#except maybe kit arresting her

[dykespence]

one of my gifs of Them that didn’t make the cut so is gathering dust in my camera roll. 4 u. hope this helps

AAAGHGH THIS IS EVERYTHING??

[blindmagdalena]

This headcanon/fic hybrid has been updated and partially rewritten to have a proper beginning, more fleshed out middle, a new ending, and better perspective. You can find it here! Anonymous asked:

Lionlander?! Idea!

What if I'm some way somehow S/o ran into Homelander and a whole scenario played out like the Lion with the thorn stuck in his paw and Homelander being the lion of course and little s/I bring the mouse lol. I can imagine it now! Homelander being in some situation where he can't believe he actually needs help (not sure what kind of situation that would be lol) uhhh how could the great Homelander get himself stuck in this mess?! Then little short adorable s/o comes along just ordinary and minding her own business and notices poor Homelander in his situation she doesn't laugh or get scared despite his grumpiness towards her instead she just smiles sweetly and comes over and helps him... Being completely warm and friendly wanting to make a new friend rather than run away...

OOHHH you know, I've been pondering the repercussions of a possible "kryptonite" for Homelander being discovered. An Anti-V, if you will. Imagine he's soaring through the sky and hears something whistling through the air behind him. Some kind of projectile? a small missile, maybe? It's nothing he hasn't handled before. It could blow up in his hand and he would be fine.

In that split second he has to react, he decides to forego dodging it, and see where it's coming from, honing in his vision, except as it gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. What the fuck? His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him in the chest, fumes filling his lungs and coating his skin. He feels like he's been turned inside out. Suddenly he's plummeting towards the ground, and crashes directly into your backyard, an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

He's out like a light, and when you muster up the courage to approach him, he's not moving. Oh god, he's not breathing. In your panic, your brain shuts off, and you act without thinking.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No, compressed, hands over his chest, pulsing again and again in a rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he shoves you away from him, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a shove like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body feels heavy. He's having trouble breathing, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in.

He's wild-eyed, breathing erratic, and you're afraid he's about to put himself into cardiac arrest. He may not have his usual strength, but the brutal way he punched his palm into your chest was still no joke.

"Homelander!" You address sharply, trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. What if whoever tried to kill him is coming for him? "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

Maybe it's something in the tone of your voice, equal parts authoritative and compassionate, or maybe it's the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It's pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag and a first aid kit. As you lean over him, he sees a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his palm.

Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it. You startle, looking down where he touches. You now notice the beginnings of the bruise, too. "Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as you can muster. It stings where he presses his fingers in, the skin tender. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks numbly. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another. "I think these need stitches," you say, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak.

What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. Homelander catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the pain is beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent.

Thank fucking Christ.

"Okay," you say tentatively. Instead, you continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing it from his temples, down his jaw. Homelander watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head, though only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, he almost forgets you're strangers.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice low, nearly a growl.

You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight. It's uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for the feel of it.

"I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?"

Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on baited breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, Homelander evens his expression. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. "I need to lay low awhile." Though he can feel his powers steadily returning, it would be foolish to fly before nightfall. Whoever shot at him could have another round loaded and waiting. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," Homelander says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

Homelander watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first, but grows gradually more clear. Of all the commotion he's becoming aware of, he fixates on your breathing to drown out the rest.

After an hour, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas, even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

From his observations , he's learned the rhythm of your heartbeat, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's very lucky for you that I am so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so utterly charming, Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does. Homelander stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

Homelander's lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it.

"Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hung in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, Homelander puts his hands on your waist, and pulls you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you. He hears your heart begin to race, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his neck, sinking deeper into the kiss.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed prettily from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears.

"What... was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs. You look up when he points, and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you.

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You ask playfully, your shoulders relaxing. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to chuckle. "Oh, no. I haven't said thank you yet," he says, hands lingering on your hips. He'd only meant it to be a quick thing, but now you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He licks his lips.

There's still a couple more hours until sundown. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll figure out exactly what the fuck he got blasted by. For now, he owes you a proper thank you, and himself a little Christmas treat for his trouble.

[fireworkss-exe]

CABARET @ PHOENIX THEATRE

first of all the set was BEAUTIFUL. there were a lot of cool shadows at work and it looked like a mix of the kit kat club stage and some nasty berlin backstreets with balconies, spiral staircases, tons of doors and cool metalwork. there was also a huge archway with a mural of a peacock behind it

I was in the front row :]]]

there was also a GIANT pole by one of the staircases that the kit kat dancers slid down like a fireman's pole occasionally

the emcee popped up from behind the bar as a sort of bait and switch, there was a spotlight on center stage suggesting that he'd enter from there but SURPRISE!!

LATINA SALLY!!!!!!

in wilkommen, the girls had unique outfits related to their names/nicknames/whatever, i.e. frenchie looked like a mime, texas looked like a cowgirl, helga had a babyish sort of lolita type dress, etc

hermann put the emcee in a headlock during the "there's nothing funny about hermann" line

ernst checked out the nazi officer's ass as he inspected the train car

fraulein schneider and herr schultz were so cute I almost cried

the don't tell mama costumes started out as big pink babydoll dresses but the girls stripped into lingerie near the end of the song

I ADORED sally. her actress had such a strong voice and stage presence and I could tell she put so much work into characterizing her

the girls used big suitcases as props for mein herr (which also gave off big chicago vibes)

one of the "two ladies" was just one of the kit kat boys in drag (unsure if this was a choice individual to the production or not, I haven't watched any boots in full)

fraulein schneider hit one of the sailors on the ass to get him to leave fraulein kost's room

again. fraulein schneider and herr schultz were so cute it was insane

in money, the ensemble dressed in gold and there was a giant coin as a centerpiece/prop, and the lighting was disney villain green. like money

the music COMPLETELY stopped when fraulein kost whispered "the jews" to ernst. my heart literally fucking stopped it was genuinely a frightening scene

most of the ensemble was visibly scared/uncomfortable during tomorrow belongs to me reprise but were slowly pushed into joining the song, and the lighting turned red and it looked like everyone was washed in blood

the kickline costumes were what could only be described as yassified third reich military uniforms

the emcee watched from the balcony during married reprise and dropped the brick from there and when he did the lighting COMPLETELY changed

at the end of if you could see her, a nazi chased the "ape girl" offstage and locked her in a cage

one of the cabaret boys was arrested by nazis during I don't care much

before cabaret, one of the nazis broke a bottle on cliff's head and the emcee swept up the glass while introducing sally for her final number

sally stumbled around the stage during cabaret as if she was drunk, the whole song gave off a more angry/spiteful vibe than any other version I've seen. she also hit herself in the head multiple times (on purpose) during the song

at the end of the song the lighting, very jarringly, switched to red, black, and white.. like a certain flag

cliff almost hit sally with a bottle when she admitted to having an abortion, but he stopped himself at the last second

they did the whole emcee dressed in a nazi uniform -> concentration camp prisoner uniform reveal thing, except they also added a red triangle instead of of just the yellow star and pink triangle that's typical to most productions that do the reveal

the peacock mural fell at the end, revealing a completely blank white wall behind it

during the finale it was like all the air had been crushed out of the room. I literally could not breathe

anyway. amazing production. I'll be thinking about it for literal weeks maybe even months because it was fucking terrifying and they did the whole "the nazis are slowly taking over and you won't even notice till it's too late" thing so well it was genuinely so scary

[afterthegreatunknown]

my story will be starring me just like yours ooh ooh

who knows when will it end

what matters most is how you bring joy to life so

After escaping the prison car, the sixteen-year-old Ellington decides it’s best to be on the low-down for the time being. As luck would have it, there’s also another sixteen-year-old stuck in the same predicament as her. That girl’s name is Kit, and for a whole month, the two stuck together. Ellington thought Kit as a very nice girl, though also mysterious. Kit didn’t say her last name, or how she got arrested in the first place, other than admitting to stealing something in the City and got caught.

The mystery surrounding Kit grew throughout the month, with Kit growing more nervous whenever Elington talks of the Volunteer Fire Department, or how one member, Lemony Snicket, betrayed her trust by claiming to help Ellington try finding her father, yet knew where he was the whole time -and knew he was a villain- and pushed him to his death. Ellington suspected the possibility Kit is part of VFD and is Lemony’s sister. After all, Kit never said her surname. But Ellington told herself otherwise, that maybe if Kit is in VFD, she’s his sister figure. Ellington just wants to have a friend who won’t hurt her, in any way or form. That’s all she wants, even for a short amount of time.

But said hurt happened. The reveal happened at a motel they were staying at. Kit tried to explain everything, but Ellington left the room to think about her next move of actions. Upon returning back, Kit is also gone, but foolishly left her things. Ellington figures it’s best to leave, and as petty retaliation, stole some of Kit’s belongings. Just some money (not all of it though) and a list of what Ellington suspect is of volunteers, mainly of Kit’s generation.

Ellington after this point, is pretty much on the run of sorts. She moves from places to places, uses fake names, and steals what she can. When becoming of age, Ellington decides to hold down temporary jobs, taking payment in cash or getting checks to deposit them into cash. Despite not wanting too, Ellington meets volunteers from VFD, mainly from Kit and Lemony’s generation, and usually once. Having done a good job of hiding her identity, Ellington takes some pleasure in seeing these volunteers questioning themselves if the person standing before them is who they think they are (Jacques Snicket, aka, Kit and Lemony’s brother, gave Ellington a warning about herself. If Ellington wasn’t so hurt, she would find it funny).

There is however, one exception. This particular volunteer had interacted with Ellington before he was recruited, when they were children living in Killdeer Field and attended the same school. Different classes, same grade, students who saw each other only at lunchtime and in passing. They interacted once, and most people would forget something simple. Yet Ellington never could forget, as strange as it sounds.

In their second meeting, Ellington -who currently lives far away from the City and Land of Districts- recognized the man as her former classmate. Ellington also recognized him as part of the Volunteer Fire Department, for the list of volunteers names she stole from Kit years ago included him-name, brief description, and personal notes. Yet when the man introduced himself, he gave a different name. A name Ellington faintly recalls, as the man’s birth name.

Ellington quickly deduces the man doesn’t recognize her, and plays pretend to not recognize him either. She also deduces her former classmate is done with VFD, alongside two others (one who is also on the fore-mentioned list). Considering they’re also with children -a set of triplets, and a girl with triangle glasses- Ellington suspect they want out for their sake. So Ellington decides to help them, provided they do something for her in return.

Due to a series of events, the man returns something to Ellington. Or rather, of her father. Ellington does her best to keep her emotions in as she asks him about it. And the man tells Ellington how an old classmate gave it to him to stop a bleeding nose. And Ellington is stun; stun that while he doesn’t remember her, he remembers her good deed. Upon getting some alone time (the man decided to look around the area they were at), Ellington cried tears of joy.  As strange as it sounds, despite everything her father ever done -especially to her- Ellington grateful for having one thing back of his.

[agentcable]

Law & Order Special Victims Unit Season 22 Ep. 7 "Hunt, Trap, Rape and Release"

The Special Victims Unit teams up with Lieutenant Carolyn Barek, a former Major Case Squad detective who now works with the Bronx SVU, to investigate a serial rape case that spans multiple city lines. However, their collaboration is hindered by police malpractice and inconsistent modus operandi.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

After having a couple of drinks, a woman informed her mother that she was going to sleep. She collapsed on the bed and then sat up, only to be attacked by a masked man. Despite the attack, the victim refused to leave her apartment. Rollins and Kat spoke with her, but she appeared to be disoriented. She only caught a glimpse of the attacker's eyes for a moment. After instructing her to behave, he bound her hands and proceeded to sexually assault her. Following the assault, he threatened to harm her if she reported the incident to the authorities.

Kat and Rollins inform Benson that the victim consented to a rape kit, but they are not optimistic about the results. Rollins discovered six unreported cases in the Bronx. Benson instructed Fin to stop reading his emails and went to see Lt. Barek of the Bronx SVU to find out why they were not informed. Barek confirmed knowledge of the serial. Benson wants to coordinate since it's a Bronx case. Barek agrees that it's a Bronx case but doesn't want Manhattan involved as it may hurt morale. Benson mentions Garland's name, and Barek backs down from insisting that there are too many boots / cooks.

Benson plans to re-interview all the victims. Barek is eager to assist, despite the detective's reservations. Kat and Fin question the victims and discover that the perpetrator did not make any direct threats, but rather acted friendly towards them. However, the victim from Inwood claims that the perpetrator did threaten her, to which Ari responds that it was an empty threat. Rosie recalls the scent of whiskey on his breath. Moldovan dismisses her concern, stating that her own drinking is irrelevant.

Carisi is brought in. He is pleased that Barek is being cooperative. Meanwhile, the rapist strikes again in the Bronx. Moldovan issues a statement to the press about the serial rapist. He and Fin get into a fight about whose case it is and start shoving each other. Garland is not happy that this nonsense made the front page of the NY Ledger. Barek says Moldovan hasn't been sleeping. Benson advises Moldovan to rest, warning that he may jeopardize the case. Barek yells at Benson, but Garland intervenes, urging them to set a positive example by collaborating on a joint task force to catch the rapist.

Kat speaks with a Bronx police officer who reports another case in the same neighbourhood on April 9th, which was ultimately dismissed. Ari stated that the case was discarded by the CO due to being preoccupied with COVID. Benson accompanied Rollins to re-interview the victim, who did not seek meical attention at the time due to COVID. The victim's account matched those of the other victims. The perpetrator threatened her as well. He was talkative with seven of the victims but menacingly silent with two.

A rape is currently in progress and the perpetrator is on the run. Ari offers for Rollins to go home, but she insists on going with. Rollins expresses her discomfort with Ari's driving. The entire SVU team chases the perpetrator, and they eventually pursue him into an Expo Center. In a scene reminiscent of the end of "Silence of the Lambs", Ari almost shoots Rollins. There is a lot of running, and Ari shoots the guy without apparent reason, except maybe Rollins calling his name.

Ari and Rollins argue over whether the shooting was justified, and the perpetrator is arrested. Rollins claimed he was unarmed when he was taken away, and the gun has not been found. The perpetrator's lawyer alleges that the serial rapes were fabricated because they shot at him. The lawyer is repeatedly claiming that his client is being falsely accused, but the client is not heeding his advice.

The police are requesting alibis for dates from last year, but the client can only provide an alibi for April 9th, stating that he was incarcerated in Tallahassee. Ari is convinced that this is the perpetrator. Benson suggests checking with the Tallahassee PD regarding the lack of identification. Ari requests a one-on-one conversation with the perpetrator and a voice lineup is conducted. Rosie is uncertain and states that none of the individuals in the lineup match the perpetrator. However, five out of seven victims in the Bronx have identified them. Rollins notes that this MO differs slightly. Benson states that there cannot be a copycat without media coverage of the cases.

Fin and Rollins discuss the shooting and their purpose for being there to speak with Rosie. However, Ari has already visited her and requested that she participate in the voice line up again, with the intention of being identified. This suggests that Ari may be corrupt. Fin and Benson speak with Garland about their concerns. Fin believes that Ari is tampering with a witness, and Gonzalez is not suitable for handling all the rape cases. Garland acknowledges the issue and requests a discreet investigation into Ari.

Kat speaks with Rose, who confirms that Moldovan is the only male officer who has never made advances towards her. He advised her to optain rape kits before anything else. He was intoxicated on the night Rosie was raped. A meeting was held behind closed doors. It is possible that Moldovan is the perpetrator who raped Rosie. Kat is asked to leave the room. Fin inquires about the shooting once more. It is possible that Moldovan attempted to murder Gonzalez. The police spoke to an individual who Moldovan coerced into confessing to six rapes. Moldovan made a promise to the individual that he would be incarcerated near his home, but he did not follow through. Garland is shocked by this information. Carisi states that there is no way to verify any of these claims. Benson is concerned that Moldovan will escape, but he has been losing control since Manhattan SVU started investigating. Garland suggests they can expedite his downfall.

