#founded Nine Eleven Case Management

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so it features mentions of killing/ injury/ general violence. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2,046

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. The next part is here, I had so much fun writing the first part that I just couldn't stop thinking about the next chapter of this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two (here) | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen(coming soon)

——————

Your Marine photo lay on Doflamingo’s desk beside a copy of your file, the information sent through by Vergo in record time. It was sitting waiting to be read the second he returned to Dressrosa. One of the Palace’s doctors tended to your injuries while he withdrew to the peace and quiet of his private quarters to get his mind straight. The entire journey home he couldn’t stop but think about the cause for his powers not working on you. Over and over he tried to make sense of it, nothing added up and the longer he thought about it the more agitated he became, desperate for an answer. Desperate for a cure or a fix or whatever you wanted to call it. No one would get the better of him and certainly not some unknown Marine that came across his path at the wrong time. 

Settling into his chair he pushed your photo aside and flicked open the file, lazily reading over the information. He didn't need to know about your past missions or any of that inconsequential nonsense. Doflamingo was searching for something remarkable, a mention of a Devil Fruit, anything in your parentage that could give him some insight in his search for answers. He felt the vein in the centre of his head throb when nothing jumped out at him. As if sensing his unhappiness, the den-den mushi rang and he lifted the receiver, not even bothering to speak first. Vergo’s voice sounded. “Was the file acceptable Doffy?”

“Acceptable in that it's detailed but not what I was looking for.” Doflamingo snapped your file closed and pinched the corner of your photo between his thumb and finger, lifting it to inspect your appearance blankly. “Could anything have been missed?”

“From what I can see everything is accurate and up to date. Medical history, combat and mission logs, specialised training and skills.” Vergo noted, on his end of the call he was looking at your file too checking over everything to ensure he hadn't missed a page or annotation. “Is there something specific you’d hoped to have known?”

“Devil Fruit ability? Something that would render my skills useless against them.” There was a beat of silence from the other end of the call. Vergo found himself genuinely surprised that someone could be unaffected by his master’s power.

“If they possess a Devil Fruit capable of that, they’ve managed to conceal its existence for as long as they’ve been part of the Marines.” Doflamingo glared at your picture, not satisfied at all. “I’ll look into things on my end just in case someone higher up has intentionally kept certain information out of their file.”

“Good.” Doflamingo ended the call and discarded your photo, in one swift movement he rose from the desk and left his room. He suspected you would be awake by now and he was in no mood to just sit back and wait for Vergo to research things. It was time to ask you directly and if you knew what was good for you, you’d answer his questions. 

He slammed the door open and without needing to say a word the doctor fled the room, leaving him alone to stare down at you as you lay on the bed. You were awake as he suspected and staring blankly at the ceiling. You weren’t restrained and you’d only been in here with the doctor, even with your injuries you were most likely capable of overpowering him and escaping had you wanted but in Doflamingo’s view of the situation you looked bored. “Did any of them survive?”

Doflamingo’s grin appeared at your question and he sat on the edge of the doctor’s desk. Still no begging for your life? Not even a curious ask of where you were or what was going to happen. Instead you were looking for confirmation of your unit’s status. “Every single one of them died.” He tilted his head to see you nod in acceptance. “No tears to shed for them?”

“I’ll mourn them privately if I live long enough.” You told him stiffly, training you gaze on the ceiling, refusing to look at the man whose presence filled the room intensely. The memory of what happened at the warehouse was fresh enough and you didn’t need to look at the Warlord. Perhaps if you didn’t feed into his sick entertainment of tormenting you, he’d grow bored and kill you quick. You’d reasoned that was why you were still alive, you’d fallen unconscious too soon before he had his fun. “You’ve been keeping me alive for a reason.”

“I want answers about your power.” Doflamingo told you, grinning wider to see you slowly look at him at last. Your expression was unreadable but the fact you finally looked at him felt like confirmation that you knew what he was talking about. “Born with it or is it a Devil Fruit?”

“I don’t have any power.” You answered, confusion evident in your tone. Doflamingo’s jaw clenched, you were a skilled liar. You had to be because for a second he almost believed you. “You wasted resources in healing me. I can’t tell you anything about something I don’t have.”

“I’m trying to be patient here. You can stop lying about your ability I saw it for myself.”

“Then you were imagining things. I don’t have any-” You were cut off when Doflamingo was across the room and lifting you into the air so you were eye level with him, his hand tightly around your throat. You could feel the strength in his grip, the power but you didn’t feel any pain. Was he just trying to intimidate you? To let you feel the ultimate control he had over himself when he could easily snap your neck or squeeze the life out of you. In a way you wanted it to be quick, being a prisoner and dragging out the torment was not ideal. With a heavy sigh you could only repeat. “I don’t have any power.”

Doflamingo felt the rage building in him once again. Even now you lied to his face so blatantly? He had put enough force into his hold to choke you, to at least make you squirm and hold some fear for your life and yet you didn’t react. You didn’t even twitch or try to struggle for breath as it still came to you so easily. It wasn’t just his powers or using a weapon, his own strength failed him around you. He was incapable of harming you.

Keeping you in his hold he turned and left the room, ignoring the frightened and scrambling servants who leapt out of his way and bowed lowly until he passed. Even his subordinates from the lowest rank to some of his elites didn’t even register in his mind not even when they called after him and followed close behind. At this point in time he was in search of only one other person who could give him some clear insight. Bursting into one of the drawing rooms he locked eyes on the former Princess of Dressrosa. “Violet. Your power now.” He growled as he dropped you onto the plush armchair. “I want to know the truth of their ability.”

You looked at the woman who stepped forward, remaining silent as she made a circle with her thumb and finger and peered at you intensely. If only you knew what power or ability Doflamingo was so adamant you possessed, at least then you’d have some idea of what was going on. One moment you were a Marine, just doing your job and now you sat in the home of a feared Warlord completely clueless. You jumped when Violet let out a shocked, strangled yell. Even Doflamingo tensed at the sound and he stared at her hard. “What do you see?”

“It’s not possible.” She whispered, not just looking at you but also Doflamingo with equal shock and disbelief. “Never thought I'd see such a thing.”

“Stop the riddles Violet, what’s their ability and how do we reverse it?” Your head snapped up to him and you frowned heavily. Reverse? What had to be reversed? Did something happen while you were unconscious? Could it have been something to do with what was in the warehouse before it exploded. Had remnants of some weird substance gotten on you? 

“It’s not an ability…it’s something bigger than that. It’s fate.” She whispered and Doflamingo scoffed in annoyance, his fingers flexing. He was getting agitated and if he didn’t get answers soon, a lot of people were going to get sliced. “I swear! It’s the only way I can explain what I see. The two of you are connected. It’s not at the mind or heart…it’s deeper. Your souls are bound to each other.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. No, this had to be some trick. Some sort of bizarre theatrics planned while you were unconscious. You still didn’t know how long you’d been asleep for, it was likely they kept you sedated in order to perfect these performances although for what end you couldn’t tell. You weren’t high ranking enough to be of any use to Doflamingo and he was a Warlord and a King of an entire island. He had enough power and influence as it was. Just what was going on and why of all things go with the ‘connected at the soul’ nonsense? The existence of soulmates had been recorded a few times throughout the world’s history but it was extremely rare to the point it was considered myth. Violet seemed exasperated at not being believed and looked to Doflamingo. “You’ve tried to kill them already?”

“A few times.” He answered tightly. First at the warehouse with his strings, then with your gun, then again in the doctor’s room. You didn’t even bruise in any of the attempts. Behind his bright glasses he looked down at you out of the corner of his eyes, noting you didn't seem surprised by his admission. Instead you looked confused about how you were still alive. You shook your head, still not convinced by any of this. No, this wasn't happening. You jolted in your seat as the sound of gunfire sounded loudly above you. 

Slowly you tilted your head up to meet the smoking barrel of the gun that had been aimed directly with the top of your head, the weapon held steadily and unwaveringly in Doflamingo’s grip. There was no missing with that proximity but you were alive, you hadn’t even been grazed by any of the bullets. Swallowing hard your body began to shake, not out of fear of the weapon but by the undeniable truth of the situation. You glanced down to see the bullets on the ground, the pathway they would have had to take to land beside the chair was impossible but there they were. You were protected from any harm by Doflamingo's hand by fate as Violet said. 

Both of you had the answer now and neither of you liked it. Those that were in the room that had been there to witness the truth of the matter for themselves were stunned and silent. To see the existence of a soulmate and the rumoured power it had for the pair would be something they would never forget. For some it was also an extra thread of proof that their master, Doflamingo was truly amazing to have a soulmate. With a growl, Doflamingo threw the gun across the room, letting it smash through the antique vase and send the roses it held scattering onto the floor. Then a sound filled the room, you began to laugh. You couldn’t help it. The sheer absurdity of it all and the weight of this new reality was too much. It was like some higher power had decided to play the cruelest joke imaginable on you and you finally got the punchline. 

“So what’s the plan?” You asked, looking at your ‘soulmate’ expectantly. “Do I go home and we pretend this isn’t happening? Or do you have another idea?”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Doflamingo’s statement was firm and quicker than you anticipated. You could only nod slightly and glance once more at the bullets on the floor.   

“Thought as much.”

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[tleeaves]

Rule(heart)breaker pt. II

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: ritsu shinjo fails and try, tries again... and again... aaaand again. contains low grade angst and high-grade ridiculousness. slightly yandere vibes if you get real close and cross your eyes. Author's note: as requested, here's a part ii to this short fic idea here. longer than the first part and there's likely to be a part iii when I can get around to it. writing for ritsu kind of started as a joke since I also study law but now I'm kinda attached to this idea ngl. might eventually edit and upload this series to ao3 as a multi-chapter fic, we'll see. - T. Lee 🍃

It was Day Thirty-three of Ritsu Shinjo’s battle to get you back. He stood in his dormitory room, dressed in a matching set of pinstriped grey pyjamas ironed to perfection, and observed the corkboard he had set up on the wall. Notes, pictures, and red string wound around pins mapping out his trials and errors.

Everything began simple enough at first. A phone call the first day to ask you to reconsider your statement. You did not pick up. Nor would you for the next three days, at which point Ritsu considered his next step. He knew your class schedule by heart. So, naturally, he began trying to track you down between classes to make his case in person. By the end of that first week, you had called him nine colourful terms and flipped him off with three of those.

Ritsu Shinjo knew the risks of client abuses when working in the legal field. He knew the troubles of fickle associates and ruthless adversaries. No one prepared him for an unwilling business partner—let alone one that so swiftly appeared to detest him. A selfish and competitively ambitious partner, certainly, but not one he needed to keep who did not want to be kept.

