomatic cases. "That was one of the biggest unknowns because the clinical trials didn't study that," she says.

And an observational study published in Nature showed that the small percentage of people who got infected after a vaccine tended to have much lower viral loads than unvaccinated people who got infected, providing further evidence that the ability to transmit the disease likely diminishes with vaccination.

As more people get vaccinated, choirs should be able to start gradually shifting their protocols, Srebric notes. For example, choirs could practice longer and shorten the breaks, she says.

And yes, all of this also applies to screaming at big concerts and sporting events. But feel free to cheer as much as you like for the UConn Huskies from the privacy of your couch on Friday night!

Will taking a CBD product before my shot affect its efficacy?

In short, avoiding CBD before a shot will probably be the safer approach here. CBD, which stands for cannabidiol, is a chemical component of cannabis. It's been known to have a relaxing and therapeutic effect and is sometimes used to manage pain.

According to Miller of Columbia's Mailman School of Public Health, there's "absolutely no research" that looks at the effect of CBD oil on COVID-19 vaccine efficacy in humans. So it's important to note upfront there's not much that can be said conclusively on the effects of CBD specifically.

That said, Miller points to updated Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines that advise against anti-inflammatories such as Ibuprofen and other painkillers before inoculation — unless those medications are already a part of people's typical medical regime. Miller notes CBD also happens to act as an anti-inflammation tool — though the CDC advisory did not specifically take note of it.

To gain immunity, she emphasizes, your body needs to build up an inflammatory response. So, she reasons, it might be better to be safe than sorry and stay away from using CBD before your shot – just to make sure you're getting your biggest bang for your buck with the vaccine. Unless, of course, CBD is already part of your usual medical routine, Miller says — in which case, you should continue business as usual.

Sheila Mulrooney Eldred is a freelance health journalist in Minneapolis. She's written about COVID-19 for many publications, including Medscape, Kaiser Health News, Science News for Students and The Washington Post. More at sheilaeldred.pressfolios.com. On Twitter: @milepostmedia

Pranav Baskar is a freelance journalist who regularly answers coronavirus FAQs for NPR.

[missizzy]

A Single Warm Place (The Punisher)

They’re spending Christmas Eve together mostly because neither has anyone else to spend it with. Even Curtis went off to Maryland to see his family a couple days ago, after relaying to Frank invites from Karen for tonight and from the Liebermans to join them for a movie and Chinese food tomorrow. He turned down the latter, but, well, the four of them have each other. He’s pretty sure Karen has been invited nowhere this entire week, and one would have to be as blind as that idiot who broke her heart to not see how lonely she’s been left. And he’s gotten the strong impression she’s gotten isolated at the Bulletin, and that it’s entirely his fault. This is the least he can do for her.

She got a pair of pre-cooked turkey legs she can easily warm up, and they taste a little funny, but Frank doesn’t care. At first they keep the conversation safe. He tells her about getting a new construction job, she tells him about the two holiday fluff pieces she’s recently been obliged to write. “I mind it less than I thought I would,” she notes. There’s tension in the air; it’s hard for Frank to not think about how much he shouldn’t be here.

The alcohol helps. Frank thinks Karen might have had a little bit of it in her even when he arrived, and he knows he did. When they’ve both downed another beer, she gets loose enough to start talking about what awful things that she’s most mad about right now. Karen’s got so much rage in her, and so much of it on behalf of other people. Most of her rants he hears out without comment, letting his own beer relax him a little.

“It never ends, you know,” she finally says. “And lately, well, maybe this is just me being…but this entire year’s been the worst ever, and yet I’m afraid of the next one being worse still.”

“Maybe,” Frank says. He thinks of Wilson Fisk, one of the two men that will, he knows, eventually drag him right back to war; it’s only a question of which and when. Also of the suspicions he has about Karen, the questions he hopes he’ll never have to ask, but probably eventually will.

And he’s drunk enough beer now he finds himself saying, “I don’t think I can even comprehend a year anymore anyway. Part of me isn’t still isn’t expecting to live long enough for it to matter…soon my family will have been dead for a year and a half. I’ll likely outlive them for that long, and then longer…”

“Can we go on like this forever?” Karen wonders, and her eyes look way too shiny. “I know I’m lucky, you know, I’m not…I just feel like I’m in some ridiculous limbo anyway, waiting for everything to stop hurting.”

“Maybe I’m the lucky one,” Frank notes. “I know in my case it’s not going to, so it’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Oh, Frank,” she sighs. “You know, I invited you here hoping to make you feel better.”

“You know that’s not why I came here, though.”

“I know.” There’s a laugh in there, but it’s hard and bitter. “But Curtis isn’t going to be happy with me anyway.”

“How much are the two of you in contact?” Frank asks, feeling just a little bit of alarm.

Karen did laugh out loud at that one. “Email every other week. You’re not going to stop people from caring about you, Frank. And just knowing you haven’t taken a turn for the worse again makes me feel much better.” She knows he won’t protest that, damn her.

Well, except that he asks, “What if you guys got hacked?”

“We refer to you as Pete, and he really only just gives me the most general details, enough to put my mind at ease, you know. So before you start making any assumptions, no, this does not excuse you from telling me how you are whenever we see each other.”

Her jesting tone doesn’t fully mask the seriousness of her words. Frank could come up with a similar response, one which would deflect without completely running away. But he doesn’t want to play those games with Karen. So he just says, “I don’t think how I am’s gonna change much,” because that’s the easiest answer.

When her head bends down, and he sees she’s struggling for control of herself, he tries, “I’m glad to be here. I honestly am.”