Rollins meets Moldovan and tells him she is under investigation for the shooting. He advises her not to change her story. Rollins reveals that Rosie identified Moldovan as the shooter. Moldovan denies the accusation, claiming that Rosie was drunk at the bar and blamed him for her problems. He worked hard for an incompetent CO after another. A text message instructs her to look under the bar. He attempts to kidnap Rollins at gunpoint, but a group of police officers arrive on the scene. Moldovan threatens to kill himself, but ultimately surrenders and is taken into custody.

Rosie is angry with Kat for using her and accuses Kat and Rollins of being informants. She is angry because Kat was not honest with her, which made them all look bad. This mistake has cost her a promotion, and she is now threatening to withhold any backup from Kat.

Moldovan is currently on suicide watch at Rikers, and despite this, Garland was able to convince 1PP not to cut a deal. Barek feels remorseful for not noticing the issue earlier. She considers resigning, but Garland assures her that he will transfer her back to homicide. Barek informs Benson that she is frequently told that she doesn't delegate or work well with others. Benson acknowledges that Moldovan was a skilled detective, but emphasizes that 20 years at SVU can be emotionally draining. She hopes that she hasn't regressed, but acknowledges that the job can take a toll. Benson is confident that Barek will overcome this.

[independentzaun]

If you’d asked her Jinx wouldn’t really have been able to offer an explanation other than “whimsy” for her pinky finger sliding around his. Deep down inside there was a reason of course. Memories of friendship mixed in with hurt that just like everyone else he’d left, and a vague nostalgic note swirling through her emotions as she saw him hurt by a common enemy bringing back thoughts of how once they’d thought they would stand together against the Enforcers. At the best of times Jinx’s emotions were swirling intense things, and this was far from the best of times with Silco dead gone and Vi having chosen the stupid enforcer over her. Not that she expected things between her and Ekko to end in anyway except for one of them being dead at some point by the other’s hand, but this just wasn’t that time.

As his finger coiled around hers Jinx’s didn’t even realize it as for the faintest briefest fraction of a second she looked both surprised, and pleased in a way. Why exactly she’d reacted that way not even she knew. Maybe she was just lonely, and frustrated and Ekko was the last living connection to her past still in Zaun. She hated him, of course, and wanted to see him dead but sometimes a known enemy was still better than no one at all.

Besides if he was going to die it was at her hand, and not some useless Enforcers.

Her finger tightened slightly squeezing at his gently as she nodded wordlessly making a pinky promise. “Old distillery rooftop, by Fletch Street.” Surprisingly carefully, but with a perhaps frightening ease as though she’d carried people around before Jinx’s arms slid around Ekko and...they left the building. Jinx in that moment fully intended to keep the promise. She didn’t like liars, and although she had no issues manipulating people into a building for an ambush or other similar things Jinx normally tried not to lie if she could help it which included keeping deals and promises. Although most of the time her promises had to do with killing someone.

Quickly hopping upwards while holding him Jinx concentrated more on the run than anything else, and went quiet asides from the steady beat of her feet beneath her. Keeping him close so he wouldn’t fall Jinx didn’t think twice about having Ekko right against her, and with all the agility of a natural born Zaunite who’d spent their entire life Running now augmented by Shimmer she made her way surprisingly quickly towards the rooftop. Almost there Jinx had paused seeing enforcers patrolling around, and an irritated growl came from her at the sight. “I should go introduce them to what a real monster can do here in Zaun, but, fuck, if we don’t… Ekko, Ekko? Boy Savior?” Looking down at Ekko who as far as she could tell was unconscious, or at least not talking in that moment Jinx’s lips tightened before she looked back at the rooftop and than around. “He’s going to think I broke the promise, but if I take him there and leave him…” The best case was he get arrested, and tossed into the prison. The worst case was he bled out, and died. Neither option was to Jinx’s taste. Even at her worse she believed Ekko deserved a bullet, and not a cage. Perhaps multiple bullets, in the gut, and a slow death, but all the same not a cage.

Taking another quick second to glance around Jinx wasn’t the type to hesitate, and with Ekko unresponsive she made a choice. There was a safe house nearby that Silco had used to keep stocked, and she knew where it was as well as how to get into it so there they went. In through a window Jinx set Ekko down on a table before checking his shoulder and grimacing. They had to stop the bleeding, but first that bullet needed to come out. With no doctors around to help that meant it came down to Jinx. The bad news was that it came down to Jinx, the good news was that she had very stable hands that were quite good at delicate movements and no issues at all with blood. Before long she’d gotten the medical kit that was tucked away out, and some rope.

It was time to do something she’d always wanted to. Tie Ekko up, and cut into him!

The fact that on this occasion it was for medical reasons rather than just to hurt him did take a little bit of the satisfaction out of things, but she’d be lying if she claimed it took all of the satisfaction out. Although to Jinx’s credit she was going to try to do it as quickly, and relatively painlessly as she could. The problem was that as she’d stapled her own wounds shut before as well as having to endure Singed’s attentions in the past Jinx’s idea of “painlessly” was not exactly the same as others when it came to medical treatment.

It was likely Ekko was about to have a rather uncomfortable experience.

@misfits-of-zaun

A single shot rang out. Far too close for comfort. Ekko flinched at the sudden sound, and promptly lost his tenuous balance mid-ascent; he hit the floor hard, a hiss of agony escaping through gritted teeth.

Was that Jinx?

There were no follow-up shots. Before Ekko could process what that meant - whether the danger he was in had just increased or not - the door slammed open once again.

Shit -!

Jinx, it appeared, had changed her mind.

“You’re going to bleed to death, and if I’m not the one killing you then…”

She was striding towards him with purpose. The decisive intent set off every alarm bell in Ekko's head; instinctively he raised his weapon arm, braced to defend himself, despite knowing this was not a fight he would win.

No, no no no -

No additional punches came. No gun was pointed at his head again. Instead, what came next was somehow more alarming.

"What are you doing - let go of me!"

Voice pitching upwards and edged with the beginnings of a very real panic, Ekko thrashed and tried to break free of his enemy's grip. Too close. She was far, far too close, and it hurt to be touched - was she trying to pick him up?

Oh, hell no. Getting kidnapped by Jinx didn’t bode well at all.

She was stronger than he remembered; a product of the shimmer in her veins. It was frightening how easily he was being overpowered, right now.

“Stop! Ekko if I’m not the one killing you than you aren’t allowed to die. I’m going to - GAH, STOP!”

His injured arm was slammed back into the wall, sending a searing spike of agony through him - Ekko gasped and swore, and tried to bite her bicep in a desperate effort to make her let go.

You aren’t allowed to die.

Her words took a few seconds to process, through the haze of pain and adrenaline and fear.

...What the fuck did she mean by that?

Ekko grudgingly stilled, more out of exhaustion and bewilderment than cooperation. Panting for breath, head pulled back as far as he could get, he eyed Jinx with undisguised wariness. Pink irises stared back at him instead of blue. Another unneeded reminder that his friend was gone, gone, gone -

A familiar sensation yanked his gaze downwards. Jinx's pinky finger, hooking around his own. Ekko stared at their entwined digits, speechless.

“I’m just going to carry you somewhere safe. Safe for you. If you give me a spot I’ll take you there otherwise I’ll take you to the market place. That’s it Ekko. That’s it.”

His head was throbbing. His nose was still trickling blood. His shoulder and arm felt like they were on fire. The abrupt spike and crash of adrenaline left him horribly light-headed and disoriented.

...What is this? What is happening?

He didn't understand.

Why would Jinx help him? He thought she wanted to kill him. She'd certainly tried enough times. And this was a prime opportunity for her to finish him off. Why wasn't she taking the shot?

Was this because if her annoyance that someone else had shot him first, and the kill felt somehow less satisfying when he couldn’t fight back properly? Did it really down to some perverse matter of principle? Or was there something else he was missing here?

Well. Ekko wasn't exactly in a place to ask too many questions. Their brief skirmish had burned up a lot of his remaining strength, and he had already been facing dwindling odds of survival on his own.

His pinky finger twitched, then coiled tightly back around her own. Reciprocating the gesture that had once held such sanctity - and perhaps still did. Time would tell.

"...Okay." Ekko's voice was quiet and slightly shaky.

Don't you dare screw me over for this.

"Old Distillery rooftop. By... by Fletch Street."

Close enough to the tunnels that his people would spot him pretty quickly, with an emergency cache containing a flare to signal them with. If he could utilise Jinx's strangely sentimental turn of temper and get there, then maybe things would be okay.

Or maybe this was a huge mistake.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like he had a better option to go with right now.

@independentzaun

[lemaistrechat]

She-Ra: Flowers for Hordak

Time for another out-of-order Classic She-Ra review!

“Flowers for Hordak” was Episode 63, written by Bob Forward.

This was the first appearance of Perfuma and Mermista, shortly before appearing with Flutterina and Peekablue in the Christmas Special as New For 86 characters. BUY OUR DOLLS!

We begin in the Fright Zone, where Hordak is bullying Mantenna for no reason.

Yeah, Mantenna wears a shower cap even though he has no hair. Also check out his very human torso and Ninja Turtle feet.

On to the plot. Shadow Weaver has found a black ruby, which will allow her to blot out the sun over Whispering Woods, stopping photosynthesis.  If the trees die, the magic of Whispering Woods that’s been protecting the Rebels since the first episode will end. There’s just one problem, she tells Hordak: the Rebel Perfuma can keep plants alive and growing even without light. So Hordak decides to have her thrown in prison as the first step of this cunning plan.

Note here that the black ruby was the seed of the Black Garnet and the whole system of gems that Princesses are magically connected to in the reboot (along with the Pearl of Salineas).

We find Perfuma hanging out at the beautiful Crystal Falls along with Adora, Bow, and a mermaid named Mermista we’ve never seen before. Mermista is just chilling and sounding French, while Perfuma likes to dance around making flowers appear on everything.

(Pictured: Bow being secure in his heterosexuality.)

After just enough time to establish characterization, a Horde Trooper enters the scene and successfully arrests Perfuma. You’d think Adora could fight off one Horde Trooper without taking the time to find a secluded place to do her transformation, but hey. Glimmer shows up so she and Bow can each act flabbergasted, independently asking “Why would the Horde want Perfuma?” Oh I don’t know, lots of reasons: maybe she can grow food plants without light too. Or maybe he doesn’t actually like the stark industrial Fright Zone and wants to enslave an interior decorator? The Rebels figure it out fairly quickly though, as Shadow Weaver shows up to cast her spell to blot out the sun.

She-Ra flies off to ask Light Hope what to do. He acknowledges that the trees would die without Perfuma, but demands that She-Ra do nothing to rescue her. Rather than even consider disobeying a talking beam of light, She-Ra flies back to Whispering Woods and asks Glimmer to use her (inconsistent) power to make magical light to simulate sunlight for the trees. Glimmer does so, then lies on a bed in a tent in exhaustion, where there’s... a first aid kit and a milkshake?

“So that’s why all the boys are in this yard.”

Bow wonders how Perfuma is doing and we cut to the Fright Zone, where she’s filled her cell with giant flowers. Then she picks the lock with another magic bouquet out of nowhere and steps out to redecorate more of the Fright Zone. Hordak and Shadow Weaver’s plan is going perfectly, but then he sees Perfuma has escaped her cell and is dancing with robots.

“Lalalalala... oh HELLO there, Hordikins!”

“She calls ME Hordikins?”

“Oh, do you want to dance? I hope you’re better than your robots. They’re sweet, but a little clumsy.”

Dude, your plan to destroy Whispering Woods is going off without a hitch and this girl seems to be into you. What’s the problem?

“No! My wonderfully hideous Fright Zone! Ruined with pretty flowers everywhere!”

Ah right, you can’t stand her because you’re a bad guy and therefore hate beauty. How Platonist. And how meta: toys of Hordak and the other Horde members except Catra and Entrapta were sold in the action figure section of toy departments/stores, while She-Ra and Perfuma were sold in the doll section. Look up vintage box art to see how this was reflected. So Hordak is crying that his marketing is ruined.

He declares “That’s it! I can’t stand any more! One more flower and I’ll--”

He transforms his arm into a cannon, apparently threatening Perfuma with summary execution!

“Oh Hordikins, don’t be such an old grouch. Cheer up,” she says and does this:

It actually took me two viewings of this episode as an adult to realize that Bob Forward actually provided a Watsonian reason that the brutal dictator of Etheria can’t just kill an annoying prisoner, not just the Doylist “1985 BS&P”. Amazing.

This leads to Hordak offering increasingly favorable terms to the Rebels if they’ll take Perfuma away. His first offer was freeing her if She-Ra will surrender in her place. They laugh that one off and are reluctant to accept the next one, “I’ll release her with no strings attached if someone will come take her away”, but She-Ra goes to the Fright Zone, causing all the show’s norms to break down as Troopers attack her and Hordak reprimands them with “I invited her here!”

Perfuma doesn’t want to go. “We were having fun, weren’t we, Hordikins?” She-Ra VA Melendy Britt repeats “Hordikins?” in such a sweet, surprised tone. It sounds like Adora is happy her dad has a love interest.

Hordak is pathetically reduced to making Shadow Weaver end the spell and turn over the Black Ruby to the Rebels, along with three months supplies.

And so ends an amazing, 5/5, must-see episode. This one was highly influential on the reboot, getting Perfuma and her flower attacks a significant role from the middle of Season 1. The closest thing I can think of to a flaw is that, judging by her miniscule role in the second/final season of POP, no writer thought they could use her again without the plot being redundant or her getting annoying to viewers.

Any thoughts on nuances I missed?

[matthewfairchildfanclub]

TSC except it's incorrect quotes and it's part 2 and it's really fucking long sorry.

Cordelia: I like your top.

James, wearing a very bright shirt: Thank-

Matthew: Thanks dude, I like you to.

_

Anna: Gender is a game and I have the cheat codes.

_

Clary, at Starbucks: Can I get a venti caramel macchiato with, uh... seven shots of espresso.

Simon, behind her: Jesus Christ, Clary, just do cocaine.

_

James: If you were to die, what would be your last words?

Matthew: Finally.

James: No-

_

Izzy, on the phone with Magnus: Is it okay if I bring my weird roommate?

Simon: Would you please stop calling me that.

_

Clary: You sure you're sober enough to drive?

Jace: Yeah, I didn't drink anything.

Clary: Okay, go get the car.

Alec: [running after Jace]

Clary: It's okay, he's sober!

Alec: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!

_

Will: Jem, you have beautiful eyes.

Jem: You too.

Tessa: ...

Tessa: Did I miss something?

Will: I'm straight, I just like his eyes.

Tessa: You're gay for his eyes.

Will: Exactly!

Will: Wait, no

_

Lucie, walking out in a new outfit: How do I look?

Matthew: Holy shit, that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen.

Lucie: Excuse you?!

Matthew: No, not you, the thing sitting beside you.

Alastair: Fuck you.

_

Magnus: You sure know a lot about the law.

Julian: I do a lot of borderline illegal shit.

_

Cordelia: Lucie! Don't let go!

Lucie, dangling from the side of the cliff: WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LET GO?!

_

Kit: I think I forgot to sleep because I was looking at memes.

Dru: If you ever wonder why you have no friends, just remember that sentence.

_

Christopher: Oh, tiddlywinks.

Matthew: JUST SAY FUCK

_

Will: Swear words are banned in this house, if you say one you'll be grounded.

Matthew: Heck.

Will: You're on thin fucking ice, kid.

_

Jace: You may not know this, Alec, but I'm a flawed person.

Alec: I do know that.

_

Dru: [reading the exorcist]

Dru: [laughs]

_

Matthew: I know you can be "underwhelmed" and you can be "overwhelmed" but...

