#emotions of having to be at the funeral and he just couldn’t handle it

[hogans-heroes]

.

[awordsmith]

where you came from 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you receive a letter detailing the death of your grandfather, head back to your hometown, and wonder if you ever should have left.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s8 category: angst to fluff (comfort) content warnings: proofed! not much sad angst (more sad angst if that makes any sense), death of a family member/funeral, reader's hometown is in Europe (purely for aesthetic), more plot than spencer (kind of idk) reid with warmth word count: 11.2k a/n: this was my one of my first ideas when first posting on tumblr so i really do hope you enjoy it! there are a few words not in english, but sometimes when writing in english it's easier to say something in another language because english can be really...corny sometimes...anyway ily cari !!

The loops and curves connecting the words in that elegant font you grew up learning stuck in the back of your mind like a non-removable tumor. You could feel it. You had a time limit–but not to live. Two days. In two days you would go back to Europe, back to a continent you had thought you’d left behind years ago, a place you had thought you held no attachment to… no emotion.

Maybe, though, it was the fact that you had been gone so long, had not once gone to visit in all your time in America, and now–now your time had run out–or rather, another, no longer invisible hourglass had lost the last of its sand and someone had flipped it again, setting a new timeline in motion.

Your grandpa, your beloved nonno*–oh how you just couldn’t believe it. 

It had hit you so suddenly, your mother normally sent you letters, you didn’t mind her old ways, she was raised by the man who taught you cursive and calligraphy–with craft you thought ancient, and technology was still rather new, and she wasn’t one to conform to change.

You sighed, shifting in your seat as Hotch and the rest of the team gave the profile. The lights were too bright; you stared at the floor, one leg crossed over the other, and your arms folded. You tried keeping your focus. Yes, you were dealing with your own problems, and yes, you had just gotten the letter yesterday, but these children needed you now–and if you couldn’t be at your best with a personal issue weighing on your shoulders, could you even call yourself an FBI agent?

Emily had just left the team a month ago and her replacement wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t Emily. You desperately needed your friend right now, your soul sister. She could tell you what to do and how to handle things like this, she’s been doing this a lot longer than you, has more experience–and she understood you, at least where family matters were concerned.

“You okay?” Spencer whispered as the officers went back to their desks or collected in groups–some even leaving–probably to talk about the best course of action. This guy was going to strike again, every indication of it was there on the board.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling your stomach growl.

He furrowed his brows, “when’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhm,” you stood, rubbing your wrist, “I’m not sure, but I’m fine, really,” you gave him a tight smile walking over to the board, “We know he’s targeting school busses on their drop off, he’s insecure about something, his physical strength? That’s the only reason he’d subdue the bus driver in a blitz attack.”

Spencer called your name–almost as a whine–and you paused. “Look,” he said, “I don’t think the rest of the team’s noticed, so if you eat, I won’t say anything…”

You frowned, rubbing an eye, “fine.”

You’d think a look of triumph came over him, but you’d be wrong. He looked resigned, but not indifferent, it was more of a soft relief. Spencer had no idea what you were going through, you hadn’t told anyone–and you weren’t really planning on it. You liked to keep your personal life separate from work as much as possible, that’s one of the reasons you and Emily had clicked so well–you were nearly identical in that department, and, well, you both could agree Clyde was a little bit of an ass. You’d never worked directly with her during her Interpol days, but when she left, Clyde became your team lead, and–well, actually, that’s, pretty self-explanatory.

A few years in, you were able to transfer to the BAU, you’d performed considerably well and Clyde had recommended and vouched for you and–well, Emily knew Clyde, okay perhaps your connections helped a little, but was it really your connections or your skill because without your skill, you wouldn’t have been recommended now would you have?

Regardless, you had known how massive the opportunity was, which is why you’d said yes without a second thought. You joined the team two years ago, when Emily had shown no sign of leaving. You sighed, rubbing your hands together, they were sweaty and you felt sick, maybe you should try eating something.

“Alright,” you affirmed again, “come on you’re driving.”

You threw the keys that had been lying on the table next to the board at Spencer, he’d been close to Emily too, you assumed they still spoke sometimes when they got the chance as you did with her. Your mutual bond was probably���at least you considered it the most probable–reason for why you grew so close in such a short amount of time.

You were close in age, too, which you assumed added to the comfort.

Spencer took you to the closest fast food and you ate in the car devouring each bite. He asked for coffee and “real” sugar on the side, and then he sat there and watched you eat, and when you were finished he drove you back to the police station. 

The case took you to Santa Monica, California. Penelope had ushered you all into the room as soon as you’d got into the office this morning, honestly, you were expecting it, and with the hurriedness she had, you knew it couldn’t be anywhere near good–though you considered none of the cases you received “good”, this one involved children, and it seemed they were the prime target, but what you couldn’t figure out was why.

He didn’t kill all the children–in fact, in both cases, the unsub only killed three kids; it seemed as if he was targeting specific children, but they all came from relatively different backgrounds, and both schools–when considering the environment and looking at it from a geographical perspective–weren’t at all in near-to-similar neighborhoods. Even the two kids that were killed on the same bus had no connection, they weren’t friends, the witnesses said the boys stayed away from each other unintentionally, they just never seemed to cross paths and it just did not make sense.

You wanted–no needed–to figure this out, for the next potential victims–but the team had no clue as to which school he’d hit next. For this reason, Penelope was emailing schools at the masses to keep them on high alert.

“He’s targeting school buses,” you said, taking a sip of your water. “Not schools…” Spencer nodded and you asked, “Why?”

“Perhaps something happened to him on a school bus?”

“It’s important,” you agreed, “but wouldn’t that make him–like–fifteen?”

“No,” Spencer shook his head, “a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t have this much time, he’d have been caught by now.”

“The survivors say he wore a mask, he called the students by name–”

“But not their name–maybe he’s living in a delusion?” Spencer’s speaking sped up, “maybe he’s not fifteen but he’s reliving his teenage days. Maybe he was bullied and now he wants revenge?”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain going after high school kids now. Why not just go after the people his anger is directed toward?”

“Because he can’t? Maybe they’re substitutes?”

“We need to tell the others.”

Spencer nodded, you rushed out of the car and into the police station, catching Morgan, Hotch, and JJ leaning over a phone, talking to Penelope. You explained your theory and funnily enough, Penelope had just found school records that supported it. Each victim had been suspended within the past year, accused of bullying or inflicting some type of physical or mental pain on another student.

Complaints about the victims were filed by students, so now you knew your unsub had access to all this information, the question was what title did someone need in order to garner this details.

“That has to be how he’s choosing his victims,” Morgan said.

Hotch thought for a second, then nodded, “All alright, call Rossi and Blake, tell them to get here, Penelope, are you still on?”

“Running and ready, sir,” she confirmed, “All alright, give me a list of the next potential targets, all kids who have been suspended or complained about in the last year due to bullying, narrow the search to males, fifteen older.”

“Sir, do you want me to narrow the search between the two schools?”

“No,” Hotch sighed, looking each of you in your eyes, “I want the entire city–”

“Hotch–” 

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but Hotch cut him off, “you really want to sit around waiting for another body?”

Everyone went silent and Spencer’s eyes flitted to you for a moment, almost as in reassurance.

“He’s right, Hotch,” you stepped forward, trying to push away all thoughts of what was to be expected of you in two days.

“You,” Hotch narrowed his eyes as if just now suspecting something was up with you. 

A silent staring contest ensued, though it was quickly broken when an officer burst into your makeshift bullpen. “Another body was discovered.” Your heart sunk and you glanced to Spencer for comfort, his eyes drifting to yours for the same thing.

It always just seemed a little bit more painful when children were involved. Your stomach lurched and you felt sick, wanting to throw up the food you’d just eaten. You just wanted this all to be over so you could focus on your family issues. It might have been selfish, but wasn’t that your right? You couldn’t think about this right now, you needed to find this guy before he murdered another innocent kid.

“Give Garcia the geographical point and have her narrow the search.”

Hotch directed at Spencer, turning to JJ, “Stay here, help him and Rossi figure out what career our unsub might have. Morgan go Blake to check out the new crime scene, and,” he turned to you, “Come with me.”

You turned to Spencer one last time, not wanting to leave him. You were always together, working together, that is. Hotch never split you up so you thought there must be a reason for it now, but why, well, you couldn’t know for certain. You shook your head and followed him out the door. He seemed to wait for you with pause, his expression unreadable, almost like he was analyzing you. You tilted your head in warning and he finally relented.

“Let’s go.”

From that point forward, there wasn’t really much of a struggle, it just sucked you had been called in so late, and that another kid had died before you caught the guy. Four kids in total, three crime scenes. The ride back on the jet was tense.

Everyone seemed to need their own space whenever you dealt with a case like this, you, well, you’d play with Spencer’s hair, if you were really tired, he’d let you lean against his shoulder or use his lap as a pillow and sleep. This time, though, you were restless and you couldn’t find the need to sleep anywhere. You knew you probably should,but…it was just too much.

You couldn’t stay seated, you paced back and forth, your mind fleeting from the case to the letter you’d received yesterday. You’d brought it with you and you hesitated only for a second before pulling it from your bag and sitting in one of the empty rows. You could feel eyes on you, though they were trying to pretend they weren’t looking.

You wanted to say you could see them, say you weren’t in need of monitoring, but you were the youngest on the team, and despite your closeness, with Emily particularly, they all cared for you, which is why when JJ slid into the seat across from you you resisted rolling your eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kind of… not yourself.”

“I’m fine, JJ, thanks.” You returned your eyes to your mother’s letter.

“You sure?” she asked, “is it your mother? Has something happened?”

She motioned toward the letter. They’d gotten accustomed to seeing you read over the renaissance looking artifacts throughout the day. That wasn’t the unusual part, no JJ was talking about how you weren’t attached to Spencer’s hip, how you avoided them all almost the entire day, and how you had been so focused on the case as if you were trying to make something else dissappear.

“We’re all here for you, you know.” She reached her hand out, rubbing her thumb over it.

“Yeah,” Morgan motioned for JJ to scoot over, “we’re a family, you know.”

“Aww, I wish I was there,” Penelope said from the other side of Morgan’s phone. You wanted to scoff, but a sad smile pressed to your mouth instead. They were cornering you as if they’d planned it.

Your eyes flitter over toward Rossi and Hotch who were pretending not to listen and Blake, who was evidently really not, then they landed on Spencer’s who stood suddenly from his normal spot in the front of the jet and began walking toward you. “See, even pretty boy’s upset.”

“I am not upset,” Spencer scoffed, sliding into the seat next to you. But then he held your gaze as if trying to communicate with his eyes, “but we are here for you, you know I’m always here, and…I’m sure if you called, Emily would be too.”

You took a breath, and when it came out it was shuddering, and that was the first time crying had crossed your mind. So, you said–first in general, “My grandfather just passed, I’m supposed to leave in two days for his funeral.” You let them take it in, then, “I need time off, Hotch.”

A snort came from Rossi and the team frowned at him, but you smiled, why was he so unserious all the time? You rolled your eyes, but then Penelope spoke up from the phone in Morgan’s pocket, “if you need someone to go with you, I’d be willing.”

Your eyes swelled at her offer and you opened your mouth to say ‘Really?’ but Spencer said, “I’d go too–you know, if you wanted that is,” before you could open your mouth.

“Thank you,” you nodded, “I’d like that…and you know…it wouldn’t hurt if the rest of you came as well,” your admission scared you, what were you doing? This is the exactly the opposite response Emily would have given, but maybe you weren’t as strong as Emily, and maybe…maybe that was okay.

“When are we leaving again?” Rossi sighed, pulling out his phone, “I’ll have to check my schedule.” And with that you let loose a snort, appreciating the kindness of your team.

“Jack, Will, and Henry are welcome to come as well.” You said, “And that girlfriend of yours, Hotch,” you added, “I think I’d be able to brave my family again if I had the Guardians of the Galaxy with me.”

“What about Strauss?” JJ suddenly asked, “What are we gonna tell her?”

“Oh you let me worry about her,” Blake smiled, though you had been sure she wasn’t even listening.

“You’re from Europe right?”

You huffed a sigh, “Yes, Rossi, I’m sure we’re not cousins.”

A few chuckled as Rossi responded with a nod and a smug grin,  “Just checking.”

You claimed the window seat, forcing Spencer to sit in the middle, though you had to climb over him multiple times to use the bathroom, you didn’t care, and neither did he…much. You thought you’d be able to sleep, but just like on the jet, you found yourself restless, and Spencer, well, he couldn’t help but ask.

The first question was simple, “how do you feel about going home?”

You laughed, a bitter expression framing your face, “I don’t know.” You were lying, though he wasn’t sure if you knew that fact yourself as you seemed genuine. The only way he knew for sure your response wasn’t what your subconscious truly thought was was by the way your lips pressed together right before you spoke, that was your tell.

He didn't know if you knew you did it, but he’d caught on to it pretty quickly when you’d first met, it had been something small, but he remembered it as clearly as if it were playing out right now in front of him. It had to do with your favorite food. Morgan had said he’d overheard you talking to Emily about how you wanted a certain order from this new restaurant because it tasted like the one you had back home, and to surprise you, he had brought it in one day and set it on your desk, brimming with energy to see your reaction.

You were confused at first, but when you saw him, you’d grinned, prying to box open, then your eyebrows had shot up and he’d asked you if it was your favorite food. You’d pressed your lips together and nodded, grimacing with the first bite, “I love it, thank you.”

Later on, he’d smacked Morgan for the first time upside the head, running away quickly after, Morgan had chased him for some time until Hotch had told them to stop acting like, “idiots,” and thst, “Jack acthas better self control than you two most days.”

“Do you have any pets at home?” He asked, watching you stretch out your arms above your head, deflating against your seat.

You smiled, “I used to have a dog, but she died before I left for university.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

“Don’t be, she wasn’t really mine, but my sister’s.”

He nodded, it was early morning, everyone had gotten up way before they’d wanted to, except him. He was ready to go a bit too early, and when he’d picked you up at your apartment, it seemed as if you hadn’t slept much either.

“Hey, Spencer?” You suddenly whispered.

“Yeah?” He stared down at you as you began to move, causing him to shift until his body aligned with yours and your back hit his chest.

“Do you want to hear a boring story?” He quirked a brow, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. To the normal eye, you seemed incredibly close, strangely close–a couple kind of close, but to the team and between the two of you, it was more like the relationship Penelope and Dereck had, although instead of heaty words, it was comforting gestures like this, that, and you were always attached at the hip, you were partners with each other before anyone else, work partners that is.

“What’s a boring story?” He asked and you didn’t know if he was trying to be poetic, but it brought a smile to your face.

“My grandfather,” you focussed your eyes on the window, finding warmth in being pressed against him, his arms acting as a blanket that wrapped around you. “He was old in age, I mean, I knew that even when I was a kid, but there were times,” you shook your head recalling the moments in your mind.

Spencer kept quiet, listening intently as he rubbed circles on the exposed inner corner of your elbow.

“He would take me on adventures and back then, he seemed so young, so exceptionally immortal. It was otherworldly,” your voice got quieter as you continued, “I don’t know how to face him,” you sighed–God it seemed like all you could do for the past 45 hours was sigh.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me about the adventures.”

You paused, turning your head slightly to see him, you’d done this countless times, but for some reason, it seemed more pertinent now. More….significant, “my grandad,” you murmured, “he was my captain. That was the game. We’d go to the pier sometimes, or the forest, and he’d always have these elaborate scavenger hunts set up in advance. He really–” you blinked and breathed, “...he was really good at things like that.”

“Setting up games?” Spencer asked incredulously, but you knew it was good-natured, meant to bring the smile that had so evidently fallen off back to your face.

“At crafting and cultivating imagination.”

“Ah,” Spencer nodded, “yeah how did I miss that?”

You smacked is chest playfully.

“How do you feel about seeing your family, how long has it been?”

You gazed out the window again, there was low chatter around the plain, it was dark, the lights were off, and most people were asleep. You pondered briefly about why Spencer was still up and deigned to ask him when sunlight shone through the window, blinding you momentarily. It wasn’t a lot nor was it as bright as you were used to, and it was quickly hidden behind the clouds once more, but you smiled at it anyway.

“A new beginning,” you raised your hand, blocking the slight sunlight that filtered in now and then, not really sure what you meant.

Spencer chuckled, reaching out to grab your wris. He held it, waving it around as if you were casting a non-verbal spell.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he whispered, “but whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“I know you will,” you replied as easily as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “You always are.”

And again, for a moment, you pondered why that was, why Spencer always seemed to be the only person–other than Emily–who was always there for you when you needed someone, why he was the only person you wanted there when things went wrong. 

It was a question that had bubbled up over the last month since Emily had left. You’d begun to lean on him a lot more, yes, but you could very well just have as easily called Emily. Spencer wasn’t lying, you knew she would pick up no matter what, but oddly, you found you didn't want to call her because–you already had the person you needed with you. And he would always be there, even if you stopped working together, Spencer would always be there.

You were sure you could call him in the middle of the night and he’d come running. But why would you want to? You shook the dangerous thought away. 

“It’s sunrise,” he said, pulling your attention back to the window. Slowly, he brought your hand to once again rest on your stomach.

“We still have about 5 hours,” you sighed, noting the time.

He leaned back, shifting in his seat, “Then we better get comfortable.”

You wondered what you’d do first when you landed, would you have so much jet lag you wouldn’t be able to see your family for some time? Would you be able to sleep? Finally? Where would your grandpa be? Probably at the funeral home. Would other family members be traveling into the city for the funeral? If they were they’d have to stay at the main house, there wewould be no other space available in the others.

You were only staying three days, and if Stauss called you in early, you’d have no choice, but to leave before that. You were able to solve one more case before you left, though you had still strained for sleep, everyone else seemed to be a little overly excited. Blake stayed to help other teams, she was new and you weren’t that close, though she didn’t seem to mind.

She was like Rossi in that department, unable to take days away from work as she ran on catching these guys. But for you, and everyone else on the team, you were sure, you couldn’t wait for your days off.

They were the closest thing you got to normalcy, that and time with Spencer outside of work, it was time in your world, one where bad guys didn’t exist, one where you could escape into the realities of a Charlotte Bontë novel, one your grandpa had gifted you before you could remember a life without it.

You wanted to thank Spencer, but you didn’t know how. You wanted to thank everyone, really, but Spencer most of all, and instead of thinking about why, of letting it plague your thoughts, you leaned further into him, rubbed your face into his soft sweater vest, and closed your eyes.

Penelope threw her head back as she grabbed her suitcase, “where to now?” Spencer pushed her sunhat out of the way. She was in for a rude awakening, it was winter in Europe, and though most people were on holiday, that only meant the airports would be extra lively.

“First, let’s make sure we have everyone.” You began counting of heads, narrowing your eyes, “where’s Hotch?”

“We’re here!” Jack came running, Hotch sprinting after him. It was not too odd a sight, for you to see Hotch in dad mode, he normally had that look on when Spencer did something stupid or Penelope said too much on speaker–but this, oh this was gold.

Rossi snapped a photo with an old camera he’d brought along, chuckling when Hotch glared at him. “Alright,” you nodded, noting Hotch’s girlfriend slowly filling the space beside him. “Now, my immediate family isn’t that big, but the rest of the family does live in the same town, so you’ve all been assigned housemates.”

“Housemates?” JJ raised a brow.

“I’ll,” you checked the time, “explain on the train, come on.”

You were honestly surprised everyone had come, you’d invited them because you truly had thought them being here would lessen the pain, but to think that they all wanted to be here for you as well, even Rossi had come–and he hated taking vacation time. Though, the most surprising had to be the fact that Blake had actually succeeded in getting Straus to let you all come.

You stayed together, it was easy for some, though others kept getting sidetracked. You stopped a few times to look at a few shops and monuments, though you kept explaining to Penelope she’d have more than enough time later to go on her mini explorations.

You supposed it was normal though, that was how you were your first time in America–your first time in any new country or state, really. Most everyone had never been to Europe, even for you it felt like stepping into a storybook. You hadn’t been home in so long, it was like a lost memory.