It would be easier, he had reasoned, to merely acquire a more adequate person to work with who was less cranky, less preoccupied, and more enthusiastic. But Ritsu quickly found that to be impractical option. The use of you was that you were Darkwick Inspector. So, not only did he need you to reel in higher-ranked missions for Sinostra for the credit and sign offs, but he also needed an insider on all the other houses. You were, clearly, the prime person to keep close. And now he had gone and upset you—quite accidentally, of course—which placed Sinostra in a precarious position. Because during the second week, on exactly the Tenth Day of battle, you ignored the request to attend to Sinostra.

Ritsu had ensured the proper avenues from Vice-Captain Romeo S. Lucci to Captain Taiga Hoshibami (via a signature the captain was unlikely to remember giving out) to the heads of the houses and the chancellor himself were all followed. He dotted his i's and crossed his t’s, did it all by the book and followed the chain of authority for once. And somehow you had managed to worm your way out of the Sinostra assignment to take on a different one in Frostheim, a place you were much more difficult to reach when the likes of Jin Kamurai practically held you hostage.

It was affecting Sinostra’s progress. Ritsu Shinjo had brought this upon the house himself and now he needed to amend the mistake before Romeo’s wails of developing premature wrinkles over the matter actually manifested.

On Day Eleven, Ritsu managed to catch you on your way back to the cathedral, thankfully before closing business hours. He made his plea and even offered you an elegant fountain pen from his exquisite collection of stationery to gain favour. His father would approve of buttering up people with professional gifts.

You took the pen and promptly seized Ritsu’s hand to write “DICKHEAD” across the back. His fault, perhaps, for this being the one time he had not worn his gloves. He had watched you storm off (you kept the pen, as was your right, unfortunately, since he had already confirmed it was a gift and therefore equitably transferred ownership) swaying on the path, hand still aloft as the dark ink spelling out his crime against your good humour dried.

He tried coffees for the next series of mornings where he caught you on your way to 9 AM classes and mission calls. You were merciful enough not to spill any on him this time. But many likely poisoned the innocent shrubbery lining the academy’s pathways by the time he gave up that endeavour.

He really, really wanted to accuse you of assault, battery, or littering at the very least. Ritsu knew that to get on your good side though, his role now was not just an agent of the law but a savvy business partner. A partner would put their other partner first if it meant saving their business. And Ritsu was in the business of climbing the ladder, so he needed you. The temptation was difficult to fight when you threw the silver watch he bought you at his head.

He knew he should have opted for gold.

Third week in and he truly began to realise you changed. Ritsu listened back on recordings, paced a trench into the carpet of his rooms, and sorted through his appendices of photographic evidence to pinpoint exactly what it was and when it started. To his surmounting horror, the signs began well before you resigned.

When you first arrived at the academy, you were a timid honour student being dragged around by ghouls every which way with nary a peep made about it. The more familiar with the environment you became, however, the more pronounced your backbone grew. Ritsu felt with an odd sense of pride that you might have come into your own as an advocate like him—if you would only refrain from your more unruly tendencies.

On Day Eighteen, he gifted you a monogrammed handkerchief and kept his invoice for his dry-cleaning from the day of your resigning quiet. He could afford it, even if his pride and sense of equity told him you should be paying for the damages. Ritsu had managed to develop a behavioural chart for you, similar to the one he had for Taiga. That was how he knew the likely time to catch you in a more sedate mood, making you more susceptible to his gifts and pleas. Ritsu straightened up, pleased, when you accepted the handkerchief. You had not accepted his business offer, but he counted this as progress.

At least, that was until he found the handkerchief delivered to his rooms in Sinostra, decorated with dark lipstick marks that seemed to taunt him with its unwashed state. By this point, Ritsu could practically hear your voice saying, pay me for the dry-cleaning this time, asshole. Perhaps he should start a prediction chart for your responses to certain circumstances too.

Things were getting dire when you started disappearing for days at a time on more intense missions with other houses. You still had not returned to Sinostra. Romeo was hanging by a thread. Ritsu kept his cool, same as ever. There was no problem he could not solve.

Save for the fact that it became clear you were ignoring him. Calls, texts, summons, and waves on campus when he managed to catch a rare glimpse of you went unanswered. Worse still, you had other ghouls with you constantly now. That did not stop Ritsu from gathering intelligence though. Most students merely raised eyebrows and continued to ignore him when he recorded your conversations from around corners. This might have been considered a breach of privacy and perhaps even inadmissible as evidence in a court, but you were in a public space and he was not in a courtroom.

Day Twenty-nine and Ritsu found himself swallowing down an uncomfortable feeling. He was trying a bouquet of flowers today. That was professional. Many coworkers gifted each other flowers for various occasions. Ritsu figured this was not far outside the realm of associate-like behaviour.

You had just returned from another gruelling mission that landed you in the clinic. Ritsu carefully placed the bouquet at your bedside with a printed note. You refused to even look at him. If this continued for another month, your curse would be halfway in its progression already. Ritsu would never let the opposition see him sweat. But as he left your room, the one of six handkerchiefs he kept on his person was used to dab at his face.

Ritsu Shinjo was supposed to be perfect. He was going to be Japan’s top attorney. He had been training since early childhood for ruling the nation’s upper class with his knowledge of the law and how to reap rewards from their purses. He knew four languages, minimum, entirely fluently. He knew every classic opera, all manner of geography and jurisdictions, the top restaurants, and dressed impeccably. He got accepted into the most prestigious academy after making a deal with a demon.

If he did not leave this educational institution with the highest of accreditation, would all of that be for nothing? What was the point if he was not the best?

He needed the laurel crown for Sinostra with your assistance this year before either your curse turned you into an anomaly or you were freed from this place to return to your previous life. If Sinostra could come into the academy’s high graces again, it would make proceeding years easier for Ritsu to handle maintaining the house’s status on his own to ensure his graduation came from perfect results.

Five months were just about gone already. If something did not change, fast, he would be losing six, with only six more to go. What would happen the closer you came to the change? Would it be a gradual development or something that occurred all at once at the precise one year mark? If the former, would you still retain enough sound mind to work with Ritsu?

Would you become like Sinostra’s captain? Something worse?

And so here he was, Day Thirty-three and standing in front of his strategy board, breaking out into a cold sweat. Ritsu Shinjo was supposed to be unflappable. When it came to you, he was stumped. He had tried everything, from the direct approach, to notes, to gifts, to flowers, and even both a written and verbal apology. Every trick in the book.

What could he possibly be missing?

The door to his rooms burst open. Affronted, Ritsu took a half-step back, hand reaching for his compendium. “Vice-Captain? It is outside working hours and you are trespass—”

“Silence, YRT! You look to be working overtime anyway,” Romeo declared, slamming the door behind him. “This is GOOH, you need to FTI or so help me, I am ending your contract as Sinostra’s attorney!”

Ritsu blinked. “…GOOH? If you would please clarify—”

“GETTING OUT OF HAND, YOU SBA!”

Perhaps it was better not to ask and hinder the progress of the conversation. “I…” I, what? I have it under control? I will find a way? I, Ritsu Shinjo, paralegal, will resolve this in a timely manner? “How do you win someone over? Someone who hates you?”

Romeo’s irritation sputtered out a little, the creases on his porcelain skin smoothing. “Usually bribery.”

“Tried that.”

“Threats?”

“Futile, illegal.”

Romeo cocked his head to the side. “Have you tried locking them up?”

“That,” said Ritsu with a frown, “would constitute false imprisonment, which is also illegal, and is punishable by—”

“Whatever, shut up,” Romeo snapped, waving away the statement. “I thought you Shinjos were supposed to be morally bankrupt.”

Ritsu felt a prickle run up his spine. Holding his vice-captain’s gaze, he murmured, “No comment.”

“This is about that BB honour student, yes? She’s a woman like any other.” Romeo snapped his fingers. “Seduce her.”

“…I— beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! Seduce the honour student. That solves the part where she hates you, where she avoids you, and it will undoubtedly lead her back to Sinostra.” Wrinkling his delicate nose, Romeo added, “Just no risqué displays on the casino floor. I would rather not see that, nor do I wish to drive away the money.”

Ritsu opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened again. And fell shut. A peculiar heat buzzed over his skin. Finally, he said, “There must be another way. I will keep researching.”

Romeo scoffed. “At this rate, she’ll be an anomaly before she so much as looks at you again. If all other methods of enticing her to help us have already failed,” he explained, surprisingly patient, “then you must take more extreme action. People sleep with each other all the time to rise among ranks.”

“N— no one said anything about—”

“Shut up! Don’t you get it, you DTH? If you seduce her, she will become obsessed with you, will do whatever you say, and we can use her for Sinostra’s gain. It’s EAP.”

Ritsu wandered over to his desk chair and sat with the weight of his thoughts. What more did he have to lose if he tried this new strategy? You would reject his initial advances, undoubtedly, but perhaps if he investigated the best courting techniques and combined it with Romeo’s suggestion, it might be possible to soften you with something more personal than business. He supposed he had already tried everything else. It was nigh unreasonable how stubborn you were being. Yet…

“All right. I’ll do it.” Ritsu turned to his binder and his laptop to begin his research. “I will develop a plan and swiftly execute it within the next month. That should give Sinostra enough time to regain standing once I… have reacquired the inspector.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Romeo asked, dubious.

“Courting and seduction are thousands of years old arts, and I am something of a connoisseur of arts, naturally. I, Ritsu Shinjo, must move up my plan for a romantic partner. I knew this day would come eventually. It goes without saying that this need not be permanent, since I have different criterion—”

“Whatever, BSB,” interrupted Romeo. “Just get it done or you can forget about the contract.” The door slammed shut once again.

Ritsu glanced at his corkboard and then removed the sheet he had been writing on from his binder and pinned it up next to a picture of you.

The Girlfriend Strategy.

[imagines--galore]

||Mind Over Matter|| Part Thirteen

Summary: Evelyn is Penelope Garcia’s protégé. She is a tech wiz, and knows her way around any kind of security and just like her mentor knows  how to dig deep and get into the past of anyone and has a knack for   anything with a chip in it. Including potato chips. The one thing she fails at is figuring out is the mind and how it works.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson(OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Family. Some language, blood and violence in later installments.

Previously - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve

A/N: Well what do you know! Heres another chapter. Random moments happening in between episode really. And please lemme know what you think! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Takes place during Season 2 Episodes 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 & 8

A low humming sound filled the air as Evelyn put away the last of her files, having gone through them already. They were the files for the Team's most recent case. And Evelyn was of course, in charge of putting them away. One of her minor duties as part of the BAU Team along with being assistant techie. A position that hadn't been randomly made up by her mentor. Stepping out of the room and locking the door behind her, she very nearly bumped into the figure that was rushing by. Rather she did bump into them and instantly started to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was-"

"Evelyn? What're you doing down here?" The red head blinked, finally catching on who she'd bumped into.