Matthew: Can you ever just be whelmed?

James: ...

Christopher: I think you can in Bulgaria!

_

James: I think I'm in love with Cordelia.

Grace: Congratulations! You're officially the last one to know.

_

Tessa: James, what are you doing here? Weren't you making spaghetti tacos with Mattew, Christopher, and Thomas?

James: Well, I was.

Tessa: ... was?

James: Well, I- it was just getting hot downstairs because of the fire.

Tessa: THE WHAT?!

(Downstairs the kitchen is completely on fire)

Christoper, looking around while Matthew and Thomas try to put the fire out with olive oil: Oh, this isn't good.

_

Jace: Please shut up.

Simon: Well, since you asked nicely, no.

_

Will: No pain, no gain!

Matthew: But I'm in constant pain and I've lost everything-

_

Matthew: If you'll excuse me, I must attend to my evening affairs.

James: You mean drinking wine and eating gummy bears until you pass out on a chaise?

Cordelia: Or reading Layla and Majnun and crying in the bath because they didn't deserve it?

Lucie: Or shouting your own poetry from your balcony?

Matthew: All three, in that order.

_

Will: What have I told you about comparing Tatiana to the devil?

Lucie: ... that it's offensive to the devil?

_

Jamie: These people are my friends!

Jamie: I've known them for twelve hours!

_

Clary: What are we gonna do?

Simon: Don't worry, you're so small they probably won't see you.

Clary: Simon, is this really the time to be making short jokes?

Simon: Clary, it's never not the time, because just like you, life is short.

_

Matthew, drunk: Always strive to eat the stars.

Lucie, half asleep: Aren't they too hot?

Matthew: Blow on them first, idiot.

_

Cashier: Would you like your check?

Ty: If someone is being murdered right now it would be my alibi, but if someone gets murdered in the store they could pin it on me.

Cashier: Sir?

Ty: I want to speak to a lawyer.

_

Magnus: If you had to choose between Jace and all the money I have in my pocket, which would you choose.

Alec: Depends. How much money are we talking about?

Jace: Alec????

Magnus: Eleven cents.

Alec: Sold.

Jace: ALEC?!!??!?!

_

Alastair: Cursing is for those who have a limited vocabulary.

Matthew: You are an audacious, ideologically unsound, captious, presumptuous, motherfucker.

_

Clary: Hey, uh, maybe we need Simon's help with this one?

Jace: I would literally rather die.

_

Cristina: Name a way to be nice to people.

Kieran: Don't stab them.

Cristina: ...

Cristina: Setting the bar a little low but I'll allow it.

_

Tessa: Where have you been?

Will: Emotional hell.

_

Kit: I made you all of you into Sims, look.

Jace: Where are you?

Kit: I'm in the grave in the backyard.

Jace:

Clary:

Jace: Put me there to.

Clary: Oh my god-

_

Emma: I have the sharpest memory, name one time I forgot something.

Zara: You forgot me in a Walmart parking lot, like, three weeks ago.

Emma: I did that on purpose, try again.

_

Matthew: Will, did you know "thot" means "thoughtful person."

Will: Really? I did not know this modern slang.

(later)

Will: Thank you for helping me with the stables, Tessa, you're such a thot.

Tessa, wheezing: I'm a WHAT?

_

Julian: [choking]

Kit: I'm trying to call 911 but the 9 button isn't working!

Dru: Just flip your phone upside down and use the 6.

Julian, stopping his choking for a second: What the fu-

_

Emma, getting in the front seat: Alright, is everyone ready to go?

The Blackthorns: Yep!

Emma: Okay, let's go.

(looks into the mirror to see Zara running after the van)

Emma: [whispers to herself] Goodbye you little shit.

_

Cordelia: What the hell is going on??

Matthew: Oh, great, you heard my cry for help.

Cordelia: You mean your girly scream?

Matthew: I MEAN MY CRY FOR HELP

_

James: The risk I took was calculated.

James: But holy shit am I bad at math.

_

Izzy and Magnus: [getting arrested at a protest]

Cop: Fake ID's, fake credit card. Got anything on you that's real?

Izzy: My tits.

Magnus: My ass.

_

[in a group chat]

Dru: Adding "lmao" does not hide your pain.

Kit: Yeah it does lmao.

_

Matthew: Excuse me, who made James the boss of the group.

Christopher: You did.

Thomas: You said, "James should be the boss".

Lucie: And then you said, "lets vote," and it was unanimous.

Cordelia: And then you made him a plaque that says, "Boss Of Us".

Anna: And put little sparkles all over it.

Matthew: ... All valid points.

_

Matthew: And once again, James and Matthew save the day.

Lucie: You didn't do anything.

Thomas: It was all James.

Matthew: We're a package deal. Everyone knows that.

_

Jem: I am not "too nice"!

Will: Jem, you apologized-

Jem: I have manners!

Will: -to the waiter who spilled soup on your lap.

_

Kit: You wanna see how hardcore I am?

Kit: [punches a wall]

Kit: Take me to the hospital.

_

Julian: People ask me how I handle the rest of my family so easily.

Julian: The truth is, I don't.

Julian: I have no control over them.

Julian: I walked into the house today and Mark shot me in the neck with a nerf gun.

_

(At a New Years Eve party)

Alec, to the TMI gang: I would like to make a toast!

Alec, raising his glass: I cannot believe we have gone through another twelve months of absolute fuckery.

Alec: Cheers!

[hargrove-mayfields]

Harringrove April Day 16- Nostalgia

On just about every flat surface in their mansion, Steve’s mother had put out some fancy Tiffany light fixture.

Steve’s room was the only place in the whole house he got to have any day in the interior design, and his lamp, well it didn’t quite have a stained glass shade, or ornate detailing to fancy up the mansion, his happens to be an old nursery lamp from when he was six and still had a themed bedroom.

At the peak of his too cool for school teenager bullshit, he’d attempted to throw it out, sent it away to the curb with a bag of stuffed animals he claimed he didn’t need anymore, but the very same night he started having nightmares again, so he scrambled to get it back before the raccoons found it first.

That dusty old lamp had saved him from countless nights spent awake and terrified, and he wasn’t one to say he was ashamed of that.

Except, now Billy Hargrove, the pinnacle of badass, is in his room, and there it is, still plugged in on the nightstand.

Of all things too, it couldn’t have just been a generic race car lamp or something he could play off as not really being for kids, it had to be stupid Bambi.

There’s a story behind it, that when he was a toddler, his first venture out of Indiana was to go see his gramma over in Maryland, and, after one look at his big brown eyes and his fluffy brown hair, she immediately nicknamed him Bambi.

After that the name just sort of stuck with him, his parents using it when they wanted on his good side, to make up for forgetting his birthday, or as an apology for leaving him alone so long the babysitter left, so of course his mom thought it would be adorable if his bedroom was themed around it.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of the attic, he still had the curtains and the quilt and the wall hangings, and under his bed was a pillow embroidered with his name and a picture of the clumsy cartoon deer made by his gramma. And of course, there was the brightly shining lamp.

He would never admit that he kept them there for when he was at his most frightened, clutching the pillow to his chest during a nightmare, or wrapping the soft material of the tiny old quilt around his shoulders when he felt an imaginary pair of eyes watching him.

Because Steve had seen some shit, he felt that after witnessing a ten-foot tall faceless monster come through the ceiling and try to kill him, and having a herd of baby versions of that same monster charge at him with nothing but a baseball bat to protect himself and a group of defenseless children, he had earned the right to use a damn nursery lamp in his bedroom.

But, that ass-backwards swell of pride at still using his childhood comfort items at 19 years old is definitely crushed by the fact that, after being in his room for a grand total of five minutes, that’s immediately what Billy drifts to.

A drunken apology at a New Year’s party might have made up for the concussion and proved he was probably not going to beat his face in again, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in Steve’s bedroom with the edge of the printed lampshade pinched between his fingers, and a contemplative look on his face.

It was a little while after their truce was reached, that Billy just started showing up at the Harringtons’ door unannounced. Sometimes it was to borrow Steve’s first aid kit. Sometimes he’d steal some of his weed. Once he’d come over just to watch something on Steve’s TV. Whatever his reason, Steve had let him in every time.

In this particular instance, it had been Steve who had called Billy, because he had a math project and an essay due first thing tomorrow morning, and Nancy was too busy to help him.

At first he’d considered just not getting the work done, but he decided Billy would do. He was smart enough that the co-ed teacher in the math class they shared had begged him to switch to the advanced classes, so Steve figured his help wouldn’t be so bad.

But his desk where all of his school stuff is is upstairs in his bedroom, where he’s left out the dumb baby lamp, and of course that would be exactly what Billy goes straight for. Steve feels himself start to panic a little, unsure if he could trust Billy’s reaction, and convincing himself that Billy might beat his ass for being a fragile little fairy or something.

It never comes, Billy just sits down all casual on the bed next to Steve, pulling one of his legs up so he could cross it over his knee, and nods over at the lamp again. “Wish I still had something from when I was little.”

The weight of the entire universe is lifted from Steve’s chest, knowing that Billy isn’t going to tear his head off. He lets out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah?”

Billy nods and looks down, fidgeting with the pendant he always wore around his neck. “My dad threw everything out. All I have is one little picture of my mom.”

Steve knew he lived with his step-mom, but had never even thought about what happened to Billy’s real mother. He realizes the pendant was probably a locket, the very one that holds the aforementioned picture, and asks “Can I see it?”

It looks like Billy has to think about it, as he keeps twisting the locket between his fingers, before he nods and opens it. Steve leans towards him, putting his hand up under it and holding it in his palm, straining to see the tiny, aged picture.

Even though he’s never seen this woman, it makes Steve incredibly sad, seeing her little face all worn out in that locket around her son's neck. He wonders if she was dead, or if maybe she’d lost custody for some reason, or if maybe she had just left, but whatever happened, when his eyes flicker back up to Billy’s face, the tears shining in his eyes and the way he avoids his gaze, he knows better than to ask.

Steve lets the locket fall and watches Billy snap it shut quickly, and he realizes he has no idea what the right thing to say is.

What he wants to say is that he’s sorry, for him losing his mother and having nothing but one yellowed and tear stained picture to remember her by, but that seems too much like prying, somehow not really appropriate.

Instead, he remembers what Billy said about his dad throwing his stuff out and says, “Your dad must be a real asshole, huh?”

Billy scoffs and blinks away the last of the tears in his eyes. “You’ve got no idea, Harrington.” There’s a long awkward pause, until Billy asks, “You know how I’m always coming over here with like, all kinds of shit wrong with me?”

Steve thinks he knows where this was going. “Sure.”

Chewing on the corner of his nail, Billy takes a moment to get his thoughts together, his eyes flitting nervously across the room, focusing on pretty much anything but Steve, mostly the picture frame behind him. “I lied. It’s not, like, fights or whatever I say. At least not with other kids.”

Steve himself was no stranger to conversations like these, he himself had to confess something of a similar calibre to Nancy, when they were still dating, because his father had come home from a business trip pissed off about something, and slapped him across the face just a little too hard. The sturdy silver ring that he wore on his middle finger had split the skin on Steve’s cheek, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to cover his tracks.

Admitting to it out loud was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, so he decides he won’t make Billy say it. Maybe they weren’t on the best of terms, only here to do homework or whatever, but if he was going to open up about this, he definitely wasn’t going to make him experience that same humiliation he had.

“Is it your dad? That does that to you?” Nancy hadn’t been kind enough to spare him, forcing him to tell her once that the scar he so proudly sported wasn’t actually from a fist fight with Tommy like he said, and he wouldn’t do the same to Billy.

In lieu of a response though, Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands starting to shake ever so subtly, and Steve knows he’s got to keep pressing. “Do you need help? I can call the chief-“

“No.” Billy shakes his head and makes eye contact with Steve for the first time since he started talking. “Cops only make it worse.”

Steve could understand that, had tried once when he was about eight or so, with the assistance of one of the housekeepers, to call the police when his father twisted his arm so far behind his back his shoulder popped out of place, but they wouldn’t dare arrest a public figure like his father, especially not for a little corporal punishment. The first thing they’d asked was what Steve had done wrong, not why his father had felt it fitting to beat on his eight year old for a tiny mistake. He never asked for help again.

“Well is there anything I can do?” Despite their differences and the fact that he only called him here to cheat on his homework, he truly did want to help Billy. Something about repeatedly surviving horrific monster attacks made him a lot more protective of those around him, and now that they were over their dumb pissing contest, Billy was included in that too.

“Think you’ve done enough letting me into your mansion, unless that’s not good enough for your hero complex.” It was a pathetic jab, there was no bite behind his broken tone, and Steve would almost rather have him at his worst than see him so vulnerable and sad.

Steve tries to reason with him softly, “You know it’s not like that, Billy.”

“Do I?” Walls had been put up as Billy made his last ditch efforts to protect himself from being weak in front of Steve. “Cause where I’m sitting, it seems like you get off on charity cases like mine. You tryin to swoop in and save me, King Steve? Feed your ego so you can feel like the savior you were always meant to be?”

He was baiting him, trying to pick a fight so he’d push him away, Steve had seen it all before in himself and wouldn’t fall for it. “Listen. I just want to help you.”

Everything about Billy suddenly seemed to make a whole lot more sense. That whole part animal, tough guy thing was just an act, and Steve knew because he had done essentially the same thing.

Before Nancy Wheeler had taught him to be better, he and Billy really weren’t so different. He’d let high school bullshit bother him, beat up the nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders and mocked anyone lower than him on the social ladder like he was supposed to, but it always made him feel off.

In the end, it had been so easy to get him to the other side, to show him what to do instead, he supposed all he needed was a little push to help him actualize what he already believed.

And then it hits him, in that moment, that this was Billy’s push in the right direction. That he was Billy’s Nancy.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything and I’m not doing this for me, just,” It became extremely important to him to not set Billy off, to say just the right thing to keep him on the right track. “my door is always open, Billy.”

At first, it seemed to have worked, Billy sat staring at the floor, his lip quivering as he mulled over Steve’s words, but, when he stood abruptly and snatched his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of Steve’s desk chair, Steve knows he messed up.

“Where are you going?” He stands up fast enough to give himself a head rush while Billy shrugs his jacket back on and yanks the door open.

“Need a smoke.” That’s all he gets before the door slammed in his face, and he hears Billy's heavy boots stomping down the stairs and the sound of him slamming his front door.

He waits with bated breath and tears pricking the corners of his eyes for the sound of Billy’s car starting and tearing out of his driveway, but it never comes.

Still, he feels immensely guilty and selfish and stupid as all hell for not just biting his tongue. He should’ve just fought back, argued with him like was expecting him to instead of trying to be comforting like he was his fucking therapist or something.

Because this was Billy fucking Hargrove, stereotypical meat head bully. Why he even felt the need to help him, other than their similar upbringings and coping mechanisms, or the fact that Billy had obviously been reaching out, hoping for someone to care, was beyond him. Or maybe it really wasn’t, he knew exactly why, he just felt weak and stupid for trying, and especially so for failing.

Apparently he’d been so caught up in his little pity party that he missed the sound of the door opening back up, and didn’t notice Billy had come back until his bedroom door was open.

Steve was so relieved that Billy came back, that he hadn’t pushed him too far or fucked everything up, even if he reeked of too strong cigarettes, and growled at him when he came in, “Don’t we got fucking work to do, Harrington?”

They don’t end up finishing the essay. Steve was hopeless with numbers, and they were too busy goofing off, so the math project didn't get done very quickly. It was okay though, Billy wasn’t much help at all when it came to English anyways.

Steve walks him outside when he has to go, beating a curfew of midnight. He stops on the porch, immediately crossing his arms against the frigid cold of the night air. Billy stops too at his car, his fingers through the handle, and turns around, calling across the yard. “Hey Harrington?”