Though afternoon, the day was getting dark already, and people were milling about, readying for Christmas–your heart lurched, and though you tried not thinking about him too much, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandfather had been alone during his passing, what were his last words? His last thoughts? Rainclouds not only drew to the sky but your mind as well.

You felt more than guilty, that was the only way you could describe the horrid emotion twisting in your gut ever since you’d received the letter. You hadn’t seen your parents–your sister–face to face in a long time. It was part of the guilt of moving to America without giving them a heads up and for leaving when you knew they wanted you to stay.

Your older sister had stayed, why couldn’t you have? There really was no explanation other than you just couldn’t. It felt small, suffocating. You loved your hometown, but eventually, you knew there had to be something more out there, something more calling your name, and the longer you stayed, the more you buried that feeling, the less motivated to do anything you got.

So, you saved up during your uni days and took the first position in America you’d found, which is how you ended up at Interpol, climbing the ranks slowly but surely and eventually working with Clyde.

You reached the train station, the cool weather making everything around you a tint of blue. The benches that sat in front of the train tracks were taken up by Jack, Henry, and Will, who’d been carrying a ton of baby supplies. You paused, checked your watch again, nodded, and turned your face toward everyone again, “Alright people, here’s the plan. My family knows you're coming, one of the reasons they were okay with it is because we own a few properties and can house you all, hence your housemates, or if you prefer, hosts.” You glanced at JJ, “You, Will, and Henry will be staying with my sister and her husband. She has two kids so she’s used to the noise.”

You had thought about letting Hotch stay with your sister, but that would have just been too weird. No, instead you’d paired Hotch up with one of your cousins, who was married, but had no kids. Jack was older, no longer in diapers, and had a controlled temper, so it seemed perfect.

You relayed this information and moved on, “Penelope and Morgan, you’re staying with my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side, trust me, you’ll be thanking me–and Rossi, you’re with my aunt an uncle on my mom’s side Is that everyone then?” You looked around, nodding.

“Hang on,” Rossi held up a hand, “I don’t like the way you said that last part.”

“That’s everyone then?” You ignored him, “All alright, the train should be here–” You cut off your sentence as the train pulled into the station, “...right on time.”

 Waiting your turn to step onto the train as people made their way off, you felt around in your pocket for the letter one last time, sighing in relief when you it was still there. You grabbed your suitcase and began pulling it aboard the train when Spencer grabbed your arm and held you back. You glanced at everyone else boarding the train, making sure you had time before turning back, “Uhm,” he frowned, looking awkward, “where am I staying?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at your watch again, “with me and my parents.” You said it so simply, as if it were an afterthought–as if it was so incredibly obvious that you didn’t think you had to mention it.

“Oh,” he didn’t know how to feel, he was a little embarrassed, but there was something else…sick? He didn’t know, but it made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Come on,” you latched your hand onto his wrist and yanked him onto the train, “before it leaves without us.”

You honestly wanted to go straight to your parent's house, but you knew you had to introduce your co-workers/friends to your family so when you left it wasn’t so weird, though the only one who complained was Rossi, you couldn’t blame him, but at the same time you found it funny. He swore up and down you had put him in this position on purpose and he didn’t find it funny–“Not one bit,” he’d said right before you left him in his room. “I’ll get you back for this,” he’d warned.

Once you’d left JJ, Will, and Henry at your sisters–she hadn’t been home, thank God, as you didn’t think you could face her just yet–you and Spencer hailed a cab and had all but drifted off to sleep during the ride to your childhood home. Your mom had been the firstborn, so she’d gotten the main house, though your grandparents never left. They had kind acted as your second parents growing up and you were incredibly close, especially you and your grandfather…and now he was gone. You bit the inner corner of your cheek, feeling like you wanted to cry but just couldn’t find the comfort to do so.

Spencer noticed, of course, that you were leaning on him, and had been the entire cab ride. When the it came to a stop in front of a large, three-story Victorian house, he hesitated before shaking you awake. He wouldn’t have done it if he knew what to do, but this wasn’t his house and this was the first time he was going to meet your parents, though it excited him, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

You were like–his platonic soulmate, nothing had ever happened between you two and just because you were going to be sleeping in the same house, probably a few feet apart, didn’t mean anything was going to start now. Morgan slept at Penelope’s all the time and though Spencer always suspected they were more, nothing had ever happened, which meant it was possible for a guy and a girl to just be friends–and yet, here is was, palms sweating, mind running, mouth drying as he walked up the trail leading to the front door of your parent’s house.

A knock, and hushed whispers, and then the door opened, your mother standing in the doorway with a bright smile on her face. She called your name and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You wondered if your grandpa was at the funeral home still, if he was cold, which was a stupid thought, he couldn’t feel anything, he was gone, no longer here roaming the earth, telling his outdated jokes and taking you on secret journey’s, and you were no longer that little girl who laughed at his outdated jokes and believed in the magic of his secret journeys.

When you pulled away your mother, with her now thinning, grayed hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the wrinkles lining her frail face–said, “Oh, let me get a look at you.” 

She took a step back and that’s when your father came into view, “Dad,” you smiled, the feeling almost overwhelming.

He pulled you into another hug, and just when you didn’t know if you could handle seeing one more relative you hadn’t seen in ages, your grandmother shouted from somewhere on the first floor, “Is that her? Is she here?”

Your heart seized itself and you took a step back, unknowingly stepping into Spencer’s personal space. You turned to apologize, but your grandmother had already wobbled in on her two dainty legs, as quickly as she could have if in her prime. Her old crone eyes narrowed, “nice of you to grace us with your presence.” She sprinkled salt on the floor as she glowered.

“Mom,” your mother groaned.

“What?” She crossed her arms and turned her head as if she had things better to do than welcome the granddaughter–who’d left everything behind–back into her life.

“It’s fine, Mom,” you reassured as your father went to close the door behind you’d walked in, Spencer gled to your back.

Your grandmother stomped out of the room in old lady fashion. “How are you dear? Have you been getting my letters?”

You cringed, “Yes,” though you never sent one back, you did always text a message, thanking your mom for writing you, she’d only heart it, though, which left you wondering if maybe you should’ve picked up a pen and paper. “I keep them all secure in a drawer.”

She nodded, a placid smile falling to her lips, “Well, you must be tired and–” she glanced at you, then at Spencer, then at your father and held his gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to you, “who’s your…”

“Oh, this is Spencer,” you patted his chest as if that was explanation enough.

Your mother nodded, not really sure how to take it, she turned to Spencer, hoping he’d offer a little more information, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer stared at her hand, contemplating and you were just about to say something about it when he reached out and shook it. Slack-jawed, you eyed him suspiciously, turning away in a huff. When you’d first met him, he’d refused to shake your hand, sure he had come a long way since then, but it still annoyed you for some reason.

“Come, let me show you your rooms.”

Your mother led you up the starcase than faded into a small stairwell, leading up to the second floor. The wood was old mahogany, though you weren’t paying much attention to it. At the end of the left hall was another staircase that led to the third floor, but even half awake you knew it was probably locked. It always had been. 

You recognized the wallpaper, a deep, forest green and you half wondered if the wallpaper in your bedroom had changed, if it had been converted into a guest bedroom. Your mother gave Spencer the guest room down the hall. You waved goonight to him before heading into your room. He paused his eyes taking in your childhood home.

It was so incredibly different from his, but it also felt…small. You were this giant, bubble of energy and a quiet town in Europe just dind’t seem to add up to your personality. He sighed and pulled open the door, you weren’t a few steps away like he had hoped, but you were close enough. He stopped himself–this was completely bizarre, even for him. This was more up–well, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t up his alley.

Tired, you’d turned in for the night, though your eyes caught on all the things you’d left behind, you told yourself you’d look at it in the morning. You were glad everyone was here supporting you, you were especially glad to have Spencer–were glad he came, but then of course he came, that was just the kind of person he was.

You turned off the lamp on the bedside table, burying your face in the sheets, finding yourself still unable to cry, but whispering, “You would have liked him a lot, nonno*.” Which was madness, firstly, why did it matter if you grandfather would have liked Spencer or not. Secondly, your grandfather was gone, and the whole reason you were here was because of that fact. Maybe you just couldn’t accept it yet and that’s why you were thinking all these weird thoughts, why you couldn't cry.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t dream; to face tomorrow, you would just need sleep. Sleep and a lot of quiet.

You cracked open one eye, light trickling in through the curtains though it wasn’t bright. You left your door ajar as you headed toward the bathroom. There was soft chatter on the first floor, and you were sure your grandmother and parents were awake. The faint aroma of coffee wafted through the air and you wondered if Spencer was up too.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out as he stepped out of the bathroom just as you went to open the door. His hair was wet and he was wearing a white collared shirt under a brown sweater vest. He smiled when he saw you, though your eyes were drawn to the water dripping down his forehead. He was holding a towel, you assumed to try and dry it, though it looked if he hadn’t had much success.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Good morning,” he echoed, stepping out of the way. “You’re parents said I could,” he motioned behind him, pressing his lips together when you raised a brow. He nodded, “hurry? I am kind of nervous.”

You snorted and shook your head, “sure thing, piccolo*.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, feeling an airy sensation float through your body as you began pulling your clothes off.

Half an hour later, you found Spencer in his room still trying to dry his hair. “You should just let it air dry.” You voiced, tucking a lock of your own wet hair behind your ear.

He looked up when you opened the door, sighing, and setting the hand towel to the side. His hair was nearly dry, though he was trying to get the wet bits in the back. 

You huffed, climbing on the bed and sitting behind him on your knees, “let me see it.” You began massaging the now-damp towel into his hair, trying to use the little dry parts it still had left. He chuckled, jerking his head slightly when the towel rubbed a sensitive spot. You smirked, “that tickle?”

He huffed another laugh, “stop,” he called your name in warning, “I’m serious.”

You laughed, running the towel teasingly up and down his neck. He jerked and eventually jumped up, pushing you backward on accident. He launched a tickle attack, fingers jabbing at your sides, your neck, under your arms, and when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he sought your feet, your sockless feet.

“Okay!” You snorted, “Okay, you win!”

“What?” He asked, staring down at you with triumph.

“Oh, don’t be an ass.” 

He grinned playfully, but relented, “Alright, come on, your parents probably want to see you.”

You huffed a sigh and threw your head back, the pillows coming to its rescue as you let your hands come to rest on your stomach, “do we have to?” His grin eased into a gentle smile and you gave in, jumping up, “Yeah, fine.” 

You headed downstairs, passing picture frames from past relatives. There were so many ancient trinkets that your generations had left behind, Spencer said it was like walking through time, and it honestly was. Not just because the house was built in the middle 1800s, but because everything from the wallpaper to the furniture, and right down to the people still living in it–had that reminiscent aura about them.

“Nice of you to join us.” Your grandmother said as you walked in, “And who’s this, a boyfriend?”

Your mother sent hers a warning glare before turning back to you, “good morning, please sit,” she motioned toward the breakfast table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Spencer said taking the seat beside you, “again.”

Your mother laughed and waved a hand, “There is no need for formalities, but I do want to thank you for coming.” She glanced at you momentarily, but you avoided her eyes. You knew you would eventually have to speak to everyone again, but you weren’t ready for that yet.

“So, how long have you been dating my daughter?” Your father asked. You would have choked on the tea had you drunk any prior. Your eyes widened instead and you turned to Spencer apologetically, but he didn’t seem at all fazed, “we’re just friends.”

His smile seemed content, but your grandmother scoffed. You turned to her, almost already fed up with the little attitude that’d been present since your arrival. You knew she had always preferred the company of your sister, and she detested you for leaving without a word–not to her, but to your grandfather.

You frowned, wanting to ask about it, but you couldn’t find words that would bring the least amount of sadness to the room. 

“Are you going out today?” Your father changed the subject, turning toward Spencer. He seemed to catch on to the fact that you were uncomfortable, so he directed all his questions at your beloved pretty boy.

Spencer answered them with ease–to which you knew you’d be in debt. An hour went by and Penelope was blowing up the team group chat, asking when you were meeting up. Eventually, you knew you’d have to take her around town and to be honest, you could use a little distraction from the looming presence of being around the rest of your family when they got in this afternoon.

“When will you be back?” Your mother asked

“Not sure,” you replied, more clipped than you meant for it to be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Spencer reassured, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” your grandmother poked her head out of nowhere.

You shot her a glare and said, “Is this your way of seeing me off?”

Shocked by your reply, she tutted and jerked her head away, with closed eyes and crossed arms. You rolled your eyes, whispering, “see you later,” in the softest voice you could manage.

“That was…”

You huffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, “tell me about it.”

“So…your grandmother…”

“She hates me because I left, deep down they all do.” You frowned, but no tears came, they seemed to evade you.

Spencer pressed his lips together, normally he had the perfect response for anything you said, but you never spoke about your family. You were always sure to draw a boundary, you were very much like Emily in that sense, or at least he thought so.

You took a cab to the pier, agreeing to meet at the beach seemed simple. There were a few people, mostly locals though, your hometown wasn’t a place tourists normally visited. The main reason this town was able to survive was because a lot of the residents were wealthy, and that wealth stayed in the family and–well, the families stayed here.

“Woah,” Penelope yelped at the fourth store you stopped in, “we have to look around,” she said, eye-widening. Jack and Henry were milling about together, looking at little trinkets. You recognized the shop, it was an antique toy store–your grandfather had bought all your gifts over the years from this one in particular, some were secondhand, but they were sentimental to you and you had taken a few with you when you’d moved to America. 

“Babygirl, calm down.” Morgan laughed, following her down an aisle.

“How’s everyone settling in?” You asked, turning to Rossi when he huffed and muttered something under his breath. “What was that?” You leaned in, grinning.

Spencer pulled you back just as Rossi glared and called you a sadist. “We’re doing fine, your sister is nice.” JJ smiled, “she was asking about you,” she paused, waiting to see if it was an alright topic of conversation. When she realized you were waiting patiently for her to continue, she did, “she said she was sorry for not being home when you dropped us off. She wanted to catch up.”

You took a breath, your cheeks seemingly hot in the cold weather. “I know it’s not my place,” Will started, catching your eyes, “...but I…I think you should talk to her…”

You frowned at him, contemplating, then you nodded, sigh slipping past your lips, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Oh!” Penelope shouted, “Gelato, my phone says there’s a gelato place right around the corner!” 

You noticed Morgan walking up behind her when a laugh–though it sounded more like a croak–rang through your ears. “Your phone would be correct,” an old woman rounded the counter, short as could be. Her eyes bounced from face to face, settling on yours, “I told your old wench of a grandmother you’d come back. Were it for anything it’d be for him.” She sighed, “Come here, let me have a spin, my God how long has it been?”

You wanted to say eight years, but you neglected that subject and instead focussed your memory on figuring out who this woman was. 

“Hmm,” she hummed after a moment, taking a step back, her arms so incredibly bony they looked as if they might snap with the slightest pressure. Her pallor was somewhat tanned, and there were a few black spots up and down her exposed skin.

“You’re nonna’s old classmate.” It clicked, she was always stopping by the house in your earlier days, and she’d sometimes sit on the wraparound porch, sipping wine with your grandmother.

“Did you forget me already capretta*?” She chuckled as if she’d made a joke.

The rest of your group had deemed the conversation not there’s to listen in on, so they’d taken to wandering around the shop, the only one who stayed–partially because he wanted to and partially because you’d grabbed his wrist when he had tried walking away–was Spencer.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” you murmured, “you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Oh, you’ll always be capretta* to me, you and all the others.” She smiled, her beady eyes watching you for a moment, as if expecting you to do something brash. Eventually, she said, “his funeral is tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah,” saying it brought out a wave of pain. Your mouth felt heavy and your stomach dropped to your feet.

She nodded, “have you decided what you’re going to say?”

You shook your head, “I won’t be speaking.”

She paused, disappointment flashing across her face, “well, I’m sorry to hear that.” You pressed your lips together and began turning away, ready to get out of this uncomfortable situation, but she wasn’t finished, “you know, I’m sure he’s happy you’re here.”

Spencer watched you close your eyes, take a deep, shuddering breath, and open them carefully. He watched them gloss over and without thinking about it, snaked a hand behind your back, as if holding you to this earth would help you in some way, unbeknownst to him, it did. His touch grounded you, and you thought, another debt to be owed.

“You’re amante*,” she said right before you walked back outside.

“He’s not my–” you waved your hands but your your words faltered as she shook a cloth at you, a knowing smile adorning her face.

“Maybe not yet, capretta*.”

You sighed, yanking Spencer outside. “What did she say?” He asked as if he couldn’t use damned context clues.

“Nothing,” you responded, but Rossi raised an eyebrow, holding up his hands when you shot him a look, your eyes flashing in warning. 

The other’s finally joined you outside and you spent a few more hours acting as a tour guide. When you deemed it time to go home, you told everyone to be ready in formal attire around 8, the rest of your family would be coming in, staying at the main house as it was the last place that still had room, and a small party would ensue. Everyone only came together for weddings and funerals so they tended to make the most of it.

You weren’t really looking forward to seeing the rest of your cousins, hell you could barely face your immediate family, extended seemed a little too much too soon.

You thought about hiding up in your room, you hadn't had much time to take it in yet and you thought it might help.

Relatives started arriving around 7:30. Spencer had wandered down to your room and knocked, though you could hear the hesitation in it. “Come in,” you said, sitting up.

He walked through, shutting the door softly behind him. “So this is where I find all your secrets.” He chirped, an easy smile settling on his face as joined you on the bed, leaning back. “It’s pink,” he noted.

“Hey,” you said, “the wallpaper came with the room.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes catching on a few blankets stacked neatly on a shelf linear your bed, “are those your baby blankets?”

“No,” you laid back down, the lamp at your side dimming slightly. “I think I stole those from my sister.”

He smiled, “I wonder what it’s like to have a sibling.”

You smiled, recalling all the idiotic fights you’d get into, how your parents would send you two to your room until you, “learned to love each other”. “She’s older by a few years,” your voice carried through the silent room, though it was lively on the first floor. You suddenly remembered you had a third, but you couldn’t recall a single memory of you being allowed there as is had always been locked.

“Do you want to talk about her?” He asked after a while.

You debated, on one hand, it might be good practice for when you spoke to her, on the other hand, what would you even say? You had no idea how she’d been these past eight years, what her life was like. What could you say and so you said, “ask me about her.”

He hummed for a moment, falling on, “why’d you steal the blankets?”

Your lips pressed together and you tried piecing together an accurate depiction of the event. “Well, she’d got them on a trip with our grandmother. My grandfather and I had been on an adventure, I think we were in the forest, I can’t remember,” you sat up and pushed yourself off the bed, walking over to the dresser and bending down to the shelf that held the blankets.

Spencer sat up, letting his eyes follow you, he felt warm, not anxious. Though his mind was working slowly, he found he didn’t mind. You seemed to calm everything down for him, it was a sense of comfort he hadn’t known he’d needed until you came into his life, and his headaches from before had slowly ceased the closer the two of you got.

“This one,” you held up, “was originally hers.” You brought it to him as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, his feet sprawled around you. You didn’t think twice before stepping in between him, but you had never done that before and it caught him off guard. You had never been in such proximity when you were both wide awake, and you certainly had never faced each other like this.

Nevertheless, he didn’t mind–in fact, he was finding it increasingly obvious that he preferred you to be as close to him as possible. He ran a hand over the smooth ruffles of the white blanket. It was pleaded with light pink embroidery. “You should give it to your daughter.” He heard himself say, though his throat went dry right after. 

“You think so?” You found yourself wanting to be closer to him–as if I’m not close enough, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he looked up at you, and gosh–it looked like he wanted you, and gosh–you felt your heartbeat speed up.

Your body moved on its own, stepping forward, loving the way his legs close together to entrap you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping the blanket down beside him. You lifted your knees onto either side of his waist and sat in his lap, his arms snaking around your hips. “Hi,” you murmured, a nervous–almost hesitant–expression falling over your features.