“Good,” Karen takes a swig of her beer, holds it for too long.

Their plates are pretty much clean by this point, and Frank gets up with a, “I’ll do the dishes.” It’s fleeing, and they both know it, but she allows it, just nodding.

Except that when he’s standing at the sink, scrubbing away at the plates, the memory comes to him vividly of one evening two years ago. Dishes for four back then, and he was in a proper kitchen, but it’s still alike enough to bring up a new surge of grief. Closing in on a year and a half, and he’s still getting those. There’s always something else to remember, something he still wants back so badly, even if he didn’t want it when he did have it. Something he’ll never have again.

Karen sees it; of course she does. “You…” she started. “You did this that often...”

“No,” Frank says, “just…” She’s come over to stand by him, too close to where Maria was standing at the time. He focuses his gaze hard on the forks.

“I could,” she starts awkwardly. “Should I…”

“It was the last time I did this in a setting like this,” he says, letting it spill, because it’s filling him so much, and he’s drunk enough, and she’s looking at him in that way. “Remember what I told you, about Frankie painting the marine on the wall?” When she nods, he says, “Maria wasn’t too happy with the way I handled that one. Kept her smile on around the kids, but the minute they’d gone to bed she wasn’t talking to me, and oh, could she burn, when she used the silence treatment. But I’d just come home and was tired and irritated, so I got kind of mad at her too. We said we were sorry when we went to bed, but I don’t know how much we really meant it.

And then the next day it poured. Rain all day. So we couldn’t do our picnic by the carousel that day, and even though Maria insisted we’d just do it a day late, the kids were both unhappy.” He has to pause for a moment there, but it’s not the first time he’s demanded of the universe why they couldn’t have been rained out of their last picnic instead. “And me, I’m afraid I wasn’t much better than them about it. I just…I wasn’t good that day.” It’s harder to explain to Karen than it was to Curtis, or the other veterans, how he got when he first came home. Though from the way she’s nodding, he thinks she’s done enough research to realize what he’s talking about.

“And God bless her, even though she was still angry at me, Maria still shielded me from the brunt of their wrath. Took it all on herself and had a miserable day. I wasn’t a complete idiot; by dinnertime I was aware she’d been through enough. I stayed a little angry, maybe, up until the moment I walked into the kitchen and saw her just standing over the sink, like it was too much…so I said I’d take over and washed everything while she just leaned against the counter and watched. I wasn’t sure she’d stopped being mad completely, but she was just so tired, the way she was struggling to support her weight on her arms just screamed it.” Her face and posture are his clearest memories from the kitchen, ones that brings feelings of pain and tenderness still, and in fact more of both than they did even at the time.

Everything’s clean; he’s putting the last of the things on the dishrack. “So when I was done, the two of us just sort of looked at each other, and I asked her, ‘Am I forgiven?’ And she half-smiled and said, ‘Probably, if you cuddle with me for the rest of the evening.’” Even now he chuckles; Karen smiles. “Well, when my old lady gave me that obvious a tip, I usually took it. We sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, where they were showing this cooking contest, it was some ridiculous shit. And eventually Lisa dragged Frankie out and they both apologized to their mother, though she had to prod him into it…”

He has to stop talking, then, at that memory. The kids didn’t stay with their parents long, but there was a few minutes of the four of them sitting together, watching someone prepare some way too fancy food dish, with Frankie twice demanding who’d want to eat that. Maria finally looked better then, and when they were once again alone, she kissed him softly, and they cuddled more in earnest. There was a feeling of utter peace and contentment that also joined them on the sofa that night, one Frank’s not sure he ever got again after that.

“I’m sorry,” Karen says, her voice too thin. “I shouldn’t have…”

“No, don’t be.” Because much as remembering hurts, it also feels good, in some strange way, like pulling out a piece of shrapnel.

He sees then she’s shivering, and she’s shed a couple of tears. It’s instinct, then, to pull her into his arms, which causes her to finally break down the way she’s probably been needing to the entire evening.

It promptly hits him with another memory, of Maria when her mother died, and oh God, does it hurt. But Frank doesn’t want to let go. He shouldn’t even be the one doing this, he thinks. Not when he’s someone who can neither take all Karen has to offer, nor give her all she deserves. But if she needs to be held tonight, and there’s no one else to do it, damned if he isn’t going to give her that.

When she doesn’t stop quickly, he even goes all the way with it, steering them onto her couch and turning the TV on. He’s in no mood to watch sappy Christmas specials, but he finds a Christmas-themed concert playing on PBS, which is fairly harmless. Karen’s quieted a little, so the main sound in the room is the music. Neither of them look at the screen, though; she keeps her head down, pressed into his chest.

He, meanwhile, glares at the photo she has by the TV, of the two assholes who’ve abandoned her, and when one of them’s even still alive. He’s gotten the impression Nelson isn’t in town much right now, that he’s deliberately taking cases that take him upstate and away from his own grief. Running out on the huge-ass family Frank knows he has around here too. But Karen’s never brought either man up, and he won’t if she won’t. Especially with the suspicion he has about Murdock that’s stronger than ever, another thing he never wants to ask her about.

Eventually she’s done crying, murmuring, “Your shirt’s soaked. And now you have to walk home in the cold.”

Home. Not an appropriate word to use for his latest apartment. Or any of the one’s he’s slept in since burning what’ll probably be the last home he ever has. He doesn’t want to go anywhere right now.