He hardly waits for Steve’s response, a quick “Yeah?” to tell him, “Thank you.”

There isn’t time for Steve to respond before Billy’s yanking open the door of his Camaro and backing out of the driveway, but he knows he’d still made astronomical progress tonight.

It makes him feel incredibly dumb, laying in his bed that night, illuminated by the warm light of that very same Bambi lamp and trying to put his thoughts of Billy to rest like he was some cheesy teenage girl, but he’s just happy to have found a friend, to have made a difference in somebody’s life, and he knows that on the other side of town, laying in own bed with his locket left open on the pillow beside him, Billy feels the same way.

[justcourttee]

New prompt idea! Following the defeat of Hawkmoth, Jason is terrified of the idea of Bruce adopting the sunshine child that is Adrien (that and all the puns that the boy makes... Adrien can't meet Dick!!!). He, alongside Damian, decide to try to get Selina to adopt a new cat instead. Unfortunately for everyone (except Adrien), Jon tags along. AdriJon for the ship and maybe Marinette being having a sibling relationship with the Wayne children?

I’m back to writing and when I saw this prompt, I was so excited. If it hasn’t been hinted at enough in some of my pieces, I adore AdriJon. I hope you like it! @elements1999

Stupid Lovestruck Jon

As Gabriel Agreste was drug from his front gates, the crowds surrounding the manor erupted in yet another round of cheers. Even with the hero’s help, the police had trouble keeping them back. Jason and Damian stood on the edge, both wearing matching grim expressions under their hoods and glasses.

“You know what this means D?”

Damian nodded solemnly, the scowl on his face deepening as Gabriel disappeared from their view.

“Father mustn't meet Agreste until we have found a suitable host family for him.”

The idea of Dick and Adrien bonding over stupid puns and forcing Jason and Damian to join in on family game nights was enough to send shivers down the two Wayne’s backs. There was no question about it, Adrien could not be allowed to be adopted.

“What do you think Selina would say if we brought her a kit?”

Damian shifted his gaze to Jason’s face, doing his best to hide his shock that Jason could come up with a coherent idea.

“I believe she would enjoy Plagg very much, Adrien though? Well, that would take some getting used to. How do you propose we get the two to meet?”

Jason’s face darkened quickly.

“It’ll be risky, but we invite them to America. After all, he’s going to need an escape from the media.”

“Perhaps Metropolis?”

The boys nodded as if that was the most logical sentence before both heads snapped up, their eyes widening at the sight of the petite hero that had landed between them. Marinette threw her arms around the boys’ shoulders, dragging them down to her own height.

“There is only room for so much sunshine at the Wayne estate. Dick has monopolized all of it and for the sake of not only you but myself as well, Adrien needs a more stable parental figure than Bruce Wayne. Not that my first choice would be Selena, but I know that she has a soft spot for orphans, no matter what she says.”

Both boys tried to wrestle their way out of her grasp, but it was nearly impossible with Tikki to help her.

“Here’s how it will go. I will go to help the police finalize anything they need for this arrest and you will trail Chat Noir until he decided to transform back. I want to be there as well, but unfortunately, the police aren’t exactly understanding when it comes to personal relationships.”

With a nod, the sound of two smacks echoed as she disappeared into the sky, the only trace of her being matching red spots on both of the Wayne’s necks.

“I really despise when she does that, no matter how much I want to be impressed.”

Jason chuckled as he nudged Damian forward, both of them slipping into the nearest building to change before anyone from the media could catch sight of the American’s on the scene of what would become known as the greatest arrest in Paris’ history.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You know, I caught the trail of you following me a couple of blocks back. You don’t have to stay hidden.”

Damian let out a small string of curses as he stepped out from behind the chimney and into view of the black cat.

“I hate magic.”

Adrien chuckled as he waited for Jason to step out from the other side, both boys looking a little sheepish that they had been caught.

“Did Marinette ask you to follow me? Cause that sounds like something she would do. Really, I’m fine guys. Once we started the investigation, so much more began to make sense. He wanted to disguise the fact that he was selfish, wanting just my mother for himself, no matter the consequence. Even if it meant sacrificing me..”

Damian swallowed awkwardly as he glanced between Jason and Adrien. Thanks to Dick’s persistent pestering, he had gotten slightly better at reading emotions and watching his tongue, but this was uncharted territory and as much as he hated to admit it, he had no idea what to do.

Adrien let out a shaky laugh as he stood, brushing off the imaginary dust from his suit.

“Whatever, so what is Maribug’s master plan for avoiding the press? I know she sent you here to collect me for that very reason, so what could it be?”

Jason cleared his throat as he stepped forward, his smile completely see-through as the worry shined.

“Well, how would you feel about a trip overseas? Metropolis perhaps? You’re a huge Superman fanboy, aren’t you? Well, Dami here is besties with his son and we thought it would be a grand idea for you to have a distraction. What do you say?”

Damian frowned at Jason’s choice of wording. Besties felt a little strong for the relationship that he held with Jon, perhaps tolerable coworkers was better suited?

“Okay.”

Both boys tried to hide their surprised faces. They knew he was desperate for an escape, but his response was still quick for their liking. Honestly, they thought it was going to take a bit more convincing than that.

“Let Marinette know that I’ll be on her balcony whenever she finishes up. I’m sure she has a long night ahead of her and will want to talk to me when she can and guys?” Both boys raised their eyebrows, curiosity, and worry nitpicking their expressions. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

And with that, he leaped off the roof leaving the batbrothers to wonder if Metropolis would be the best idea for the man who effectively was orphaned in one day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Dami!”

Before he even had a chance to throw his hands up in defense, Jon had already tackled him in a bone-crushing hug much to his annoyance.

“I told you not to call me by that stupid nickname anymore Kent.”

With much effort, Damian shoved Jon off and into Marinette’s waiting arms.

“Aw, but Dami it’s so cute.” The muffled laughter coming from behind him was not helping.

Damian cut his eyes to where Jason and Adrien stood, both chuckling to themselves. He knew it was Jason’s idea to call up Jon to make this impromptu trip more believable for his father, but when breaking it down, Damian wasn’t completely sure that this option was much better than taking Adrien straight to Dick’s side.

“Anyways, I know I’m just the cover story so that you can meet up with Selina and all that, but do you have time to spare? I’d love to show Mari and Adrien around Metropolis! That’s your name, right? Adrien? Mari used to have so many cutouts of you-”

A smack echoed through the airport lobby as Jon found himself in a headlock courtesy of one petite heroine.

“Oh, you wanna bring that up now Jon? I don’t suppose you remember asking for a couple of my magazines for yourself huh?”

There was an undeniable shade of red emitting from under Marinette’s arm, one all three boys noted. A sputtering Jon finally managed to free himself, the red more visible as he gently pushed Marinette away.

“Hey it’s okay, it’s the cost of being a celebrity right?” Adrien reached out, his hand gently brushing Jon’s arm.

A sudden realization hit Damian as he watched his friend jump nearly 100 feet into the air, the red seemingly brighter than before. As Jon linked arms with Marinette, hurriedly leading them out of the airport, Adrien gently coaxing the two to behave, Damian gripped Jason’s jacket pulling the two of them to a stop.

“What do you want brat? We’re gonna get left behind-” With one killer glare, Jason slowly quieted, curiosity seeping into his expression.

“Jason, is uh- does Jonathon- does he see guys as viable mates?”

There was a slight pause and for a moment, Damian felt a bit relieved that perhaps he was not the only one to fail to notice such a thing about the Kent boy. But the moment ended abruptly as Jason erupted in laughter, drawing the attention from some passing by.

“What is it you buffoon? People are staring at us, silence yourself, and answer me.”

“Me buffoon? No, no, no” Jason’s laughter slowly ceased, but the shit-eating grin that replaced it did nothing to ease Damian’s nerves. “You see, you are the only idiot here. What is Jon? An animal? His mating preference?”

Damian felt his face heating up as his grip tightened on Jason’s jacket, intent on tearing a small hole in his precious belonging.

“Now Damian, I know you are dense, but Jon has always talked about guys with you. Did you just think they were all besties? That your third-wheeling on his dates where they gave each other like pecks on the cheek or held hands was just because you hate physical contact and his other friends didn’t mind it?”

The more Jason talked, the redder Damian felt his face becoming. Sure he had noticed before, but it never felt like it was something that mattered much. Plus, it wasn’t like Jon had mentioned anything to him about coming along on his supposed dates. How was he supposed to know?

Letting go of Jason’s jacket, Damian huffed after his friends, ignoring his brother’s taunting calls. There was only one thought that was still left on his mind.

If Jon had a crush on Adrien Agreste, this could ruin the whole plan.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He was right.

What was implied to be a one day tour ended with them staying a week in Metropolis. And the worst part? Damian was completely powerless to do anything about it.

“Hey enfant démon, you seen my partner or yours for that matter?”

Damian scowled at Marinette as she leaned against his doorframe, her expression as exasperated as he felt.

“I told you to quit calling me that. Just because it’s in French doesn’t make it better heathen.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him, remaining firm in her spot as she waited for her answer. With a great sigh, Damian shook his head, glancing from his book to out the hotel window.

“They snuck out sometime early this morning while I was on my run. Jason was supposed to be keeping an eye on them.”

A slight protest echoed through the suite as Marinette shook her head.

“Do you think we’ll ever get Adrien to meet Selina at this rate? I know he needed this break, but I hadn’t expected to be gone this long. I just turned 17, if it wasn’t for Jason here being a technical adult, my parents would have never let me come. I’m honestly surprised that they haven’t shown up to drag me to Paris.”

Damian nodded slightly, his thoughts straying to the idea of an angry Sabine showing up at their hotel. The thought alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He opened his mouth, unsure how to respond when he caught the sound of a set of familiar giggles outside the suites’ door.

“We’re home! Marinette! You won’t believe how awesome the sunrise in Metropolis is when you’re so high up. Jon is awesome!”

The boy tried his best to hide his blush as he gently swatted Adrien’s shoulder, earning a giggle from the blonde.

“Okay lovebirds, how about you stop running off without the rest of us? At least tell us where you’re going, is that too much to ask?”

A simultaneous ‘yes mom’ came from the duo as they ducked out of Marinette’s reach, racing down the hallway.

“That’s it, I’m calling Selena right now. Damian, Jason, between the two of you, figure out a way to keep our rebellious teens in check. It shouldn’t take longer than thirty minutes for her to arrive, I’m sure the two of you can manage.”

Jason peeked his head into Damian’s room, his eyebrows raised matching how Damian felt. Did she have any idea how hard it was to hold down a Kryptonian without using Kryptonite? If only she hadn’t banned Damian from bringing it to Metropolis.

With a small huff of annoyance, Damian swung his legs off his bed, placing his book back on the nightstand carefully. This was going to be the longest thirty minutes of his life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Dammit children, can’t you sit still for one minute!” Jason gripped both boy's collars as he tossed them back onto the couch that they had escaped from.

“Aw, c’mon Jason. I thought you were the fun Wayne! I just want to show Adrien a good time before he had to leave.”

Damian wasn’t sure how much more Jason could take. The vein on his forehead looked like it was about to burst from him resisting beating the two to a pulp. It was honestly a bit satisfying to look at.

“Can you at least explain why we’re on house arrest? The day has just started and we’re already wasting it.”

“I told you already Agreste, Marinette wants you to meet a friend of hers that lives nearby. We can’t have you skipping out before she gets here.”

Adrien sighed dramatically before falling into Jon’s shoulder.

“But waiting is boring!”

Damian felt his nose twitch while staring at the blonde. Honestly, he didn’t know how Marinette was able to keep up with this child-like energy for all the years she had. He was exhausted after a mere thirty minutes.

The sound of the doorknob rattling caught the attention of the four as a collective sigh of relief echoed through the room.

“Well hello there my kittens, long time no see.” Within a split second, Selina was already on top of Damian, pulling him into the biggest hug she could manage.

“Release me you heathen, I do not like being touched!”

Selina giggled as she tightened her hug before releasing him, allowing him to drop to the floor.

“Oh, I know. I enjoy giving you a hard time the most Damiboo.”

Damian cringed at the nickname as he allowed Marinette to help him back to his feet. While Selina was unbearable, he honestly had to applaud Jason for his thought. If anyone could reign in the energy Adrien had, it would be her.

“You must be Adrien. I’m Selina Kyle, so very nice to meet you.”

Adrien swallowed hard as he tentatively reached out his hand to shake hers. No one could blame him, the look on Selina’s face was terrifying as if she was admiring a jewel before shattering it into pieces.

“Now let’s cut to the chase. Do you want to live with me? You obviously need a parent figure in your life, but you also only have a year left until you can be on your own. I know it’s a big change from Paris, but between Zeta tubes and that little horse your friend Marinette carries, you’ll never be too far.”

Damian bit his lip hard, trying not to yell at Selina for her brashness. She was supposed to be gentle and coaxing. Get him to like her, spend the day with him, and then suggest it. Adrien looked as white as a ghost, as expected when someone you’ve only heard stories about shows up in your hotel room with adoption papers.

“Uhm, I don’t really want a guardian. My aunt said she would rent me an apartment wherever I wanted and when the time came for my 18th birthday, she’d sign it over to me-”

Adrien was cut off as Selina placed a finger over his lips, shocking him into silence.

“Honey, I can do that for you. Don’t rely on family who will want to steal your father’s fortune. However, I will have a few conditions.”

Adrien nodded slowly, his eyes glancing around frantically as if asking for help.

“First, you must visit Wayne Manor once a week for a family dinner, I refuse to let you off the hook with no real resemblance of a family. Second, you must rent here in Metropolis where you already have a good person looking out for you. And third, you must force Damian and Jason to participate in these once a week dinners.”

Jason and Damian shouted frantically for him to decline, their plans falling to pieces before them. They only quieted down after Marinette reached back giving them matching red bumps on their foreheads.

“What do you say, sweetie? I can tell you and Jon are already close and I think this would be best for everyone. You had already finished your studies in France so you can take this year to decide what you want to do next in life and I think between the Kents and us, we can help you with that.”

It took less than a minute for Adrien to agree and for Damian and Jason to be bested by two black cats. Selina insisted on lunch to celebrate, dragging Adrien and Jon with her and out the door leaving the three exhausted crusaders behind.

“Well, technically Bruce won’t be the one adopting him.” Marinette shrugged before plopping on the couch, the other two following suit.

“Yeah, but like, we went through all this trouble to stop Dick and Adrien from meeting, and now we will be having weekly dinners with them. Marinette, you are officially forced into this agreement as well.” Jason poked at her side, a small sigh of defeat escaping from his lips.

“Stupid lovestruck Jon.” Marinette and Jason turned their attention to where Damian sat, his arms crossed in annoyance. “I bet if they hadn’t had this week to hang out, Selina wouldn’t have picked up on their stupid crushes. Why do you women always feel the need to meddle?”

The air was silent for a moment before laughter erupted from Damian’s right side. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the small giggle that came from his own mouth. Stupid Jon, making him attend family dinners with the likes of Dick and Adrien. He was happy for him, not to be confused with the utter annoyance he felt for him at the moment as well.

As they sat there joking about their shared fate and pondering how it could’ve gone differently, one thought was constant across all three of their minds:

Who could’ve planned for stupid lovestruck Jon?

Permanent Tag List 

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[illfoandillfie]

The Come Down

Pairing: 70s!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: It's hard for Roger to unwind after the excitement of playing a gig. But you have a favourite way to help him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), but also quite fluffy, rough sex, enough to leave marks but nothing overly kinky, some hair pulling, scratching, shower sex.

Words: 4226

A/N: This started life as a blurb about brushing Roger's hair - a thought I haven't been able to shake for at least a week - but gradually turned into a full on smut fest lmao. I guess Rog just has that effect on me...