His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes, but he managed to force out a, “hi.”

You bit your lip and it drew his gaze instantly, you could feel his heart palpitate in his chest, almost as fast as yours. His eye fluttered close and his head fell back when you ran your hands through his hair. You didn’t know what you were doing, you told yourself multiple times, unsure of why this was happening–now of all times, oh your sweet nonno! Forgive me, you pleaded.

You angled your head forward, ready to do the one thing you’d knew your subconscious had been wanting for God knew how long, but then a knock sounded on the door and Spencer’s eyes opened once again.

“Who–” you cleared your throat, “who is it?”

“Uhm,” a nervous chuckle came from the other side of the door, “it..it’s me.” Your sister. You cursed, glanced at Spencer, then with an apologetic look, unraveled yourself from his embrace.

You walked toward the door, trying to fix your nettled clothing in the process. You took a breath and paused, then opened the door. Your sister stood there, tall, lean, and elegant, as you remembered her to be. “Hi,” she smiled, tilting her head.

You smiled back, trying your best to not give away what had just been going on–what the actual hell was just going on? You wanted to contemplate it more, wanted to ask yourself what the hell you thought you were doing–but refrained from doing so in the moment.

“Can…can I come in?”

You tensed, your eyes darting behind you and Spencer stood, throwing you an understanding glance. Your sister took a step back as he left the room, eyes following him as he disappeared somewhere down the hall. You swallowed and shifted out of the doorway, “come in.”

She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet upon you lifting a hand. 

“How have you been?” She asked once you shut the door. 

You thought about your answer, settling for, “good,” because you had been good, you had been very good, up until you got that letter.

“That’s good,” she responded, looking around the room, smiling, “you know, mom kept it just the way you had it when you left.”

You nodded, yes, you had noticed that, but you weren’t sure how you felt about it just yet.

“What’s this?” She walked toward your bed, where Spencer had been not a minute ago. She picked up the dainty blanket and sat down, steering clear of the part that had been undoubltey rumpled by Spencer. “Oh,” she said as if just recalling, “it’s the blanket I gave you.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, you distinctly remember you stealing it from your room and hiding it when she had come asking if you’d seen it.

She laughed, apparently recalling the same thing, “I knew you had it back then,” which came as a surprise to you. She bit back a smile as she began folding it again, “nonna told me to let you keep it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “did she?”

“Yep,” your sister popped the ‘p’.

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“What?” She asked, setting the blanket aside.

“She’s become batty.”

Your sister’s eyebrows rose, “how do you mean?”

“She’s been nothing but brutal to me,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

Your sister’s eye crinkled like she was about to laugh, “wow,” she said instead, “you’ve been gone so long you must have forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” You scoffed.

“That’s how she’s always been,” your sister shook her head, mumbling your name and something else incoherent before turning to look back up at you, “I hope you visit again, that this isn’t some one off thing.”

You pulled away, your walls instantly going back up and your sister sighed, clearly noting the mask of an expression. “You always did that when you were a kid, you know.”

“Did what?” You furrowed your brows.

“Fold into yourself,” she waved her hands, “I don’t know how else to explain it.” She huffed, “you know, we really miss you, everyone. My kids,” she started, tears thrreatening to break loose, “you nieces and nephews–they don’t even know you.”

You looked down and for a second you weren’t sure what she was talking about, but then you remembered that yes–you were a zia*, your sister had children, three of them, and you hadn’t met them once.

Guilt wrapped itself around you like a veil, “I’m sorry,” you heard yourself saying, your face contorting as if you wanted to cry, wanted to express how remorseful you felt, but didn’t know how to.

“You’re just like her,” she threw her head back as a few tears ran down her cheek, “I think that’s why you were closer to Nonno*. You and Nonna* are too alike, you’re both so damn stubborn.” She huffed a laugh and for a moment, a sliver of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I think love my best friend,” you found yourself admitting, maybe it was your way of trying to reach out, to tell your sister you were still you.

“That guy that was just here?” She grinned at you, “yeah, the family has been talking about it, Nonna* said to expect a wedding within the next year.”

Your face fell, embarrassment taking over, “what? Why? That old bat!” You scoffed, standing, “I can’t believe her, I’ve only been here–what? Two days? If that? That crazy old woman,” you marched toward the door, “Well?” You called to your sister, “are you going to back me up or what?”

She stared at you for a moment and then slowly, but surely, an calm smile crept onto her face, but her eyes were ones of storybook villains,“yeah, sure.”

The day started gloomy, though when you met Spencer in the hall, it became just a little less than that. You weren’t feeling like yourself, though you weren’t actually sure what self you were referring to. 

JJ had messaged the group chat that she’d be late because Henry had an accident right before they set off to leave. You thought about messaging your sister, but it felt weird, you weren’t used to initiating conversation with your family, so you didn’t, although you did plan to speak before the funeral.

You wore simple black attire, as did everyone else and you caught yourself holding onto Spencer’s hand tighter than usual, almost as if he’d leave you too, and you couldn’t have that. Your heart studded in your chest once you saw the coffin, it was closed, of course. It had been open for the hearing, but that had occured before you’d landed.

You couldn’t move forward. You told the others to go on and after making sure you were okay, they did, “but you’re not allowed to go,” you’d whispered, almost to yourself.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, whispering back, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your family gathered around the casket and the sacerdote* stepped forward, reading off a few of the retellings your grandmother had no doubt written down with the help of your parents. You noted a few other, non-related spectators, probably friends.

A few of his favorite songs were played and then your mother said a few words, followed by your grandmother, and finally your sister. “Are you okay?” Spencer pulled you closer by your arm.

You pressed your lips together, watching the coffin being lowered into the grave. “I don’t know…” and when you swallowed, you found your throat dry and for the first time since the letter, you not only found yourself wanting to cry, you found it was almost within reach.

The ceremony ended and relatives began dropping dirt into the grave, you thought to say one last prayer before leaving, but you didn’t want anyone to see you. You turned to Spencer and let go of his hand, “I just…” you turned away, pressing your lips together as you eyed the fresh grave.

He smiled sadly, but he nodded; he always seemed to be able to understand you no matter how silent or how loud you were. Maybe that’s why you loved him, you couldn’t be sure. There were so many things you loved about him–gosh you loved him. The revelation was like a wish from a birthday candle being answered.

You stepped away and Spencer watched as you pushed through the crowd. Hotch and the others surrounded him, questioning stares ever-present. “We should give her some time,” he said after seeing you hesitate, then sit near the makeshift headstone.

“What’s she doing?” Penelope frowned, watching you shift in your spot on the wet grass.

“Saying goodbye,” Spencer was the only one to respond–he was also the last one to retreat.

You didn’t know how to begin, you hadn’t spoken to him in eight years. You were scared that he was angry at you, but then again, you knew that couldn’t be the case, yes you knew he was gone, but what if his spirit was still here? What if he couldn’t move on because he had unfinished business and it was your fault?

You stopped yourself, since when did you believe in superstition? That was your parents…and Rossi; not you.

You sighed, running your hand through the grass, deciding to start as if he were still there, trying not to sound too guilty.

Nonno, you began, I–I’m sorry, you shook your head, I know, I know I should have visited. I know– a single tear fell down your cheek and you paused to wipe it away, shocked by your own emotions. “Forgive me,” you whispered.

“You sound like a crazy person,” you jerked your head to the side, eyes landing on your grandmother.

You huffed, eyes narrowing as you sniffled and wiped another tear that had fallen. “You’re one to talk.”

Your grandmother shifted, as if uncomfortable, and then she moved forward, more brittle than you had noticed the first time. “I’m not going to sit down,” she said after a moment, “don’t let my looks full you, I’m not how I once was.” She grunted as she stood beside you.

“Yeah, well, your looks aren’t fooling anyone, so.”

“Ouch,” she laughed, but it sounded like a wenches cackle. “Oh nipotina*,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a complacent smile making its way onto her wrinkled face.

You sat in silence, comfortable or not, you were glad she had stopped talking, you didn’t know what to say to her. In your opinion, you had never really gotten along with your grandmother, this wasn’t reconnecting with your parents or sisters or even your zia* and zio*, this was…new territory altogether.

You frowned, “listen, child,” and you did, you perked up, you could listen to her talk, that would be easy, you just hoped she didn't expect a response. “Your grandfather loved you, he never stopped talking about you.” You smiled, but then it faltered. You had abandoned him, hadn’t even deigned to visit because of how guilty you’d felt…

“He knew,” you whispered, heart racing. 

You heard your grandmother sigh. “I thought as much,” she frowned, staring at her husband's grave as if she could bring him back by will alone. 

“You did?” You hadn’t left without saying goodbye, not to him at least, that was one thing everyone had gotten wrong, your grandmother knowing had never occurred to you because you were sure your grandfather kept it a secret. Why else would the entire family have blown up when they’d realized you had left? When they’d realized it was too late to stop or convince you otherwise–because by the time everyone else had found out, you were halfway across the North Atlantic already.

“I always thought it was strange how he never said anything about it.” A grim smile tugged her at her red-painted lips.

“Nonna*, did I make the right decision?” You asked, surprising even yourself.

She sighed and you thought she might say ‘I can’t tell you if it was right or wrong’ or something a normal grandmother would say, but your grandmother wasn’t normal, she was an old bat, probably the same one you’d turn into at her age and she said, “You’re damned right you were wrong.”

Your mouth dropped, taken aback, and then you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you tried wiping your tears, “oh you’re such an old bat,” you sighed.

“I knew you always called me that behind my back,” she harumphed, jerking her head away and crossing her arms like a child.

“Oh come now, Nonna*,” you stood and reached out the touch her shoulder.

She huffed and dropped her arms, eyes darting around your face in what seemed to be concern. “You were wrong for not telling the rest of us, you had your parents worried sick, and your sister too.” Her frown deepened, “even me.”

You nodded, “I know, but nonna*,” you sighed, wanting to explain yourself, but she held up a hand. You raised a brow, almost saying huh, so that’s where I get it from, out loud.

“Your grandfather always said you were meant for something greater, that your heart wouldn’t allow you to stay in this town the way ours allowed the rest of us.

“No, no nipotina*, you were not wrong for leaving. This town, this family? Yes, you come from here, but there,” she nodded her head toward your co-workers, (or friends, you were honestly still deciding), “with them, that is where you belong now.”

You smiled, finding acceptance in her answer.

“And your friend,” she rolled her eyes when she said it, “well, I expect the wedding to be here.”

You huffed a laugh before turning, catching Specner’s eye, and when he waved your heart swelled. “We’ll see,” you started walking away.

Your grandmother trailed after you, throwing her hands up and shouting, “incovalato*! You insolent child!”

a/n: ahhh i can't wait to write my next fic because i already know waht it is. i don't want to give spoilers, but just know you're going to see dad!spencer !!

taglist: @darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — two. one more time.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 700+. a/n: me taking my least engaged fic and making a series out of it? more likely than you think. summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

previously

    Your palms are undeniably sweaty following the anxious feeling you had in the pit of your stomach. After transferring you made a successful career as a profiler for the Crisis Negotiation Unit, so it wouldn’t be the first time seeing Hotchner after all, you saw him at seminars, you read his book, his face and his voice were still a strong presence in your mind.

    But being close to him, talking to him, working with him again… That was making your mind swirl. The BAU needed a senior profiler, again. You had rejected the transfer at least two times before and the upper ups found someone else for the job. Not this time, this time you had no choice. 

    You try to feel comfortable on his office’s couch, looking around to notice the little things before him and the rest of the team arrive, profiling each other wasn’t very well seen in the BAU, you remember that much from your years there, but you knew Hotch, you were just basking at the familiarity his office brought you. 

    Pictures of him with his son, his late ex wife, awards, piles of cases organized. It all pointed to him being more serious than when you worked together first. It made sense not only considering what he had been through, but his nearly obsessive nature. 

    Throat cleaning is the sound that brings you back, his face lighting up when he notices it’s you, but letting the smile disappear seconds later. “It’s been a while. how can I help you?” 

    Oh. Politeness. The tone. Not asking how you are. He’s mad. Possibly because you never called. Never answered his calls. Never talked to him when he was around your unit. Always sent other agents when the BAU needed negotiators. You made impossible efforts to avoid him. And yet here you were, in his office. 

    “I get that you haven’t looked into your new profiler’s paperwork.” You were always snarky and that made him huff trying to hide a laugh. He didn’t have to look at the paperwork to know you wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t mandatory. “You look good, big office, the suit. It fits you.” 

    He stays silent, and you wish you could read his mind like you did before, but it was different now, all you could read from him was how… Sore he was in your presence. Like you were there just to cut open old wounds. You couldn’t blame him, you prided yourself of being his best friend for so long and sure it was a weird gray area you both danced in, but he got divorced, was stabbed countless times, Haley was murdered, you never even called. You couldn’t even pretend you didn’t know, you kept in touch with Rossi.

    He moves to his desk, sitting and looking through your paperwork without much care, enough that he caught you staring at the picture he had of Haley, Jack and him by the bookshelf behind him. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” 

    “Dave told me to go, but… It felt disrespectful to Haley.” Hotchner takes a deep breath, it finally hitting him that at least there and then it wasn’t about avoiding him, it was about Haley, as it was when you left Quantico. He didn’t want to hurt her, you didn’t want to disrespect her, that was always the central point of why you two couldn’t be. That relaxes his demeanor, his features soften. Your heart beats faster. 

    “Think you can handle BAU rhythm after a decade away?” He smirks, that one you know so well, that one that meant trouble. And he finally looks up from the file, locking eyes with you. 

    “You should be worried about keeping up with me.” And just like that it feels like you’re ten years younger, flirting with your partner, hoping he will flirt back. And by the look he gives you, it almost seems like he would if his phone didn’t ring, getting his attention away from you in a flash of a second. 

    Got caught up, will be there soon, yeah, love you too.

    “Sorry, that was my–my girlfriend, Beth. I have to get going, see you tomorrow?” You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek for some relief. 

    10 years. 10 years of running from it. Just to get back exactly where you started: At the BAU, heart out for Hotchner when he couldn’t take it. 

    So much for keeping your FBI career and not going against orders.

[sarcasticallyexplicit11]

The Curtis parents were buried on a cold, rainy day in January; the weather outside perfectly matching the emotions of the East side. The house was quiet, far quieter than it had been in 13 years. 

The kitchen table where Darry was covered in paperwork: bills, custody papers, deeds, more bills. Steve and Soda were curled up on the recliner, Soda’s head laying on Steve’s shoulder while he whispers to Soda about something no one else could hear. Ponyboy, Dally, and Johnny sit together on the couch, silent tears rolling down Pony’s face and Johnny running his fingers through his hair. Dally sat with his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, the unoccupied hand twirling his switchblade. 

They had all been like this since the funeral, no one saying much of anything to anyone. “He hasn’t cried,” Ponyboy whispered. Johnny and Dally looked at him in confusion, confused by the suddenness of the statement. They knew exactly who he was talking about without having to ask. Darry had been a rock at the funeral. He handled the arrangements, held his brothers while they cried, gave the eulogy, and spoke with the distant relatives who decided to show up. And he did all of it without shedding a single tear. “He ain’t said nothing but I know he’s hurtin’, he’s gotta be,” Pony says before burying his face in Johnny’s chest and beginning to sob. 

Soda hadn’t said a word since they got back from the cemetery. Hell, he’d barely said anything while they were there. He only talked to Steve and his brothers, no one else. Steve looked at him and pinched his brows together in worry. A quiet Sodapop was never good. Steve could almost see the gears in his head turning, like there were words trapped in his mind that just wouldn’t come out. Soda buried his head farther into Steve’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “What’s on your mind,” Steve asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. The question just came tumbling out of his mouth. Steve felt hot tears on his neck, Soda’s body shaking from crying. “Shhhhh bud, I gotcha.” 

Darry wanted to get up and comfort his brothers. He wanted to wrap them up in his arms and tell them it would be okay. No matter how much he craved holding them tight, it was like he couldn’t get his legs to work. His brain knew what he needed, his body just would not cooperate. All he could do was stare at the papers in front of him, none finished. Looking at the clock, Darry took a deep breath and stood up for the first time since they’d gotten back to the house. “I-I’m gonna start on dinner,” he murmured to himself. No one in the living room acknowledged him, but both Soda and Pony heard the waver in his voice, the uncertainty that filled his mind.

Before he could open the fridge, the front door creaked open and Two-Bit’s whistle came through it. The boys in the living room look up and Soda smiles a bit, for the first time since their parents died. “Heya Two,” said Soda without moving his head off Steve’s shoulder. 

Two-Bit walked behind the couch and ruffled Pony’s hair, who ducked his head to get out of the way. “Hey y’all,” Two replied, “my mom made lasagna for us so that you don’t gotta cook Dar.” 

Darry froze in his spot in the kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath and promptly collapsed onto the floor in tears. Everyone stared at him in shock, unsure of what they were supposed to do. The shock took a second to wear off. When it did, both Soda and Pony lept out of their seats and were at their big brother’s side before anyone could blink. “I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry,” Darry stammers, tears streaming down his face. No one says anything, everyone afraid of making a move in case they disturb the rare vulnerability of the gang's eldest. 

Two-Bit sets the food on the kitchen table and drops down on one knee in front of Darry. “I didn’t know a bit of Italian would make ya cry Muscles,” he states from his spot on the floor. Darry chuckles a little bit, then leans further into Soda’s shoulder. Darry continued to murmur a mixture of I’m sorry’s and other apologies while Soda and Ponyboy held onto him. 

The only sounds heard throughout the house were Darry’s sniffles and the quiet shuffling of the boys in the living room, unsure of what they should do. Neither Pony nor Soda dared to move to make sure Darry takes the time he needs to get all of his emotions out. Dally, Steve, and Johnny begin to make their way into the kitchen, all of them settling somewhere on the floor near Darry. 

After what feels like hours, Darry’s tears finally stop. He swipes at his eyes and says, “Glory y’all I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve broke down like that.” 

Two-Bit shakes his head, putting a hand on Darry’s knee. Soda wraps his arm around Darry’s shoulder and squeezes it. “You don’t gotta apologize, you don’t gotta be strong all the time,” Soda replies as he tugs Darry closer to his body. Darry fought the urge to disagree with him. He had to be strong, he had to be. Someone had to pay the bills and take care of the gang. Someone has to keep the lights on and food on the table. Darry had no choice but to be strong for everyone. 

They stayed on the floor together until Dally stood up to stretch his legs. “Alright, some of y’all,” Dally says pointedly at the Curtis brothers, Darry in particular, “haven’t eaten all day. And I happen to know Pony here gets cranky so let’s eat.” Pony gets up and shoves Dally with his shoulder, who just wraps an arm around him and laughs. The gang get up, Darry grabbing plates and silverware while Two opens up the dish. 

Everyone gathers at the kitchen table, with Steve hopped up on the counter eating his plate. Darry takes a seat at the head of the table, smiling now that he knew everyone was in the house, fed and safe. 

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Sweet past - ch.4

Summary: You have unwelcome encounter in town. Joel is there to save the day.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, foul language, angst, a little fluff

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

You didn’t quite believe Joel when he told you the town hadn’t changed, not really. Why would you? Everything changes with time. People, places, memories—nothing is immune. And yet, here you were, standing in the very place you once called home, feeling a strange sense of awe, as if time itself had paused just for this town. As if Joel, once again, was right. That man could be infuriatingly right sometimes.

You smiled to yourself, nostalgia unfurling its delicate tendrils as you recalled simpler days. The way you used to take Sarah out for ice cream when her world had crumbled—something sweet to melt away the bitterness. And the gaming spot where you and your dad spent far too much money. It was almost jarring how vividly those moments returned to you now, as if they’d been waiting in the wings all along. And for once, there was no ache, no bitter aftertaste, no shadow waiting to consume the light. Just memories of a life before it all unraveled.

Maybe Joel wasn’t wrong, after all. Maybe the town hadn’t changed. Maybe it was you who had shifted, who had moved forward while Austin remained steadfast, untouched by the outside world. Time, here, didn’t flow—it lingered, settled like dust, giving the town a kind of stillness that was both eerie and beautiful. As if it existed in a bubble, outside the reach of the years that had reshaped you.