"Spencer?" Her instant reaction was curiosity as she stared at her team member, trying to figure out what was new with him. Spencer stared back at her quizzically and questioningly, raising an eyebrow at her. Realization dawned and the red head grinned.

"You got a hair cut!" Instantly his hand went up to run his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit, Evelyn had noted long ago. "Yeah, I figured it was time to get a new look." The genius replied with a shrug. "So what're you doing here?" He asked, coming back to his previous question.

"I had to box away a few files." She responded with a small smile. "It is part of my job to clean after you guys." She added with a teasing tone, prompting him to smile back at her. Blue eyes flickered to his newly cut hair.

And unable to resist Evelyn reached out to gently run her fingers through the ends of his hair, having pushed herself up to the toes of her shoes so she could reach easily. The position pressed her a little close to him, but neither of them seemed to notice as she smiled at him. "I like it. You look cute."

Cute.

She'd just called him cute!

As if the realization of her words just hit her, Evelyn stepped back, cheeks flushing, a nervous smile playing at her lips as she avoided Spencer's gaze who only looked back at her which she found more cuter then his haircut. Like that of a confused puppy. The red head however did make the mistake of looking at him, and instantly regretted it as her heart sped up and her voice reached new levels of high pitch as she quickly managed to squeak out a goodbye before dashing past him, leaving a slightly confused Spencer, who was confused by her behavior to say the least, yet none the less pleased at her words.

Evelyn for her part avoided Spencer for the entire day.

Of course they were both back to discussing(arguing) over a new theory the very next day.

Though Evelyn still felt that strange warmth in her cheeks any time their eyes would accidentally meet and she would be reminded of the little run in a few days ago.

So embarrassing!

                                              ————————–

JJ traced the tip of her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. She was sitting on a stool in a little café a few miles from the office and was waiting for Evelyn to show up. Said red head was making her way towards her friend, holding her own coffee mug and setting it on the small table between them, before hoping onto the stool as well. Outside rain splattered against the glass window of the café, the coldness of it seeping through the window, one that both women felt, yet neither minded. They had their coffees to help keep them warm.

"So how did the assignment go?" JJ asked, once she'd taken a small sip of her beverage.

Evelyn gave a small nod. "It went well. And that is all I can tell you." She said with a slightly pointed look to which JJ chuckled.

"Right! Top secret, I know." The red head gave a low chuckle, before taking a sip of her own drink, frowning as the steam from the coffee fogged up her glasses. Handing her friend a tissue with a smile of sympathy she watched as she wiped the glasses clean.

"So what was it you wanted to tell me?" JJ asked. Evelyn sighed before reaching into her bag and pulling out a magazine from her bag and placing it in front of the blonde. JJ pulled the magazine closer, frowning at the bold title that greeted her in big bold letters.

NEW YORK SOCIALITE EXPECTING.

"After five years of marriage." JJ glanced up at the red head sitting across from her, who had her lips pursed as she stared at the image of the smiling woman on the cover. Along with a man, who was obviously her husband, going by the way they had their arms wrapped around each other. JJ bit her bottom lip before she sighed and reached out to lay a hand atop Evelyn's in a gentle grip.

"I've tried everything I could JJ. But she still refuses to listen to me. Even Gideon has tried to help but she's just so stubborn." Evelyn sounded almost heartbroken as she spoke, finally raising her eyes to meet JJ's gaze.

"I don't know what I did to her JJ, but I wish there was some way I could find out." Her friend sighed.

"I know you're trying Evelyn, but sometimes one person's effort isn't enough. The other party has to put in some effort as well." The younger woman sighed before nodding. "I know, but I was just hoping if I did my best it would get something out of her."

Her gaze, which she now focused on JJ was desperate and hopeless. "Why are people so hard to figure out JJ?" The other woman sighed and shook her head, squeezing the hand she held.

"It's a good thing that we have the BAU then isn't it?" The small joke prompted a smile out of Evelyn. "I wish I could ask their help but I don't want this turning into a professional thing. Its why I've only ever talked to Gideon about it. Penelope doesn't know either, and she's my mentor."

JJ frowned. "Then why tell me?" Blue eyes blinked as they caught JJ's. "Because you asked." The response had a wry smile pulling at JJ's lips, which had Evelyn smiling back and shaking her head.

"I don't know JJ. I'm still surprised I even told you about all of it. But I'm glad I did. It doesn't seem as much of a burden as it did before." JJ smiled at the response. "And I will gladly help wherever and whenever I can."

The smile she was given, sent a surge of affection and protectiveness through the older woman. She understood what Morgan had meant when she spoke to him about Evelyn. There was something so….pure about the red head that a person wanted nothing more then to protect her. Or as Penelope said, wrap her up in a bubble sheet and store her away someplace safe.

"Now! On to other topics, is there anyone you're seeing these days?" The groan of dismal she was rewarded prompted her to laugh loudly, one which Evelyn joined in soon after.

                                              ————————–

Morgan suddenly slammed his file shut a thought occurring to him. The motion caused Penelope to look away from her screen and frown at him. "What?" The blonde asked. Though he turned his head towards her, his eyes were still trained towards the floor, though they were unseeing.

"Have you ever realized that Reid and Evelyn have the same glass frames?" Penelope looked taken aback at the question. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it as Morgan finally met her gaze and raised an eyebrow as if questioning her.

"Coincidence?" The blonde suggested, looking and feeling uncertain.

"More like unconscious retention?" The confused look had him explaining further. "Basically he picked them out unconsciously because he's seen Evelyn wear them all the time." Penelope frowned. "He sees me wearing glasses all the time." Her hand raised to touch the side of her own glasses which were a bright orange that day. Morgan nodded.

"Yeah, but you change them all the time. Evelyn never did." Penelope sighed before shrugging and turning back to her computers.

"Unconscious retention it is then." She muttered under her breath before starting to type away on her keyboard. Morgan went back to his own files, pushing the observation to the back of his head.

                                              ————————–

Cupping her hands around the paper cup she watched it scrunch between her fingers. It was more out of worry and sadness then anything else.

"I take it you heard." Evelyn glanced up just in time to see Gideon take Spencer's unaccompanied desk chair and turn it towards her. The red head shrugged.

"More like saw." Both their gaze turned towards the desk that had been previously taken by Elle. It was completely clear now.

"Its for the best." Evelyn's gaze snapped to look at Gideon. "She knew she couldn't handle the pressure any longer." She only nodded in agreement her face grim.

"Still, doesn't make it any easier does it?" Her superior shook his head at her question.

"Leaving is never easy. Neither is letting go." At that he gave her a slightly pointed look which she countered with a sad smile.

"No. Its never easy."

                                              ————————–

Hotch glanced up from where he had been signing up the last of his papers to see his wife enter the bullpen. Pushing Jack's pram in front of her. He frowned. Hailey was meant to take Jack to her mother's for the night so that the two of them could go on a date. Quickly standing up he met his wife midway as she walked to his office. "Hailey? Is everything alright?" He asked, once he'd greeted her hello and smiled at his son who made delighted sounds at the sight of his father.

His wife nodded. "Yes, only my mom won't be able to look after Jack for the night. She has a cold, and Jack might catch it." Hotch sighed at the news, looking disappointed. "Great, now what?" He grumbled to which his wife shrugged helplessly. "I called the babysitter, but she's out too." The night was getting better and better with each second.

"Agent Hotch! I managed to scrounge up those reports you asked for. Who in their right mind would file them under X instead of Y when clearly it's a Z and-oh hello Mrs Hotchner! I didn't see you there! Is everything alright?" The woman only ever came when there was something going on, and for a minute Evelyn's heart stopped out of terror. But then restarted once the older woman smiled at her.

"Everything is fine Evelyn. Aaron and I just hit a bit of a snag, since we can't go on our date." The red head frowned, even as Hotch pursed his lips, thinking of the reservations that he would have to cancel.

"Oh? Why is that?" Seemingly catching sight of Jack the red head was quick to move forward and wave at the baby, who seemed fixated on Evelyn's hair. "No babysitter." At the answer Evelyn shrugged.

"I can look after him for a few hours. I used to babysit around the neighborhood when I was a teen."

And that was how Evelyn found herself holding a baby in one arm, the other holding up two baby bags. She turned her head to look at Jack who was looking right back with a fistful of her hair in his chubby fingers.

"That went well didn't it?" The baby only responded with a giggle before proceeding to pull at her hair, making her wince.

                                              ————————–

For once the Team had the chance to eat together in their little conference room. Chinese take out boxes were set atop the table while they all assembled chairs around it. "I love take out with you guys. Its always so much fun." Penelope said with a grin as she settled into her chair and reached for her box.

"Hey, where're the other three?" Morgan asked, glancing up from his box of chicken. Spencer shrugged through his mouthful of rice. JJ answered for him.

"Gideon had someplace to go, Hotch had a dinner date with Hailey, and Evelyn is-"

"And this is where your Daddy and the rest of the Team are briefed about the cases." The four of them stared as Evelyn entered the room with an inquisitive baby Jack, staring around with wide eyes. The woman holding him looked as if she'd been through some kind of storm that had knocked her glasses askew and her hair to be completely frizzy and her pony tail lopsided and barely holding up.

"Look Jack! Dinner! Excellent! Because I am starving!" So saying she dropped into a chair, and started to drop the two baby bags that were weighing her down onto the floor.

"Jesus! How much stuff does one baby need?" She grumbled to herself as she held Jack around the waist, having set him down on her thigh. The baby had his head turned to look up at her. Evelyn met his gaze and the two had an intense stare down. Which was broken when Evelyn made a face and the baby giggled loudly.

Morgan smirked. "Pint-size? Mind explaining what you're doing with Hotch's kid?" He asked the question that was on everyone's mind. Evelyn grunted as she picked up one of the bags and placed it on the table, doing her best to use only one hand while her other was occupied with keeping Jack secure.

"Babysitting Morgan. Something I happen to be good at. And Spencer? Help a girl out. I can't make his formula without some help." She'd already taken out the thermos with the water and the bottle which already had the formula in it. Jack was starting to fuss so she quickly stood up and cradling the baby to her chest starting to walk around while bouncing him a little. Spencer quickly stood up to do Evelyn's bidding, pouring the water into the bottle. JJ met Penelope's gaze and the two of them smiled at the sight of Spencer standing in front of Evelyn with the bottle in hand. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Did you check the temperature of the bottle?" Spencer frowned. "No." The two of them were oblivious to the other three members of their team looking at them.