Taglist: @laedymoon​ @dtfrogertaylor​ @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @supersonicfreddie​ @taron-egrotten​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​

It’s Pavlovian, the way you react to Roger’s playing. If he wasn’t so charming you’d curse him for it. How all you have to hear is him counting everyone into the first song of the night and already you’re thinking about later, about what happens when you get home. Most weeks are the same though you’d never call it a routine. That sounds too boring, too predictable and Roger is anything but boring and predictable. But there is a pattern forming. And it all starts with that fucking count. The way he twirls his drumstick as he settles himself to play. He’s wired from the beginning, from even before they get on stage. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as they get ready, endlessly joking and playfully teasing. So much so that your side hurts from laughing just a little bit. And that energy, that excitement, only grows as they play. Feeding off the noise of the smoke-filled bar and the way people cheer and his mates playing beside him. You watch him every show, close to the front though a little to the side of the stage. He can’t see you anyway and being out of the main crush of people makes it easier to get to the bar again if you want another drink. Not that you ever do. You’re too entranced by it all. The way the four boys perform, make it look so effortless, though you’ve heard the spats and hours of practice that prove it’s not. The way the crowd follows them and spurs them on. Girls with eyes glued to the fingers roaming over frets and plucking at strings. Voices slurred with alcohol or rough from yelling or husky from smoking, all mixed as they call out names of favourite songs and cheer no matter what gets played next. Your attention wanders back to Roger more than anyone else though. Hands rapidly flying from one drum to another, his whole body caught up in the movement, twirling his sticks between notes because he can and he wants everyone to know it. His head tipped back, flung forward, hair and eyes wild. You don’t quite understand how his hair doesn’t get in his way, doesn’t annoy him with the way it flicks around every time he moves. But it mustn't because he refuses to cut it whenever you make the suggestion.

By the time their set is drawing to a close you’re feeling pretty fired up yourself, high from second hand smoke and the bass drum vibrating through your bones and the way Roger’s glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt open, the necklace you gave him glinting as it catches what little light there is. The final notes ring out, overwhelmingly loud, and you know that’s your cue. Ducking under arms and squeezing between people as you push back to the bar to order the usual after gig round of drinks. The barman knows you by now, so you don’t have to say anything before he’s pulling out glasses, a mixture of shots and pints and a couple of cocktails thrown in for colour, and by the time the selection is laid out before you the boys have materialised at your side. Roger is quick to wrap his arm around your waist as you all down a few shots and then grab the rest of your drinks and head to a table. The lack of space between you and he doesn’t stop a couple of bold women from approaching, flirting with him as they congratulate the band on another great show. He thanks them, polite but uninterested in whatever they’re trying to offer, and pushes on with you tucked tightly to his side.

For a while you just hang out but Roger’s still completely amped. Half his beer is gone the first time he brings the glass to his lips and he fidgets in his seat, restless energy personified. He’d play a whole second set if he was asked. No one asks. Instead he crosses his legs, un-crosses them, slouches low, sits up, arm on the back of your chair then dropped to grab your hand then rubbing your knee then tapping the top of the table. His laugh is frequently heard cutting through the noisy conversations around you as he leans across the table, sits back, slides lower in the chair and then pops up straighter once more. Never still for long. It’s a relief when Brian suggests packing everything into the van. You help them wind up cords, carry amps out the back door. When everything’s packed away there’s more drinking and joking around. Roger’s hands wander a little further, unashamedly squeezing your arse or sliding up your thigh until you remind him where you are. The room feels ten times warmer than it did before and you wouldn’t have stopped him except your sat across from his best mates and something about the way he’s touching you makes you think he doesn’t have the cognitive awareness to recognise that. He’s just got too much adrenaline, too much energy he doesn’t know what to do with, fogging up his brain. He obviously has ideas though, the same ideas you’ve been trying to ignore since he first sat down at his kit. He leans towards your ear, asks if you’re ready to leave. You nod, say goodnight to the others. Roger tells them to stay out of mischief, voice a little louder than it needs to be. “Look who’s talking,” “They’ll be no mischief on my watch, I’ll look after him.” “Y/N you’re an enabler,” “As long as he’s not getting arrested,” “Oi, fuck off,” “Quick Y/N, get him home before he slags off the wrong person,” There’s laughter and a round of see you laters, a few nicknames the boys wouldn’t want their mothers to hear, before you exit the bar, Roger’s arm around you once more.

His voice is still loud on the drive home and he taps out a beat on the steering wheel, antsy, eager to continue the night unobserved by everyone else. Your ears are still ringing so you can only imagine what’s going on in his head – a play by play of the best parts of the set probably. A song he likes comes on the radio so he turns it up loud, winds his window down, grinning at you, letting the whole neighbourhood hear the whine of the guitars. “We should cover this one,” he half shouts, accelerating a little, the rhythm of his tapping fingers changing to match the music, “Fuck! We should cover it! Bri’d go feral for the chance to play it,” You agree though you aren’t sure he hears you. You’re lucky he hasn’t started air drumming along. It happened once before, his foot suddenly hitting the break as he put it down in time with the song’s beat. You’d only been going slow then so all you’d had to deal with was a honk from the car behind you. Roger apologised, promised to be more careful, and you laughed it off. It’s a bit of a wonder he hasn’t ever repeated the mistake with how into the music he gets, how absentmindedly he drives, especially after a show and a few drinks. Muscle memory and second nature. Maybe he shouldn’t be driving but you live close enough that it doesn’t even cross your mind to call a cab. The song fades out and is replaced by yours. The song that was playing in the second hand store you’d met at. Roger takes his eyes off the road to find yours, smiles, clearly thinking about that day. You’d been trying on a dress you’d found, modelling it for a friend to get her opinion, when Roger had complemented your look, suggested adding a fur coat to it. He offered his own but said he’d need your number so he could get it back. You’d laughed at the line but decided you could afford to reward his boldness and written your number on the back of his hand. The coat had kept you warm for the rest of the day and many since. You’re about to say something about the memory, ask Roger if he really thought the pickup line would work (judging by the look on his face when you’d pulled a pen from your bag and grabbed his hand, he hadn’t) but he’s already singing along, hand squeezing your thigh again as his attention shifts back to the road. He glances at you a few more times, encourages you to sing along by holding his closed fist in front of your face like it’s a microphone. He keeps singing as he pulls up in front of your apartment, turns off the engine, steps out of the car. You meet him at the edge of the driveway where he grabs your hand and twirls you around in a circle, both of you giggling. And then he’s heading inside, up the stairs, pulling you along with him.

Your heart is beating faster now, fully aware of what’s coming, like one of Roger’s drum solos playing out against your chest. Roger doesn’t disappoint. He opens the door with enough force to make it bounce off the wall behind it, helping it shut with a kick from his foot. His hands are well and truly occupied, resuming their path over your body, grabbing and squeezing. There’s a flurry of movement from his hands, like he isn’t sure where to start or rather like he’s eager to start everywhere all at once, before he focuses in on your shirt and getting it off of you. It hits the ground carelessly as you walk backwards, further into the apartment, but Roger’s fingers are already working at the fly of your jeans. He gets the button undone, gets distracted trying to kiss you without overbalancing. His hands slide over your stomach, your sides, down to grab your arse and pull you into him. It’s only then he remembers the zip on your pants and moves one hand back to pull it down. You start removing his clothes but you’re too slow for his liking. He has energy to burn and he wants to burn it right away. No stopping to savour the moment, no slowly working up to the big finale. No, he wants to be in you already. And it’s impossible to pretend you haven’t been thinking about exactly that since right back at the start of the evening. You kick your jeans across the floor as Roger tears his own clothes off. There’s enough time for half a breath before he spins you around to face the wall, pushes your back to make you bend at the waist. He doesn’t bother to remove your underwear at all. Fiddling with the clasp of your bra would be too time consuming and why bother pushing panties down when you can pull them to the side instead. He laughs as he realises just how damp the crotch of your knickers is. “Good. Don’t need to worry about fingers.” You gasp, tense up as he plunges into you. His grip on your hip is tight enough that the tips of his fingers have turned white, keeping you in place as he roughly fucks you. A small scratch appears in the wallpaper as you try to find a sturdy grip. An impossible task. You have to make do as best you can, relying on Roger to hold you in place. “Love how wet you get from watching us play,” “Just you, Rog,” you whimper as he uses you. He laughs, somehow grasps you even tighter, “Good. My needy little groupie.” He nips at your neck and you turn your head, lips opening with a whimper as he pushes himself deeper into your heat. The kiss is messy, teeth colliding as he tries to release all that pent up energy he’s been carrying around since he exited the stage.  You don’t cum that first time, you never do. It’s about Roger’s need for release, Roger’s excess energy, not yours. But you don’t mind. He’s gone above and beyond for you plenty of times before and he’ll do the same plenty more to come. The least you can do is be a pliant hole for him to get off in after each gig.  

You stay bent over, palms pressed firmly against the wall, as Roger gives a few extra thrusts, prolonging his own pleasure, before he pulls out. You stay there as he leans against you almost hidden by a curtain of his own hair, panting heavily in your ear, until he can find it in him to stand up. You stay there, with his hand on your back to keep you in place until he sees his cum dribble from your cunt. He’s calmed a bit, the bounce in his step a little less pronounced, but he can be worn out further. He needs more, needs to fully come down from the high of playing, if he wants to get a wink of sleep. When you regain your full height and turn to face him, he kisses you. He almost catches you off guard with it, making you pull in a sharp breath as his lips meet yours and he presses you into the wall. You feel completely breathless when he pulls back, dizzy from the taste of him. You both laugh softly as you look at each other, still so close you’re breathing each other’s air. “You’re sweaty,” you say softly, , dragging one palm down his chest, pouting a little. The statement is fact but it’s also code for please keep fucking me. It’s the sexy kind of sweaty. “That’s what happens when you play drums and then come home and fuck a slut,” You try to hide the shiver his tone sends along your spine, how hungry for more one little degrading name can make you. Unsuccessfully judging by the way Roger winks at you. He knows you too well, knows which buttons to push to turn you into the needy slut he so enjoys using and you so enjoy being for him. Not that it takes much to get you there, especially after he’s dropped a quick load in you and left you eager for your own release. If you had the space you’d drop to your knees to clean his cock with your tongue, taste yourself on him. But he’s still got you up against the wall, boxed in by his arms, so instead you bite your lip and give him a look that you hope comes across as either sexy innocence or sultry seductress. He laughs again, leans into your ear, “You need it that bad, love?” You just nod as he catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently tugs. There’s no point pretending otherwise. “You’ve wanted it all night, haven’t you?” He pouts back at you, teasing, mocking you for being so easy, “Let’s give her what she wants then.” He’s hasn’t quite finished speaking when he grabs your hand and pulls you into the kitchen. Sometimes you make it to the bedroom, sometimes you don’t. Tonight there’s no chance, or at least not until you’ve taken him a few times. He clears off the small square table where you eat most of your meals with a sweep of his arm, sheets of uni notes and scrawled ideas for the band fluttering to the floor, beaten there by the loud thump of one of his biology textbooks. The moment the surface is free he’s lifting you onto it, pulling your underpants off as you focus on your bra. When it too has joined the mess on the floor you lie back, arms around Roger’s neck to keep him close, the cold pendant hanging from his necklace making you shiver as it gets caught between you. He kisses you again, bites your lip with a smile and then dips his head towards your chest instead. You twist the ends of his sweat damp hair around your fingers as he enters you again. It’s not quite the same as when he took you against the wall moments before but it’s still rough, fast, hard. The first time he fucked you like that you were surprised such an angelic, pretty, soft boy could be such a devil. Biting you, pulling on your hair, leaving you with marks from how tight he held you. But you left him with marks too, nails digging into his arms and back, tugging on his hair as much as he tugged on yours. He’d just laughed when he saw the scratches in the mirror. Laughed and told you he loved you for the first time. A lot of firsts that day. He says it again now, words gasped between rapid breaths and those little whines he makes. You’d say it back except you’re not sure how to form words anymore, aside from fuck and god and his name if he’s lucky. He doesn’t mind though, he always enjoys making you speechless. You moan as he mouths at your neck, pounding into you like a fucking jackhammer, and he raises his head just enough to gloat. “Feels good doesn’t it love?” You’d call him an arse if he’d just slow down and let you breathe, a cocky bastard, a big-headed prick. You must manage to stutter one of them out because Roger responds. “T-think you mean epic – fucking – shag,” there’s a few panted breaths and then an order to rub your clit and you don’t even consider disobeying, slipping a hand between your bodies to find it. Your so close already, wound up beyond belief, eyes screwed shut and body arching as you moan. It only takes a few more moments for your climax to hit, accompanied by a violent thumping from the other side of the wall that you barely hear and that Roger only laughs at.

When you can open your eyes again they meet Roger’s. He’s still leaning over you, both palms braced against the table top, but he lowers himself a little to kiss you, smiling against your lips. You mewl as he pulls out of you once more but he swallows the sound. Slowly he retreats, pushes his hair back from his face and then takes your hand to help you sit up. He stays standing between your legs, kisses you a few more times as you both relearn how to breathe properly. His nose bumps against your cheek as he finds your lips once more, like a cat displaying affection. It’s a much softer kiss. “How’re you feeling?” “Mmhmm, good,” your voice sounds raspy to you so you swallow as best you can before saying more, “need a shower.” He laughs again, a soft puff of air against your mouth as he rests his forehead against yours, “Always so practical.” “One of us has to be,” “So you keep saying. D’you think you can stand?” “Let’s find out. Get ready to catch me.” Roger helps you down, helps you stand on shaky legs, helps you walk to the bathroom. He insists on helping you into the shower too, saying he feels responsible for your lack of mobility since he’s the one who fucked you so well. You bat his shoulder but let him accompany you into the bathroom and under the steaming water. “Mr Johnson next door hates us by the way,” he said it with a grin, looking very happy with himself, “Think we might have been overheard,” another laugh, his hand sliding from your waist to press against your pussy. You lean against Roger as his fingers rub over you, collecting the evidence of the evening so far, sliding along your slit before pressing into you. “Think we can piss everyone off a little more though, don’t you,” You agree with a soft moan, the sound echoing around the small bathroom as Roger pulls his fingers free, lifts your leg, slides into you once again, pressing you against the cold tiles on the wall. Its much slower that time. Partly because of the location, partly because Roger isn’t as hyped as he was before you got home. He holds you tightly though as you whine into his neck, his fingers on your clit. The noise makes your head spin, the drops of water hitting the floor of the shower, his grunts and encouraging words mixed with your own sighs and moans, all of it bouncing around the room, layered over each other. Your orgasm builds relatively slowly, kept alive by the constant pressure around your clit more than the cock buried in you. And Roger doesn’t chase his release like before, doesn’t thrust into you forcefully. Rather, he just holds you as close as possible, bucking his hips a little but mostly just enjoying the way you clench around him as you get closer to the edge. He swears in response to the way you tighten, warns you he’s close. You reach up and drag your fingers through his hair, press your lips to the base of his throat. He doesn’t hold out much longer, running out of energy to maintain control like that, pressing you firmly against the wall as he fills you again. His fingers fall from your clit as he shudders through his release but it’s only a momentary lapse, the pressure back even as you whine at the loss. You both know you’re close, Roger leaning into your ear to tell you to let go, to cum for him. When it does hit, it’s not an earth-shattering orgasm. You don’t see stars, don’t scream, don’t collapse in an exhausted heap. You let out a soft whine against Roger’s skin as warmth spreads through you, calm and nice. He rubs his hand over your hip until you let go of his hair, let your foot drop back to the floor. The steady stream of water reminds you where you are as Roger kisses the top of your head. He asks how you feel now, stops hovering quite so close when you say you’re fine to stand on your own. But he doesn’t go further than the corner of the shower, watching as you wash your hair and lather yourself in soap, just in case. He gives you a hand out when you’re clean but stays under the shower himself while you get changed and take care of your post-sex routine. When you glance back at him he’s got his eyes closed, head tilted back, relaxing.