“Can I borrow your couch?” he asks. He scolds himself for a moment later, because he shouldn’t impose on her like that. But he’d much rather sleep here, where he won’t be alone, and hell, where he knows that no matter what danger Karen’s attracted to herself lately, he’ll make sure no one will be able to come in and hurt her tonight. Besides, it means she won’t spend all of tomorrow alone either, even if he’ll probably leave right after breakfast.

But she replies, “You’re welcome to sleep on it whenever you don’t want to be alone, at least until further notice.”

He thinks he might, at least a few times. With all the dangerous shit Karen has a habit of getting mixed up in, it would probably be a favor to her anyway.

[greysficsngifsnstuff]

Chapter 3

Author’s note: hello! Here’s chapter three :) this is more centered around the Grey’s Anatomy friendships rather than actually Japril. I just wanted to explore some great duos which we haven’t seen in a while. I promise the next chapter will be a Japril one! Hope you like it :)

PS. I would love feedback on this because I wasn’t very sure about the way I was writing one of the characters. I’m not gonna say who it is to see if you guys pick up on it. Some dialogue may sound a little out of character for them, so please let me know what you think!

But they didn’t get a minute that day at the hospital.

When April arrived that morning, a fourth year trauma resident briefed her about the situation while she pulled on a trauma gown and gloves. A 13-year-old girl had fallen off her horse and was in critical condition. Peds and cardio had already been paged.

‘Why cardio?’ April asked the resident.

‘Her family told the paramedics she was born with a deformed heart and had a transplant when she was five months old. The accident happened because she apparently passed out and fell backwards on the horse’s rump. It spooked and started running, but one of the girl’s feet was caught in the stirrups so instead of falling off, she slid to the ground and the horse dragged her several meters before someone caught it. They think she passed out because her heart failed,’ said the resident.

‘And she’s still alive?’ said April before running towards the ambulance which was pulling up.

April ordered nurses and paramedics into trauma room one and a few minutes later Robbins and Pierce burst through the door.

‘What do we got?’ called Robbins over the noise of the room, pulling on a glove.

April was about to being breaking down the case for them when she saw Maggie.

‘Uh… is Riggs here?’ asked April. She almost hated herself for even asking, but the words came out of her mouth before she could think twice.

Maggie shot her a look of confusion. ‘Riggs got back last night from Maryland Shock Trauma.’

Oh, that’s right, April thought. Megan. She’d completely forgotten.

Counting under her breath to five, April collected herself and explained the case to Robbins and Pierce.

Once they were in the OR and the patient was open on the table, April saw that there were many more internal injuries than she had anticipated. The girl was too unstable to take the time to get a CT, so she was rushed straight to surgery, Pierce and Robbins pushing the gurney on the other side of her.

‘I need to get control of this bleeding. Pierce, how is that heart coming along?’ asked April, clamping down one of the bleeders.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, feeling her way around without really looking.

‘You’re not sure?’ April shot back.

‘I can’t see properly,’ replied Maggie. ‘There’s a lot of bleeding here, too.’

‘You’re not sure?’ April repeated, raising her voice.

‘April,’ said Arizona, surprised at her sudden outburst. April was always very level headed in surgery.

‘She’s saying she’s not sure, Dr Robbins. We have a child open on a table who is about to die if we don’t fix her, but Dr Pierce isn’t sure,’ April’s tone was ice cold, but she was trying to speak as calmly as possible. ‘Dr Pierce, I need to repair this liver at the same time as you are repairing that heart. If you’re not capable of doing that, please leave the OR.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Maggie said in disbelief. ‘She can’t do that,’ she repeated, addressing Robbins this time.

Arizona stared at April. ‘April, we need a cardio surgeon.’

April had no idea how to reply to that. Of course she knew they needed one. In the moments that they had stood there arguing, the patient’s BP started rising, indicated by the beeping on the machines. At its sound, April’s own heart rate quickened.

‘I’m here, where do you want me?’ a robotic voice echoed in the OR. April looked towards the gallery to find Riggs standing there, speaking through the intercom.

Once he had scrubbed in, Maggie ripped off her gloves and left the room, glaring at April all the while.

From the minute he entered to the moment they exited the OR after the surgery, Arizona couldn’t stop marvelling at the way April and Nathan communicated with each other. They seemed to be able to read each other’s minds with a single look, wordlessly flying through manoeuvres which only they knew how to do thanks to what the army had taught them. At one point they even asked Arizona to step back so that they could work faster, if that seemed possible.

‘Nice work, Keps,’ said Nathan as the three of them were scrubbing out. The surgery had been a success. The girl wasn’t even going to be put on the transplant list for a new heart.

‘Isn’t my friend just amazing?’ Arizona beamed at her.

‘That’s why we call her The Machine,’ said Nathan, turning off his tap. April grinned bashfully.

‘You both coming to talk to the family?’ he asked, towelling his hands dry.

April nodded, and Arizona was about to agree when her pager went off.

‘Ugh, consult,’ she said, checking it. ‘Sorry guys.’

The other two shrugged simultaneously as if to say, it’s okay.

‘Jeez,’ said Arizona. ‘Are you guys wired to the same remote control?’

She exited the scrub room, leaving Nathan and April chuckling away.

***

After she had spoken to the family, April told Riggs she would see him later and casually checked the OR board to see what was going on. Jackson was right in the middle of a double mastectomy, removing a tumour alongside Dr Webber and a second year resident.

She went down to the day care to see Harriet and breastfed her, then busied herself in the ER for a while, rearranging charts and stitching up a 9-year-old boy’s leg after he fell off his bike. She hadn’t even realised she hadn’t eaten all day until her stomach started grumbling as she was putting away the suture kit. She made her way to the attending’s lounge to try and find something to snack on. As soon as she entered, she saw Arizona with her back turned away from her, making coffee. Arizona glanced quickly behind her to check who had come in.