You pulled the list from your pocket, the paper worn and crumpled from being handled too many times, and walked into the small hardware store. You could’ve hired someone to do the work, of course, but your stubborn streak wouldn’t allow it. Even though you weren’t sure if you’d stay, the pull to restore that old house, to breathe life back into it, gnawed at you. It was as if you owed it to the past, to the woman your mother had been, to make it feel like home again.

The store itself hadn’t changed much either. Smaller than most, yet brimming with memories. You’d come here with Joel and your dad, pretending you knew the first thing about construction, but really just there to weigh in on wall colors. Of course, they’d always manage to convince you that the color already on the walls was perfect. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it—how easily they’d swayed you back then, like you were part of some inside joke you never quite understood.

“Look who’s back!” The voice was unmistakable, pulling you from your reverie. You glanced up to see Mark standing by the entrance, a broad grin spreading across his weathered face. He looked almost exactly the same, save for a few more strands of gray weaving through his hair. “Good to see you again, girl!” He gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder, the kind of gesture that didn’t ask too much but said plenty. Mark was never one for hugs, never one for emotional displays. His kindness was quieter, subtler.

“I’m just here to pick up some supplies,” you said, glancing around the store, trying to avoid the way his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Let me guess, doing it all yourself?” He laughed, the sound deep and hearty, as if it was the most predictable thing in the world. “Stubborn as your old man.”

And there it was, the shift you’d been bracing for. You’d known this conversation was coming, though you had hoped to avoid it, at least for now. Mark’s voice grew gentler, more careful. “I’m sorry about him, kid. If you need help with anything—funeral arrangements, the house—we’re all here. You know that, right? This town’s family.”

You shifted on your feet, uncomfortable with the weight of his sympathy. “Thanks, Mark, but… I already buried him.”

The smile vanished from his face, replaced by something sharper, colder. “What do you mean, you already buried him?” His voice had an edge now, like you’d done something unthinkable.

“Well, I—” You hesitated, caught off guard. “I wanted to do it quickly. I buried him next to my mom. I thought that’s what he’d want.”

“There was no one there but you?” The disbelief in his voice felt like a slap.

You swallowed, feeling his judgment heavy on your chest. “Joel and the girls were there with me… They’ve always been there.”

“And you didn’t think anyone else in this town would want to say goodbye?” His tone sharpened, the anger rising in him like a storm gathering strength. “What’s wrong with you, girl? Your father was a part of this town, part of our lives. You didn’t think it was worth letting us say goodbye?”

“I didn’t think—”

“Of course you didn’t think!” He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Just like you didn’t think when you left him all alone!”

The accusation struck you, sudden and raw. You hadn’t expected this—especially not from Mark. You liked him, but this? This was too much. Something inside you broke open, all the emotions you’d been holding in threatening to spill out. You wouldn’t let him speak like this, not when he had no idea what really happened.

“What the hell do you know about any of this?” Your voice trembled with barely contained fury. You weren’t going to shout, but the venom in your words was unmistakable. “What do you know about why I left?”

“Your father was sick—”

“My father was a drunk!” The words ripped out of you, sharp and jagged. “Sure, the man you all knew was a great father, a pillar of this damn town. But after my mother died? That man disappeared. He became something else, something dark and cruel.”

Mark’s face faltered, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“You think this town is some big, happy family?” You spat the words, anger burning in your throat. “Where the hell were you when he lost his job? When he started drinking himself into oblivion? When I had to drop out of college to support him? Where were you when he hit me on my damn birthday?”

Mark’s eyes widened, shock written all over his face.

“Yeah, I left. I had to. And do you think that decision doesn’t haunt me every single day? I’ve spent three years hating myself for it, for leaving him when he needed me most. But I lost my mom too, Mark. I lost everything, and then I lost him.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through. “So don’t you dare stand here and judge me. Don’t you dare pretend you know what I went through or why I buried him alone with the people who actually mattered, with the people who were there when all of you disappeared.”

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you wiped away the angry tears, your grief and rage blending into something unbearable.

“I loved my father, despite everything. And I said goodbye to him in the only way I knew how. So back off. You don’t get to pretend you cared.”

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and left the store, leaving your basket behind. You didn’t care about the eyes that followed you, or the whispers that began to stir as you pushed open the door. You barely even registered Joel standing outside, fury simmering just beneath the surface of his usually calm demeanor.

You were done with the town’s judgment. Done with pretending everything was okay.

This was your grief, your past. And no one had the right to tell you how to carry it.

**

The air outside the store was thick with tension, like the quiet before a storm. You could still feel your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling as you left the hardware store, leaving behind the sharp sting of Mark’s words. You barely registered Joel standing there, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched. He’d been listening, you realized. He’d heard everything.

You didn’t want to face him right now, didn’t want to deal with the flood of emotions that had just been unleashed in that store. You were too raw, too frayed at the edges. So you kept walking, past him, towards your car. Joel didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the weight of his presence behind you, like the calm that presses down before a tornado hits.

As you reached for your car door, you heard his voice, low and controlled—but carrying an unmistakable anger. “I’ll be right back.”

You glanced over your shoulder, confused, but Joel was already heading into the store, the door swinging shut behind him with a sharp thud. You froze, your hand still on the door handle, the breath caught in your throat.

Inside the hardware store, the moment Joel stormed back in, the air felt different—thick, tense, like the calm had shattered and something heavy was about to drop. Mark was still standing by the counter, his face pale, his fingers gripping the edge as if trying to ground himself. A few people had lingered—curious bystanders, their faces etched with discomfort, though none of them had spoken up when you were being torn apart by Mark’s words.

Joel’s boots hit the wooden floor hard, each step deliberate, his anger palpable in the room. The soft hum of idle conversation had died down completely. The quiet whispers of the onlookers ceased, replaced by the deafening weight of Joel’s presence. He was a man on a mission, and anyone paying attention knew better than to get in his way.

Mark looked up just as Joel reached the counter, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Joel—”

But Joel didn’t let him finish. “What the hell were you thinkin’, talkin’ to her like that?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was cold, low, and dangerous. He wasn’t shouting, but somehow that made it worse. More intense. He was furious, and everyone in the room could feel it.

Mark blinked, clearly caught off guard, but he tried to gather himself, holding up a hand as if to calm Joel down. “Look, Joel, I didn’t mean for it to go that far—”

“You didn’t mean for it?” Joel took a step closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his whole body taut with barely contained rage. “You think that matters? You think it makes a damn difference that you didn’t mean to humiliate her? You had no right to say what you said, Mark.”

Mark’s face flushed red, and he straightened, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I was just saying what a lot of us were thinking, Joel. Her father was a big part of this town. People wanted a chance to say goodbye. I thought she’d understand that.”

“You thought she’d understand?” Joel spat the word like it tasted bitter. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You think she owes you—owes this town—anything after what she’s been through? You weren’t there for her when she needed it most. None of you were.” He shot a pointed glance at the few onlookers who were still standing there, watching but not daring to intervene.

Mark’s eyes flicked to the others, his discomfort growing, but he still tried to defend himself. “That’s not fair, Joel. We didn’t know what was going on behind closed doors. We didn’t know how bad things had gotten.”

Joel’s eyes flared with fury. He stepped forward, so close now that Mark flinched slightly, backing up against the counter. “Didn’t know? Or didn’t want to know? You mean to tell me, in a town this small, no one noticed when her dad started drinkin’ himself half to death? No one saw her struggle to keep that house runnin’? You didn’t hear a thing when she dropped out of college? Or when she had to work her ass off just to keep food on the table?” His voice shook with anger, and his chest heaved with the weight of the words. “No, you all saw. You just didn’t give a damn. And now you wanna act like she’s the one in the wrong? Like she should’ve let you all play pretend at a funeral for a man you barely knew anymore?”

Mark’s face was turning a deep shade of red, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Joel cut him off again.

“You think you knew him, but you didn’t,” Joel growled, his voice low, dangerous. “You knew the man he was before—before her mom died, before he became a shell of himself. But the man she had to live with? He wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the good, kind man this town remembers. He was broken, Mark. And he took that out on her. Day after day.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. The bystanders shifted uncomfortably, some of them looking down at their feet, ashamed. Not one of them had spoken up earlier when you were being torn apart. They’d stood there, watched, but hadn’t said a word.

Mark opened his mouth again, struggling to find his footing in the face of Joel’s onslaught. “Joel, I get it, alright? I get that she’s been through a lot, but—”

“No, you don’t get it,” Joel said, his voice suddenly quieter, but no less intense. He leaned in, his eyes boring into Mark’s. “You don’t get what it’s like to lose the people you love and have no one to turn to. You don’t get what it’s like to be trapped in that house, with a man who used to be your father but turned into somethin’ you barely recognize. You don’t get what it’s like to feel abandoned by the people who claim to be your friends, your neighbors, your family.”

Mark’s breath hitched at Joel’s words, and for the first time, you could see the shame creeping into his features. He looked away, his eyes dropping to the floor, the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You didn’t wanna know,” Joel corrected, his voice sharp. “It was easier to ignore, wasn’t it? Easier to just go about your day, pretend everything was fine. Because if you didn’t see it, you didn’t have to do anything about it.”

The room was so silent, you could hear the ticking of the old clock on the wall. The onlookers, those who had stayed to gawk, shifted uneasily. Some of them looked at each other, faces filled with regret, others unable to meet Joel’s gaze.

Joel turned to face them, his voice loud and clear, cutting through the silence like a knife. “You all think she owed you something? You think she should’ve come back here and made everything neat and tidy for your sake?” His eyes swept across the room, landing on each of them in turn. “Where the hell were you when she was barely keeping it together? Where were you when her dad was falling apart and she was left to pick up the pieces? You say this town’s a family, but you didn’t act like one when she needed you.”

The weight of Joel’s words settled over the room, heavy and inescapable. Some of the people looked away, unable to face him, shame and guilt etched into their features. Others simply stood in stunned silence, their faces pale, as if they hadn’t realized, until now, just how deeply they had failed.

Mark, his face flushed, swallowed hard and finally managed to speak, his voice trembling with the weight of his own guilt. “I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t realize…”

“It’s too late for apologies, Mark,” Joel said, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “She needed you then, and you weren’t there. Don’t think a few words can make up for that.”

Mark nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of Joel’s words. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I should’ve done more. We all should’ve.”

Joel stared at him for a moment, his expression hard, unreadable. Then he took a step back, shaking his head, his anger cooling but still simmering beneath the surface. “You wanna make things right? Stop judging her. Stop thinkin’ she owes you anything. She’s been through enough without you piling more on her. You wanna help? Be there now. But don’t you dare act like she’s the one who’s done wrong here.”

Mark nodded again, his eyes glassy with remorse. “I will. I swear it.”

Without another word, Joel turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his jaw clenched, the anger still lingering in his movements. As he pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling softly, he glanced back one last time at the small group still standing in the store.

“Next time,” he said, his voice steady but full of warning, “if you see someone struggling, don’t just stand there and watch. Do somethin’.”

And with that, he left, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the store in a heavy, oppressive silence. The weight of Joel’s words hung in the air long after he was gone, and the people in that room knew, deep down, that they would carry that weight for a long time to come.

**

Joel found you sitting in the driver's seat, your face pale, staring ahead at nothing. It was clear you’d heard enough of what had happened back inside the store, but you remained silent, lost somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. He approached quietly, knocking on the passenger window. You blinked, slowly turning your head, your gaze finally meeting his.

“Move, kiddo,” he murmured, the anger that had burned so hot inside him now simmering into something softer, more familiar. His voice was calm, gentle, offering a warmth that made it clear he wasn’t just mad on your behalf—he cared. You frowned, confused, but Joel only nodded toward the seat. “You’re too emotional to drive. Move over, I’ll get us home.”

You hesitated for a second, then glanced down at your trembling hands. The adrenaline was still pumping through you, your heart racing, eyes glassy with unshed tears. With a shaky breath, you nodded, agreeing with him. Without a word, you got out and slipped into the passenger seat, barely glancing back at the store that had now become a site of confrontation and hurt.

Joel started the car, the engine humming beneath you as the town slowly faded into the distance. The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt... necessary. Like the words you wanted to say needed time to form properly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, breaking the quiet. Your voice sounded fragile, like it could crack at any moment. “For standing up for me.”

Joel glanced over, his expression softening as the fire that had been in his eyes earlier cooled into something protective, something safe. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll always stand up for you. Always.”

His words wrapped around you, warm and comforting, but they also stirred something deep inside, a part of you that was still trying to make sense of it all. You turned to the window, watching the familiar streets pass by, feeling like a stranger in the town that had once been your entire world. You couldn’t shake the ache in your chest, the gnawing sense of guilt that lingered despite everything Joel had said and done. Maybe not inviting anyone to the funeral had been a mistake, but it had been your decision—yours and Joel’s. Your goodbye, on your terms.

After what felt like forever, you noticed Joel had passed the turn to your house. Then, another. Your confusion grew, and you finally broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “I’m gettin’ hungry,” he muttered, rolling his eyes when he saw your puzzled expression.

Suddenly, a memory flashed in your mind—one of those moments from a time when things were simpler. A night that seemed like it belonged to another lifetime.

***

You didn’t know who else to call that night. The last bus had left just seconds before you made it to the station. It was the final nail in a day that had already gone terribly wrong. You’d been late for work, cleaning up after your dad’s drunken mess. He had been sick again, throwing up vodka from the night before, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.

Your boss hadn’t been any kinder about it either. The customers had been impatient, stingy with tips, and you were running on fumes, too tired to keep up. When your shift ended, your boss kept you late to clean—punishment for being late, even though it had only been by three minutes. You felt defeated, worn out from fighting battles no one knew about.

So, you called Joel. It was almost midnight, and the guilt gnawed at you for waking him up. You could hear the sleep in his voice, though he insisted he’d been watching a movie, playing it off as if he’d been wide awake. But you knew better.

When he pulled up, he didn’t ask questions. “Get in, kiddo,” he said, his voice gravelly but kind. You climbed into the passenger seat, your hands still trembling from the day’s stress. 

“I’m sorry,” you had started, your voice shaking with the weight of everything—apologizing for calling so late, for needing him when you felt like such a burden. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Joel handed you a tissue from the glove compartment without a word, his gaze focused ahead. “You didn’t make me do anything,” he replied, that steady calm of his making you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t such a bother after all. “Let’s get you home so you can rest.”

“I’m hungry,” you had whispered, looking out the window to avoid his eyes.

“It’s nearly midnight, kid. Ain’t nothin’ open around here,” Joel had replied, missing the way you were already scrolling through your old, cracked phone.

“There’s a place about twenty minutes out of town,” you had offered quietly. “Their wings are good.”

Joel had sighed, his tone exasperated but laced with affection. “Twenty minutes?” He was tired; you could hear it. His voice, the way his shoulders sagged—everything about him told you he needed sleep.

You immediately regretted it. “Never mind,” you mumbled, your voice small. “I’ll eat something at home.”

But Joel, being Joel, saw through your words, saw the truth hidden behind them. He knew you didn’t want to go home. Home wasn’t a place where you could relax, not with your dad’s drinking, not with the weight of everything that had happened.

“Give me the damn phone,” he had grumbled, taking it from your hand. And for the first time that day, you had smiled, a real smile, though it hadn’t quite reached your eyes.

***

The memory faded, and you found yourself back in Joel’s truck, the quiet hum of the engine beneath you, the road stretching out into the night. You looked over at him, the corners of your mouth lifting just a bit.

“Wings sound good?” Joel asked, his eyes flicking over to you for a moment before returning to the road.

“Yeah,” you whispered, that small smile lingering. “Wings sound good.”

And in that moment, driving away from the pain, the anger, and the guilt, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

***

The drive to the diner was quiet, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind of silence. It was the kind that felt right after everything that had happened. You were both just… being. Breathing. Letting the day slowly dissolve in the rearview mirror.

When you arrived, it was one of those roadside spots, tucked away from the main stretch of town. It looked like it had been here for decades, with its faded neon sign blinking intermittently. Inside, the place was almost empty, the distant hum of country music playing softly from an old jukebox in the corner. It felt like a time capsule, a world away from the chaos you’d left behind.

Joel ordered a plate of extra spicy buffalo wings, and as they were placed in front of you, your face lit up in a way that was contagious. You picked up a wing, took a bite, and your entire body reacted, doing that tiny little happy dance you always did when something tasted particularly good.

“I fucking love these,” you exclaimed, your voice a little louder than usual, a gleam of joy in your eyes that Joel couldn’t help but admire. You chuckled as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “My boss would kill me if I ever suggested putting these on the menu.”

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes fixed on you, watching the way you relished in the simplest pleasures. That’s what he loved about you, the way you could find light even on the darkest days. “You’re enjoyin’ yourself,” he observed, his smile easy, but his voice probing just a little deeper.

You paused for a second, his question catching you off guard. It wasn’t just about the wings, you knew that. No one had really asked you if you enjoyed anything lately—if you really enjoyed it.

“I started because it was easy money, you know?” you admitted, picking up your beer and taking a long sip. You sighed contentedly as the cold sweetness mixed with the heat of the wings. “But then I realized I was good at it. I had this chef who taught me everything. He made me his sous-chef in less than a year. And I guess I do enjoy it… it’s kind of an escape, I suppose. It lets me forget about everything else.”

Your voice faltered a little on those last words, the weight of your reality briefly slipping through the cracks. Joel heard it, even if you tried to hide it.

“I’d love to taste something made by you,” he said, his voice softer now. The sincerity in his tone was disarming, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were warm, like they were offering you a quiet place to rest.

Your heart swelled at the thought, a smile pulling at your lips. “I’d cook you something amazing,” you promised, your mind already racing with possibilities. The idea of sharing something so personal with Joel made your chest tighten, not with fear, but with excitement. Your eyes sparkled, the heavy clouds from earlier in the day seeming to drift away for just a moment.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his own drink. “Then it’s a date,” he teased, just as you were taking another sip of your Coke. You nearly choked on it, the word “date” hanging in the air between you like an unexpected spark.

The awkward little laugh you let out made Joel smile wider. He didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed or the way your fingers fumbled with the glass. It was in these small, unguarded moments that you unknowingly captured his heart—more than you probably ever realized.

He watched as you gathered yourself, clearing your throat and trying to act like you hadn’t just blushed at his teasing. It filled him with a strange sense of pride, knowing he could help you relax like this. But beneath the lightheartedness, there was something else too—something that made his heart skip a beat when he saw that little flustered look on your face. And that scared him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

You placed your drink down and stared at Joel for a moment, your smile softening as the weight of everything you’d been through together seemed to catch up with you. “I’m really lucky to have you, you know that?” Your voice was gentle, but there was a sincerity in it that made Joel’s chest tighten.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his expression shifting from playful to something more serious, more protective. He didn’t always know how to deal with emotions, but he knew how to show up when it mattered. And for you, he’d always show up.

“Kiddo,” he said after a beat, his voice steady and sure, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

And with that, the world outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[unknowntoyou2205]

Make it to Christmas (pt 3/3)

Make it to Christmas masterlist

The funeral for y/n was short and sweet. They decided to do a traditional gypsy funeral, knowing how much y/n loved their past life. Only the family joined, with their heads bowed throughout the ceremony, no one spoke, too afraid of what would come out if they tried. The town knew of the Shelby’s loss, and felt sorry for them. Despite the chaus they caused, no family deserved to lose a young one.

The house was silent during the festive period. Y/n’s presents had been left under the tree, Pol not letting anyone touch them, even though no one tried. They were a small part of her, even if she wasn’t present. The young girls room hadn’t been touched since that night, the only thing moved was the bedding which y/n had stained that night, and Ada had cleaned up the droplets that had made their way down the floor. Finn had tried sleeping in there one night, but in a fit of rage Tommy had shouted at him, telling him he wasn’t to go into that room again. Arthur and John wouldn’t go to the family home, not wanting to step into a home that wouldn’t have the laughter they used to love.