Evelyn sighed. "All those random facts and you didn't read about babies? Honestly Spence, what're you going to do when a case calls for a random baby fact?" She asked, her tone dry, wincing slightly as Jack pulled at her hair yet again.

"Just squeeze a bit out on your arm. If it burns, obviously we wouldn't give it to him." Rolling his eyes Spencer sighed before moving to unbutton his cuff and pulling up the sleeve. A few seconds later, little Jack was greedily drinking from his bottle while Evelyn cradled him, slowly walking around.

"Why don't you sit down honey?" Penelope said, pulling a chair next to her, if only to coo at the baby. Evelyn shook her head. "Can't. Hailey said he likes to drink while walking around."

"So much fuss over a baby." Spencer grumbled as he munched on a piece of carrot, prompting Evelyn to glare at him. "Oh, and aren't you particular about your eating habits Dr. Reid." She only ever called him that when she was especially ticked off. And Morgan had to say, seeing Evelyn jump to defend Jack was hilarious. Especially when Spencer pursed his lips in response, licking them before speaking.

"Aren't you?" The words had the red head glaring at him even more. "I'm not the one calling a baby out on his eating habits." Morgan laughed loudly. "Alright you two. Reid, leave them alone." The man chided earning a look of triumph from Evelyn who turned her attention back to the baby.

"Spencer is just being mean Jack, don't mind him." Of course, Spencer had to ruin her little bubble.

"I doubt he understands you Evelyn." This time it was JJ who chuckled reaching out to pat his shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Let it go Reid. I know you're jealous, but you'll have Evelyn's undivided attention soon enough." The words only reached Reid's ears who turned to stare at his friend, cheeks flushed and mouth agape.

"Why would I be jealous?" He managed to say quietly, despite having the urge to shout the words in surprise. JJ only gave him an amused look before she turned her attention back to her food. Reid glanced at Evelyn, who was now setting the baby on the floor after spreading a small blanket and placing his various toys around him to play with while sneaking in bites of food for herself here and there. "I was just teasing Spence." The blonde beside him spoke up, knowing he would most likely beat himself black and blue trying to find out why JJ would think he was jealous, when he wasn't.

After eating the four of them left to finish up their tasks for the night. While getting ready to go home, Spencer realized he'd forgotten his bag in the conference room. Quickly walking in he very nearly missed the sight of Evelyn and Jack on the floor. Jack was sound asleep, laid out on his back, one hand still clutching his toy. Evelyn was curled around the baby in what Spencer could only describe as a protective manner. She was asleep as well, her hair falling over her face, her glasses placed beside her head. She'd shed her cardigan to drape it over Jack so he wouldn't get cold and she was on the floor while Jack was on the blanket.

Spencer didn't know how long he stood there. Simply watching the two of them sleep. It was strange how the simple sight of Evelyn sleeping so peacefully had him feeling peaceful and somewhat calm. The notion had him frowning in confusion, yet he still didn't walk away. Not until Hotch arrived with his wife after their night out and the scene was disturbed by Hailey waking up Evelyn. At Hotch's questioning look he simply held up his bag and left without glancing at Evelyn, trying to ignore the flush on his cheeks and the calmness that stayed with him every time he'd think of his red haired friend.

                                              ————————–

Tag List - @cillsnostalgia @kathaaaaaaa @lovelyygirl8

[inawickedlittletown]

Don't Make A Shadow Of Yourself (BuckTommy fic) - 11/14

Summary: "A man who's pure of heart...may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright" - Howl (F+TM)

BuckTommy Werewolf AU. Throughout most of his adult life, Tommy had dealt with what he was. The duality of being a man and also an animal…a beast. Werewolves weren’t born, they were made. 

Rating: M

Words: 3,588

Read on Ao3

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

-

Chapter Eleven

Buck felt a little out of sorts in the days right before the full moon. He knew it was because of his parents. Maddie had apologized for allowing them to convince her they needed to go by the station. Buck had at least managed to avoid seeing them even if Tommy had been unfortunate enough to meet them. He’d been staying with Tommy just in case they showed up at his apartment. After all, they weren’t with Maddie all the time and she could only do so much to stop them. 

Buck kinda loved being at Tommy’s house, though. Not just because it meant being with Tommy, but because he felt free. Free to run around as a wolf in the backyard and free to kiss his boyfriend and entice him into a bit more than kissing. Buck didn’t know how it was possible for him to have ignored his attraction to men for so long when Tommy took his breath away with any display of skin. 

The night before the full moon, Buck arrived to an empty house. Tommy wasn’t getting off shift until the next morning, but Buck didn’t feel weird being there on his own. It did feel a little strange to transform in the backyard without Tommy, but Buck made do. Maybe he did follow old trails of Tommy’s scent for a bit, but mostly Buck ran. He even took a small nap out on the grass and felt far more rested afterwards. He made himself dinner, and then settled in for a documentary before going to bed. 

Tommy’s scent surrounded him, coming off the pillows and off the sheets. Buck wrapped himself in it, pretended that his boyfriend was with him even if he wasn’t. He fell asleep that way and woke the next morning when the bed shifted under him and he became wrapped in strong arms. 

“Sleep,” Tommy said. “It’s early.” 

Buck drifted back, cuddling close to Tommy’s chest, burying his nose in his neck and sighing. He loved him. The thought was stray and Buck didn’t let himself linger it as he fell back asleep. 

Hours later, he woke again. Tommy was still wrapped around him and if it wasn’t for his bladder, Buck would have done anything to stay where he was. He slipped out, hoping not to wake Tommy, and when he returned, found Tommy had pulled Buck’s pillow into his arms. He really was too gorgeous for words. Cute too, for that matter. 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and that Tommy wouldn’t want to stay in bed for more than another hour, Buck headed down and started their breakfast. He was scrambling eggs when his phone rang. 

Buck picked it up without thinking. 

“Evan, there you are. We haven’t heard once from you since we arrived,” his mother’s voice said. 

Buck stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” he said. 

“Oh, stop that. You can’t be that busy. Though I suppose you haven’t been home anytime we tried to stop by.” 

“What do you want?” Buck asked. 

“To see you, Evan.” 

“It’s Buck,” Buck said. 

Hearing her use his name made him want to break out in hives. It sounded wrong. It wasn’t delivered with the warmth and the care that Tommy put into it and it was the only way that Buck ever wanted to hear it. 

“Oh, so you haven’t given up on that ridiculous nickname,” she said. “I was calling because Howard said he’s not on shift today.” 

“And?” Buck asked. Damn it, Chim. 

“I thought we could all have a nice lunch. Your niece misses you, Ev—Buck. Your sister needs your help with the wedding. It’s in a few days, there’s still—”

“Just because Chim isn’t working today doesn’t mean that I’m not,” Buck said. “I’m heading into work soon. I see Jee all the time and I’ve been helping Maddie with the wedding for months now so I know she doesn’t need my help. She would have asked otherwise.” 

His mom groaned and Buck knew that if he hung up it would only get worse. She might show up at the station again and this time not find Buck there because he wasn’t working. 

“Evan,” she said and Buck flinched. 

“What?” 

“It just feels like you don’t want to see us,” she said and she made her voice sound small and sad, but Buck knew her and maybe some of it was put on. 

He had no idea how to respond. He took too long, apparently. 

Her tone changed, though. 

“Well, fine,” she said. “If you don’t want to see us that’s — well, I guess we can get over that. But, there is something important you must know.” 

Buck didn’t like the sound of that at all. In the background of the call, he heard his father calling for his mother. 

“Oh, Phillip. I have Evan on the phone. I wanted to warn him. It is the full moon after all.” 

Buck’s heart caught in his throat. He knew that his hand gripped the counter so tight, he was afraid when he let it go that it would be dented even though it was granite. 

“Yes, yes. Put him on speaker. Good morning, Evan. I’m sure you weren’t even aware, but it is a full moon tonight. Your mother and I think there is a Werewolf working at your station.”

“We’re very sure,” his mother put in. “We don’t know how you didn’t notice or say anything.” 

“Oh, you know this boy, Margaret. You know how he is. Why would he notice anything right under his nose. Maddie is at least busy with the wedding and doesn’t work with one.” 

Buck gulped. He knew they hadn’t met Eddie…but they had seen Tommy and that was — they had to be talking about Tommy. Buck had no idea what to say or how to react. 

“I don’t work with any Werewolves,” Buck said. “If anyone was a Werewolf I would know.” 

His mom made a noise of protest. 

“Clearly that is not true,” his father said. “Just take our warning, Evan.” 

“Wh-what uh, what are you going to do?” 

He heard Tommy getting up in the bedroom, and he hoped that he would stay put up there until Buck could get off the phone. He was already freaking out, because from the non-answer he knew what they were thinking or planning of doing. He hoped that they hadn’t already started any kind of reconnaissance. 

“Don’t do anything,” Buck said, he knew his words were hard. 

“Evan—”

“Focus on Maddie and on the wedding. Don’t do anything,” Buck knew he probably sounded like he was pleading. 

“If you hadn’t realized it, tonight is a full moon,” his father said. “We can’t allow one of those beasts to hurt anyone. We won't.”

“So you’ll hurt someone instead,” Buck said. “With no proof that they’ve done anything wrong? You are not doing that. I won’t allow it.” 

Tommy came down the stairs. His curls were messy and he was in nothing more than shorts. At any other moment, Buck would have been distracted by seeing so much of him. 

His father was laughing. “Allow it,” he said. “That’s funny.” 

“Evan, what—”

Buck shook his hand at Tommy and lifted a finger to him as well. Tommy raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t say a word. 

“If you want to attend the wedding, you will do nothing tonight or any night that you are here. I’ve turned a blind eye to what I know you do with this cause that you’ve given yourself. No more.”

They scoffed. “You will not ruin your sisters wedding.” 

“I won’t…but if you this, you will. That is up to you,” Buck said and then he hung up. 

He dropped his phone on the counter, his hands gripped the granite and then he looked towards Tommy. Tommy was at his side at once, taking Buck’s hands. 

“They know you’re a Werewolf,” Buck said. “I’m pretty sure they’re talking about you unless they’ve stopped at the station and seen Eddie? I really should call Athena. They’re not going to do this again and I don’t care what happens to them.”

“What about Maddie?” 

Buck shrugged. “She’s either on our side, or she’s choosing to be with them.” 

Tommy pulled Buck into his arms and Buck let his weight fall on his boyfriend. He didn’t for one moment believe that Maddie would allow their parents to hurt anyone. 