‘Hey, April,’ she greeted her, pouring the coffee into a cup. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Hey,’ she replied the cheeriest way imaginable. ‘No, I’m okay, thanks.’

After several years of a friendship like theirs, Arizona picked up on April’s restlessness almost immediately.

‘What’s up?’ she said, giving her a knowing look. Her eyes followed April as she pulled a cereal bar out of a cupboard and slumped down on a chair at the table.

‘Nothing, nothing’s up. Why would something be up?’ April said hurriedly, unwrapping her cereal bar and taking a bite.

Arizona shot her a look. ‘April, what was that today, with Pierce?’

‘That girl was dying,’ April gestured outward with one hand, shoving all her bite to one side of her mouth so she could talk. ‘I was just putting my patient’s interests first. Riggs and I were the only ones that knew how to do that procedure, and I needed him there. That’s all.’

‘You couldn’t have known what you needed to do down in the trauma room, yet you still asked for him. What’s really going on?’

‘The lady at the day care told me Jackson still hasn’t been down to see Harriet today. Is that weird? It’s kinda late in the day,’ said April pointlessly, avoiding the question.

Arizona kept her head still but swivelled her eyes to one side before looking back at April.

April shut her eyes, still chewing. She couldn’t tell whether it was because Arizona had brought up a sensitive subject or whether because that cereal bar tasted so goddamn good after eating nothing all day.

Arizona gasped.

‘Did you sleep with him?’

April opened a single eye, scrunching the other one down.

‘I know it was probably a bad idea, but it felt so right, and after all that’s happened…’ April trailed off, her mouth still half full.

‘April! It’s bad enough he’s got Grey dragged in the middle of his broken heart after Megan, who apparently is back, but now you, too?’

April almost choked on her cereal bar.

‘What?’ she exclaimed, forcing herself to swallow before continuing to speak. ‘Who are you talking about?’

Arizona made a puzzled face for a moment. ‘You didn’t sleep with Riggs?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not!’ replied April.

Arizona’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said, almost disappointed. ‘You guys seemed so in sync in that OR, and the ‘given everything that’s happened’ bit, I just figured that meant Megan and Grey, and—’

‘We worked together! In a war, in the desert; we might get each other a little better that everyone else around here,’ said April.

Arizona made a face to say, yeah, that makes sense. ‘Wait, so who are you talking about?’ she lowered her voice even though the door was closed.

‘Jackson,’ April said quietly back. His name tasted really nice.

Arizona paused. ‘Ohhhh,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. She pushed herself off the counter and went to sit by April at the table.

‘Wait, but what does Maggie have to do with Jackson?’

‘I think there’s something going on between them,’ replied April. Remembering the way she had treated Maggie in the OR made her feel two inches tall.

‘Jackson and Maggie? No way,’ said Arizona definitively, shaking her head.

‘You didn’t see the way they looked at each other the night of the fire. I’ve seen that look on him before,’ said April. On me, she was about to add, but saying it aloud would have made it all too real.

‘April, you’re probably overanalysing it. He was her mother’s surgeon and then she died. His mom is married to her biological dad. Of course there’s gonna be baggage there, but that has nothing to do with the two of them being together. Anyways, didn’t you just say you slept with him?’

‘Yeah, but…’ April didn’t even look at Arizona the whole time she spoke, staring at her half eaten cereal bar which now didn’t look so inviting anymore. She trailed off because she didn’t know what else to say. Had last night meant as much as April thought it had, or was it just another case of emergency sex? In the moment it definitely didn’t feel that way, and the way they had behaved with Harriet this morning didn’t make it seem that way, and yet still…

‘But nothing,’ said Arizona.

Finally April looked up at her, and could see the sympathy in her friend’s blue eyes.

‘Was it good?’ asked Arizona, speaking quietly once again.

April’s eyes rolled to the back of her head before she shut them momentarily. ‘It was so much more than good. It was… perfect.’

They smiled at each other, a smile filled with compassion and kindness.

‘It felt like so much more than just sex. It felt like us. He touched me in a way he hadn’t done since before Samuel, I don’t think. And then this morning, when I was dressing Harriet he stood behind me, just watching us. We felt like a family. I hadn’t realised how much I miss him, how much I still love him…’ April had to stop herself or the tears that were welling up in her eyes would have escaped onto her cheeks.

Arizona placed a hand over April’s. ‘I know,’ she said, remembering the way it had felt to be with Dr Boswell the night of the storm; she had only known her after her leg, and they still had sex in a way that she had done with Callie only before the plane crash.

Right at that moment Dr Grey entered the attending’s lounge.

‘Hey, is everything okay?’ she asked when she saw April all teary eyed, making her way to fetch a glass of water and fill it up from the tap.

‘Yeah, we’re great,’ said April, forcing a smile.

‘Nah, you’re upset,’ said Meredith. She set her glass of water down on the table. ‘I don’t really care about other people’s problems, because often I can’t solve them, but I almost always know how to fix them. You know what you need to do?’ she said, pulling out her phone from her lab coat pocket.

April and Arizona exchanged a puzzled look. Meredith had never taken a particular liking to Arizona or April, especially after she was suspended and April took her place.

‘Dance it out,’ she said, pressing play on her phone. ‘Come on, get up,’ she said over the music, and began dancing. April and Arizona only laughed at each other a little before getting up alongside Meredith.

Half a song later, Chief Bailey walked in. At the sight of their happy faces, her own face lit up, but she immediately pretended to be disappointed in them in a very chiefly manner.