Christmas eve dawned on them quicker than they would of liked, and Tommy couldn’t help but grit his teeth as he sat in the living room, remembering the years when y/n would be jumping around, excited to see what would be brought to her this year. She always asked for a doll of some sort, and a wooden gun to be like her brothers, and each year she got one, each time they grew in size. The fire blazed with the two children’s stockings still hanging above them. Even Finn couldn’t get into the Christmas spirit, with everything around the time reminding him of y/n. The two youngsters would usually be outside around now, running around with the other kids before they were called in to get ready for midnight mass. It was the one mass y/n enjoyed going to, loving to see the baby lying in his manger, surrounded by the animals, men and his mother.

That night was quiet, and each room was filled with tears. Tommy lay awake on his bed, smoking a cigarette as his thoughts spiralled. He refused to allow the tears in his eyes to fall, rolling the cigarette between his lips every now and then. Y/n’s last few moments rolled through his head, and he frowned, remembering what she had said. ‘Under the bed’. With confusion surrounding him, Tommy decided to go into his little sisters room.

It was eery as he stood in front of the door, knowing that even when he walked in he wouldn’t see y/n, curled up in a ball on the bed. Trying to prolong the unavoidable rush of emotions, Tommy slowly turned the handle before creeping the door open. The place still smelt like Ada’s perfume which the eleven year old  had sneakily took from Ada’s room, her older sister knew where it was but never acted on it. Looking around, the Shelby gangster could see pieces of paper thrown around, crayons and pencils scattered around the place. Not wanting to stay long, Tommy crouched down, looking under the girls bed to see an old biscuit tin underneath. Presuming that’s what the young girl was insinuating, Tommy grabbed it before heading out of the room, leaving the door open.

-------

Christmas morning was quiet in the Shelby home. Usually there would be a squeal in the early hours of the morning, before each person would be awoken by two children jumping on top of them, screaming it was Christmas. This year, Finn didn’t see the point in getting up, waking each person up. It didn’t feel right to do it on his own, so instead he waited until he heard the sound of footsteps before opening his door. Ada smiled sadly at the young boy who just stood in the doorway, before opening her arms, pulling him into a hug. Polly woke up to the sound of soft sobs, and couldn’t help the few tears that fell herself, feeling how bitter this day was going to be.

Few words were spoken as each family member sat at the kitchen, waiting for their toast to heat up. Usually Pol would make a fry up, but with her little helper not around, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. John and Arthur showed up shortly into the morning with their wives and Johns kids, but only a hello was spoken, until they made their way into the living room.

Finn hesitantly walked towards the tree seeing the small amount of presents that were around, one less pile was evident in the room. Ada’s breath caught in her throat as Finn handed out the presents, all evidently seeing one less name written on their presents. The adults tried to make Christmas somewhat normal for the kids sakes, but even they knew something was wrong. The rooms attention was drawn to Tommy as he cleared his throat.

“I know this Christmas is a tough one, just last week we said goodbye to our angel, but I know that she would want us to try celebrate it.” Tommy gruffly stated, standing up to the drinks cabinet. “Tommy, what are you doing?” Ada asked, confused on why each adult was given a glass of Sherry, the children moving out of the room. “To y/n.” Tommy spoke, holding up his glass. “Our darling sister.” Arthur spoke, holding his glass high. “Never forgotten.” Pol finished with a nod, before clinging the glasses together.   

After downing the small amount of Sherry, Tommy grimaced at the taste before moving to the tree. Eyes watched him as he leaned down from behind, taking up an old biscuit box before placing it on the table in front of him. Recognizing y/n’s writing, Polly looked up at her nephew, squinting her eyes at him.

“What is this Tommy?” Polly asked, tears filling her eyes. “Before y/n died she told us under the bed. Now I didn’t think much of it until last night. And I found this.” Tommy tapped the box, “Ada, get Finn.” “What is it Tommy?” John asked, eyeing the box carefully.

Tommy waited until Ada came back in with Finn behind her. The youngest Shelby looked around before sitting on the ground by Arthurs feet, who tapped his head in comfort as the young boy stared at the box on the table. Breathing in deeply, Tommy opened the lid, before taking out some papers that were inside.

“Y/n always loved drawing, even when she got sick she used all her energy to dray. I never knew why until now. She made each of us a picture, with a little something on the back of  each.” Tommy explained, moving to hand out each of his siblings and Polly a sheet of paper. “Her last gift to us.” John stated, and he hung his head, not sure how to react. “Something to remember her by.” Tommy nodded, before taking a seat by the fire once again. “She was always such a thoughtful kid.” Ada spoke fondly. “Y/n you angel.” Polly smiled, looking down at the picture in her hand. “Some people make the world special, just by being in it.” Arthur read from the back. “Describes y/n to a T.” Arthurs wife spoke with a smile, placing a hand on her husbands back. “She was special.” Finn spoke tearfully, and Arthur rubbed his head gently. “Marry Christmas y/n.” Polly whispered, bringing the picture of an angel close to her. “Our angel in the sky.” Ada smiled sorrowfully, looking down at her own angel picture.

Christmas 2024 masterlist

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Fallen King

Remember all the stuff I was saying about how Beast Chuuya is handling all of this? Good throw it out the window because we are reworking shit.

Beast Chuuya beat up and then stormed out the meeting that made Beast Atsushi the Port Mafia Boss. He aided Beast Verlaine and the other executives with making sure headquarters didn’t just fall apart.

Once the threat had passed Beast Chuuya ended up breaking down after being corned and comforted by Beast Verlaine. Because if anyone knows how he feels, it’s Beast Verlaine. Beast Chuuya missed the banquet because he’d taken a mission. He knows he should have attended but couldn’t bring himself too.

He needs to figure out his emotions and needed space. He’s hurt. He’s sad. Most of all he’s pissed off. At Beast Dazai, at Beast Atsushi and himself. Beast Chuuya does regret what happened at the meeting, not only is Beast Atsushi the boss now (as hard as that is to process) but he also is Beast Chuuya’s mentee as he was Beast Dazai’s.

Pride aside he does care for the kid, has cared for him since he met him. But the damage is done, there’s a wedge between them. Beast Chuuya is trying to figure things out so he can make amends somehow, he doesn’t want to lose Beast Atsushi.

It almost feels like square one all over again when he was trying to get the kid to trust him all those years ago. There’s also the fact that Beast Atsushi is avoiding him. He never gives Beast Chuuya orders and simply passes on messages to him through Beast Gin, Beast Kouyou and Beast Verlaine.

It’s not out of hate or anger like Beast Chuuya thinks though. He feels guilty for hurting Beast Atsushi who thinks he deserved it and worse.

Beast Chuuya doesn’t push though, even if Beast Atsushi wasn’t the boss because he doesn’t want to drive that wedge further. He messed up and his emotions are confusing but luckily his siblings and the rest of his odd ball family are there to help him.

Beast Chuuya does start to let himself lean on them as he grieves, even if he does roll his eyes at their antics. In contrast Beast Atsushi is repressing his grief and keeping everyone at arms length.

The first time they talk about something that’s not work is when Beast Atsushi approaches Beast Chuuya about making arrangements for Beast Dazai’s funeral.

Immediately Beast Chuuya notices that something is wrong.

[ramblingroommate]

Part 3 (part 1 & part 2)

Only his fourth month on the job? Oh he’s new new, that’s interesting! And explains why he’s taking this so bad, poor baby

I have to say this also puts that whole stealing the truck thing in a different context. From the way they were talking I was under the impression he had a long history of doing things like that (like he had been working with them for a year or two), but he just started working there so it probably was the first time he did something so dumb. He fucked up once Bobby let it slide, he did it a second time he fired him. Oh my god he got fired after four months on the job

It was deserved but still. It also makes sense that he was so sorry about everything and said he realized in that moment how much he cared for the job.

Oh baby no don’t say that. Yikes.

He’s taking the guy’s death so hard and it’s clear he’s angry because he wishes he could have saved him, but going to his funeral and telling his sister it’s his own fault he died that’s just… oof

Yeaaah, that’s pretty much what I expected after what Buck said. Still hurts tho

This episode has been brutal on Buck

I LOVE how Bobby handled this. He knew immediately what was off but didn’t address it while on the job and with a person’s life on the line. Too often this kind of shows do exactly that to up the tension, but it always takes me out. This reaction just feels more realistic to me.

And now they address it! Love it.

Also “I know I let you down”? They really want me to feel for Buck, huh? Cause it’s working

LOVE this scene where they communicate without talking. I’m actually really liking this episode in general! It already feels like a step up from the first one.

It probably has to do with the much more realistic calls and discussions they are having, they’re more my cup of tea

Buck tried out for the Navy SEALs, interesting tidbit of backstory. I like when info get sprinkled in like this, instead of being dumped all at the same time when a storyline requires it.

Also really liked the explanation of something as horrifically tough as the navy seals giving him trouble not for the physical torture of it all but because of the emotional repression required

If Buck is one thing it is a caring person who takes things at heart. Makes sense he dropped out because he couldn’t be just a machine

This is Buck’s character in a nutshell. Wanting to be cool and tough yes, but most of all wanting to help.

I have to say it’s interesting to see which characters they are focusing on and developing more in these first two episode. Bobby is probably number one, closely followed by Buck and Abby. Maybe it’s all those Bs in their names lol

Talking about going to therapy after a traumatic event? In a tv drama? IS THIS A FUCKING MIRACLE?

I’m shocked, these shows -almost every show actually- usually pretend they’ve never heard of therapy so they can keep their characters traumatized and the tension high

You and most men, honey. It’s cultural upbringing

Also, that’s an extremely attractive therapist… are they going to get together later down the line? I hope not

Wait what? We just… cut away?

Alright, I get it. They’re going back and forth between Buck’s therapy and Athena and her husband’s.

I got really confused there for a moment lol

So her main grievance is that Michael made her feel like a fool and not that he lied to her for decades.

….

Actually, I love that lol. It makes sense with her character: as a proud black woman on the force, she probably has had to use her confidence as a shield for quite a long time. The last thing she wants is show everyone that she was blindsided and “fooled” by her own husband

Oww that’s actually really sweet. When she’s out of her uniform she shows a much more compassionate side. I like that the show is drawing this difference very clearly

It also makes the whole “I always knew you were gay” trope (which I usually hate) a little bit better in this case

And we’re back with Buck! I have to say I’m not loving this back and forth, I forget what they were talking about by the time we switch back. The talks on their own are really well done which is why I don’t want to lose any pieces

This also makes more sense: they have lost people since Buck joined but it was more along the lines of “we got there and there was nothing we could do”. Now that I think about it didn’t a woman jump in the first episode? But in that case Buck wasn’t directly involved. This was the first time they got there in time, he got involved, did everything right and the guy still died. It probably feels very unfair (like “I did everything right, why didn’t he do his part?”)

Okay Michael has my attention now! I didn’t really care about him in the first episode, I don’t know why. He just felt kinda… off? His behavior just came off as weird to me. Too forcefully happy and positive. It’s okay to be happy because you finally feel comfortable enough coming out, but you’re also an adult and know this change won’t be easy on your children right away and might take some time getting used to. He was acting like he expected everyone to be over the moon for him and celebrate right away (I understand wanting to be accepted but you’re basically telling your children their parents are getting a divorce, pump the brakes).

This conversation makes me like him a lot more tho, peels back that mask of forced optimism and reveals some of his hardships

Also he has a boyfriend!!! Things get spicy

I was wondering when we would get here! Buck definitely blames him which is a natural response/defense mechanism to that kind of traumatic event. It’s also true that there may be a million different reasons why that guy decided to let go and we’ll never truly know. Sometimes not knowing is what makes us get stuck, prevents us from moving on. But we do need to move on anyway. I wonder how they’ll go about this

…

This is not what I was expecting

And now they’re having sex… why do you do this to me? It was going so well, I actually let myself hope they wouldn’t do this. It was an empty dream, if there is a young attractive woman in a show then she’s going to have sex, no matter how unprofessional

“I feel so much better” yeah because you used sex to feel better in the moment and avoid taking a deeper look at the underlying problem.

Is this trying to hint again at Buck being a possible sex addict? I’m still confused about that

Is the rope attached to the guy in the show or is that for the stunt and was left in?

It’s not present in the next scene so definitely a stunt rope that wasn’t hidden! I like when I can catch small mistakes in shows

Also this whole scene was hilarious

I love Bobby’s approach to the whole situation. The first time he noticed Buck’s hesitation he didn’t push, talked to him privately and gently, recommended he talk to a therapist and now he starts to push him (still gently) to get over his fear. Loving Bobby’s character so far

Aaaaand I need to make a part 4 because I reached the pics limit 🥲

Will definitely need to change some things around for next episode so I don’t do so many parts

[marie-swriting]

Everything Will Be Okay - Emily Prentiss [1/2]

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : When Emily hears Ian Doyle escaped, she knows she has to do whatever she can to protect you from getting hurt, even if it means breaking you heart.

Warnings : start during 6x13 and finishes during 6x18, character death (not reader), angst, break up, sad ending, funeral, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.7k

Song Inspiration : Last Kiss (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

“Ian Doyle vanished from prison. Interpol can’t find him”

Sean’s sentence resonates in Emily’s ears. She can’t believe it. Ian Doyle was supposed to be a part of her past. His name was supposed to only be a memory.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s off the grid, Emily.”

“Do you think he’s heading here ?” Emily asks before marking a pause. “Am I in danger?”

“We all are.”

Worry makes its way onto Emily’s face as she understands the gravity of the situation. It’s only a matter of time before everything goes down, she’s aware of it. She has to think of what she has to do to protect herself.

Her thoughts are cut off by the ringing of her phone. She takes her eyes off of Sean and takes out her phone. As soon as she sees your name and your picture on the screen, she softens before reality hits her. She has to protect you, too. Ian Doyle could go after you to get her back. She clears her throat then answers, taking a natural tone.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay?”

“Hey, Em’, I’m calling to know if I should wait for you tonight or if you come home late.” you explain. Emily can hear you’re getting in your car.

“I have some paperwork to do. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping at home. I have some stuff to handle with the team.”

“Oh, okay.” you say, trying to hide your disappointment. “Keep me updated. I miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

On these words, you hang up. Emily looks at her screen for a few seconds before talking with Sean about the information Interpol has on Ian’s escape. While listening to him, her brain is working at speed light, searching for every plan to stop Doyle and to protect her loved ones. 

After she leaves her former colleague, Emily spends the night at a hotel. She has to be alone to think. She has to think of a solution so you can be safe and sound. The problem is, she can’t tell you about Doyle. She has to get you far away without you knowing the truth. Emily comes to the sad conclusion she has to break your heart - and by extent, her own. She’d rather leave with a broken heart and see you breathing than keeping you close to her and seeing you die by Doyle’s hands. She can’t take the risk. She has to break up with you. 

The next day, Emily wakes up with difficulty. Her sleep wasn’t relaxing, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she could tell you. 

She goes to your shared apartment when she knows you left for work, wanting to avoid you until you come back home in the evening. Whilst waiting for you, Emily packs some bags. 

Once you walk through the door, Emily’s face becomes neutral. She has to show no emotion. She absolutely can’t let her emotions speak. She knows what she has to do. With a big smile on your face, you walk toward Emily, ready to take her in your arms. Nonetheless, once you see her emotionless face, your eyebrows furrow. 

“Em’, is everything okay?” you question, putting down your purse.

“We have to talk, Y/N.”

“About what?”

“I think we should stop.” Emily bluntly announces and you need a few seconds to answer.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s no use to stay together. Lately, I’ve been pretty busy with my job. Besides, I’ll never be able to give you the life you deserve. It’s better for everyone.”

“W-what? You can’t be serious! Emily, where is all of this coming from?”

“I’m just stating a fact. I’m almost always away, we’re wasting our time.”

“Okay, you’re often away but we are not wasting our time. Our relationship is working just fine. We have a balance. Why do you want to throw everything away now?” you ask, confused and with teary eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now.”

“But everything was fine between us. I mean, that’s what I thought at least. Did I do something?”

“It’s no one’s fault, it’s just what’s best to do.” she affirms looking you right in your eyes.

“According to who?”

“Y/N, we knew very well this relationship was doomed. It wasn’t meant to last. Not when I have this job.”

“JJ makes it work.”

“It’s not the same. My decision is made anyway.”

“So you’re not even gonna try to talk about it? To fix the problem? You’re giving up this quickly?”

Emily knows you’re not going to give up. She can see on your face that you’re determined in spite of the tears in your eyes. Emily takes a deep breath before saying the most difficult sentence she’s ever had to say.

“I don’t love you anymore, Y/N. You’re a good person, I just don’t have feelings for you any longer.”

“It sure as hell didn’t feel like that this past few weeks.” you contradict, in disbelief.

“I tried to have feelings for you again but it’s impossible.”

Your eyes analyse Emily, searching for proof that the words coming out of her mouth aren’t the truth. However, Emily did everything to be convincing ; you have to believe her harsh words. Once you understand you correctly heard what Emily told you, your tears start running down your face. You don’t pay attention to it, trying to find a solution to keep Emily near you. As Emily sees your heart breaking in front of her, because of her, she wants to admit the truth. Yet, she tells herself it’s the right thing to do.

“I… I’ll go to a hotel for the next few days. I’ll probably have a case during that time, it’ll give you enough time to pack your things.” Emily softly informs while taking her two bags.

Your eyes are wide open at her last sentence. Sure, you couldn’t expect to still live with her if you’re not together anymore yet you thought you’d talk about it to know if you were going to sell the apartment or who was going to keep it. 

Emily feels bad about kicking you out but she knows she can’t let you have it. Doyle could find it with a simple research about Emily and she can’t take the risk of having him coming to your place while you still live here. She has to keep you as far away from her and your apartment as possible.

“Em’, please.”

Emily fights with herself when she hears you begging her. She doesn’t answer before walking past you and leaving your apartment. She holds back a sob until she gets in her car.

As for you, you stay on your feet, still in shock, your eyes staring at the door. You can’t believe your relationship with Emily is really over after five years. You never thought you’d ever hear those words. You never planned on her changing her mind. For you, she is - she was the love of your life. It looks like that's not the case for her.

One month has passed by since your break up. In a desperate attempt, you tried to contact her during the first couple of weeks without having an answer. It seems like she doesn’t miss you as much as you do. And you don’t know how to be something she misses. Therefore, reluctantly, you give up. You still can’t move on, you keep thinking about your relationship, searching for what you could have done differently to avoid this outcome.

You never imagined you’d end like this. You never imagined you wouldn’t know her routine anymore, where she is, what case she’s working on. You never thought you wouldn’t be holding her against you anymore. You never thought you’d have a last kiss. 

You try to look happy even if deep down, you’re in this state of numbness. But it has to change, you have to learn to move on. For this, nothing is better than to hang out with friends.

You meet Penelope at a cafe not too far away from your place of work. Beside Rossi, Penelope is the one you’re the closest to from the team, you consider each other as sisters. Penelope was shocked once she heard about your break up and she tried to make Emily change her mind without any success. 

As soon as you arrive at the cafe, Penelope takes you in her arms. You sigh in relief when you hold her against you. Her hugs have power, you’re sure of it. You sit down at a table after ordering. At first, your conversation is about random things - you hadn’t seen each other in a while so you’re making up for lost time. Then comes a moment when Penelope tells a fun story about the team which includes Emily; at the mention of your ex’s name, you look down, ignoring the pinch in your heart. Penelope stops laughing as soon as she sees your reaction.

“Oh, my God! I… I didn’t think… I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry.” Penelope exclaims, embarrassed.

“It’s okay. It’s been a month, after all.” you reassure her with a fake smile. 

“But still. You were together for a long time. It’s okay if it’s still painful.”

“I know. How is she?”

You can’t help it, you needed to ask this question, it was on your lips for a month. You need to know if what you think is true. Penelope takes a deep breath before replying.

“She doesn’t show anything yet I know she’s suffering as much as you. Sometimes, she keeps to herself a bit more. She seems more lost in her thoughts which is understandable considering the situation.”