Athena wouldn’t really be able to do anything. Maybe she could take them in and question them, but she wouldn’t be able to hold them without proof or without them having done anything since they’d arrived in LA. But if they did try then maybe…but Buck didn’t want it to get to that. Somehow, he didn’t think the division would take them seriously or do anything about it. 

“I think,” Tommy said, “we should spend the full moon here. Just in case.” 

As much as he itched to be out there in the woods, he did think that Tommy had the right idea. 

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll let Eddie know.” 

—

Tommy was the one that called Athena. Evan had a call with Eddie inviting him over for the night. He thought it was maybe a bit restricting for Evan and Eddie, but it also did mean they were all safer. Evan had also called Maddie and Tommy had managed to hear some of the conversation, enough to know that Maddie was going to keep their parents busy and have her own conversation with them. 

“I don’t think they’ll do anything,” Evan said.

Tommy agreed with him. Still, it put him on edge to know that they had made him when Tommy had done his very best to not give himself away. Clearly, he’d made some kind of mistake. He just didn’t know what it was that he’d done. 

“Stop beating yourself up,” Evan said. “None of this is your fault. It’s them. I don’t even know all the ways they might use to identify us.”

“But something gave me away to them,” Tommy insisted. 

“Or it’s not you,” Evan said. “They could have been suspecting Eddie since the last time they were here. Anyway, I don’t think they will try anything. Not if Maddie has them on some kind of house arrest.” 

It didn’t make him any less uneasy. Evan proved to be plenty distracting though, taking him back up to the bedroom and burning up some of their pent up energy in ways that were pleasurable to both of them. It was the best type of distraction. For a little while, they focused on each other. On just being together and feeling so good that nothing else really mattered. 

They contacted the Werewolf Division after lunch just to cover their bases and Tommy was left dissatisfied with the way they responded, as if their concern was nothing for them to worry about. When Tommy mentioned getting in touch with the police they tried to warn him off doing that because he’d be exposing all Werewolves. 

“And that makes me think they’re condoning it somehow,” Tommy said. Evan didn’t disagree. 

Tommy had every intention of figuring out why, but it wasn’t something they could get to on a full moon. But his next day off, Tommy would go right to them to see what he could find out. He felt antsy all day, perhaps amplified by the full moon. He could tell that Evan felt the same, but they both calmed down some when Eddie arrived. 

Tommy let him in and Eddie pulled him into a hug. 

“What’s all that?” Tommy asked, motioning to the bags Eddie was carrying. 

“Figured none of us were up to cooking,” he said. “Has Maddie said anything?” 

“They’re still there at the house with her and Chim,” Tommy said. “Athena put an officer at the house to tail them if they leave at all.”

Eddie followed him inside and was almost tackled to the ground when Evan threw himself at him. Tommy laughed. He’d never noticed how sometimes they still acted like they were wolves when they were in human form. Big giant human puppies. 

“I feel better with you here,” Evan said to Eddie. “Don’t need to worry.” 

Tommy felt the same. It was a relief to have the three Werewolves of their pack together. It was just as it needed to be. 

By the time they ate through some of the Mexican food Eddie had brought them, the three of them were ready for the moon to appear in the sky, so they headed outside a bit early. Evan kept texting his sister and Howie, but it seemed like the Buckleys were actually listening to what their kids wanted, at least for the moment. 

Evan was the first to transform. Tommy immediately crouched down to pet him and somehow, he wound up sitting on the ground with Evan on his lap. Eddie dropped down next to him. 

“He told you about his parents,” Eddie said.

Tommy nodded. 

“I thought I had it bad,” Eddie said. “Buck’s had it worse.” 

Evan didn’t react, even though he could hear them. He just dropped his head against Tommy’s stomach and Tommy let his hands go down to his stretched neck. 

“I just don’t understand Maddie putting him in this position,” Tommy said. 

He’d been interested in Eddie’s opinion most of all, to know how the other Werewolf in this pack viewed the whole thing. Eddie didn’t speak for what felt like a long time. 

“It’s family, is the thing,” Eddie said. “I don’t think Maddie even realizes what she’s doing because they just have such different relationships with them. But I don’t think Maddie would hesitate to do anything to protect Buck.”

“What you’re saying is the wedding is going to be interesting,” Tommy said. 

Eddie laughed. “Sure will. Probably should shift now.” 

Eddie got up and walked over to the table. Tommy heard him discard his clothes and then the next time he saw Eddie, he was on four legs and covered in fur. Tommy lingered a little longer with Evan on his lap, but eventually he nudged him off to a wolfy huff. Eddie distracted him in the next moment with a gentle nudge. When Tommy joined them, they were already halfway across the yard, play fighting. 

It was nice to have them both there in his space. Eddie barked at him and Tommy ran towards them. They played a game of tag and as the sky darkened they all seemed to relax more and more. They ran and they lounged and Evan and Eddie play-wrestled. They fell into a puppy pile after a while and Tommy was so comfortable that he actually let himself fall asleep. 

The next thing he knew was a loud sound, like something crashing or breaking. He immediately lifted his head and he felt Eddie and Evan come to as well. 

Tommy extracted himself from the pile of limbs, he knew instinctively that something was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to move away from Evan or Eddie. When Eddie met his eyes, he could see confusion and worry there too. 

Maybe it was nothing. Tommy hadn’t heard anything since the crash and that could have come from the house next door or any other source that was unrelated to them. The three of them stood close together and didn’t relax for several minutes. Evan was the first to sit, but it didn’t change how tense they all were. 

Tommy nudged into Evan’s side, taking in his scent. He still smelled good, but the underlying worry was there too. Tommy didn’t think any of them would relax until morning came even though they were in Tommy’s yard and the house was locked down at the front and the physical fence and tree fence kept them hidden. 

Except that of course, that’s when Tommy heard footsteps at the front of the house. Evan pushed into his side. Eddie paced forward and back, glancing at them. Then came another crash and the fence shook. 

Panic went through him. Tommy was not the type of person that panicked, he had the type of job that required he was good in high stress situations, but nothing could have prepared him for this. 

The fence shook again. 

—

Buck wished, not for the first time, that he could communicate with Eddie or Tommy while transformed. It was so absolutely unfair that he couldn’t do much more than brush against Tommy in some solidarity because he had absolutely no doubt that it was his parents. 

Eddie made a motion with his head towards the house and Buck got his meaning at once. He followed Eddie and Tommy moved with them. Eddie was right, they’d be better off closer to the house than out in the middle of the yard. 

The next few minutes were tense. No noise. No movement. It was silent. Until it wasn’t. 

Buck knew the door to the fence had been broken, he heard the wood splinter and the sound of the hinges bending. A moment later there came footsteps. The three of them didn’t dare to move. 

The first person to come around the house was all in black, they were followed by someone else also in full black. They weren’t his parents, that Buck knew for sure. They didn’t smell like them or even walk like them. They were still definitely hunters and there for one reason and one reason only. He watched them as they walked onto the yard in small steps, glancing around. Behind them came two other people and those two were definitely his parents. Buck hadn’t known how betrayed it would make him feel to actually see them there.

The three of them stayed close to the house, hidden in the shadows the house offered. Buck couldn’t look away from the hunters. Four of them and Buck had questions about where his parents had found the two that entered first. He wondered if there were more. 

Eddie nudged him, pointing with his nose towards the side of the house. He wasn’t wrong. The door was open and they could leave, run as far as they could. The hunters were looking for them in the yard, but they would turn to the house soon enough and spot them. Their luck was how dark it was out and maybe their speed. Confrontation was not their friend. But that would only work if they hadn’t left any other hunters out there. Buck couldn’t hear anyone, but that wasn’t saying much. 

Buck nudged Eddie back, and Eddie began to walk right alongside the house. Tommy nudged at Buck to follow, so he did. He knew Tommy was right behind him. Eddie was slow, and Buck followed his lead. He turned to look back when he could. He couldn’t see them and their footsteps were faint and came from everywhere in the yard. Eddie turned the corner, tail tucked between his legs. Buck followed, so he was the one that noticed the fifth hunter right before he hit Eddie on the head, knocking him sideways into the house. 

Buck reacted, jumping past Eddie at the hunter, throwing him to the ground. His paws landed on the man’s chest, pressing in and ripping through his dark shirt, his whole weight on him, though apparently in wasn’t enough. In the next moment he heard the bang of a gun.

His side burned. 

He couldn’t hear more than the ringing. 

He scented blood. Tommy. Eddie. Under him the movement of a body, of the hunter that shot him. 

Buck didn’t even realize he was growling, or that his claws had already drawn blood from the hunter’s arm, that the gun had fallen because of it. Buck had no idea what damage he’d inflicted and he didn’t care. The man was squirming, making noises that didn’t make much sense to Buck. He was pushing at Buck with his good arm. Kicking. Buck ignored the pain at his side, leaning down and ready to tear his throat apart. 

Tommy was there, suddenly and Buck was pushed to move. Buck did and he felt the pain on his side as the skin stretched with his movement. A whimper escaped him and he could feel the warmth of his blood. The bullet hadn’t him dead on, Buck could tell that much at least. He tried to pay the wound and his pain no mind, but it was as overwhelming as the continuing ringing in his ears. Where was Eddie?

Buck turned. He’d seen him go down, right? Hadn’t he? 

Tommy’s mouth, his muzzle was blood soaked. The man on the ground had thrown his head back in a scream that Buck could sort of make out past the ringing in his ears. 

And there…Tommy had Eddie. He was pulling at Eddie by the scruff, and Eddie came to his feet. He looked more disoriented than Buck felt. He hadn’t been shot had he? But Buck had only heard one shot, but if the bullet didn’t go in him then… 

Now, he heard footsteps. They had to hurry. 

Eddie was shoved in his direction and Tommy was pushing them towards the broken door. It hung half-in the way, but Buck climbed over it. He could still feel his side burning. Eddie stumbled over it after him. Then came Tommy and after him running footsteps. 

Buck heard another shot ring out. 

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Sixteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Seventeen on Ao3

Read Chapter Eighteen on Ao3

or read Chapter Eighteen below the cut

On their way to introduce Isolde to Aurelia, Astarion realized that she hadn’t actually agreed to stay yet. Not in so many words. She was letting him touch her, guiding her with his hand at the small of her back. She certainly seemed lighter than before, but her cheeks were puffy and there was still a sleepy sort of darkness clinging to her, like Shar hadn’t totally given up yet.

He could sense that she was nervous, which was good. Was something. 

He knocked this time, wondering if he needed to make that a habit in his own home. He wasn’t usually visiting anyone else’s quarters quite so often.