‘Now just what do y’all think you’re doing? Don’t you have patients to get to, or would you rather they died and filed a lawsuit against this hospital, which I will then have to deal with?’

Giggling like schoolgirls, April and Arizona grabbed their lab coats, ready to leave the room right as Maggie walked in.

‘Ah, Chief Bailey!’ said Maggie, a haughtiness to her tone. ‘How lovely to see you here. And what a coincidence that Dr Kepner is here with us. I wanted to speak with you both about something. Dr Robbins, Dr Grey, would you mind?’ she said, nodding towards the door.

Meredith and Arizona only raised their eyebrows before scurrying out of the room.

‘What, Pierce?’ asked Dr Bailey, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice. She raised her eyebrows, too, in a very Miranda Bailey-like fashion, as if she were expecting you to tell her something of such importance that it couldn’t wait until you could meet her in her office.

‘Dr Kepner kicked me out of the OR today,’ said Dr Pierce, folding her arms across her chest.

‘You did what?’ asked Bailey, turning towards April.

April took a moment to collect herself.

‘Yes, Chief, I did ask Dr Pierce to leave the OR. The patient’s BP was rising, there were bleeders all over the field, and Dr Pierce didn’t seem to have the patient’s heart under control.’

Chief Bailey glared at Maggie.

‘I—‘ Maggie interrupted, but April continued, ‘The heart, which by the way, had been transplanted into the patient at five months of age, needed to be repaired simultaneously with the liver, and I remembered a procedure I had been taught in the army. Dr Riggs was the only other person in this hospital who knew how to perform it.’

‘Yes, but—‘ Maggie tried again.

‘Is the patient alive and stable?’ cut off Dr Bailey.

‘She’s doing great,’ said April before Maggie could say anything else.

‘Then go argue in front of someone who cares.’ With that, Chief Bailey left the attending’s lounge.

April bit her lip to stop herself from smiling smugly right in front of Maggie.

‘Look, I don’t know what your problem with me is,’ said Maggie, glaring at April, ‘and I don’t care. But let it start interfering with my career, and I will have you fired.’

Before April could get a word in edgeways, they heard a voice from the threshold of the door.

‘What’s going on here?’

It was Jackson.

[junker-town]

The Vikings’ expensive passing offense is worse than the Dolphins’

Kirk Cousins continues to struggle with the Vikings in 2019.

The Vikings can’t throw, the Cowboys can’t run, and the Ravens can’t defend. What is going on?

It’s hard to imagine there’s an NFL fanbase that’s not panicking even a little bit right now. The Patriots and Chiefs — the only teams with 4-0 records — survived scares last week from the Bills and Lions, who couldn’t quite overcome the cursed history of their respective franchises.

Six teams are winless; one has fully accepted its tanking fate and at least one more probably should. A third of the NFL has had to bring in a backup quarterback for major playing time, while almost half of the league is sporting a 2-2 record.

There’s a lot we don’t know about this season, even a quarter of the way through it. While there’s freedom in that kind of uncertainty, it also means we’re probably in for a wild ride the rest of the way.

As exciting (and a little daunting) as that is, let’s take stock in what we might need to be nervous about at this point of the season.

The Vikings are paying too much for a passing offense this bad

Quarterback Kirk Cousins and wide receivers Adam Thielen and Stefon Diggs count for a combined $49.573 million against the Vikings’ salary cap in 2019. It’s the most in the NFL for a quarterback-receiver-receiver trio.

The Vikings are also last in passing attempts, second-to-last in passing yards (behind the Dolphins and ahead of the Jets), and third-to-last in passing touchdowns.

That wasn’t exactly a problem for Minnesota when running back Dalvin Cook racked up 375 rushing yards and four touchdowns in the first three weeks of the season. But when the Bears held Cook to just 35 yards in Week 4, the inability to throw the ball became a glaring issue.

“At some point, you’re not going to be able to run the ball for 180 yards, even with the best running back in the NFL,” Thielen, who had just two catches for 6 yards in Chicago, told The Athletic. “That’s when you have to be able to throw the ball. You have to be able to make plays. You have to be able to hit the deep balls. You have to do that.”

The Vikings haven’t done that much at all. Even when the situation against the Bears begged for desperation, Minnesota couldn’t break out of dink-and-dunk mode.

The Vikings got the ball down 10 with less than three minutes left and threw four passes short of the first-down marker.

— Chad Graff (@ChadGraff) September 29, 2019

Part of the blame lies with Cousins, who is better when he’s not asked to put the team on his back. He doesn’t handle pressure well — he’s fumbled 52 times in his career and has 15 in 20 games with the Vikings. Even when he has time to throw, he doesn’t always wait for Thielen and Diggs to get open. Or when he does, his accuracy is not there.

Part of the blame lies with the offensive line, which still has problems protecting Cousins. And part of the blame lies with the playcalling, which needs to find ways for the passing game to succeed and to get the ball in the hands of playmakers like Thielen and Diggs.

The Vikings are spending way too much money on the passing game to be afraid to throw the ball, and it’s a major reason why they’re at the bottom of the NFC North.

Panic index: Some alarm is warranted at this point — especially when Cousins, Diggs, and Thielen count for a combined $58.3 million next year too. Fortunately, the Vikings won’t play a defense like the Bears’ every week, and Minnesota’s own defense is strong enough to carry the team to some wins.

But until they can figure out how to get the passing game to work more consistently, the Vikings could be headed for another season like last year: good enough to finish with a winning record, but not good enough to make the playoffs.