You’re sitting in bed, a book open in your lap, though you aren’t really reading it, when you hear the shower close off, the soft pad of wet feet, and Roger appears in the doorway. He digs around in his clothes for a minute, finds some clean underwear and slips them on quietly. He smiles at you, a soft sleepy sort of a smile, as he takes the towel to his head, trying to wring as much water from his hair as possible. When he can’t be bothered with it anymore he lets the towel drop to the floor, a problem for tomorrow much like the rest of the mess you made through the apartment. A trail of lust fuelled destruction you’ll need to pick up and put away. He grabs a hairbrush from the top of the chest of draws and sits beside you, trying to hide a yawn. “Tired?” “No,” Roger lies, settling himself and beginning to work the brush through his locks. “Well I am so if you were planning on starting another round you’ll have to do it on your own,” He shakes his head as he tugs the brush through a particularly knotted section, “I’ll keep – fuck – I’ll keep that in mind. You got any spare socks I can use?” You laugh but Roger winces as the brush gets caught once again. “Jesus, knew I should have used more conditioner,” “You want some help with that?” “Yes please,” You mark your page and place the book to the side before pushing yourself to your knees and shuffling closer to Roger. He turns around so his back is to you, handing the brush over his shoulder. Slowly and carefully you start to untangle the knots his hair has twisted into, pulling the brush through small sections over and over until it runs smooth. “You ever think ab-” “I’m not cutting it Y/N,” “Just a suggestion,” “If I cut it you’d have nothing to hold on to.” “Fair enough,” You keep chatting as you brush Roger’s hair, able to feel him relax against you, the tension leaving his shoulders and neck, able to hear the exhaustion in every word he says. By the time you’re done his eyelids are drooping, every ounce of the overabundance of energy gone. “C’mon babe, time for bed,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Roger just nods, shuffles around until he can crawl under the covers. You put the hairbrush on your bedside table and join him, laying on your side to face him. He takes one of your hands, lazily tugs it to his lips. “Love you,” “Love you too, Rog,” He lets his eyes close but doesn’t release you. Not until he’s well and truly asleep.

[leylinefiction]

Under Pressure: Chapter 1

Summary: Serafina Landry has never stopped looking for her daughter. All she wants is her family back together and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. Gathering the help of Antonia "The Runaway Killer" Slade and Catherine "Miss .45" Adams, Serafina launches one last desperate attempt to get Celia to come home for good.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Criminal Minds stuff

Pairings: Spencer Reid x OFC, Aaron Hotchner x OFC

Under Pressure is the third part of a trilogy.

Part 1: Love and Rage

Part 2: Skewer

Chapter One: A Kind of Magic

June, 2002

Virginia

Antonia Slade never saves the calls from the desperate parents looking for their runaways.

Except for one.

The desperation in the woman’s voice speaks to Antonia on a deeper level. The woman isn’t just looking for her lost daughter, but her legacy. This child is special, just like her mother. Each time she plays the message, it is like the woman’s voice is a tuning fork that resonated with Antonia’s own.

“Hello, my name is Serafina Landry and I’m looking for my daughter, Harper Landry. She’s older than a typical runaway, she just turned 21, but I was hoping, maybe, she may have tried to reach out to you.”

Antonia listens to the message eight times before deciding to call the woman back. Ten minutes into the call, Antonia knows why Serafina is desperate to find her daughter. Harper is highly intelligent, educated, driven, mentally and emotionally strong.

And she had killed on her mother’s orders. The reason why she is running at the moment is most likely due to fear that her mother could manipulate her again. That alone made her a precious commodity. Unfortunately, Harper or anyone similar to her description, had not reached out to Antonia so there is little that she could do for the desperate mother.

However, it is the start of a beautiful friendship.

Antonia is afraid that Serafina would stop all communication with her when Agent Jason Gideon arrests her for being the Runaway Killer. Just one week into her incarceration, she has a visitor. Figuring it to be just her lawyer, she follows the guards past the confidential meeting room and down to the visitor area. Sitting down behind the plexiglass divider, she realizes it isn’t her lawyer at all. A slight woman with dark curly hair sits down across from her. Her face is lined with hardship and worry but her eyes are dark flints to cold determination. Antonia feels a half-smile tug at the corner of her mouth as she picks up the phone.

“Serafina, I presume?”

The other woman smiles back. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

“I was afraid this,” Antonia motions to the surrounding area, “would scare you away.”

Serafina shrugs slightly. “A minor setback. My daughter is still a runaway and no one knows runaways like you.”

“And what will you do for me if I help you?”

“Anything.”

Antonia smiles at the lack of hesitation. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“How do I get my daughter back?”

“One thing that runaways need is a soft place to fall. They need love, acceptance,” Antonia rolls her eyes. “All that lovey-dovey bullshit. But then they need structure. Set them up so that they have a job, contribute to the household. Make them part of the community, give them that place, so when you ask them to do something for you, for the benefit of the community, they’ll do it.”

Serafina’s eyes light up at the idea. “Create a community for runaways.”

“And your daughter may just find you. And if she doesn’t, maybe you’ll find a suitable replacement.”

“Oklahoma has quite a bit of land. But my husband won’t go for it.”

“How many years does he have left?”

“Six, maybe.”

God, it is exhilarating talking to someone who spoke the same language as her. “How much money will he leave you?”

“Enough.”

“Good. When you’re settled, and it’s time…”

Seraphina nods. “I will send for you.”

Yes, the beginning of a beautiful friendship indeed.

***

February, 2017

Their bathroom is starting to look like a chemistry lab.

Boxes of ovulation kits and pregnancy tests are neatly stacked in the vanity drawers. The vanity itself is mostly clear for the ease of sanitation for when a kit needed to be used. Spencer is keeping track of the data and dates using a dry erase marker on the mirror. It is a stark reminder that some things in life are not easily gained.

“Here,” Spencer hands her the phone, “my mom wanted to talk to you about that book you told her to read.”

Celia takes the phone from him as he takes over timing the ovulation kit. “Good morning, Diana.”

“I know you’re off to work soon but I just wanted to tell you how much I am enjoying the Cities of Gold. The descriptions of the southwest are just beautiful.”

“Oh good! I thought you would have enjoyed that part of his writing.” They chat for a couple more minutes before hanging up, wishing each other a good day. Celia knows that the herbs and medicines that Marcella is using can only do so much but with the addition to new dementia medications, Diana seems to be doing as well as she could be. It had certainly been a well-needed reprieve for Spencer.

“Celia?”

She grabs her coffee and heads back into the bathroom. “Sorry, I-”

“Did you get a different kind of ovulation test?”

“No, why?” She looks at the narrow tester. “Oh, damn. I grabbed a pregnancy test by mistake.”

She starts to pick it up to throw it out when Spencer stops her. “If that’s a pregnancy test, what do the two lines mean?”

Two lines. She looks down at the test again. There they are, bold and clear: two lines. “Two lines means the test is positive.”

“Positive as in…” Spencer’s eyes meet hers in the mirror.

A smile slowly breaks across her face. “We’re pregnant.”

Wisely, they tell no one about the pregnancy. By early April, when the cherry blossoms start to bloom in DC, they go to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time only to realize that there would be no first times at all. No, that’s not entirely true. It is the first time that she sees Spencer turn his back on science and statistics when he angrily cleans off the bathroom mirror and tosses all the charts and calendars into the trash. It is also the first time that the scent of cherry blossoms that drift through the apartment make her stomach twist. It’s the first time they close and lock the windows during the spring.

Despite not telling anyone about the miscarriage, everyone seems to know something is horribly off. Grief bends Spencer’s spine enough to start causing neck pain from the poor posture. Celia still goes out for drinks after certain cases and attends the dinners at Rossi’s but her stories of New Orleans lack their flair and flavor. But the most notable piece of evidence is that their shoulders no longer touch. Every chance they were together, their shoulders were always on a collision course and inevitably rested against each other. Loss had created a thin barrier that repelled their arms from one another.

On an early morning Saturday, it is JJ who knocks on the apartment door with a hesitant smile, coffee, and bagels. Celia tries to be mad at Spencer for telling JJ what had happened but that is only because Celia is not yet used to the dynamics of friends. When JJ gives her own confession, a bond forms and any animosity evaporates. The levees that held back the pain crumble and Celia cries out her grief against JJ’s hard collarbone. It is the first time that Celia truly believes in the term “found family.”

The loss still weighs heavy on both Spencer and Celia, even after the cherry blossoms fall and spring showers give way to early summer sun. Diana suggests a trip to Paris, a second honeymoon of sorts. Actually, a first honeymoon since their actual one had been deferred to two collapsed lungs and a lengthy hospital visit. Celia has never been out of the country and is still relatively numb to the entire experience until they emerge, travel-weary and bleary-eyed out of the train station and onto a bustling Parisian street.

The Eiffel Tower is in the distance, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafts out onto the busy sidewalk. The smell of freshly made espresso draws them into one of the many sidewalk cafes. Despite having not slept for thirty hours, they fall into line with the Parisians headed to work, and stand by a coffee bar, sipping their espresso and splitting a croissant. The grief lifts, briefly. A veil pulls back momentarily to reveal what never had gone away: her best friend. The line of communication opens. He speaks of the loss from his side and she realizes fatherhood and motherhood are different dreams with the same weight of grief. Their shoulders find each other again.

She lets him kiss her in front of the Eiffel Tower that evening. They stay in the park until a heavy rainstorm chases them back to their rented studio apartment. The wound is healing, the grief is lifting, but there is still soreness. She lets him peel the wet clothes from her body, trying not to wince at the tenderness of the situation. But he shows her the same vulnerability as she strips him of his own garments, his skin breaking out in goosebumps due to the chill of the air and the sadly unfamiliar touch of her fingertips. Their hearts and souls remember what their brains have forgotten. When they wake the next morning, bright sunlight shining in their faces while they’re still wrapped in nothing but cotton sheets and themselves, the grief has been placed in a box and put on the shelf. They recognize each other for the first time since the cherry blossoms bloomed.

By November, they find themselves standing in front of another pregnancy test. There are no phone calls or running around this time. They both stand, side by side and shoulder to shoulder, watching as two lines appear on the testing strip window. They’ve been given a second chance. But once again, they don’t breathe a word of it to anyone until they pass the trimester mark. There’s a heartbeat this time, and everytime after that when they go to the doctor’s office. Celia welcomes the morning sickness and Spencer gladly endures the moodswings.

Garcia buys everything she can find in pink when they find out the baby is a girl. The baby shower is a confetti filled Mardi Gras celebration that only Garcia and Rossi could tastefully pull off. Celia doesn’t believe it when Spencer tells her that flakes of pink confetti have found their way into the bullpen at the BAU so he takes pictures as irrefutable evidence. More friends are added to the celebration, like Emily Prentiss and Kristy Simmons. But it is JJ, her sister born out of adversity, with her heartfelt and teary congratulations that mean more to Celia than anything else.

Celia goes into labor at Rossi’s home, which Prentiss had money on for the location. It’s mid-October and everyone is gathered for Spencer’s birthday. Rossi has made his stereotypical overindulgent Italian feast and Celia is staring down a plate of chicken marsala and garlic bread that are precariously balanced on her rounded stomach when the contractions hit. By the second contraction, Matt Simmons nudges Spencer.

“I know that look.”

With practiced efficiency that surprises Celia, but it shouldn't be given that their entire lives are just one phone call away from hopping a plane, she’s on her way to the hospital. Two hours later, the contractions increase and she moves past the false labor territory and the obstetrician is called. Four hours later, both of them sweat soaked, Spencer is still waiting for her to curse him, his ancestors, and all mankind but she doesn’t. Barely able to catch her breath and an oxygen mask dangling around her neck thanks to the residual lung damage, she still interlocks her fingers with his and whispers a mix of “love you”s and “don’t leave me”s instead. Instead of pushing him away, she keeps pulling him closer to her so he whispers assurances against her ear and cheek.

At the nine hour mark, they heard their baby girl cry, loud and long.

***

Serafina walks around the rustic farmhouse, checking the locks on the doors and windows. She has shotguns scattered throughout the house just in case someone thinks they can get the jump on the middle-aged single woman who takes in trouble girls. No one has been that stupid but there’s a first time for everything. It is best to be prepared.

The clock on the stone fireplace chimes nine times. She pours herself a glass of wine and grabs the phone on her way back to the living room. She pulls her crocheting out of the basket by the couch and continues to work on the purple and white blanket waiting for the phone ring. She’s not too far into her work when the phone next to her rings.

“Hello. You have a collect call from Fletcham Correctional Facility. Do you accept the charges?”

“Yes,” Serafina answers.

The phone clicks over to the prisoner calling. “Good evening, Sera.”

“Evening, Toni,” Serafina answers, her fingers still working the yarn and crochet hook without missing a beat. “How are you feeling?”

“Good days, bad days. You know how it goes.”

“I do.”

“Any news on your grandbaby?”

Serafina smiles. “She was born last week. October 13 at 2:35 am, six pounds and three ounces.”

“She’s a little thing, then.”

“Well, neither one of her parents have meat on their bones.”

“Yeah,” Antonia drawls, “I remember how skinny Dr. Reid was. Boy looked like he lived on coffee and anxiety.”

Serafina chuckles. “That has been my impression.”

“And Harper, she come through the delivery alright? I know you were worried about her lungs.”

“From what I heard,” Serafina frowns slightly, “they had to give her oxygen during the end of the delivery but she managed it well. She’s a tough girl.”

“Must be.”

“You have five minutes left of your call.”

“Do you know her name?” Antonia asks.

Serafina grins as she finishes the final edging of the blanket. “Alice Penelope Reid.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.”

“I hope to see her soon.” Serafina lays the finished blanket across her lap and sips her wine. “And when I do, you’ll be here to see her too.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either.”

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (45)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

That feeling... you thought it would be gone forever. But it’s still there. And it’s much heavier than before. The question is: why? Why is this feeling of insecurity, this feeling that something dangerous is going to happen to you, still there? You know everything. You know that Danny won't do anything to you, that he will always make sure that the police don't know anything. But you have a hunch that the thing that wants to hurt you... is foreign to the city. to the country itself. You've been hearing for a few days something... unusual. Like voices.

But these voices are inaudible from others. Only you seem to hear them. At least that's what you think. They are strange, impossible to distinguish whether it is men or women who talk to you. or maybe both? Just as it is impossible to know what they are telling you. These are whispers. The only words you managed to understand once were: "Sorrow" and "Suffering". But nothing more. Could it be ghosts? spirits wandering aimlessly and trying to get in touch with you? From memory, you don't remember having a gift for communicating with spirits. But you've always believed in it. And you have always respected the dead, whether they were people you knew or complete strangers. Perhaps this respect has earned you a gift from the gods, allowing you to contact the afterlife? Maybe.

“Have you seen the latest news? In the end Hoggins was not McKellan's murderer. It was Ghostface!” said one the customer.  

“Yeah, I saw. But hey, is it surprising? No. Does this change anything? neither. And I want to tell you: so much the better. At least we are sure of who we should thank.” said his friend.  

“Excuse me? You wanna thank that freaking psycho for killing people? He’s a twisted man! Not a hero!” Replied the first one.

“Yeah, and he killed two others monsters, who stole money from the poorest and even the richest for their personal accounts! Moreover, it seems that Hoggins was involved in a more horrific scandal in Florida. They only got what they deserved.” Responds the second one.  

“I have heard of this story. What a bastard, to let sick people die when they could be saved. You have to be inhuman to do that. Fortunately, we have journalists like Jed Olsen to shed light on this kind of horror. Imagine how much longer Hoggins could have remained free if guys like Olsen didn't risk their lives and careers for it.” said another man before drink his coffee. “We need a guy like him to rule this damn country.”  