“Come in,” Aurelia said through the door.

He intended to just pop his head in and ask her to get decent, but found her standing and still dressed in the middle of the room, looking down at the scroll of true resurrection in her hands as though contemplating its use. 

She swung her hands around to clasp the scroll behind her back, as though the point was for her not to be able to look at it for a moment.

“Aurelia, I wanted to introduce you to Isolde,” he opened the door all the way to let her enter.

“I told you, I’m not hungry,” muttered Aurelia. A lie, but she seemed determined to suffer.

“Oh dear,” Astarion sighed and laid a hand on Isolde’s arm, “don’t let that worry you, darling.”

Isolde’s brows were high and her heart was beating faster, but she didn’t seem frightened. Should he have mentioned Aurelia was a tiefling?

“No, Aurelia. She’s not a snack, she’s a guest in this house.”

“Oh,” Aurelia said sheepishly, even with red skin, she could still manage a blush, or maybe it was the lingering heat of the hells, “I’m sorry.”

“Welcome back,” Isolde took it in stride, in any case, though her smile was a little anxious.

“Thank you,” Aurelia’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but she still held her hands behind her back.

“Isolde is sort of indirectly responsible for all this, so feel free to shift your resentments over to her,” he was joking of course and he could tell from the flat expressions on both women’s faces that they knew that, but weren’t amused.

“How so?” Aurelia sighed.

“My old master owned the scrolls. Astarion stole them, after his recent unfortunate… internal decapitation,” Isolde managed to nearly sound gleeful, then looked a little ashamed of herself.

“Your old master?”

“The man I worked for, until very recently.”

“Until the internal decapitation,” Aurelia guessed.

“Yes, that was it.”

Aurelia nodded and Astarion felt confident that even with spare details, she had the measure of the situation. “I was just deciding… I will not bring back Cazador.”

That name again, like a hatpin jabbed into the middle of his ear. “I didn’t realize you were remotely serious about that.”

“I only needed to consider, certain rites,” she shrugged, and Astarion’s blinked so hard it hurt his head. He hadn’t even thought about that, but if Cazador came back, he could make Aurelia a true vampire. “But it isn’t worth it, is it?” Aurelia said quickly, and he was glad she’d gotten there on her own.

“Definitely not.”

“Even if you could… bully him into doing it—I’d be able to make spawn, maybe gain a few powers… lose a lot more. And it would be satisfying to kill him myself this time,” she admitted, “but, it’s better to just be done with it.”

“Once you start feeding again—and once you feed on the blood of thinking creatures, you’ll slowly start to develop those powers anyway. You’ll never be able to make spawn but…” Astarion trailed off in a kind of disgusted whine that he couldn’t quite suppress, “it’s really not worth it.”

“I don’t want to feed,” Aurelia shook her head. “I know I have to—”

“—you do have to. Because if you don’t, you’ll simply lose control. Better to have some sense and some choice in the matter,” he would have thought he didn’t have to explain that to her, and maybe he didn’t because she didn’t look at all surprised to hear it, she was nodding, almost imperceptibly.

“It should be one of the newer ones,” Aurelia declared. “They still have a chance. I think I’ll bring back Leon.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of them, you know,” Astarion forgot his earlier conviction not to advise her. That she had even considered bringing back their progenitor had him concerned that her judgment wasn’t the best at the moment. “You still remember your life before. The people you lost… wasn’t there some boy?” It was just a guess. And one he wouldn’t have made if he thought about it for more than one of Isolde’s heartbeats. 

Whoever Aurelia was before—however likely it was that she had people who loved her, they wouldn’t want to see what she became.

All the same,the suggestion just came out of Astarion’s mouth, now that there were no restraints. They’d never been allowed to talk about their lives before they were taken, but he seemed to remember that in the very early days, there had been some threat of harm to someone Aurelia cared about hanging over her that the master would occasionally use.

Aurelia didn’t meet his eyes, her brow knit and her mouth fixed in a pout. “There was. But. No. Tempting, but no. He surely went on to live a fine life with someone else. Besides. It should be Leon.”

“I thought you were going to sleep on it?”

“I thought if I slept on it, the answer would come to me. It came anyway.” Aurelia shrugged. “It’s Leon. It should be Leon.”

“If you’re certain. I’ll just be going then.” Astarion turned to take his leave.

“You’re afraid he’s going to hit you.” Aurelia called him out.

“At the very least, he will hit me.” Astarion halted.

“You deserve it.”

“I still don’t like being hit.”

Aurelia glared at him, flame red eyes casting as much light as the candelabra on the walls. “Isolde, you’ll stay and meet my brother Leon, won’t you?”

“Certainly.”

Shit. Now he had to stay. This was not going to be pleasant. “Do we really want to upset the man in his first moments back by exposing him to my face—”

“—I think he’ll find hitting you cathartic,” and without waiting for him to reconsider fleeing she took the scroll and said “Leon Onufrio.”

The spark of life fully drowned out Astarion’s sigh. As the room illuminated and a fourth body appeared. At least they were just taking care of it here and now, and not going down to the site of his last resting place where he might try and kick Astarion off into a conveniently placed chasm. Granted, if that did happen, he could just turn into mist or a bat and come right back up, but it was still a bother.

Leon examined himself, uncertain at first. He didn’t wail like Aurelia had. He roared. He hadn’t even seen Astarion yet. The sound of his anguish, his fury, whatever it was he was feeling, filled the room, he emptied himself of it, then gasped in, panting, his blood pumping, his heart thrashing.

Then Astarion realized what Aurelia had meant when she said she wanted to bring back one of the newer ones. One of the ones who still had ‘a chance.’

Leon wasn’t dead and wasn’t undead. He’d only been turned into a vampire about thirteen years ago, so he was resurrected back to his mortal state. When he did finally straighted up from the ground and look Astarion dead in the eyes, they were not the red eyes of a spawn, there was no hint of that malevolent light. They were hazel, and tragic, and human.

Predictably, Leon rear back his fist, and Astarion braced himself to catch it, but that proved unnecessary. Both Aurelia and Isolde were on either side of Leon, holding him back. That wasn’t so predictable.

For a long moment, he seemed too angry to speak, though still gasping for air like he’d run miles to get here. His eyes brushed right past unfamiliar Isolde and came around to find Aurelia where he rested them, looking surprised to see her, then saddened. His jaw set.

“Did she tell you?” Leon held Aurelia’s gaze, but from his tone Astarion was sure he was speaking to him. “Where we were? Where you sent us?”

“She spared me the details, but I gather you were burning, freezing, flayed, in the torment of the hells?” No reason to be soft about it.

“You’re not even going to try to pretend to be ignorant of—”

“No, I won’t,” Astarion declared and though he did feel bad, though he did understand that he was fully in the wrong about a thousand times over, he felt a rough surge of irritation that came out in his next words, “I know what I did. I haven’t been soothing myself with false reassurances that you were all just definitely enjoying a nice long stroll on the fugue plane, awaiting comfortable judgments and rest.”

“I can hardly believe you to be penitent!” Leon’s voice cracked and cut through, “don’t think I will buy any slithering lie out of your mouth that you’ve brought us back to alleviate your guilt—to try and repay a drop of blood—you have some angle, some scheme—”

“Really, brother, scheming?” Astarion put a little more distance between them, fearing that Aurelia and Isolde’s touch on either of Leon’s trembling arms wouldn’t be quite enough to keep him back. “Does that actually sound like me?”

“Are you not his creature?! Just a smaller, more petulant version of the master—Mephistopheles brand new curiosity? How can we know what you’re capable of?” demanded Leon.

“I brought you back,” Aurelia said softly. “He didn’t really want to. Thought you’d be mad. And he only brought me back because he’s… well, he says he’s not sure, and I believe him.” She admitted that last party rather wearily. 

“You—” Leon finally faltered, his shoulder’s dropping as he looked at Aurelia, eyes softening, “but—he doesn’t know?”

“A whim brought on by the unexpected procurement of scrolls of true resurrection,” Aurelia’s pouting lips briefly twisted into a frown and she added, in nearly a whisper, “...and some sort of existential crisis, I gather.”

Leon held very still, the apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his chest rose and fell. There was sweat on his brow and upper lip. Gods, people were so different when they were alive. Just being in his presence it was almost difficult to recognize him as the same person. Astarion had never known him back when he’d just been a human sorcerer. “A whim?” Leon considered Aurelia’s words, “crisis?” he looked at Astarion, those unfamiliar hazel eyes sweeping him in a search. “I suppose. That does sound like him.”

“This really isn’t a scheme. It’s barely a reunion.” Astarion gathered that both women must have felt the same reassuring sense from Leon at the same time, because they released him almost simultaneously. Astarion half expected him to take advantage of the lapse and lash out, but he didn’t.

Leon opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. He closed his eyes, muscles tense and Astarion watched him breathe in and out and thought he could understand what he was thinking.

He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be alive again. Truly alive.

Slowly, Leon lifted one hand and whispered a soft word, emitting blue light through his fingers briefly. He let the cantrip fade out, but was still staring at his hand in disbelief. Relief.

“I’d like to welcome you back, sincerely,” Astarion added quickly, “and beyond that I imagine saying anything more would just needle you, so perhaps I should take my leave. Let you and your functioning circulatory system get to know each other again—”

“We aren’t done,” Leon said flatly.

“Yes, yes, so everyone keeps saying.” But no one was trying to stop him. He half wanted to let them try, just as an excuse to release a little anger, but the passing thought didn’t hold him. Shar’s influence simply couldn’t withstand the onslaught of emotions. He felt… well, not good. But he felt.

Isolde was just behind him as he quit the room. Leon and Aurelia would want to talk, alone, for a while, but just in case they didn’t stay where they were, he hurried Isolde along, back to her rooms.

“That was…” Isolde didn’t seem to know what it was.

“Yes.” Astarion agreed.

“He didn’t hit you,” she observed, encouragingly.

“I noticed,” Astarion suppressed as much sarcasm as he physically could, “we were never terribly healthy as spawn. So, I don’t think any of us ever enjoyed the full extent of a vampire’s healing abilities, but it’s still a bit faster than a mortal’s. Perhaps he was concerned about breaking all those little bones in his hand, first thing. Though he could’ve got me with a cheeky little cantrip, now that he’s able to use his magic by his own will again.”

“Why would…” Isolde started, and he could imagine her recalculating as she decided to ask the question with merely passive references to the master that none of them seemed to want to speak of directly, “what is the point of having a spawn who can do magic, just to then not allow him to use magic?”