The Ravens’ defense looks very un-Ravenesque

Almost every great Baltimore team has one thing in common: a dominant defense. Few franchises have been as defined by their ability to stop the ball and make life miserable for opposing quarterbacks than the Ravens — home to Hall of Famers Ray Lewis and Ed Reed and All-Pros like Haloti Ngata, Adalius Thomas, and Terrell Suggs in their 24 years of existence.

Baltimore tried to keep that tradition alive by signing Earl Thomas and drafting the NCAA’s all-time sack leader, Jaylon Ferguson, this offseason. That hasn’t been nearly enough to offset the loss of players like Eric Weddle, Za’Darius Smith, C.J. Mosley, and Suggs. Each left Maryland in 2019, and the Ravens clearly aren’t the same without them.

After handling bottom dwellers Arizona and Miami in Weeks 1 and 2, Baltimore has struggled against teams not currently in the midst of an identity crisis. The Chiefs hung 33 points on them, but it was easy to write that off because hey, it’s the Chiefs and that’s what they do. Then the Browns came to visit in Week 4 and that Kansas City loss went from an outlier to a giant warning sign, embarrassing Thomas in the process.

Cleveland stomped a mudhole into a once-proud defense in a 40-25 win, recharging the fortunes of second-year players Baker Mayfield (342 passing yards) and Nick Chubb (165 rushing yards, three touchdowns) in the process. With that, the Ravens fell to 23rd in the league in points allowed. Their 7.03 yards given up per play is dead last in the NFL — a hair worse than the woeful Dolphins’ 6.99 mark.

The Ravens have the league’s top offense in terms of both scoring and yards gained. They haven’t ranked in the top five in either category since 1996. Despite this, they’re 2-2.

Panic index: Help may not be on the way this fall. Ferguson was the only man among the team’s top five draft picks who plays defense. Thomas hasn’t been the same dynamic talent he was before breaking his leg in 2018. Cornerback Jimmy Smith will return at some point, but he’s slated to miss a few more weeks with an MCL sprain. The pass rush has only produced eight sacks in four games.

But hey, Lamar Jackson still looks awesome. Maybe winning shootouts is the new Ravens way.

Kellen Moore’s Cowboys offense suddenly has a Scott Linehan vibe

Kellen Moore, one of the league’s youngest offensive coordinators, had Dak Prescott and the Cowboys averaging 32 points per game through the first few weeks of the season. But against the Saints during Week 4, Dallas was held in check. The team had its lowest offense output of the season, including just 10 points and 45 yards on the ground.

To start the season, one of the best elements of Moore’s offense was the heavy play-action. That was shut down against New Orleans:

#Cowboys set season low in play-action rate & season high in first-down run rate in SNF loss to #Saints. Please let this not be the work of Jason Garrett infiltrating Kellen Moore’s beautiful offense. Please let this not be a sign of things to come.

— Evan Silva (@evansilva) September 30, 2019

Prescott still played well when they used play-action — he was 6 of 7 for 65 yards Sunday night, according to Pro Football Focus. But the Cowboys mostly went away from it, going from an average of 39 percent to 20 percent in Week 4.

Instead, they fell back into the conservative playcalling of the old Scott Linehan offense, such as running the ball too much on first down. The Cowboys averaged just 3.4 yards on first down, and kept trying to feed an unproductive Ezekiel Elliott, who had 35 yards on 18 carries. Here’s Cowboys’ blog Blogging The Boys on the first-down playcalling:

You throw it twice, picking up a first down and then having a “success” on the next - then you hand it off to start seven consecutive sets of downs, with only one meeting the traditional criteria of success, 40% or more of the yards needed for the next first down. A failure to execute well played a part, but even with that, why go back to that dry well over and over?

Head, meet wall.

There has been a suggestion that Prescott was changing the call at the line a lot, and it certainly seemed like the Saints found a way to disguise things very well. Whatever happened, Moore and company need to get this sorted out.

The Saints deserve credit for what they did, but if future opposing defenses sell out to stop Elliott again, Moore has to find ways to get the offense’s early-season mojo back.

Panic index: It’s a little too soon to assume Dallas’ offense is going back to the Linehan era, even after one bad game against a great defense. Moore showed enough promise with his creative playcalling in the first three weeks that it’s worth waiting to see how he adjusts before worrying too much.

However, the Cowboys need to rebound quickly. There are no shortage of stout defenses ahead on their schedule, include dates with the Packers, Eagles, Vikings, Patriots, and Bills.

Khalil Mack is coming for you, Raiders

There is no amount of context that will properly explain Jon Gruden’s actions when he took over control of the Raiders. Sending Khalil Mack to the Bears was a mistake, pure and simple. Now, Mack wants his revenge. Given Mack’s entire job boils down to making life as difficult as possible for exactly one person on the other team, his words should carry some weight.

“This is one I’ve been looking forward to,” Mack said about facing the team that traded him just over a year ago. “I can’t lie to you, man; I’ve got to let you know how it is. It’s going to be a big one.”

In his first season in Chicago, Mack racked up 12.5 sacks, a pick-six, and six forced fumbles, helping the Bears to the NFC North crown. This season, he’s already up to 4.5 sacks and four forced fumbles.

Mack, who thought he was going to be a Raider for life when they drafted him, also said, “I ain’t a talker. I just want to go out and show it.” That’s even scarier considering what he can do.

Panic index: Mack has been a force with the Bears, even while constantly double-teamed by opposing offenses. The Raiders will need to do that to contain him, but the last thing they need right now is Mack with a little bit of extra fire in his step.

Derek Carr has only been sacked eight times this season, but Mack is going to do his best to throw a wrench in those works. Unlike Gruden, we would never bet against Mack.