“She’s the one who told me she didn’t love me anymore.” you drily retort. “Sorry, I didn’t say that for you to pick a side.” you correct with a guilty face. “I’m just still surprised by the way everything went down overnight.”

“You’ll find each other again. I’m sure of it.” she affirms, squeezing your hand.

“I don’t think so. She seems determined to stay away from me.”

“Y/N, the love you two shared can’t be lost. When the right moment comes, you’ll be together again and everything will be okay.”

You see on Penelope’s face, she’s firmly convinced by her words. She’s not saying them just to make you feel better, she’s sure she’s right. Yes, Penelope tends to see everything through rose-coloured glasses, but you need this bit of hope.

As soon as you come home, you put your purse down, next to the door then sit on your couch. You look at your apartment, indifferent. Despite all your efforts, you can’t feel at home. Home was your apartment with Emily. Home was Emily. But you don’t have Emily anymore and you never will.

You stand up from your couch and walk to the closet of your bedroom. You open it and take a box. You go sit on the floor then you search at the bottom of it for something specific. Once you find the frame, you turn it around to look at the picture.

This picture was taken two years ago, it was the beginning of July, you’re kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

You had gone on a trip in Paris - by some miracles, Emily had had two weeks off. You had a wonderful time in France. The highlight of this trip, according to you, was Emily speaking in French. You know she speaks numerous languages and you melt every single time you hear speaking in one of them. Yet, it’s not always so when you had the opportunity to hear her speaking in French for two whole weeks, you were over the moon. 

One night, towards the end of your vacation, you stayed in your hotel room. Normally, you’d enjoy your evening by visiting Paris a bit more nevertheless that night, you were too tired to walk ten more steps.

You were sitting on your balcony, enjoying the Eiffel Tower being illuminated in the distance, and you were talking about your future. You were making different plans, thinking about what your life would look like in one year, five, ten, even thirty.

“I can’t wait to grow old with you.” Emily stated with a smile.

“Me too. You’d be beautiful with grey hair.” you said, stroking her hair.

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me, you will be.”

“And you’d look beautiful in a white dress.” she affirmed, looking deeply in your eyes.

“What?”

“We never really talked about it but I’d love for us to get married. Not now, don’t worry!” Emily specified as soon as she saw your eyes wide open. “I don’t have a ring and this is surely not my proposal but I can see us saying our vows and kissing in front of our loved ones.”

“I can see it, too. I’d love to marry you one day.” you admited, taking her hand in yours.

“Good, like this, I’ll be sure you won’t get rid of me.”

���Trust me, you’ll get sick of me before.” you laughed and Emily shook her head.

“Never. I love you too much to get tired of you.”

And on these words, you shared a languorous kiss full of love. You had never been more sure of your relationship than during that night. You knew it was made to last and you were looking forward to creating new moments as romantic as that one. Unfortunately, just like you had a last kiss, you had one last romantic moment. These instants are now only memories in a picture frame.

A few weeks later, while you have your nose in your work you get a call. You take your phone, wondering who could call you this late. Upon seeing JJ’s name, your stomach drops. She almost never calls you. If she does, something terrible must have happened. With apprehension, you pick up the call.

“JJ, what’s going on? Is Emily okay?”

“You have to come to the hospital right now. Emily is in surgery.” JJ informs with a shaky voice.

“What happened?” you ask, standing up.

“I’ll tell you at the hospital, it’s too long to do it through the phone. I’ll call you back if I have updates from the Doctors before you arrive.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes at most.”

You hang up and quickly get dressed before running to your car. On the way to the hospital, you’re controlled by anxiety. You’ve never driven this fast in your life. In your head, every scenario is happening, making you tear up. The lack of information from JJ doesn’t help to calm you down.

You run through the hospital, looking for Emily’s team. You find them sitting in a waiting room, a worried expression on their face. Hotch sees you arriving first and comes to meet you, JJ on his heels. Hotch keeps a cold head even if he can feel your stress in his soul. He invites you to go to a quieter place in the hospital while JJ grabs you a cup of water. When she gives it to you, Hotch is telling you about Doyle’s escape. As you listen to him, everything seems to make sense in your head.

You finally understand why Emily wanted to be away from you so suddenly, why she used such harsh words. She thought she was protecting you from Doyle by staying far away from you but in doing so, she didn’t think of protecting herself. Emily is in critical condition and you don’t know if you’ll ever have the opportunity of talking to her again, to hold her against you again.

As soon as you know the whole story, you go back to the team. Rossi informs you they haven’t received any updates yet. You sit down next to him and start biting your nails. You wait in agony for the Doctor who is probably going to tell you bad news. 

You wish you were anywhere but here. You wish everything was a bad dream. You wish you were in your shared apartment with Emily, cuddling in your bed whilst the sun is rising in the sky like you used to do.

One morning, about a year after your trip to Paris, Emily had a day off, allowing you to sleep in. You had woken up first - something rare - and you were staring at her. Her face was completely relaxed whilst her right hand was on your hips. You don’t know how long you had stayed like this, you just wanted to enjoy Emily’s presence. At one point, Emily started to wake up and she smiled, noticing you had spent your time watching her.

“Have you been staring at me for a long time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not creepy at all.” she joked, getting closer to you.

“It’s not a crime to admire my girlfriend!”

“We’ve arrested stalkers for less.”

“You’re gonna sleep on the couch.” you retorted with a fake angry face.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I missed you.” Emily suddenly stated

“I missed you too.”

“I hope we’ll always be able to wake up like this.”

“I’ll personally make sure that we do.” you affirmed before snuggling.

You raised your head toward Emily before kissing her. She kissed you back with passion and you spent most of the day in bed. 

Now, you spend most of the evening in an uncomfortable hospital chair. You’re vacantly staring at the floor while thinking at several happy moments with Emily and telling yourself you’ll probably never have others.

JJ comes into the room, a serious expression on her face and red eyes. You don’t need for her to utter a word to understand what she’s about to say. However, you don’t want to believe it. Sure, you weren’t optimistic about Emily’s condition yet a part of you was hoping, praying for everything to be okay and to leave all of this behind you. Penelope whispers a desperate ‘no’ while you keep your gaze on JJ. She avoids your eyes when she pronounces the sentences you fear. 

“She never made it off the table.”

Immediately, tears are streaming down your face. You loudly sob, shocked while Rossi leans in to hug you. You accept his embrace, shedding all your pain. You hear Spencer standing up but you don’t pay attention to him, trying to understand what just happened. 

You thought your heart had broken when Emily broke up with you but you were wrong. This time, the pain in your chest is worse. You don’t even feel like your heart is breaking. Your heart stopped beating and it won’t beat ever again. How could it? You’ll never see Emily’s smile again, hear her laugh, touch her hand. She is dead and your heart left with her.

Emily’s funeral is a few days later. For the first time since the announcement of her death, you get ready. Unlike when you broke up where you felt numb to everything you were doing, you’re feeling every gesture you make. The pain isn’t only emotional, every one of your members is heavy and is hurting you.

Rossi is the one to pick you up. Since Emily’s death, he has been taking care of you. Rossi always considered Emily like his daughter and he immediately liked you when you and Emily got together. He hates seeing you so miserable, he wishes he could take away your pain and add it to his.

Watching the team carrying Emily’s coffin, your pain heightens. You can’t believe the woman you love is locked in this box. You can’t understand how your story ended like this.

You don’t listen to the priest, you keep your eyes on the white flowers that are on the coffin. If Emily could have seen this, she would have said it’s too solemn for her, you smile at that thought. Penelope holds your hand until you’re the first to put a red rose on the coffin, your cheeks wet with tears. You stay next to Emily whilst the team does just like you. Rossi puts a hand on your back to comfort you and you do everything to not break down in his arms. By some miracles, you stay on your feet whilst Emily's casket is going down.

When you come back home, you don’t have the strength to go to bed. You sit on the floor of your bedroom after you put on one of Emily’s tee shirts. You had accidentally put it in your boxes and as Emily never asked for it, you kept it. You bring the fabric to your nose, hoping to smell Emily’s scent but it’s already gone. New tears roll down your cheeks as you realise that soon, every trace of Emily will be gone forever. She will only be a part of your past.

During the whole day, your mind is plagued by memories with Emily. You mainly think about the end of your relationship. You think of every last moment you shared without knowing there will never be a new one. Had you known what was going to happen, you would have enjoyed them more and if you could, you’d change some of them like your last kiss.

It was during a morning, it was early - too early for you -, you had woken up after Emily. Your eyes were closing by themselves whilst you were going to the kitchen. You were making your coffee when Emily appeared in the room. You quickly smiled at her whilst she was telling you she quickly had to leave for work. She pecked your lips and you didn’t even take your time to properly kiss her back, still too asleep. She said ‘I love you’ before taking her bag and leaving your apartment. You had only mumbled an ‘I love you’ back, needing your coffee to talk properly.

You wish your last kiss was different. You wish you had kissed her with passion, enjoying the movement of her lips against yours and you wish you had distinctly said ‘I love you’. Unfortunately, you can’t change the past and you will never have a new opportunity. This kiss is doomed to be your last just like you’re doomed to live without Emily for the remainder of your days. And you’re doomed to have her name forever on your lips just like your last kiss. In the end, Penelope was wrong, it will not be okay.

Part two

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

[elizabethemerald]

A Shade Darker than Red: Part 6

Jason was exploring the Infinite Realms when he felt something pull at him. Danny had trained him in enough of the common ghost skills that he would be safe exploring on his own. Apparently he, as a brand new ghost and Danny’s trainee, fell under the aegis of Danny’s crown. Few ghosts would seriously attack him and he was now skilled enough that any of the playful bouts with the other ghosts could go either way. He was obviously still not as skilled as the ghosts who had centuries to train, and was nowhere close to Danny’s own level, (a fact that irked him to no end). 

When he first felt the tug, stubborn and insistent pulling on something inside him, he carefully looked around like he had been taught by Danny. The situational awareness he had been previously been trained in was next to useless in the endless green sea of the Realms. He was about to dismiss the strange feeling when he couldn’t find any source to the possible threat. 

Then the tug began to burn. He screamed in pain and fear as something yanked on his core. Danny said the ghost’s core was everything to them, brain and heart and soul in one, and something was pulling on his fit to pull it from his body. He screamed for Danny, screamed into the ectoplasm of the Zone, just like he did when he first formed. And just like when he first formed, Danny answered. The King of All Ghosts bent the very Infinite Realms themselves to fly to Jason’s side. 

Danny wrapped him in his impossibly large and powerful aura, surrounded him as the pull became too strong to resist and took the pull upon himself. Jason sighed in relief as the burning in his core eased. He could now focus enough to feel the emotions behind the pull. There was grief and muted rage and grief and sorrow and grief and grief and grief and…

A crackling tear opened in the Realms surrounding them and they both slipped through, invisible and silent to hover in the light of the sun over a large crowd. For a moment Jason felt like he was drowning in the grief of the people below him before he could focus on what was happening. He and Danny had emerged in the air above a funeral. His funeral. 

.

The day of Jason’s funeral, his second funeral, was a bright and sunny one. Dick felt it was a betrayal. The weather of Gotham, normally so gloomy and dark, was bright when it should have been in mourning just like him. 

There was a lot of debate among his remaining siblings about what to do with Jason’s body. After his first death, Jason had been buried on the grounds of Wayne Manor next to Thomas and Martha. Bruce thought it was fitting that his son was buried next to his parents. However once Jason came back, the manor was never really his home again. He had never felt welcomed there, no matter how much his siblings and Alfred had tried. Even though Bruce was currently staying on the Watchtower they didn’t want to risk it. 

Eventually they decided on a small plot in an abandoned lot in Crime Alley. That was where Jason was born, where he lived, and where he died. They would lay him to rest there. Tim handled the purchase of the lot, which was long overgrown and the locals treated it almost as a park. Seemed like the perfect place to lay him to rest. 

They had expected it to be just a private affair, only siblings and Alfred. Except apparently word got out that not only was Jason getting buried, but that Jason was also the Red Hood. Hood’s lieutenants came along with some of the working girls from the Alley. The kids Jason had saved or protected filled out most of the rest of the seats. Really it was a packed house. All here to grieve Jason and acknowledge his impact on their lives. 

There were no capes present. The family were dressed in their civilian attire. Roy and Kori were patrolling the rest of Gotham and would come to pay their own respects later. The Justice League not only hadn’t been invited, they had been explicitly banned from the funeral and the city. Any reporters that tried to enter the lot were forcibly removed by members of Hood’s gang. 

Dick, Tim, Cass and Steph were the pallbearers of Jason’s second coffin. Damian wanted to take part but he was too short, so he and Duke formed an honor guard on either side of the coffin. They choose a simple pinewood box, rather than the more expensive modern coffins. Jason had managed to dig himself out of the grave once, if he had to do it again they wanted to make it easier. There was also a bevy of sensors to detect movement and an emergency beacon, just in case. Damian had even slipped one of his favorite daggers into the coffin so Jason could use it to dig himself out if he needed to. 

The family sans Bruce stood around the grave to say their piece. 

Dick sobbed as he told Jason how much he loved him, and how he was sorry he hadn’t been there for him. He tossed his flower onto the coffin. 

Cass signed her farewell. Saying simply that she loved him. Would always love him and that he was her brother. She set her flower onto the coffin. 

Tim’s farewell was given in a monotone as he tried to reign in his wild emotions. He apologized for taking Jason’s spot the first time. He gave his own forgiveness for Jason’s attempts on his life. He had to turn away and press his face to Dick’s shoulder after he put his flower on his coffin. 

Duke called Jason a brother, a friend and a fighter till the end. He said the hole Jason had left was one that could never be filled. He set his flower on the grave and held Steph while she cried. 

Barbara told her favorite story of Jason, from a time when she was Batgirl and he was Robin, though she kept her real meaning hidden in metaphor. She tossed her flower on his coffin and pulled Dick’s hand to her shoulder. 

Damian sounded furious as he set his flower on Jason’s coffin. His hands shook with suppressed rage, the boy unable to give voice to his grief in any way other than anger. He promised Jason that he would continue to protect Crime Alley in his stead. 

Steph’s voice cracked and broke as she cried through her farewell. She said that Jason was like a brother to her, that she missed the way he cooked and their pranking wars. She dropped her flower from on the coffin then had to grab Cass in a tight hug, hiding her face from the gathered audience. 

Alfred was the last of the family to say his farewell. He placed his flower with the same precision and elegance he brought to every part of his life. If his hands shook when he pulled it back, then no one mentioned it. He gave his apologies and a soft farewell of, “May his memory be a blessing.” 

The family stepped back, standing to the side to allow the other mourners to step forward, but they were hardly the last to say their goodbyes to Jason. All manner of people from Crime Alley came up to the grave with Jason’s coffin laying in it. Old grannies from corner stores that Hood had protected, thugs and gangsters of every persuasion who had worked for former crime lord stepped forward and gave their respects, prostitutes who had worked the street corners under his watchful eye sobbed as they spoke, and children he had saved from kidnappers came forward, some not even understanding what they were doing but they still laid flowers on the coffin. 

Some of those who said their farewells came up to the family, some offered hugs, handshakes, or just a quiet hand on their shoulders. Some of the grannies offered food for the family, saying they were always welcome. Some of the kids offered drawings that drew fresh tears from everyone present. 

Eventually the crowd tapered down and drew back. Jason’s coffin was almost completely covered in a pile of flowers. An entire neighborhood united behind one family over the death of one man. If there was ever a greater testament to the impact Jason had made on the lives of those around him, Dick hadn’t seen it. 

As most of the crowd left the lot one of Hood’s lieutenants pulled Dick aside, a hand on his shoulder. Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to someone who was part of Jason’s criminal empire, but from what the man said over the coffin, Dick had to assume the two were close. 

“Do you know who did this to him?” The man asked. 

Dick weighed his response, it was an incredibly inappropriate question to ask at a funeral, but he knew the criminal underworld of Gotham worked on a different wavelength than the rest of the city. In the end his fury at Bruce won out. 

“The Bat.” 

The man’s face soured and he growled. 

“If any of those capes show their faces in Crime Alley, we’ll fill them full of lead for you.” 

That wasn’t what Dick wanted. That wasn’t what Jason would have wanted he hoped. In his hurry to correct the misimpression he let his mouth run ahead of his brain for a moment. 

“We didn’t want this to happen.” 

Even as his voice cracked on the words, he wished he could pull them back. The man’s eyebrows rose and Dick could watch the calculating look on his face as he turned and examined the rest of the family in turn. Dick was about to panic as the man turned back to him. 

“Don’t you worry none, Red Hood cared for you, even if he didn’t always say it. We’ll keep the Alley running just like he would have wanted it.” He hesitated for a moment longer. “I can’t believe the Bat finally crossed his line. Who would have thought that Batman would kill Red Hood?” 

.

Jason needed to leave. He needed to go. 

He had cried in Danny’s arms as each of his siblings said their farewells. He had cried as the flowers on his coffin had piled higher and higher, each person there remembering and mourning him in their own way. Danny had held him, swathed in his aura, keeping them silent, invisible and intangible throughout the proceedings. 

But now he needed to leave. 

Batman had killed him. Bruce had killed him. 

Like a flash the memories of his second death rushed through him. 

He remembered tailing Bruce to an Alley, aiming to question him on what he was doing in his turf. Bruce had triggered something that took out his coms, then led him into a nearby building. They talked, Bruce told him that his criminal activities were too much, that he would have to take him into Arkham. They fought. Bruce kept punching long after Jason was beaten. 

Jason never would have thought that Bruce would have finally crossed his own line and murder him. Bruce, who had refused to kill the Joker, no matter how many lives he had taken, no matter that he had taken his own son from him, had decided that Jason was human enough to be worth saving. He wasn’t human enough to count against Bruce’s rule. 

Danny pulled the two of them back into the Infinite Realms as Jason hyperventilated even though he no longer needed to breathe. He couldn’t hear more than the ringing in his ears, though he could see Danny’s lips moving. Danny surrounded himself in a green, protective bubble, and kept mouthing something. 

“Let it out. Let it out Jason.” 

Jason threw his head back and wailed. He put his grief, his rage, his betrayal into the wail, every ounce of power he could behind it. He wailed and wailed, the very ectoplasm in the air around them shivering and quaking in the face of his grief. Danny stood, safe behind his shield and watched as he wailed and watched as the wail died on his lips. And Danny was there again, wrapping him up tight in a full body hug, allowing Jason to rest in the safety of his overwhelmingly powerful aura. Darkness crept into his vision, before he finally passed out.

[awkward-tension-art]

Remain By His Side Ch.2

Chp.1 Chp.3

The funeral of your brother. died in Raccoon City.

You didn't expect to see Leon at the funeral.

warnings: Sibling death, loss of an older brother, mentions of broken family, reader is numb from grief, funerals, military funeral, honestly kinda playing fast and loose with lore and what Leon was doing after RE2, Not proof read at all

The only thing left of your brother was the folded flag in the hands of your parents. 

 

Died a hero in Raccoon City. 

 

Killed in action. 

 

Gone but not forgotten.

 

Your family was fractured. Your mother was inconsolable. Your older sister was destroyed. Your younger brother was a mess. Only your father was holding his head high, but you recognized the growing cracks. 

 

He was hiding his grief, all to appear strong. For your broken family.

 

You…had gone numb. Your brain shut off your emotions, unable to process at the moment. 

 

A woman approached you after the funeral. She had short brown hair and kind, deep blue eyes. She introduced herself as Jill Valentine, someone who trained with your brother. 

 

A woman who trained in Delta Force?

 

She must have been impressive in order to achieve such a feat. 

 

Jill offered her condolences. She gave you a card with her phone number and offered to be a friend if you needed it.

 

Her words sounded muffled. Apparently your attention span couldn’t handle much else. Your eyes gazed over the funeral attendees. They were all dressed in black. Some were military, wearing the standard ceremonial uniform. Others were civilians. Distant family you couldn’t remember the names to. 