“To torment him—Leon was a rather gifted sorcerer. Took a lot of pride in it. Just as our bodies didn’t belong to us any longer, his power became… not his. He could only use it with permission.” Again, it didn’t feel good, talking like this again. Exhuming long buried past. In the first years after his ascension, there had been such relief in pretending it never happened. Those sad, desperate people were all gone. The sad, desperate version of himself? He’d killed him too.

Isolde spared him a look, but didn’t linger, or offer pity and he was grateful for that. As they reached her rooms he prepared to bid her goodnight, but she took his hand. “You can come in, if it pleases you.”

“You do please me,” he raised her hand to his mouth and brushed the back of it with his lips, “of course, I’ll come in.” He hadn’t actually expected the invitation, and accepted it without really considering if he wanted to be with her again right now. He let her lead him into the room as he tried to work it out. He still felt a little disconnected from himself, if he was honest. Unbidden, the memory of drinking from her in the library came back to him. His clumsy, far too amused attempts to reassure her that her physical response to him hadn’t been embarrassing but had only aroused him as well.

 It doesn’t mean anything. 

In retrospect, his insistence that it was just meaningless sex felt foolish. True emptiness was not something he pursued, any longer, not since he could help it. They might not be devoted companions, passionately in love with each other, but if their time together was actually meaningless, there wouldn’t have been anything for Shar to take from them.

He just hoped it meant something good.

She led him to the bed and encouraged him to sit down with a gentle press against his shoulders, that smoothly became the first ardent movements around the buttons of his coat, as she unfasten them. He didn’t usually allow someone else to undress him, but found he didn’t mind Isolde doing it. She wasn’t insistent, and wasn’t impatient with the cloth or with herself when it took focus to get through all the elaborate little quirks of the fine tailoring. “Do you…” she hesitated, nibbling at her plump bottom lip as she left his coat half-down on his shoulders and instead dragged her fingers down the front of his shirt and to his crotch, “need to be in control?” she finally asked, cautious, nearly a whisper, though they were very alone.

Her firm fingers pressed against him as she unlaced his trousers, and he began to feel that pleasant tight sensation. “Need to?” he had certainly never thought of it that way. For a very long time, there was nothing more accurate than to say that he wanted control. And after that, he simply had it. From the way she had positioned herself on her knees between his legs with his coat partly binding him, it seemed she might have some intent to do a little more of the work, pleasuring him, this time around. He certainly wasn’t opposed to that. After his ascension, he’d admittedly developed a taste for being worshiped, and even used, at different intervals. He could accept lavish adoration, especially coming from someone like Isolde who frankly, would never really be in control. He simply had too many advantages over her.

But, need? “As in, can I not get it up, unless I’m the one giving?” He laughed but ended it abruptly with a, “no.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Isolde blushed.

“Then say what you mean,” he sighed.

“I suppose I mean: would you just trust me?” she shrugged, “let me try something.” It was a little unfair to ask him that when she was already under his strained waistband, fingertips brushing up against his growing erection, with her lips so wet and her eyes digging into him like that. He almost felt warm. And she certainly was.

Trust her? Another concept he took for granted these days. Who needed trust when so little was a threat to you any longer? People didn’t harm him, because they couldn’t. That was good enough. In many ways, it was better.

“You may ravish me however you please,” he sighed again, leaning back against the mattress, but she stopped him, with a hand on either lapel, bringing him back up to press their mouths together, her tongue pushing past his teeth. He felt her snag herself against one of his fangs, and tasted the smallest burst of broken flesh, but she barely noted it, apart from a moan that she stifled by deepening the kiss.

Climbing over him, he expected her to straddle his hips, but she sidled past him, kissing him all the while, and leaving a tingling trail from his mouth around his cheek and jaw and back towards his ears. A pleasant rush traveled from the tip of his helix down his neck and into his chest to grip him tight at his flexing core. It was always nice to find a lover who didn’t need to be reminded about the sensitivity of his ears. She had situated herself directly behind him, legs still listing to embrace him, her feet sliding against the tops and then the insides of his thighs as she parted them. His cock was throbbing almost painfully against the restrictive fabric, but as he started to reach down to free himself, she stopped him by pulling his coat all the way off with a few rough tugs. After tossing the garment aside she freed the tails of his shirt, and massaged her hands up his arching back in long, firm strokes.

The reignited scar tissue met her touch with an ache that only made him tense up for a moment, before he felt a distinct unraveling of the coiled muscles through his neck and shoulders. He had noticed it, totally against his will, over the last few days. Ever since bringing Aurelia back, there was more pain than there had been in years. But her touch helped calm the keening fire, and the memory of the nasty little blade that had done the work. She kneaded his flesh in smooth waves, working into the muscles underneath, the sweat of her mortal palms making him feel a little more pliant with her practiced administrations.

Her massage continued around the tight, thin flesh over his ribs and down his sides, up his chest and onto his stomach. Her mouth and tongue sucked and stroked his ears, or else she peppered the tops of his shoulders with soft kisses. “I love the way you touch me,” she started in a murmur, “the way you feel inside of me, how you fill every little space where I want you.” With two firm hands she drew his erection out of his trousers, wet her hands with the moisture weeping from the tip before she started to stroke him in waves of pressure that only started gentle. “But right now, I don’t need you to do anything. Please just relax for me.”

Although, this was, clearly, doing something for her. He could feel her hips rocking into him from behind, and imagined she was as warm and wet as ever.

Her grip around his shaft was a little too tight, too soon, and her movements not so practiced, but her enthusiasm was intoxicating. He only had to briefly slide his hands over hers and help her find the way he liked to be stoked, and she caught on immediately, without reproach. Before long, it was all he could do to hang onto her thighs, while she used her legs to pin him down. He barely managed to tell her he liked it. The rolling waves of pleasure made it difficult to string even two words together. He had found her tendency to come a little early, and repeatedly, to be equal parts amusing and titillating, so when he felt the very near risk in his own body, making his hips twitch, his legs tremble, and his head blank, his first instinct was to fight it, to make it last.

With a roll of her hips and a tug with either leg on the insides of his thighs, she spread him wider, and didn’t wince as his nails naturally dug into her in response. His stomach clenched and the muscles all through his legs were shaking. He tried not to fight it, but it was what his body wanted to do. To fight. Like he shouldn’t just let pleasure come. A protest formed on his lips, but he bit it back, gasping her name instead and gripping all the tighter as that tension all through his core finally released in a wet stream from his throbbing cock. 

Isolde kept stroking him, drawing more of the seed out, making a bit of a mess over his stomach and her hands. His head fell back again, arched almost all the way over her shoulder, and she turned into him to kiss his throat. Once she’d emptied him completely, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, locking her ankles together over his waist while her hands clung to the front of his chest.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long they were lying there. He felt a sort of heady contentment that kept him from immediately moving into the script he knew he should follow her. Something about how it was her turn now, or something about taking off the rest of his clothing, or scolding her for making such a mess, or maybe finding some scintillating and only mildly degrading way to make her clean everything up that they could both enjoy, but instead he felt bond by the silence and its comfort. She wasn’t moving much, besides nuzzling against his face, and occasionally gently stroking him with her fingers. He sensed a similar contentment in her. She just wanted to hold him, and being held felt good.

They could just do that, he reasoned. It was a bit… new.

He turned into her, just enough that he put his arms around her too, and found her simply gazing at him, for the moment at least, with no questions and no demands.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Pushed to the Edge - Loki Laufeyson x OC

warnings: new avenger, enemies to lovers, forced proximity

word count: 9.3k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1440579036-pushed-to-the-edge-delaney

vibe: “Delaney,” Loki rasped in a whisper, his tongue jutting out just a little over his bottom lip as his hands found purchase on her hips. 

She shook her head, placing her hands on his chest and curling her fingertips into the fabric of his shirt, “kiss me.. please,” she whispered back. 

“Are you sure, little lamb?” He questioned.

Masterlist

“And this is the rest of the team. I promise they don’t bite,” Barnes said as he entered the room with the newest addition to the band of reprobates that referred to themselves as “The Avengers.”

Loki barely managed to swallow down his scoff of derision and he refused to even acknowledge the newcomer on principle. His attention was drawn towards the front of the room when Stark cleared his throat and began one of his self-absorbed information overloads about their newest threat and the planned mission to neutralize them. Loki wouldn’t usually have graced them with his presence but the nasty little worm they were chasing had the audacity to mimic Loki’s signature style and that was something he just couldn’t stand for.

“But how do we know it isn’t Loki?” The newcomer asked, obviously having failed to see him in the corner where he sat half-hidden in the shadows.

“Because, little lamb, one why would I want to take over a place as dull as New York?” Loki purred dangerously, shifting from his cross-legged position to lean forwards into the light, a menacing grin on his face and he relished in the startled jump that Agent Delaney Bello gave.

“You already failed once,” Barton hissed nastily from across the room but Loki held his eerie expression.

“And two,” he continued, outwardly unperturbed, “if I were to try to take over somewhere like this I would not do something so ostentatious. It’s very déclassé.”

“Because leading a horde of alien mercenaries is so very low-key,” Banner said from his seat near Stark. “Low-key, get it? Loki, low-key!”

The red-haired assassin reached over and patted Banner sympathetically on the hand but Loki had already retreated back into his corner. He raised his hand to his face and picked at some non-existent imperfection on his nails, using the cover to finally take a good look at the newest addition to Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Delaney squared her shoulders and turned to Barnes.

“Agent Delaney Bello,” He introduced her to a room of heroes that should make her cover but she kept her nerves and scanned the room to take in the faces. Natasha, Bruce, Loki, noticeably absent, Steve Rogers and Thor. 

 “Is it really necessary to bring him along?” She asked, crossing her hands over her chest.

“Bring me along?” Loki chuckled, “Agent Bello, I’m your partner on this case. Your protection.”

“I was top of my class, held nine of the eleven records for a graduating student and have been commended by Steve Rogers himself on my critical thinking skills.” Delaney snapped as politely as she could. “I don’t need protection.”

“Critical thinking skills,” Loki pushed from his chair and practically floated across the room. “A S.H.I.E.L.D puppet is what you are, darling. This is the real world, real monsters.”

“Like you?” She cocked her head to the side, “this individual isn’t a monster, they’re enhanced.”

“And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” He asked, looming over her.

Del kept her gaze focused on his, she would not scare easy. Couldn't let him get to her.

"He's not trying to make New York party central, like you did," she told him. 

His mouth twitched and turned up into a small smirk that had her irritated, and by how it widened even more, he knew it too.

"Do pray tell, Agent Bello, what is that mockery of a man is doing then?" 

His voice held a tone of arrogance that she felt the need to take down.

"There's a pattern to his attacks," Del started, turning to address the rest of the group.