If only you knew sir what we know about "Jed Olsen". If only you knew... you would quickly change your point of view. But he and the second man in the trio were right, if Danny hadn't put his life and career on the line, Hoggins would still be free with impunity. And so does McKellan. They deserved to die it's true, and Danny made sure of it. He is both a completely twisted murderer, but also a hero to the inhabitants of this city. A murderous hero... you would have a hard time knowing how he would have reacted, if he ever heard it.

He would be both flattered and annoyed perhaps. Because that's not how he wants to be remembered, he doesn't want to be remembered that way. But simply as the greatest murderer in history who has never been arrested, and whose identity will forever remain a mystery. Like Jack the Ripper in itself. You wonder inwardly if Danny was inspired by it. It’s quite possible.  

“I find it hard to believe what I just heard. Ghostface who goes from murderer to hero of the little people. It looks like the end of the movie "Joker".” said suddenly a woman voice. When you turned your head, you could see Melina, smiling at you like always, coming to the table next to the counter. “Same as usual Amy!”  

“Alright! Right away!” responds Amy with a smile.  

“Hey... you look like you have your head in the clouds. Everything's fine? Jed made you live another wild night? Be careful, you will end up with a little baby at home very quickly if it continues.” replied Melina laughing by looking at you.  

“Really funny Melina.” you start before laughing too. “Even though Jed is... wild, he knows how to be careful. We are not yet ready to have a baby. But let's say that for a few days... I have trouble sleeping well.”

“Oh. Tell me maybe I can give you two or three advices.”

You tell Melina about your bad nights. If at first, she listened attentively and without expressing emotion, once your story was finished, the young woman looked at you with big eyes, as if you had just told her your most shameful secret of your life.

“Shit, so they're after you too...” she said worried.

“What do you mean?” you ask worried.  

“Jed told me the same thing the other day. He said he heard the same whispers and even had nightmares about them. Nightmares where you were there. I thought it was just a fear not to be able to take care of you but... I have to believe that my mystical side was right.”

Hold on. Danny went through the same things you did and he didn't tell you anything? It's not very friendly. But in a sense... you can't really blame him. He certainly had good reasons not to tell you about it. Surely, he didn't want to worry you, or that you would think he was crazy. Even if he is a little bit crazy in a sense. And again, the word is weak.

“You and Jed are related. And I feel like you've attracted... negative entities. Spirits, ghosts who want to hurt you. They may be trying to reach you through dreams first, but who knows how this can evolve. And who can be these spirits.” said Melina worried.  

“You starting to scare me. Why us? Jed and I didn't do anything except ... live our lives and do our work.” you said scared.

“Evil spirits have no particular criteria for attacking someone. If they find a target they like, or someone provokes them, then they go after that person. In your case, I think it's related to Jed. Because I think the mcKellan and Hoggins' souls are not... Left. They are surely stuck here because of their hatred and anger. And since you're in a relationship with Jed, they're attacking you too. Or, it's a much more powerful entity than those two. But in any case, it wants to hurt you. You're going to have to be very careful.”

“There's no way to get them to leave?”

“I could use the objects my grandmother used to purify a house but... I'm not sure I'm as good as she was. It's really very meticulous as a practice.” replied Melina.  

“I'll talk about it with Jed tonight. Thank you very much Melina.” you respond.  

You went back to work and the rest of your day was all about anxiety. If Melina is telling the truth, then you are in danger. Maybe that's why you have this strange feeling of not being safe when, all those who could have hurt you are dead, under Danny's sharp blade. And he, too, had the same experience. There is not much you can do about evil spirits except to drive them out. And you will deeply hope that Melina will be your salvation. Otherwise... you will have to think about leaving the city. Or start praying to God.

The last customers of the day ended up leaving your café, greeting you warmly. Then it was Amy and Corey’s turn who for a few days, got very close to each other. They were so lovely together. You clean the last tables before you take care of the back shop. Danny shouldn't be long in coming, so you'll both be able to discuss these nightmares you're both experiencing. Hoping he isn't too tired or in a hurry to kill someone tonight.

While you were cleaning your kitchen tools, you suddenly hear a noise coming from the room. You put down your equipment and take a weapon in case it’s a thief. You move carefully through the room until you reach the switch to turn on the light. But nothing. not the shadow of a thief, or an object that fell to the ground. You may have dreamed... Then suddenly, whispers. The same whispers you've been hearing for days and days. But this time it looks like it's coming from the back shop you just left.  

When you return to the back shop, you find that the door leading to the outside is... strange. A dark aura emanated from it and mist escaped from the lock and the bottom of the door. The whispers became clearer as you approached.

“(Y/N) …(Y/N) ...It’s time. Come with us. Join us. Feed my hunger. Give us all your suffering and sorrow. For all eternity.” said the voices.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” you ask.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. The most important is that you’ll feed us. With your screams, your pain, your sorrow, your blood. Now come with us. It’s time for you to meet your fate.”

Suddenly the door opened on a thick black mist. Giant spider legs came out and tried to catch you. You step back several steps but visibly, they are much longer than you hoped. As it was about to take you away, you feel something pulling you back. Under the effect of fear, you try to struggle when a familiar voice was heard.

“Hey! Hey Honey It’s me! Calm down!” said Danny by blocking yourself by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “It’s me...stay calm.”

“Danny...” you start as you feel tears in the corner of your eyes.  

The voices were heard again, and the paws moved towards the two of you. Danny pushed you, one of the spider legs injuring his arm in the process. He took a weapon in his hands and pushed it back to the door before getting against it and locking it. The door began to move, as if we wanted to open it from the outside and then after a few minutes... a silence set in. Everything had stopped. Danny stepped back before looking at you making sure you were still there. Then he joins you, taking you in his arms.

“What the f**k was that thing?? And what did it want??” you said crying.

“I don’t know. But for now...we’re safe.” said Danny.  

“You’re...you’re hurt. I have a first care kit. I will take care of your injury.”

You take the first care kit and ask Danny to come and sit next to you so you can treat him. He winced when you applied the disinfectant but remained motionless until you applied the bandages to him. You then put away the equipment and both of you leave the café to go home. Once at the apartment, you both sit on the sofa sighing, still in shock from what had just happened.

“Melina was right. We have attracted evil spirits. And they're not going to let us go now.” You said.  

“Honey please... Don't tell me you believe in this bullshit...” responds Danny, passing a hand on his face.  

“Danny, you saw what I saw! And you were hurt! How can you not believe in these things?? You suffered the same thing as me! Melina told me everything.”

“Okay, okay, stay calm. If they're really hitting spirits, there's not much we can do but chase them away, hoping it works.”

“Melina proposed it to me... it doesn't cost anything to try. But if it doesn't work... either we will have to leave the city, or we will have to pray to God.” you replied.

“Leaving the city would not be of much use and I have not believed in God for years. So don't count on me to pray to him. Anyway, knowing that I am a murderer I am not sure that he does much for me.” Responds Danny before getting up.  

You watch Danny walk to his office and walk out a few minutes later with his bag. He's not going to go out and kill someone tonight, is he? And even less leave you alone?? This thing, whatever it is, could come back! As he was about to leave, you take his hand before sticking yourself against him.

“Don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Please...” you said sadly.

“We no longer risk anything. I don't think this thing is attacking the two of us again.” Danny responds.  

“How do you know? If it happens, maybe it will only go after you and I will never see you again! Danny please... Stay with me.”

“...Fine Honey. I’ll stay. Tomorrow I'll call Melina. If her magic shits works...we’ll be safe again. Let’s eat something and go to sleep.”  

Despite his words, you do not let him go. On the contrary, you will tighten more and more against him. And he gave it back to you. Whatever that thing is, it will surely come back. Danny is maybe a murderer, but he is the one you love. And if this thing has to take Danny, it will have to take you too.

And that's what it intends to do. One way or another.

***

(My second dose of vaccine is finally done! but the effects were quick to manifest, I think my body wanted to do a speed run X) Don't worry it was nothing very bad, arm pain after the injection and the next day, headache in the morning and some dizziness in the evening. But now I'm feeling better! and above all, I will finally be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of life! And go see Dune at the cinema! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya! )

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Under His Wing pt 2

Sunmary. Hawks takes in a teenage runaway

Hawks got you to his home around 11:15 at night and all he wanted to do was sleep, next time.. listen to the damn sidekick.. He unlocked the door and you rushed in past him heading straight to the restroom slamming the door. He rolled his heavy eyes closing the door and slumping to his kitchen taking out a big bowl and some ingredients.

The shower.Was.Amazing. After running around every night getting dirty and covered in blood it felt so good to just sit in the shower and watch it wash away. You laid your head against the shower wall inhaling deep. Never thought you would be taken in by a Pro Hero. Not to mention Bird Man of all Pros. You exhaled slowly and stood up to wash up , christ it felt good to wash your hair.

After you got out all you could smell was ramen, instantly you rushed out down the hall to see the bowl of chicken ramen with little candies next to it and Hawks waving. You sat down at the table looking at the food then him a few times.

“Its just ramen, and tomorrow im going to show you how to use your quirk, “ he yawned rubbing his head. “do you know how to call your feathers back?” He asked pointing to your back , you looked over your shoulder to see you were missing some.

“No.” You said between bites.

Hawks went to the nearest window and turned to look at you. “Think of them coming back and something you enjoy, ill show you more tomorrow.” Hawks made his way to the hall pointing to a door as he passed. “Guest room”

“Okay grandpa.” You snickered as you watched this Pro Hero try not to fall asleep with every step.

“Haha, good night little crow” He closed the door behind him finally going to bed.

“Pfft..” you looked down at the ramen, it was nearly gone . Think of something you.. enjoy huh? What do you enjoy ? Ramen, for one, you ate the last bits of it and got up dumping the bowl in the sink. A bed.. was one. You thought on it as you made your way down the hall stopping at Hawks door. Someone who .. cared? Was that something?

All your feathers flew through the window returning to you and you scoffed at them shaking your head, that cant be it, its the bed and ramen. Yup.

Once you got into the bed you crashed instantly , it was soft and warm. And better than the dirty floor you were used to.

••

In the morning Hawks woke up around 8 feeling so much better and well rested, his wings stretched along with him shaking from the middle all the way to the tips. “Mmmm……. what to do today.” He got up opening his door walking out going to the restroom to shower.

You woke up maybe 8:30 with a grumpy look on your face, you were sleepy and groggy. Slowly you pushed yourself up to poke around in the closet for clothes finding some tacky shirts and sweatpants, you grabbed them going to the restroom opening the door, your wings were shaking but you ignored it and opened the curtain to see Hawks.

“....”

“.....”

“AAAAH!!!!!” You covered your eyes and all your feathers fell out

“I FORGOT YOU WERE HERE!!!! “ Hawks said covering himself

“DAMMIT AAAUGHHH” you cried

“GET OUT GET OUT!!!!!”

“AAAUGHH!!!!” You stumbled over your feathers slamming the door behind you running to the couch panting. “FUCK!!!!!” You fell to your side whining and kicking your feet.

Hawks leaned into the wall rubbing his face. “Fucking hell, thats right, im housing a runaway.. i should have Tokoyami look up her description some time today…”

After Hawks had gotten washed up and sprinted to his room to get dressed he went back to the restroom to gather up your feathers and go to you to see you curled up on the couch arms folded and pouting.

“I might have.. forgot you were-“

“OBVIOUSLY!!!!” You sat up crossing your arms again. “Some Pro you are .”

Hawks let that one go and held his hands out. “These are yours, let me show you how to make a sword”

“A..sword?” You got up taking them back, they flew behind you except for one.

“Yes, you can do more than just fly” he brought a feather to his front and it instantly got sleek and sharp in his grasp.

“Holy fuck” you watched closely , eyes wide.

“So what i do is .. i usually focus my emotions on the feather, i put my strength into it , my will to win, to help”

“So..” you looked down at the feather in your palm thinking, you didn't want to help anyone ,just yourself. You wanted to survive- “OW!!” You dropped the feather sword and Hawks grabbed your wrist looking at the blood rushing out..

“Dont panic, it happens to me sometimes.”

“Fix it..”

He looked up at you to see your face wet and your hair sticking to your cheeks. “I don't like blood old man..”

“Okay okay.” He brought you to the kitchen grabbing the first aid from the cabinet, giving you a cloth for the time being.

It hurt, and the cloth stung, you could feel the blood pooling under it squishing around trying to escape. Your wrist was shaking and Hawks was rushing to get everything out if the kit, he dumped it over and took the bloody cloth away putting it in the sink and pulled you over to it turning on the water.

“Oowe!!!”

“I know it hurt.”

“IT FUCKIN DOES”

He looked at you and your wings shook, his eyes were very serious and not tired. “Calm down . So i can fix this properly.”

“..ok..” you took in a deep breath.

Hawks washed your palm up and dried it once the bleeding stopped, he wrapped it up three times tying it in a bow. “There.” He said letting go of your hand.“That was my fault, I should have warned you. Im sorry y/n”

“Whatever.. what else can i do..” you asked looming at the bow and making grabbing motions with your hand even though it hurt.

“Well…” he pointed to the mess he made and a few feathers cleaned it up, he then pointed to the cabinet and the feathers brought the kit to it closing the cabinet. “That”

You were wide eyed and all Hawks did was chuckle.

•

Hawks spent some time showing you how to use your quirk for something other than stealing , it turns out it was really useful in other ways. The feather sword was still on the floor and Hawks didn't try to make you pick it up again, when you were ready to pick it up you could. You learned a few things about Hawks too, the Hero Commission , his training. It was rare to find a quirk like his. He had asked you about your parents but you refused to talk about them or your childhood. He dropped the subject right there and told you how relieved he was that you agreed to come with him. “I feel like a babysitter who has no idea what to do but im happy your here, jail is no place for you”

You rolled your eyes going over to the window pointing at the curtain, your feather moved it and you jumped slightly, amazed.

“Ah good job, you catch on fast.” He said walking over to you. “Do i have to give you a curfew?” He teased down at you.

“Oh barf.” You opened the window stepping onto it and Hawks reached over grabbing your wrist.

“Come home whenever, just please stay out of trouble.”

Your heart did a back flip. “.. home?”

“Huh?” He tilted his head.

“Nothing old man!” You shook him off jumping out the window flying off, wiping your eyes.

Hawks sighed heavily as he we t to the couch to relax, the weight on his mind and body being taken over by the relaxation in his muscles. He pulled his phone out dialing his friend.

“Tokoyamii…”

“Are you calling to tell me you regret staying out.”

“Well actually….”

One long explanation later

“.. really? And she went with you?”

“Yep, can you run a background check, and make sure no one tries to arrest her..”

“Fine.”

“Thank you Yami.”

“... shes a actual runaway?”

“Said so herself.”

“Interesting..” he hung up and Hawks leaned back into the couch rubbing his face. Meanwhile you were sitting on a roof looking at the bow on your bandage.

••

@redflannel

[redrobinhoods]

Sticks and Stones | Chapter 1, godforsaken mess

AO3 Link | 2,200 words (approx) | Chapter 2

A/N:  Fits between my illicit affairs and no choir. I have a story for Thorn in this timeline and I'm working on one for Thire, so Stone needs one too so I can fill in some gaps.

Story Summary: In the wake of Thorn’s death, Commander Stone is the only thing holding the Coruscant Guard together. Thire is adjusting to a role he’d never expected to fill, and Fox- Fox has fallen for a certain senator from Pantora.

Stone’s hands smelled like blasterfire and bacta, the scent so strong that he could smell it through the apparatus in his helmet that filtered the air he breathed. He himself was physically untouched, but the sight of Fox, motionless and in pain on the museum floor, had unsettled him. Fox was not in the clear yet. The first shot had burned between his shoulder blades and any damage to his spine had not yet been assessed, it couldn’t be until he was removed from the bacta tank and conscious. Stone knew that he would be fine. He’d will it into existence if he had to. Fox had cursed in pain at Stone when he had applied the emergency bacta kit he kept in his belt to the wound at Fox’s waist. That meant that there was no spinal damage, right? Stone refused to think of Fox being decommissioned. He would not lose another commander so soon. Thire could not lose another mentor so soon.