[theraputicwritings]

Electric Pulse-Chapter Six

Chapter Six: All Roads Lead to Home

Summary: Breanna is just your typical young adult attending her parents’ funeral when she is attacked and kidnapped by HYDRA. What will happen after none other than the Avengers save her?

Word Count: 2,286

A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took me soooo long to finish this chapter. I’ve had a rough week with losing my job and family being over. But that’s beside the point. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I think you’ll still enjoy it. I’m excited for the next chapter though!

Chapter Five

Two Weeks Later            

Jab, block, jab, block. I grunted as Bucky and I sparred. He was taking it easy on me, but not by much. He’d been teaching me how to fight for about a week now when I was cleared by the doctor. My stitches were all taken out and I felt almost 100% better.“Hey, do you think I should maybe train with some of the other guys too?” I asked as I threw a punch towards Bucky. He easily blocked it with his metal arm and jabbed at my stomach. “Why?” he asked as I jumped out of reach, “Are you getting bored of me?” I shook my head and ducked under his arm as he threw another punch.

“No, not at all. I just think it might be helpful because then I’d learn how to fight against other styles. Not everyone is going to fight like you do. I could learn different patterns and weaknesses.” I jumped up and attempted to round house kick him in the chest.            

He grabbed my foot and pulled me so I flipped over and landed hard on my back. “Hmm, maybe you should get a little better with just fighting in general before you learn different fighting techniques,” Bucky suggested, a smug grin on his face.            

He held his hand out for me, and I took it reluctantly. “Hey! I thought I was getting better!” I argued, a pout on my face. Bucky pulled me onto my feet. “You’re definitely better than when you started, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.” “Actually, the Roman legionnaires were efficient enough to build and tear down an entire fort within a day. That way they could travel more effectively,” I retorted, walking over to the bench to grab my water bottle.  

“I stand corrected then. But it’s still might be a few more training sessions before we’re ready to have you fight one of the others. I know for a fact that Nat could crush you,” Bucky stated, following me. “Yeah, but Cap would probably take it easy on me.” Bucky grinned and shrugged, “That he probably would do.”            

We became quiet as we each took drinks from our water bottle. Then Bucky spoke up, “So, question. Do you think you’re ready to get your things from Maryland?” I bit my lip at the idea. “I don’t know. What if they’re watching?” I replied. “They’re not going to be able to get close to you, Breanna. I won’t let them,” Bucky promised.

I sighed and sat on the bench, knowing that inevitably that I’d need to do this eventually. “Yeah, I guess I’m ready. When do you want to go?” “I was thinking we could fly out tonight and be back by tomorrow morning. That way we can get whatever you need,” Bucky explained.

“I guess we can do that. Do we need to talk to Tony or Steve first?” I questioned. “No, but we can go tell them now.” Bucky held out his hand and I took it, allowing him to pull me up. “Let me get showered and changed first. I’m pretty stinky,” I suggested. 

Bucky scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, I was wondering if that was you,” he teased. I scoffed and punched him lightly in the arm. “Hey! You said it not me!” “Yeah, but you’re not supposed to agree with me! Come on! Steve told me you were lady’s man back in the day!”

We both laughed as we walked out of the gym and back to our respective rooms. “I’ll meet you out here in about fifteen-twenty minutes, okay?” I promised, opening my door. Bucky nodded, “Sounds good.”

I stepped in and took a shower. I probably stayed under there for longer than I should, but hey, it felt good to have the hot pulsing jets knead into my back. Once out, I dried off and changed into a pair of shorts and t shirt. I figured I would leave in that outfit later that night, so I wanted to be comfortable.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered if I truly was ready to go back. Even if just for a day to get my things. I felt like I’d changed so much in the two weeks since Hydra took me. I wondered if anyone would recognize me. Probably not, but I still wondered.

Realizing I was late, I grabbed a hoodie and walked out of my apartment. Bucky was leaning against the wall outside, looking at his phone. “Sorry, Bucky, I didn’t mean to take so long,” I apologized, pulling on the hoodie.

Bucky shrugged, pushing himself off of the wall. “No problem, Breanna. Ready?” he asked. I nodded and with that, we headed towards Tony’s office. I’d only been there about twice since I’d been at the compound, but it was really nice.

It had floor to ceiling windows that showed off the mountains in the distance. There was a large desk in a corner as well as two couches and several tv monitors.

“You think you’re ready for this kiddo?” Tony asked, leaning against his desk. “Yeah, I think so. And even if I’m not fully ready, I’d like to get some of my stuff here,” I answered, sitting on one of the chairs. Bucky stood behind the chair, his hands clasped behind his back. Tony looked up at Bucky.

“I want you to take Falcon with you. That way he can fly the jet and be an extra set of hands to help wherever he’s needed,” he instructed, “Also, don’t stay too long. Breanna was found in a Hydra base close to the area, and I slightly suspect they’re based out of Fort Detrick as well. Just get what you need and get out. No going on tours of the area.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “Hydra is in Frederick? And you’re just now telling me this?” I asked, balling my fists. “Fort Detrick has the capabilities to create biochemical weapons. That’s so close to DC. Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?”

“Because, Breanna, it’s just a hunch. We can’t react without being certain. Especially if we’re wrong,” Tony explained, crossing his arms in front of him. I huffed, even though a part of me understood. “I still would have appreciated being told.” “Well, I’m telling you now. Now go get ready for your trip. Think of it as your first mission,” Tony stated, smirking slightly.