 

Your eyes landed on someone you didn’t expect. 

 

Leon Kennedy.

 

His arm was in a sling. He seemed out of place. If it wasn’t for Sherry holding his hand, you would assume he wasn’t supposed to be here. but he was here for her, it seemed.

 

You walked away from Jill in a haze before approaching. 

 

“Hi…” You greeted softly. 

 

Sherry let go of Leon and immediately hugged you. Your hands went to her shoulders and you looked up at the former officer in front of you. 

 

He looked…tired. Probably more tired than you. 

 

“Hi.” He responded to you with a nod, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

You’ve heard that sentence too many times in the past week.

 

“I’m sorry…” you were about to repeat the words back to him. Who did Leon lose? What was left behind in Raccoon City? What parts of himself were burned away, just like your brother was?

 

“Thank you.” You ended up settling on. 

 

There was a silence between the two of you as attendees of the funeral mingled and chatted. 

 

“Is…is Sherry being taken care of?” You asked him, lowering your voice. 

 

You haven't been able to take your cousin with you. She had to remain in the government's hands. Even now, you knew the man in the sharp suit and sunglasses behind her was most likely her handler. 

 

Harmless testing. They called it. Yet, you knew it was anything but harmless. They were isolating a little girl because she had been infected and cured of the G-virus. Your cousin was no longer a person in the government's eyes. She was an experiment. A potential threat. Or potential weapons.

 

Sure, physically she might be fine. But mentally? Emotionally?

 

Leon nodded solemnly, “I’m making sure of that.” he answered you honestly. 

 

You couldn’t stop the small smile on your lips, “Thank you.” 

 

Sherry let go of your waist to grab your hand with her left. She then grabbed Leon's with her right, keeping the both of you together. 

 

Cute. You thought. You needed something cute today. your brother was now 6 feet under the ground. you needed some joy.

 

Your attention went back to the former police officer, “How's your shoulder?”

 

He moved it slightly in its sling, but winced ever so slightly, “It’s fine. The bullet went through, so recovery will be a few months.” 

 

You nodded in understanding. From what you understood, getting shot was probably a 10 on the pain scale. Something you hoped you never had to go through. Your eyes went back to Sherry. She was staring ahead, at the people around you. However, once her eyes rested on your mom, she let go and went over to her. She hasn’t spoken at all. Too emotional or overwhelmed maybe…

 

It occurred to you that Sherry was here because of him. If Leon and another woman you hadn't met, Claire, hadn’t found her. Hadn’t protected her, she would have been killed by the zombies. Or the bombs the president fired upon the city. 

 

You swallowed, deciding to ask something potentially crazy, “do you need a place to stay? While you recover?”

 

He was a stranger. It was stupid and potentially dangerous. People have been killed by opening their homes to random people. 

 

No, if Leon was like that, then he wouldn’t have risked his life and limbs to protect your cousin.

 

His baby blue eyes were wide. Clearly he wasn't expecting such a question, “I..uhm..” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “I…I’m not sure if…”

 

“If you need,” you quickly cut him off, hoping to make him feel less awkward, “I have a spare bedroom in my apartment…” It ate at you that Leon, being as kind and caring as he was, didn’t have anyone in the world to turn to. Where would he go? Did he have a place to truly call home ? or was your sympathy based on stupid assumptions?

 

“I appreciate the offer.” He mumbled, clearing his throat, “But once my shoulder is recovered, I'm….” His words faded off, as if even he wasn't entirely sure where he would go. There was a deep look of sadness in his eyes, “I’m going to be going to basic training.”

 

He didn’t have a home. Not anymore. Not when Raccoon City was a crater and a pile of ash. So he joined the military. At least he’d have 3 hots and a cot...

 

“Well…do you need a place to crash until your shoulder is healed?” Maybe you were being pushy. He said no. You should have just accepted his answer. or maybe he wasn't allowed.

 

There was a feeling in your heart though, that you should fight for him. Keep him in your life.

 

It was appreciation. Without him, Sherry would be dead.

 

Honestly, offering your spare bed to him was the least you could do.

 

Leon seemed unsure. Maybe even slightly embarrassed, “I…don’t know.” He admitted after a couple of seconds. 

 

You frowned, “well…” your eyes looked around, “Wait here.” Your steps lead you to your moms side. Wordlessly you dug through her black purse and pulled out a pen and some old recipe. She didn’t mind, you've done this many times growing up.

 

She was always prepared. Always had something on hand for any occasion.

 

You walked back to Leon, scribbling your apartment phone number on the small piece of paper. He looked confused, flustered even, when you handed your number to him, “Feel free to call me if you change your mind.” You smiled at him, hoping he’d accept at some point. 

 

He awkwardly took the paper from you and after a few moments nodded, “Right…thanks.” he mumbled, unsure what else to say. 

 

You were about to speak when your dad approached, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

 

It was time to go. 

 

“I hope I'll hear from you.” You gave Leon a farewell smile before stepping away to rejoin the remains of your family. To your surprise, or perhaps worry, you hadn’t cried yet. You were the only one among your remaining siblings that held it together. 

 

Honestly, at this point, you knew the moment you were alone you’d finally break. Finally cry, scream and sob over your brother. But right now, you’d take the numb feeling. The deep nothingness that overwhelmed your mind.

 

Sherry was pulled back to her handler, and you watched her rejoin Leon. he was looking at your number before slipping it into his pocket. The two of them were ushered away, most likely going back to…wherever the government decided they’d be.

 

Good. you thought to yourself, Maybe he’ll call.

 

You returned to campus 6 days later. And the wired phone in your apartment rang 2 days after that.

[rip-us-xoxo]

Requiem- Fred Weasley x Reader (REPOST)

Posted DECEMBER 12, 2020

Reposted APRIL 16, 2023

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings- Fred’s dead 😭 and it pulls at your heartstrings A LOT. Also swearing, but that’s to be expected at this point

Based off of “Requiem” from Dear Evan Hansen

________________

Italics= flashback

________________

Why should I play this game of pretend?

Remembering through a secondhand sorrow?

Such a great son and wonderful friend

Oh, don’t the tears just pour

There you sat, listening to all of the speeches at Fred Weasley’s funeral.

First from his mother, then his father, all of his siblings, a few friends, including you, and then finally, his twin, George.

Everyone was sobbing their eyes out, but you? You sat there, eyes fixated at the ground except when you gave your speech, but you still were looking down at your black shoes for most of it.

You didn’t want to cry, not after what Fred did to you. But the sadness was still there.

I could curl up and hide in my room

There in my bed, still sobbing tomorrow

I could give in to all of the gloom

But tell me, tell me what for

After the reception ended, you couldn’t handle it anymore. All of the confusing emotions were too much for you.

So, you left while everyone was going to go and eat without saying goodbye.

Once you got home, you slammed the front door shut and stood against the door crying. “Why am I crying?” you thought, “He broke up with me all those years ago.”.

You wiped the tears that kept spilling from your eyes and stood up, going to the bathroom to compose yourself.

After a few moments of crying there was a knock, “Um, Miss Y/l/n?” you heard from outside the door. “Shit,” you whispered and opened the door.

“Hi Sophie, here, let me give you your money. Thank you for watching him again,” you said with a small smile and handed her some money before she smiled and mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before leaving.

When you looked back at the mirror, hot tears were still pouring from your face. “Stop crying, goddammit!” you screamed at yourself and hit the bathroom counter.

Why should I have a heavy heart?

Why should I start to break in pieces?

Why should I go and fall apart for you?

You then heard crying come from your room. “Dammit, I woke him up,” you groaned and wiped your eyes once more before heading down the hall.

When you entered the room, you immediately went to tend to your son, Theodore.

“Shh, Theo, it’s alright. Mommy’s here,” you cooed and picked him up from his tiny bed. It broke your heart to hear him cry, he was the most important thing to you.

He was 3 years old and the best thing that had ever happened to you, but no one else knew about him except your family members and Sophie, the babysitter. After he calmed down, you kissed his fiery red hair and placed him back onto his bed.

“Your father could have had so much. But no. He had to leave and go start his joke shop,” you sighed sadly with a hint of anger. “Why should I care that he’s dead? He left us, not the other way around.”.

“Mommy,” he babbled and made grabby hands toward you. “Oh alright, come on little guy,” you giggled and jumped onto your bed with him. He snuggled into your chest and began sucking on his thumb.

Why should I play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you

And that my world has gone dark without your light?

I will sing no requiem tonight

“Fred Weasley was a great friend and I miss him everyday”. That was one of the lines from your speech that you gave at his funeral.

You didn’t miss him at all, but to appease everyone and to not cause drama, you said you did.

Your world didn’t need Fred Weasley as your light, you had everything you needed snuggled in your arms.

I gave you the world, you threw it away

Leaving these broken pieces behind you

Everything wasted, nothing to say

So I can sing no requiem

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but we can’t be together anymore,” Fred told you, not meeting your eyes. 

“W-Wait what?” you asked, tearing up. “This isn’t funny Fred,” you tried laughing, “it’s just a sick joke.”. 

When he didn’t meet your eyes, you knew he was serious. “W-Why?” you asked, starting to cry. 

“I just think it’s what’s best.”.

That was all he told you in the corridors one starry night in your 7th year. The next day he left school, not speaking a word to you.

You were broken by the words he did speak though, he gave no explanation, he just left.

4 years. 4 years you two had been together and he just left.

But the one thing you wish you could’ve told him was that you were pregnant with his child.

“Maybe things could’ve been different,” you whispered, a single tear running down your face.

I hear your voice, I feel you near

Within these words, I finally find you

And now that I know that you are still here

I will sing no requiem tonight

You tried to sleep but your brain was filled with too many thoughts. You looked down at your son after another failed attempt at sleep and realized just how much he looked like Fred. Red hair, brown eyes, Theo had it all.

Fred’s memory will live through the shop and his family members, but for you, it was little Theo who reminded you of him, it gave you an odd sort of peace that Fred was still with you in a way.

You started to cry thinking of all the happy memories while looking down at your son, oh how you wished Fred could be there with you and your son.

Why should I have a heavy heart?

Why should I say I’ll keep you with me?

Why should I go and fall apart for you?

You then thought back to when Theo would cry for hours as a baby and nothing would calm him down, or how you worked 2 jobs to be able to provide for you and your son. Fred wasn’t there for any of it, he wasn’t there to help at all.

“Get it together,” you whispered to yourself and tried to fall asleep once more.

Why should I play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you and that my world has gone dark without your light?

I will sing no requiem

Tonight

You groaned when sleep, once again, wouldn’t consume you.

You sat up, being careful not to crush your son, and reached into your nightstand. You pulled out a newspaper with a picture of Fred and George in front of their joke shop smiling, it was opening day and they looked so proud.

You smiled slightly, but anger soon consumed you.

“Why am I crying over him, for Godric’s sake!” you said angrily and threw the newspaper beside you.

‘Cause when the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep

No one lights a candle to remember

No, no one mourns at all

When they lay them down to sleep

“I hate you!” you screamed as you ripped up all of the pictures you had of Fred. “You were a horrible person!” “You left me! You left Theo without a dad!” “You didn’t even say anything, you just went and risked your life and died!”. These were all things you screamed as you ripped up all of the pictures you had of Fred.

“I hate you!” you sobbed and ripped up the picture of you two at the Yule Ball before throwing the pieces at the wall.

So, don’t tell me that I didn’t have it right

Don’t tell me that it wasn’t black and white

“You had no excuse to leave me! Everyone told me that I should forgive you because you were a good person, but you were not a good person, you left me!” you screamed.

After all you put me through

Don’t say it wasn’t true

That you were not the monster

That I knew

“You left me! I was pregnant and it was the most painful experience of my life and you didn’t help me though any of it!” you sobbed while looking at a picture of you and Fred after a quidditch match.

“There was never any good in you, you were just pure evil!”.

'Cause I cannot play the grieving girl and lie

Saying that I miss you And that my world has gone dark

The last words made you sob to the point where you couldn’t breathe.

“I. Hate-!” you stopped screaming when you came across a photo. It was you and Fred hugging on a Gryffindor common room couch.

That was the day you found out you were pregnant and you were scared out of your mind.

“Love, are you alright?” Fred asked and sat down on the couch in the Gryffindor common room next to you. “

Hm? Oh yeah, just tired I guess,” you mumbled, not daring to look into his eyes. 

“Oh come on, Y/n, we’ve been dating for 4 years. Just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” he cooed and engulfed you in a hug while stroking your hair and giving you a long kiss on the forehead. 

The flashing of a camera made both of your eyes go wide. “

Aw look at the love birds!” George teased and sat the camera on the table, waiting for it to process. 

“Oh sod off George,” Fred groaned and gave you another kiss on the forehead.

You sobbed and came back to reality, Theo was crying. You quickly got off of the floor and sat next to him, bringing him into your lap.

“I’m so sorry Theo, mommy didn’t mean to scare you,” you cried and hugged him tightly.

I will sing no requiem

I will sing no requiem

I will sing no requiem tonight

“Come on, let’s go to sleep,” you told Theo while glaring at the ripped up pictures on the floor, “I have better things to do than cry over a stupid man who broke my heart years ago. I’m done crying over him. I’m over him.”.

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Theo ended up not being able to fall asleep and neither could you. Fred Weasley was all you were thinking about. No matter how hard you tried, he was still taking over your brain.

“Come on, Theo,” you huffed and got him dressed in a little jacket to accommodate for the coldness of the night before walking out of your house and walking to the graveyard where Fred had been buried.

You needed to see him one last time before you never thought about him again.

You looked down at the gravestone “Fred Weasley, beloved brother, son, and friend,” you read quietly to yourself, starting to cry once more. You sat down and leaned up against the gravestone before making Theo cuddle into your front.

“I miss you everyday Fred,” you cried and hugged Theo tightly while rubbing the ground Fred was buried under, “I still love you, no matter how many times I try to say I hate you.”.

Little did you know, Fred was sitting next to you, his arms were wrapped around you and their son. “Y/n, I wish I could go back and fix everything, I wish I could’ve been there for you and our son, I’m sorry,” he whispered sadly, resting his head on your shoulder.

After a few minutes of you crying, you stood up, much to Fred’s dismay and looked down and Fred’s gravestone where Fred was also coincidently sitting, “This is it, Fred, I need to move on, I’ll always love you, I hope you know that. But this is goodbye,” you said sadly, “for now,” you said in barely a whisper before turning around and walking back to your house.

Although you knew that you were never going to see him again and for years to come you would say that you were over Fred, you knew that you would never be over him and that you would sing a silent requiem every night for Fred because he was, and will always, be the love of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

xoxo

[slippinmickeys]

Madam Scully’s Spiritual Services, Inc. (3/?)

Something about the dead had always intrigued Dana Scully. They had stories to tell, assuredly, but communing with them from the great beyond was not exactly how Dana had imagined having a conversation with those that had passed. The idea of forensic pathology had taken a hold of her in the last six months. The idea that the dead could speak to her – that the evidence they carried around could help solve the mysteries of their endings – be they naturally occurring or not – planted a seed that she could not root out.

Missy knew of her plans to attend medical school, but Dana had not told her what she planned to do with the advanced degree once she had it. Her parents had been brutally murdered, and she was sure that Missy would see the choice to become a forensic pathologist or medical examiner as some kind of bid to solve the mystery of their deaths – a way to hold onto the trauma of their passing. And, she had to admit, maybe there was something to that. Melissa had wanted Dana to let go. And while Dana had moved on, she had not exactly put the past behind her.

She shoved a loose shank of hair away from her face, tucking it securely behind her ear and sighed. She’d been up all night thinking of the man who had come into the shop – Fox Mulder. Despite Melissa’s adamant insistence that the voice Dana had heard had been from beyond the pale of life, she wasn’t entirely convinced. There might be a more rational explanation. And by the time dawn broke, she had decided that she had to at least talk to Fox Mulder about it. He was, after all, the only other person in the room.

She had searched for him, and all her searching had so far been fruitless. She’d checked the white pages, the yellow pages, university directories (she wasn’t sure why, but she’d pegged him as some kind of academic). She’d even tried calling C&P Telephone Company and its new parent company, Bell Atlantic, asking how she might track down a number. All had proven useless, and the later two, snottily unhelpful.

She slid the MCAT study guide back in front of her. There would be other investigative avenues, she just needed to think of them first. In the meantime she would put her head down and study. But the words swirled around the page in front of her, and she couldn’t focus.

Huffing another irritated sigh, she stood from behind the front counter and made her way into the curtained room where they did their various readings. Missy was in the small side office in the back of the building going over their books, and so Dana thought she might take a moment to see if she could maybe hear the voice again. Maybe it was an echo from the restaurant next door, maybe it was…

Once the curtain closed behind her, the room took on a cloistered, insulated feel, the ambient sounds of everyday life muted and dulled. She sat down in the chair reserved for she and Melissa and lit the three candles that sat in the center of the room, closing her eyes.

It wasn’t like she’d never tried this. After her parents had died, in those miserable weeks where she and Missy had had to roll calls with the police, the church, the funeral parlor, relatives, the social security administration, the bank; after they’d had to handle all the various necessary bureaucracies that come with the end of a modern life, Dana had walked into this room in emotional disarray with the thought that she could speak with her parents. That she could maybe say all of the things that were left unsaid between them. That she could listen to them in kind. Her sister ran a business that claimed people could speak with their departed relatives. Her sister believed, actually believed that it was possible. That it was likely. That she herself could hear voices from beyond the grave. Why not try to talk to them in this place that was readily at her disposal? But the room had remained silent. No voices ever spoke to her. Not her parents, nor anyone else. She tried tarot. She tried Ouija. She’d actually tried a goddamn seance. But none of it had borne any fruit. One night, Melissa had come into the room while Dana sat in it, put her arms firmly around her sister and said: “They’re not here, honey.”

The room before her stayed as quiet as it had all those many months ago. If anyone was here to talk, they weren’t saying anything. Finally, after probably fifteen solid minutes of silence, the candles in front of her guttered again and she looked up. Melissa stood holding the curtain open that led to the back rooms and gave her a sympathetic look.

“Any luck?” she asked.

Dana gave an embarrassed chuckle. “No.”

“I think it’s good that you’re trying,” Missy said, moving into the room and running a hand along Dana’s shoulders before lowering herself into the chair across from her. The same chair that Mulder had sat in the night before.

“I think it’s ridiculous that I’m trying.”

“Believe what you will,” Melissa said. “I don’t think the spirits care one way or the other.” The crystal on the choker she wore flashed dully in the candlelight.

Dana sighed, rubbed her face.

“Maybe the spirit is tied to him,” Missy went on, tilting her head to look at Dana kindly. “Maybe he’ll come back.”

“Maybe he will,” Dana said, not really believing it. “And what if he does?”

Missy cocked her head to the side in question.

“Let’s say he comes back. Let’s say the spirit,” Dana gave the word a dismissive, condescending inflection, “comes with him. What then?”

Melissa shrugged. “I don’t know. Something brought him here last night. Maybe it’s on us to find out what it is.”

The irritating thing was, Dana was pretty sure Melissa was right. Otherwise she wouldn’t have spent the last three hours fruitlessly trying to track him down.

Missy leaned out over the table and grabbed Dana’s hand, squeezing it in sympathy. “The answers are there, Dana. You just have to know where to look.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Two weeks later

The night was warm, but not uncomfortably so, the heat wave of the last several weeks having finally dissipated, leaving the residents of Washington DC a little sun scorched, but relieved.

Dana had left the front door to the shop propped open with half a cinder block, the soft sussurus of the cars going by drifting into the doorway along with the smells of carnitas and hot tar, and the flowery scent of the detergent that the cleaners next door used to launder shirts. It was a hazy, dream-like evening, the best kind of summer night, and it took every bit of will power she possessed not to shove aside her studies and go outside to enjoy it.

Missy was in the back with a regular client and the night had been otherwise slow, and Dana watched the sky turn from the easy blue of dusk into the warm pinks and oranges of sunset, the neon signs in their windows humming in contentment.