The two troopers at the door saluted him before one punched in the passcode without hesitation. Senator Chuchi was upon him the moment he stepped inside. “Is Commander Fox okay?”

Commander Stone took a moment to collect himself, glancing deeper into the safehouse to make eye contact with Thire, sitting uncertainly on a couch opposite where the senator had sat before Stone’s intrusion, before turning back to Chuchi. “They’ve got him in a bacta tank, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes.” He turned his body to face Thire. “Commander, have you assigned a detail to this building?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone bit back the urge to tell Thire to drop the ‘sir’ when he addressed him. Now was not the time. “Then go back to the barracks. Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

If Thire had any protests, they were not voiced. He rose from the couch and with a polite nod to Chuchi took his leave from the apartment.

Stone waited until the door had closed to speak again. “Are you comfortable, Senator Chuchi?”

“I do not believe that my own personal comfort matters, Commander Stone.” She drew herself together and glared directly into his visor. “It is my duty, according to Commander Thire, to let you and your brothers lay down their lives for me. I will not be comfortable until I see Commander Fox make a full recovery.”

“Then you may never be comfortable again.” Stone cringed a little under his helmet at the sudden change in the senator’s demeanor when she drew in on herself and refused to meet his gaze. This was why he had always left dealing with the senators to Thorn, now Thire. He would have to offer her some vulnerability. He sighed and removed his helmet, allowing his brow to settle into a look of concern. “My apologies, Senator Chuchi, I’m worried for him too, but there’s nothing we can do to help him now.”

“I know, Commander, I do. But I cannot help but feel responsible for his injury.”

“Fox would let himself get shot for fun.” And because he had a death wish as of late, but the senator didn’t need to know that. “This isn’t your fault, Senator.”

She nodded sadly; Stone didn’t think that she had believed him. “Thank you for your assurances, Commander Stone. I would like to retire now. I suppose that I shall see you in the morning?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will escort you to your office tomorrow. From there, Thire is preparing a detail to accompany you throughout your day.”

“Please give my thanks to Commander Thire tomorrow. I am afraid I may have been harsh with him this past hour.”

“We are used to far worse, Senator. But I will pass it on. Let us know if you need anything tonight.”

“Thank you, Commander Stone.” She drew herself together once more before stepping away from him and departing to the bedroom. A clean pair of bedclothes would be waiting for her there, as well as the basic amenities needed to sustain a healthy being of any species. It was very unlikely that she would want for anything. Still, Thorn had told Stone enough stories of the desires of senators that Stone had been prepared for the worst. But the night was young, so Stone put on a pot of caf and settled down onto the couch where Thire had been sitting. Plenty of things could still go wrong.

---

“I have a lead.”

“You’re going to have narcolepsy if you keep this up.”

“And you’re going to get addicted to spice if you keep drinking so much caf. We can play the false equivalences game all day.”

Thire’s likeness to Thorn unnerved Stone on the best of days. He often wondered if that resolve was what Thorn had seen in the then-lieutenant that caused him to single Thire out for promotion. Today, the suicidal drive for justice was no exception. “Then let’s play a new one. In your state, you are going to die if you track this down by yourself. Take a squad; your squad, my squad, Fox’s squad, I don’t care. Take one.”

Thire shook his head, the shadows moving across his face only serving to highlight the dark hollows under his eyes. “Then the bounty hunter will see us coming and we will lose our chance. If not for Fox’s sake, then for Senator Chuchi’s. This bounty hunter will be our best chance at finding out who wants her dead. This is our job, Stone, this is my job. Let me do it.”

“Thire.”

“Stone. This is my duty. Let me carry it out.”

Stone shook his head and sighed. “Fine.” Senator Chuchi’s words from the night before came back to him. It was her duty to let him and his brothers lay down their lives for her. It was their duty to die. “Where did your lead come from?”

“The Chancellor.”

And Stone couldn’t argue with that. “Be safe, Thire.”

Thire nodded and stood from the seat opposite Stone where he had been lounging. “You know me, sir.”

“My name isn’t sir. But I do know you, and that’s the problem.”

Thire shrugged. “I have a good feeling about this one. Stone.” Then he was gone.

Stone waited a few heartbeats for Thire to cross the office space before he rose from his own chair and stepped out into the main office area. Glancing around at what was being displayed on the monitors, he found his target quickly enough.

“Bravo.”

His brother jumped at the sudden presence behind him, quickly clicking back to the security tapes from the Galactic Museum. “Sir, I can explain.”

“The tapes are kriffing boring. I know. I’ll get someone else to look them over if you do me a favor.”

Bravo relaxed, letting a loose smile settle over his features. “Respectfully, anything to get out of this, sir.”

Stone nodded in understanding. “I want you to trail Commander Thire. If he engages anyone, I want you to be there in case he needs backup. Do not engage otherwise.”

“I’m on it.” Bravo could almost give Sergeant Hound’s massiff, Grizzer, a run for her credits when it came to tracking. He had come a long way from Geonosis, when he and Stone had limped out of the rubble kicked up by the falling Lucrehulks together.

“Thank you, Bravo.”

Thire would be pissed at Stone when he found out.

Thire was absolutely pissed at Stone when he found out.

“I had everything under control!” Thire would have slammed his trigger hand on Stone’s desk if it weren’t in a sling.

“You almost died!”

“You don’t know that! She was stunned, it was already over. If you hadn’t made Bravo intervene-.”

“She could have recovered by the time you dragged your sorry ass over there! Thire, I can’t-.” Stone brought his hand to his face and took in a deep breath. Yelling wouldn’t make the situation any better. “Thire, there is still a very real possibility that Fox may die and I can’t- I can’t do this alone. Just stay alive, Thire. For Thorn.”

Thire’s face twisted into a grimace of pain and he closed his eyes. “He would be so ashamed of me.”

“No. He would have never been ashamed of you, Thire.” Stone reached over the desk and placed his hand on Thire’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. “He was so, so proud of you.”

Thire sighed and brought a hand to the bacta patch on his bicep. “Does the pain ever go away?”

Stone knew he wasn’t talking about the injury. “Some days. Others, it hurts worse than it did before. We all have the nightmares, Thire.” Two years later, Stone still begged for Aurra Sing to show Ponds mercy in his dreams. The once sparring partners had rarely had time to talk after Geonosis, but his absence had torn a hole in Stone’s heart. “Thorn used to say that the commanders of the Coruscant Guard are cursed. Maybe we are.”

“Give our track records, I’m inclined to agree.” Thire sighed again before his attention was caught by the blinking comm on his wrist. “That’s the Chancellor. I need to go.”

“I understand.” Stone watched Thire rise painfully from his seat. “Thire? We wanted you to know, on the books you made the arrest. You were the highest-ranking officer on scene, and you did do everything but cuff her. You can leave that part out when you brief the Chancellor.”

“I don’t deserve-.”

“Thire.” Stone snapped before softening his voice. “Go easy on yourself.”

“Thank you, Stone.” Thire stepped towards the door to Stone’s office before pausing and turning back to him. “Sir- Stone, I have put together a few security details for Senator Chuchi for your approval. There’s just one issue. I believe the most effective guard would be one where one of our men stays inside the senator’s residence with her. Given the capacity we are running at with the loss of my squad on Scipio and our current assignments, we have no available men who have been trained for intimate guard. Given that Senator Chuchi is a woman, I fear that an untrained guardsman would be too much of an intrusion.”

“What about Jek or Impulse? They were on her security detail at the gala, she’s already acquainted with them. She knows most of us by name, I think that she would feel comfortable with nearly any-.”

“I want to put Fox in.”

Stone’s lips moved to form Fox’s name, though no sound came out. He remembered a time a few months ago, when Thorn was telling him over getting dressed that Senator Chuchi reminded him of Fox. Thire hadn’t been there for that conversation, but Stone hadn’t been privy to all of Thorn’s conversations and it made him wonder what he and Thire had discussed concerning his commanding officer and the senator. “Why?”

“You should have seen her, Stone, right after he was shot. She was heartbroken. From my observations, I think that he’s endeared himself to her. Besides, it will give Fox a few days to kick back and catch up on flimsiwork. He’s going to be hurting, and you know that they won’t give him adequate time to recover. They never do.”

“I will advise Senator Chuchi on the matter. Thank you, Thire.”

---

Senator Chuchi was on her feet the moment Stone entered her office. “Are you to accompany me home, Commander Stone?”

“I am afraid not, ma’am. Your apartment is not yet secure, I will be taking you back to the safehouse.”

“And what of Commander Fox?” She had yet to move from her spot beside the desk.

“I received word on my way here that they will be taking him out of bacta tomorrow if there are no obvious signs of permanent injury. If he is disabled, Senator, I’m afraid he will be retired.”

Senator Chuchi nodded and grabbed a small bag from a hook on the side of her desk. “Thank you for informing me, Commander Stone.”

She didn’t know what he had meant by retire. Stone decided that he would not be the one to inform her that the word was a death sentence for clones. He waited for her to cross the room while he found the words to avoid the topic. “If he is not retired, Commander Thire suggested that he lead your security detail from inside your residence.”

Senator Chuchi tilted her head up at him. “That is not standard operating procedure, is it?”

“No, Senator. But I must tell you in confidence, we are understaffed for senatorial detail at the moment. Commander Fox is the only unassigned man with the training required. If you are not comfortable with his presence, there are other men who we can assign.”

“No. I would be perfectly comfortable with the presence of Commander Fox. But thank you, for your concern. I heard that Commander Thire has captured the bounty hunter who tried to assassinate me?”

“Yes, he did. He is briefing the Chancellor on them now. Whoever wants to kill you will be caught soon.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Commander Stone, for your confidence.”

Once again, he didn’t have the heart to tell her how many lies and half-truths had lined their conversation. Instead, he nodded and fell into step at her side to escort her back to the safehouse.

[cheeseburgersstuff]

Can’t Let Him -5

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: dark reader, language, mention of blood and suicide (shitty writing...)

Master-list

Mini-series

. . .

Steve was laying there, ready to get in the oven to get baked. He remembered the first time he was in that situation, he was worried, scared. But now he wasn’t, he had seen so much shit in his life, this wasn’t nothing for him now. 

He wasn’t getting the serum because he hated his thin body but he didn’t like it either especially now. He can’t survive in this body, he got so used to having the power that body gave him. It’s like the little boy forgot to fight with his weak body.

And besides, he can’t live a normal life now, a life without saving people. But he did want to settle down and start a family with his wife but then the accords and Thanos happened and he couldn’t get the chance. 

And the moment everything was going to be normal he messed up.He couldn’t understand why he wanted to go back, maybe it was just attracting him because he didn’t get the chance. 

It was his curiosity more than love, how he would have lived in his time. But y/n could never understand this. 

“We are ready Steve.” banner told him. He nodded before going inside the machine. This time he didn’t scream, the pain wasn’t intense like the last time. 

He breathed heavily feeling the door open. Everyone ran toward him. Bucky helped him out, “you okay?” he just nodded. 

“Woah! Can I have this thing too? `` Sam said jokingly, touching Steve's abs. Steve sat on the chair and took a sip of water. 

Wanda came after visiting y/n and smiled seeing Steve, back to normal. But her smile faded when she thought about y/n. She wasn’t feeling fine already and if she got to know about this?

“How's she?” Sam asked, making her sigh. She shook her head, “she wasn’t eating anything. I had to make her sleep again.” she said walking towards the couch. 

“We’ll deal with her later,” Bucky said. Steve looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Deal with her?” Steve asked. 

“What she did to you was a crime, Steve…” Bucky said but Steve interrupted. “I know buck but let me handle her. I need to know when did she become like this? And I won’t just handover my wife to anyone.” 

He got up and started to leave when Wanda whispered, “she lost everyone.” her voice was low as if she was talking to herself but steve heard that. He turned around to look at him. Everyone was looking at her for an explanation.

“That day when I read her mind, I saw her parents getting murdered in front of her when she was 17. I saw her being tortured, walking around being homeless. I felt her thoughts when she was on the verge of taking her life. But then tony took her under his wing.” she told them, thinking about the time when y/n told her how tony was so caring and gave her shelter and a job when she had nothing.

The time when Wanda hated Stark.  

Steve was shocked hearing everything, she never told him anything about her parents except for they just died. 

“And when she was mourning over tony and nat, her family, steve declared to go back in his time. And she just..lost it. The control she had over her madness, she lost it…. So yes steve there is indeed a reason she is like this.” Wanda said, cleaning the tears-off of her face. 

She didn’t support what y/n did but she also couldn’t let her throw out of their lives as if they didn’t spend years together. 

Steve’s had tears in his eyes as well. He didn’t know what to do, go to her and scream for what she did or just take her in his arms and comfort her for all the things she had been through. 

He choked, controlling his tears and walked towards his room. He sat on his bed with his face on his hands. 

He was crying about his fucked up life.

Bucky entered quietly and saw him crying. He walked towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. Steve looked up at him with red puffy eyes. 

Bucky knew he was confused. 

“You wanna go to her?” Steve nodded at his question. Bucky smiled, “Then go her punk. Ask her whatever you want and then do what you want. I know it’s difficult to forgive her and you don’t have to yet. But talk to her and then decide.” 

That’s why he missed his friend the most, he always knows what to say.

“You telling me to go to her? “ Steve said, chuckling. Bucky sighed dramatically, “well, I can’t see you cry like this punk” 

Steve stood up and looked at him saying a thank you before going to her…

~

Steve entered the house only to find it messy. Things were broken everywhere. He went to find her, that she didn’t hurt herself.  

She was sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Pieces of the broken vase were laying near her. He noticed blood on them and looked towards her. 

There were cuts on her hands, hair was messy, she was looking lost. Steve felt pain seeing her like that and kneeled beside her.

 “What did you do?” he said, taking her injured hands. That’s when she noticed him and looked at him. Wanda ‘s words running inside his head.

A few minutes late and he could have lost her.

He could see the sadness in her eyes when she noticed him. “You took the serum?” he heard defeat in her voice. He didn’t say anything but nodded. 

He stood up and brought a first aid kit to clean her wounds. She watched him taking care of her and felt guilty. 

He heard her sniffling and looked at her. “I’m sorry Steve. What I did was so wrong” she whispered. “But whatever I did was because I love you and I don't want to lose you... But look how I just didn't lose you but everyone else too.” she chuckled thinking about everyone.

She got quiet for a moment before speaking, “I should have just let you go. You didn’t want to live with me and it’s okay no one wants”  

“y/n…” Steve tried to say but she didn’t let him. “It’s okay steve. Why are you here anyway? To say your goodbyes or to get me arrested?” she could help but ask bitterly. 

“I won’t let anyone touch you y/n. Don’t say that, “ Steve pleaded. “And I'm not going to leave you. There are things I need to solve, so I can't leave.” 

“After everything I did?” He took her face and looked at her softly. “What I was going to do with you was not right either. But I wasn’t going because I don't want you anymore. You are the best thing that happened to me y/n. We both weren’t fair to each other but shit happens.” y/n chuckled at his words. 

“We can try to be normal to forgive each other. It’ll take time but we’ll do it together.”

He took her into his arms and kissed her head. “And don’t you dare hurt yourself ever again,” he said sternly. When she didn’t reply he looked at her, “I'm serious y/n, don’t even think about it. Your life is too precious to just give up for someone, even for me.” 

“I won't,” she muttered quietly. Steve took her in his arms and walked towards their room. He laid her on the bed. 

“I need to clean the mess and make something to eat,” he said and went outside. Cleaning the house was the last thing he thought while coming back to her, but here he was doing his husband's duties and taking care of her wife….

.