I stalked out of the room with Bucky close behind me. He grabbed my shoulder. “Breanna..” I whirled around, anger surging up. “Did you know? Did you know that Hydra was in my hometown?” “I did. I couldn’t tell you because I wasn’t allowed to. You’re not cleared for that type of disclosure,” he responded, his voice cautious. “It’s my home, Bucky! What if it had been Brooklyn? Wouldn’t you want to protect your home?” “Even if you had known, what could you have done, Breanna? You wouldn’t have been able to leave the compound. You can’t fight Hydra yet. There’s nothing we can do. Not yet anyway.”

I sighed, knowing that he was right. “Can we go soon? I want to make sure that everything’s okay. I know it is okay, but I need to see and make sure that my town hasn’t been taken over by Hydra.” Bucky nodded, “We can leave as soon as you’re ready. We’re still going to stay over night, so you might want to pack a small bag.”

Together, we made our way back to our rooms and once inside I began thinking about the trip. I wondered how much had changed. Probably not. I’d only been gone three weeks and the only person who had changed was me. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a t shirt, rolling them tightly to be able to pack. But that’s when I realized I didn’t really have a bag to put my clothes in. I asked Friday if there was one I could use and she readily supplied one for me. Smiling, I added my toothbrush and tooth paste, figuring any other hygiene products I needed I could find at my house.

As I was finishing I walked into the kitchen to grab some water bottles from the fridge. Bucky and Sam walked in the room both with bags in tow. “Ready to go, Sparky?” Sam asked, a smirk on his face. “Sparky?” I returned, one of my eyebrows raised. “I don’t know if you’re one to give silly nick names, Chickadee.” Sam placed a hand over his heart. “I’m offended by that!” I laughed a little, before grabbing my bag. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

Bucky walked over and grabbed my bag. “I got it,” I argued, “It’s not like it’s that heavy.” “I know, but I want to be a gentleman,” he counter-argued, shouldering my bag. “You’re not being a gentleman enough by coming with me?” Bucky shrugged, “Maybe, but I was assigned to do that. This is a true act of a gentleman.” 

Behind us, I heard Sam scoff and it was one of those moments where you could hear someone roll their eyes. “If you two lovebirds are finished, we probably should get going soon.” I looked up at Bucky and noticed we both were blushing. I bite the inside of my cheek, before turning to walk towards the air strip.

I could still feel the heat on my cheeks, even as we stepped out and the cool mountain air hit my face. I waited for the boys to catch up, taking in the number of jets in front of me. “You ready?” Bucky asked, standing behind me. I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

“C’mon. We’re taking Delilah with us today,” Sam decided, walking towards one of the smaller jets. “You name the planes?” I asked, though honestly, I wasn’t that surprised. “They’re my babies,” he explained. I giggled as he opened the jet and helped me in. I found myself a seat near the cockpit and watched as Bucky and Sam got to work on the pre-flight checks.

I was nervous, considering it was the first flight I’d ever been on where I was conscious, but I tried to keep myself calm. A plane was not a good place to start generating electricity. I took out the fidget spinner that Bruce had given me and twirled it between my fingers. He thought that maybe fidgeting would help me control my powers when I was nervous, and even though I felt silly at first, it certainly helped.

After a few minutes, Bucky settled into the seat next to me and the jet started going down the runway. “You don’t want to sit up front with Sam?” I questioned. Bucky shrugged, “Eh. He’ll just bug me.” “That doesn’t sound anything like Sam,” I teased, a smile on my face. It quickly dropped, though, when the plane took off into the air and my stomach lurched.

 I clutched onto the armrests of the seat I was in, closing my eyes. I felt cold metal on my hand, and I opened my eyes to see Bucky holding it. “It’s okay. It’ll only last a few seconds,” he reminded me. I nodded, knowing he was right, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness from my stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better, planes are much better now than they were in the forties. They don’t nearly shake and rattle as much.” I smiled a little bit, thinking of the thought. “I always find it amazing how much technology has changed, just in the past few years. Would you ever think that people like you, me, Steve, or Wanda could exist when you were a kid?” Bucky quickly shook his head. “No way. Those weren’t even things I could fantasize of back then.”

I realized as we continued talking about the differences in technology and the past versus the presence that Bucky was probably only having this conversation to distract me from the flight. It did work, and I was grateful for it. The flight was short, only about an hour and a half, so once we touched down in Baltimore, my nerves were all but gone. 

“Are we driving the rest of the way to Frederick?” I asked, actually feeling a little excited to be home. “Yeah,” Sam answered, shutting off the jet. “Tony made sure a car would be ready for us as soon as we landed.” We got off and sure enough, there was an SUV with tinted windows waiting outside. Bucky took mine and his bags and placed them in the trunk and I climbed into the back seat, fully expecting the boys to want to sit in the front.

The drive wasn’t much longer than the flight, and I kept quiet as I looked out the window, feeling touches of nostalgia. It hit me that there was no one to go home to. Just things. I took a deep breath as I tried not to automatically miss my parents and the life that had been ripped out from under me. 

It didn’t work though as Sam pulled into the driveway of a large, white, farm house with a red shed in the back and a white picket fence. This I was expecting. What I wasn’t expecting though was the old, worn down, blue Jeep Wrangler parked in the front. And I definitely wasn’t expecting the man who leaned against it, a slight smirk on his face.

“Who is that?” Bucky asked, turning to face me. I tried to take the grimace off my face but failed miserably. I clenched my teeth together and tightened my hands into fists. “Philip.” 

Chapter 7 (Incomplete)

A/N: Oooh, cliffhanger! Let me know what y’all think so far! I love feedback!