The sweep of a car’s headlights briefly flashed across the desk and she reached for the green-ish glass bottle of Coke next to her and took a sip through a red and white striped straw. Was there anything better on a warm summer’s night? She thought not.

She was just getting back into gear and focusing on the words in the textbook in front of her, when she felt the heavy presence of someone else in the room with her. Looking up and half expecting to see the hazy outline of a ghost, she was instead met with an even more surprising sight: a full flesh and blood mortal, none other than Fox Mulder.

“Oh!” she said, surprised, raising a hand to press against her chest.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Your door was open.”

“Yes,” she said, getting her breath back and trying to regulate her heart rate. “It’s um, it’s a really nice night.”

“It is,” he said, rising up on his toes and then lowering himself back down. She half expected him to snap his fingers and swing his arms in front of himself for a clap.

“Can I help you?” she finally spoke when it appeared that he probably wouldn’t.

He shook himself. “Yes,” he said, reaching back into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “It occurred to me a few days ago that I left here without paying, and that’s not exactly a good look for someone in law enforcement.”

“You’re a cop?” Dana said, genuinely surprised.

“A federal agent,” he clarified. “I’m just finishing up my training at Quantico.”

So he was young, Dana thought, probably right out of college. Only a year or two older than her.

“Well copper,” she said, “you do owe me ten bucks.”

Mulder smiled and reached into his wallet, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and handing it over. Dana opened the till and started to make change when Mulder held out a hand. “Keep the change, please,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for running out on you.”

“Okay,” Dana said, sliding the ten she was about to hand him into her pocket. “Thank you.”

Mulder made no move to leave. “I’m… sorry about that, by the way,” he finally said. “I don’t mean to offend, but the whole thing at the end was kind of… weird.”

“No offense taken,” Dana said, sitting up straight. “It was weird, what happened at the end.”

“You mean most customers don’t bolt out the door without paying?”

“As a general rule, no,” she said. “But what I meant was, the thing about the scarf,” he moved on his feet, uncomfortable. “That’s not something that usually happens. I’m sorry if it scared you.”

“It didn’t exactly scare me,” he tried to explain, “but it did… I guess what I want to know is… What exactly did… happen?”

Dana rubbed a tired hand over her eyes and glanced back at the curtained room. With Mulder standing in front of her once again, she was beginning to get that creepy feeling up her neck, and the thought of the reading room kind of wigged her out. “Do you want to go outside and talk?” she asked him, swallowing thickly. “There’s a couple of picnic tables around the back we could sit at.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said, darting his own eyes toward the back room. “That would be nice.” He looked as relieved as she felt.

He stepped out and onto the sidewalk in front of the shop and then stood back to let her lead the way. On her way past the taqueria, she paused for a moment, inspired.

“One second,” she said, holding up a finger, and then darted into the taqueria, emerging less than a minute later holding two frozen paletas. “Okay,” she said, looking at him as she came out the door. “This way.”

He followed her obediently as she turned onto the small sparse grass space next to the parking lot, the ground below their feet mealy with crushed asphalt and broken glass. She hiked her way up to sit on the table part of the picnic table, letting her feet rest on the bench. From where she sat, she could still keep an eye on Madam Scully’s door should a customer show up.

Mulder lowered himself down beside her, mirroring her position. She handed him one of the paletas. “Mango,” she said, peeling open the wrapping to grab the popsicle’s wooden stick.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, but accepted the treat politely, opening the frozen confection and taking an experimental bite. “S’good,” he said. “How’d you know what I’d like?”

“One of the perks of the job,” she said, smiling and sinking her own teeth into the tart delicacy.

He smiled at that and took another bite and they eased into a comfortable silence. The paleta started to melt under her ministrations and a drop of mango juice started running down her wrist. She licked it off, and when she looked up she found Mulder watching her, something sharp behind his eyes.

“So Quantico, huh?” she asked to distract them both.

Mulder looked back down at his own popsicle and took another bite. “Yep,” he said with his mouth full. “I’m going to be a real life FBI agent, ma.”

Scully considered this. “Maybe that’s why it was so hard to track you down.”

Mulder sat up upon hearing this. “You tried to track me down?”

Embarrassed, Scully tucked back into her dessert. “You owed me money, see,” she said nonchalantly.

“Ah,” he said, tipping his head back. “I was wondering if it was…” he trailed off, and Scully found herself desperate to find out what he’d been about to say.

Mulder took the last bite and placed the wooden stick into the wrapping, and threw it in a perfect arc so that it landed squarely in a trash receptacle a few yards away.

“Nothing but net,” Scully said, impressed.

Mulder smiled at her and looked away.

“So I think you might be holding out on me,” he finally said.

She tilted her head in question.

“I think you might be Madam Scully, after all. There’s no other explanation for the thing you said the other day.”

Dana tilted her head down, looked away. “I may be Scully, but I’m certainly no madam,” she said quietly.

“So how did you know about the scarf, Scully ?” he said, emphasizing her name in a playful way. She thought of him as Mulder. It kind of worked.

“I don’t know anything about the scarf,” she said. “What happened in there…” How could she describe it to him? “That’s never happened to me before.”

“So what did happen?” he asked, quite seriously.

“After our reading,” she started, “I heard something.”

“Something?”

“A voice,” she admitted. “Telling me to ask you about the red scarf.”

He stared at her in wonder. “What kind of voice?”

Dana hadn’t really thought about it until he asked. “A girl’s voice. A little girl.”

“So you’re the real thing, huh?” He finally said, more in wonder than anything else. “I never would have… I pulled in for tacos .”

She huffed a rueful laugh. “Then can you explain it to me?”

“You need me to explain it to you?” he asked incredulously. “You’re the fortune teller,” he went on. “And you heard the voice of my dead sister. I was hoping you could explain it to me .”

[suzuran777]

Slow Damage: Clean Dishes Epilogue 1 Summary

This epilogue shows how Baku and Shiro met and how they eventually started living together as a couple. I do recommend reading my other blog posts which summarize the game’s plot and endings, but it’s not necessary to understand this epilogue!

Also check Slow Damage’s content warnings if you’re sensitive to certain topics, because this game is also really dark.

This epilogue starts with a flashback in which Baku is strangling Shiro. He wonders why Shiro is smiling, in a situation like this, most other people would cry, struggle or beg for their lives, but Shiro seems to enjoy it. Confused, Baku lets go of him and waits for his reaction. Shiro smiles ‘’Won’t you kill me?’’. A hand covered in blood and bruises touches his face. Shiro tells him that they are quite similar to each other, people who don’t have a place they can call ‘’home’’, who don’t really belong anywhere in this world. He suggests they should stay together, so Baku can kill him one day. Baku is not sure why he accepts his offer. Perhaps he recognized the immense amount of despair which made him wish for his death, Baku knew that feeling too well. Just like Shiro, he also had no place he could call ‘’home’’ anymore. It was the first time he encountered someone like Shiro.

After this the game skips to a different flashback. Baku was raised in mainland Japan, not in Shinkoumi. His parents worked as embalmers who took care of the bodies of those who passed away, to prevent them from decaying. They had a strong policy of being open about their work and showed it to their children as well. Therefore, death was always close to him, even when he was just a child. He was proud of his parents’ skills, but at the same time he felt lonely, after all his parents rarely had time for him. It was normal for him to come to his parents’ workplace after school, so the sight of a corpse did not faze him.

‘‘I wanted to be a good listener so I wouldn’t cause trouble for my parents, I was proud of them and their work.’‘

When he was a bit older, he started spending less time at his parents’ workplace. Two years later, during his first year in junior high school, Baku’s parents passed away in a car accident. Since he stopped going to their workplace, he only saw them in the morning and at night. He thought their deaths wouldn’t change him much because he rarely saw them, but it left a big hole in his heart. He didn’t cry, it felt like all his emotions had been sucked out of him. The bodies of his parents had been severely damaged in the accident, but Baku decided to embalm them himself. Even though he was never taught how to do it, he had seen it so often he knew what he had to do. With the help of other relatives, the funeral went by without any problems. 

After this Baku’s life started changing. He used to be a quiet and obedient child, but soon after the death of his parents he started getting into fights at school. An acquaintance had asked him if he wanted to take over the family business, but he refused and moved to Shinkoumi instead. 

‘‘Immediately after graduating high school, with the inheritance of my parents and the earnings of my part-time jobs, I started working for Clean Dishes/Sara-ya.’‘

He learned about Sara-ya from online advertisements and he was hired immediately. His job is to clean the rooms in which people have died, be it suicide or murder, but it seems like most employees immediately quit because they couldn’t handle what they would find in these rooms. Baku didn’t feel anything when he saw a corpse, he was used to it after all, which is one of the reasons why they immediately hired him. 

It was one year after he joined the company. Cleaning is usually done in teams of two people, but Baku went alone because a lot of people quit the company. When he starts cleaning the room he notices something is off. There should only be two corpses in this room, so why did he just hear the sound of someone breathing? He decides to inspect the corpses and notices one of them is in fact not a corpse, but a man who’s still alive.

Baku: ‘’I heard someone died here so I came to clean it up, why are you sleepig here?’’

Shiro says he also came here because he heard someone died in this room, but he somehow fell asleep. Baku asks him if he knew the person who passed away, but Shiro shakes his head, ‘’I just like corpses, so I came to see it.’’ After hearing this very abnormal story Baku wonders if he’s lying, who sneaks into a room and then falls asleep next to a corpse? Even for him that’s abnormal. Shiro asks him if he also likes corpses, but Baku shakes his head, he’s just used to them but that doesn’t mean they share the same interests. After this first encounter with Shiro, he meets him again a few times after that. For some reason he often visits the rooms the Sara-ya employees clean.

Sometime after this Baku gets into a fight with a group of people outside. Some other people also join the fight and that’s how he ended up strangling Shiro (which is shown in the first part of this epilogue). Baku doesn’t want to get too involved with this group, so he wakes up the ‘’corpse loving man’’, who then introduces himself as ‘’Shiro’’. Baku doesn’t know if that’s his real name, but he just accepts it, his real name isn’t Baku[1] either, that’s just what some of the cleaners at Sara-ya called him. He didn’t care what people called him anyway. Shiro doesn’t question it and calls it a cute name. After that they learn a bit more about each other, like Shiro’s job as a prostitute (which is also mentioned in the third epilogue!).

‘‘To put it bluntly, it was a terrible room.’‘

Shiro’s living situation was anything but normal and cleaning didn’t seem to be his biggest priority. He quits his job as a prostitute after meeting Baku and decides to also work for Sara-ya. Because of his strange obsession with corpses, the company also hires him immediately. They also eventually decide to live together because Shiro struggles with suicidal thoughts and needs someone to take care of him. Baku doesn’t mind being in a relationship with a man because he has seen so many corpses, gender is the last thing he cares about (thank you Baku, so romantic...).

‘‘No matter what kind of person you are, you are a ‘thing’ that will eventually rot, including myself.’‘

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

[1] ‘’Baku’’ is a term used for Japanese supernational beings who are said to devour people’s nightmares. However, when they get greedy they also devour people’s dreams, hopes and desires. The Sara-ya employees joke that Baku doesn’t have any dreams or hopes, which is probably the reason they gave him this nickname. His real name is never mentioned, Shiro’s isn’t either.

I already summarized Shiro’s backstory in another blog post, but this one was also very interesting to read. Even the happy content in Clean Dishes still feels a bit bittersweet compared to Slow Damage’s happy endings. 

[klqrambles]

13 for henry wotton maybe???

Ooohohohohohohoho

Not exactly the drunk confession you’d expect i think >:3c

(Cw: death mention)

Basil sighed as he dragged a drunk and giggling Henry Wotton toward their shared university dormitory. It was a constant struggle to keep his wandering hands in publicly appropriate places and keep the (affectionately nicknamed) lordling from kissing him. At the constant denial Henry whined with dissatisfaction, leaning closer than was likely advisable, especially in his drunken state.

Eventually they were able to make it, at which point Basil deposited Henry upon his respective bed. Henry grasped at his coat and dragged Basil down with a delighted giggle from him and an offended yelp from his victim.

“Harry,” Basil wriggled half heartedly in his grip, “I know you often espouse about decadence and living to your limits, but really! You should know your own limits on alcohol by now.”

Henry chuckled, tightening his grip and nuzzling into Basil, “oh I know, dearest Basil. But it seems that alcohol is the only thing that allows me to be this close to you! So I indulge.”

Basil scoffed, “you insist on hugging and kissing me every morning, I don’t see how this is any closer than that.”

He shook his head and patted Basil’s chest, “I mean here, my dear.”

Basil stilled, confused. Slowly, he turned himself around in Henry’s arms until they were face to face. His expression was that of alcohol-fueled happiness, but something about his gaze made Basil concerned.

“What do you mean, Henry?”

Henry giggled, interrupted by a soft hiccup, “ooh, so stern! And scary!”

He kissed him and Basil let him before breaking it off.

“I’m serious, Harry. What do you mean?”

Henry glanced at him again, expression unreadable. Then he sighed, fiddling with a bit of Basil’s hair.

“You feel, Basil. You feel so much, you indulge in such emotion and allow it to engulf you. Flow through you and onto the canvas of your art. Such beauty you create out of such mundanity. And emotions are so mundane are they not?

And yet, it seems that… something about mine are… it is rather difficult to describe. I have felt joy, I have felt distress, I have felt love, even. And yet it feels as though… I am lacking in a few.”

“Lacking?”

“When Oliver died, I remember you were so distraught. You couldn’t seem to stop crying and when you did it would not be long before you started once again.”

“I did. I remember.”

“Do you know what I was thinking?”

“No.”

“I found myself thinking about what an inconvenience it would be to have to greet all the mourners that came by.” Henry clutched Basil close to him again, “can you believe it? My younger brother had died. We were at his funeral. And all I could think about is how inconvenient it all was. How callous!”

Basil frowned before wrapping an arm around Henry, “it is not callous to handle grief differently, Henry.”

Henry smiled at him, “how kind, my dearest Basil. But I can assure you that it was not grief that I felt. Rather, it was nothing that I felt. I know I loved and cared for my brother and yet when he passed nothing in particular changed for me. One day, a few weeks after, I drank far too much than was likely prudent, even more than I had today! My recollection of that night is pretty hazy at best.”

Basil sighed, remembering that night. He never figured out where Henry had gotten the alcohol, but he’d nearly smashed his window trying to get his attention. Henry giggled and shushed Basil with a finger.

“Did you know what I did? I cried! I didn’t exactly know why I was crying, nor do I really understand now, but I cried. With some alcohol in me it really seemed as though I could feel! Or perhaps I was letting go of what little I could feel. I don’t know. Emotions are mundane, but occasionally mundanity is difficult it seems. But for a short while it felt like I was like you. And for a short while now I feel like I’m like you! No more cold unfeeling lordling Wotton. Just the most wonderful Basil Hallward.”

Basil found himself unsure of what to say in response. Henry rarely if ever talked about himself in such a genuine manner and Basil didn’t want what he said to ruin it.

“But,” Henry interrupted his thoughts and placed a hand on Basil’s head, patting it in a drunk yet condescending manner, “don’t worry your little head about something such as this.”

“I won’t worry.”

“You always worry.”

At that, Henry curled up into Basil and shut his eyes slowly drifting off into a drunken sleep. Basil watched his breathing even out before speaking.

“Don’t try to be me, Harry. Just try to be yourself.”

[solarishashernoseinabook]

trick or treat! trick idea: caitlyn's reaction to discovering ferris's attempts to murder halt (after halt has left)

Thanks ace!

This was interesting to write, considering I had to write something very similar for TRR, but I like what I did with this one :D

~

Caitlyn had barely been able to make it through the funeral without losing her mind completely. Her parents, too, looked ashen-faced – her father, already in poor health, had barely been able to stand during the ceremony. Only Ferris seemed relatively unaffected by the solemn affair, keeping his head down and face blank as the empty coffin that represented their brother was lowered into the ground.

Caitlyn had turned that over in her mind for the rest of the day. Of her two brothers, Ferris had always been the one more prone to bursts of emotion. When their uncle had died, Ferris had wept openly, and he seemed to be greatly affected by their father’s recent illness.

She tried to tell herself this was different. Halt and Ferris were identical twins; the emotional rift that had developed between them in their teens had been hard on Halt because, in his words, it was like losing a part of himself. Maybe Ferris wasn’t able to process the pain of losing Halt, and that’s why he seemed so disconnected during the funeral.

But it didn’t sit right with her. Halt had felt unsafe around Ferris for a long time. He had confided in Caitlyn about seeing Ferris after the roofing tiles had nearly fallen on him. And combined with Halt’s sickness from the clams earlier…

Caitlyn had been staring at the canopy of her bed for hours. Finally, she flung back her quilt, put on her robe, and slipped out of her room.

Ferris’s rooms weren’t far from her own and Caitlyn half-ran there. She heard the fire crackling and saw the light of a candle through the keyhole. She knocked. ‘Enter,’ Ferris said curtly. Caitlyn went in and closed the door quietly behind her. Ferris was at his desk, still fully dressed and writing something. He waved vaguely without looking up. ‘Put the tea on the table there and go.’ ‘It’s me, Ferris,’ Caitlyn said. Ferris looked up with a scowl. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I just need to know what happened,’ she said. ‘On the lake, with Halt.’ Ferris set his mouth in a firm line. ‘I doubt you could handle it. It was…very difficult.’ ‘I’m not a child!’ Caitlyn snapped, willing herself to stop quivering. ‘Please, Ferris – I can’t move on until I know.’ Ferris sighed, putting down his quill and turning to her. ‘We were salmon fishing. Halt leaned over to untangle his line and fell in the water. I couldn’t get him out in time.’ Caitlyn shook her head slowly. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ ‘Death often seems random, but—’ ‘No,’ Caitlyn said. ‘Halt was a strong swimmer, and the lake is calm this time of year. There’s no reason he shouldn’t have been able to get back in the boat, or at least swim to shore.’ Ferris only shrugged and turned back to his desk. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to write my speech. Father is officially declaring me his heir tomorrow.’ The callousness of this statement rocked Caitlyn to her core. For a moment she felt only shock; then disgust welled up inside her until she was shaking once more. ‘That’s all you care about, isn’t it?’ ‘Oh, what is it now?’ Ferris snapped, turning back to her. ‘Being king,’ Caitlyn said, her voice quivering. ‘You hated being younger, hated the fact that Halt would have gotten the crown instead.’ ‘My dear, your grief is getting to you,’ Ferris said firmly, his voice nonetheless rising. ‘He saw you!’ she snapped. ‘After the tiles fell! He saw you up there, he saw how angry you were! What kind of person wouldn’t be relieved upon finding out that his twin brother had survived something nearly killing him?!’ ‘Now you’re being ridiculous! You didn't even see what happened that day!’ Caitlyn snatched the penknife from the desk in a fit of rage. Instantly Ferris was on his feet, catching and holding her wrist in a vice-like grip. For a long moment they stared at each other in silence. ‘Halt was a soft-hearted fool,’ Ferris said softly. ‘He let his affection for people get the better of him. All I had to do was tell him I was worried about not being able to handle the boat on my own, saying that I so wanted to get a nice salmon for our poor, ailing father, and he insisted on helping me.’ Tears blurred Caitlyn’s vision and she swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. ‘I’ll tell. I’ll tell Mum and Dad.’ Ferris smiled at her then, but it wasn’t his usual smile, it was Halt’s smile – and all of a sudden she was looking into her dead brother’s face. Ferris spoke again, and now he sounded just like Halt too – he spoke with Halt’s soft cadence, his steady self-assurance. ‘Father’s in such poor health. One more major shock…it could kill him, Cait. Best to just let things lie. Throwing around accusations won’t bring people back from the dead.’ The knife slipped from Caitlyn’s grasp and clattered to the floor. Ferris pulled her into a hug and she tried to resist, but he held her tightly and stroked her hair, and Caitlyn was crying too hard to put up a fight. After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Ferris let her go. ‘Go to bed, Caitlyn. It’s been a long day for us all.’ Caitlyn turned on her heel and fled back to her room.