"He's not targeting low security areas. No, those have been completely safe from his powers so far. It's only been high security areas and facilities with minimal casualties." 

"What are you saying, Del?" Nat questioned.

"I'm saying; I don't think he's trying to hurt anyone intentionally. The high tech weapons he obtained so far have not been used and given his background as an orphan.." 

Del hesitated for a moment before concluding; "I think he could be providing those weapons to the people who he sees as "weak" and in need of a defense if a bad situation arises. One that.. us caused or could cause."

The silence that followed was heavy, but she wouldn't back down. Her gut told her she was right and whoever it was, they weren't bad for the sake of it. 

Loki rolled his eyes and stood back into the darkness. He had to admit to himself, the young woman had fortitude. She was smart. But as the team began to gather and talk more about her theory, all he did was stand in his corner and listen.

As the other Avengers continued their discussions, Del was only half listening, the rest of her attention focussed on the brooding demi-god.  She didn't trust him at all, and refused to cower, despite his powers. When she first had started investigating this case, she had been sure Loki was responsible but as more facts came to light, she was less certain of her judgment and was leaning towards this new theory, 

Loki felt her eyes on him, slowly raising his head and focussing his gaze on her.

He lifted one eyebrow in a disdainful stare, as if she were so far beneath him he did not even have the compunction to be bothered by her. It was a useful ruse, this mask of his.

“Where’s your brother?” One of the Avengers asked. Loki wasn’t sure which one and he didn’t particularly care.

“I assume he is fraternizing with that human he seems to have formed some attachment to. What is her name? June…? Jane…? Something like that. I’m sure he will make an appearance if there is glory to be bestowed.” Loki sneered, disguising the way his heart sank just a little at the obvious preference towards his brother.

The new agent eyed him curiously, as if she could somehow see through the facade he’d so carefully crafted over eons. He felt…exposed, uncomfortable…discombobulated even. It was not something that he was accustomed to.

“Do you actually have a plan of action, lamb? Or are you just playing this by ear?”

He relished the flush of embarrassment that passed across Delaney’s face but the way her eyes hardened almost imperceptibly piqued his interest. There was something there, behind her perfect agent exterior, and Loki vowed right there that he would do all he could to expose it.

“We source the weapons,” Delaney recovered. 

Loki’s head lulled to the side and a smirk pulled across his face, “go on.”

“There’s a pattern,” she pointed to the map and Loki slid closer, his scent draping her shoulders as he watched her finger brush across the hologram. “These are some of the roughest neighborhoods, there hasn’t been a single police report from them since this started. No shootings, no robberies or break ins.”

“So they got smarter, quieter. It doesn’t explain the pattern.” Loki challenged. 

Delaney sighed, looking up at him only to find him abnormally close. She could see the flecks of gold in his mischievous eyes at this distance and it made the tips of her fingers tingle. 

“He’s giving them a way to protect against the gangs, the weapons are for the shop owners.” She explained and forced herself to look away from his intense gaze. 

She swallowed.

"We can't convince anyone in these neighborhoods to cooperate with us against him, since he's only providing protection. So if we can't beat them, we'll join 'em." 

Del shrugged at the few raised eyebrows that met her eye around the room, she could convince them of her plan.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" It was Bruce who spoke first.

"Simple," this was it she thought, go big or go home. Earn your place "we plant a team of agents in disguise in one of these neighborhoods, a place he's yet to offer his services to, and let him come to us." 

Everyone around her seemed to be assessing her words and her eyes involuntarily slid for a second too long to the green eyed shadow lurking over her shoulder before straightening. 

"I don't think they're a threat. Just someone who's been wronged and reacting, we can contain it." 

It was what she believed, at least.

“Okay. We go undercover,” Nat shrugged. “It’s nothing we haven’t done. I’m sure there are some empty houses we can use. Act like we’re moving in and new to the neighborhood…”

"Well I'll leave the details to you," Loki began, obviously feeling that the mission organization was beneath him.

"Two couples, in two locations." Tony decided. " I'll run coms from here. JARVIS scan for empty suitable properties." He paused.  "Nat and Banner together..." He looked at Delaney," and seeing as you have the measure of the god of mischief, who better than you to keep him in check?"

Loki would have sworn his heart skipped a beat - if he had one, that is. He arched his eyebrow in challenge, holding Agent Bello’s gaze unwaveringly, waiting for that delicious moment of capitulation. But it never came. 

The mischievous god tilted his head a little, analyzing the agent anew. Her demeanor was one of utmost professionalism but her eyes…they held something cold, something calculating, and a hint of otherness that drew Loki like a moth to a flame.

“Well, what do you say, lamb,” he purred dangerously. “Do you think you have the measure of me? Or do you want to suggest another…angle?”

“I’ve never met a god I couldn’t tame,” Delaney said softly, her voice barely carrying to the rest of the assembled crew.

“Fascinating,” Loki replied, his mouth curving upwards into a wicked smile. “I relish a challenge.”

With fire under her feet, Delaney worked to get the plan in motion alongside Agent Romanoff. Within hours the four of them were on a quinjet hurdling toward central New York. 

Loki sat across from her, watching every move she made as though he was studying her. 

"Do you really think you'll catch this fly with your plan?" His eyes are sharp as she watches her think. 

"Flies like honey," Delaney smiled at him, sure as ever. "They won't be able to resist a person in need, find the weapons, find the enhanced. " 

"You speak of this civilian like you know them," Loki hummed. 

"My brother was an enhanced, he was killed because of it early on during the civil wars after S.H.I.E.L.D fell. I just want to do my part to protect others that are trying to survive." She quipped, looking back down to her folder. 

"And if this enhanced turns out to be a monster?" He asked, he wanted to know how far he could push her. 

"You of all people shouldn't be making pre-conceived notions on a person motives,"  Delaney smiled at him, so sweet and so sharp. 

"I like you little lamb, you aren't afraid to speak your mind." Loki smiled back, just as sharp but no sweetness clung to his lips as the ship landed.

Delaney took a deep calming breath, and squared her shoulders, keeping her dark eyes trained on the demi-god in front of her. The sooner they caught this enhanced, the sooner she could avoid all contact with this man. She was not about to satisfy his quip with a response. This was a sensitive mission and they were meant to be a couple, there had to be a level of niceness between them. 

When the team left the quinjet, a minivan, an SUV and two different moving trucks were waiting for them to head to there new areas. 

"Dibs on the SUV, we are not minivan people," Natasha grinned, looping her arm through Bruce's and dragging him towards the vehicles.

Loki took a deep breath as he looked around. “So… wife… what now?” He asked Del, his eyes bright.

"You need to change," Delaney sighed, "you can't be running around like that," she looked over his long leather coat and dark Asgardian armor. 

"You underestimate me," he purred as the magic erupted around him and his thick armor was reduced to a slim fitting black dress shirt and a pair of matching black slacks. His hair was half knotted at the back of his head and his sleeves were rolled around his strong forearms. 

"You look like a hipster," Delaney laughed but in reality he looked handsome and the grin on his face told her that he believed it too. "And the reason we were paired together is because I know exactly what you're capable of."

"Oh darling, you have no idea." Loki led the way toward the minivan.

The purr of his voice sent a small shiver down her spine and her eyes traced over the small piece of black hair that rested against his forehead. Delaney told herself that she was analyzing him just in case he got up to his old tricks, she'd be able to combat it easily and warn the rest of the team. But there was something about seeing him in civilian clothes that made a small flutter errupt from belly. 

With a soft shake of her head, Delaney followed him, pushing past him and leaving those feelings behind her, "I'm driving." She stated, leaving no room for questions as she pulled herself into the drivers seat. 

As they started driving towards the city, the two of them sat in silence but she could feel Loki's piercing emerald eyes watching her as she drove. Delaney rolled her shoulders, and casually glanced over, pretending to check her mirrors. Why was he staring at her like that? 

"Tell me about your brother," The demi-god finally spoke, as he ran his fingers slowly over his chin, his eyes remaining on her.

“My brother,” she stated. “Why do you want to know? Going to use the information against me?” She asked. 

No one asked about him. About how he’d been hunted and tortured, experimented on. They knew not to bring up Vance’s name.

“Maybe,” Loki said. “I may need leverage in the future.”

“Then you’ll excuse me if I play my cards close to my chest,” Delaney replied, although her tone was as good-natured as he’s heard it.

“That is your prerogative.”

He could feel her attention and curiosity focussed on him, despite her eyes being fixed to the road. Uncomfortable under her scrutiny he conjured the image of a giant snake by the side of the road. It hissed loudly and struck out at the minivan as they passed but Delaney’s course remained true - she didn’t flinch at all.

“Don’t think you can distract me with trickery, Loki. What if I had swerved or crashed?”

“Then I would remain unscathed and you…you could distinguish mummery from reality.  You have seen illusions before!” Loki deduced with fascination.

He eyed her as a hawk would eye its prey. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Agent Delaney Bello. I am determined to uncover your mysteries.”

"Can't wait," Delaney quipped under her breath, as they rounded the last corner and pulled up behind their moving truck outside the new apartment. 

It was a run down bakery, with dusty windows and small crack in the glass of the front door. To the left of the shop was a wooden door that led up to what would be their new apartment. Delaney could see the skeptisism in Loki's face as his eyes traced the building in front of them. 

With a deep breath, Delaney plastered a fake grin onto her lips and looped her arm through his, "Here we are, Levi! The start of our new journey. I know it doesn't look like much right now, but we can turn this place into something great!" 

His emerald eyes glanced down at her in confusion before he cleared his throat, "I have no doubt you'll turn this into a success, darling" he purred.

Del lead Loki upstairs and put the key into the lock to open the door. The inside was a little rundown but it was livable, and furnished. “Not too bad.”

She saw the expression on Loki’s face and amended her statement. “I mean, it’s not a palace or anything…”

“Nor is it a prison cell,” Loki said pointedly before he checked himself.

He schooled his face into a mask of bored disinterest whilst internally berating himself for letting even that tiny bit of an emotional outburst pst his usually impenetrable walls. There was something about this agent that just seemed to get under his skin.

“That’s very true.” Delaney turned to him. “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you. What a dichotomy your life has been, god of mischief. Palaces and prisons. And now a rundown apartment in New York with a fake identity and a fake wife.”

“It serves its purpose.” Loki grinned, stepping towards her. “How deep does the ruse run, little lamb?”

"How deep do you want it to run?" Delaney didn't flinch or flatter, she met his stare like it had zero affect on her. 

Loki ran his eyes over her face, calculating just how far he might be able to push her before she broke. She was hiding something from him, he could feel it. 

He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and leaned in closer, "I'd be a fool to think I was in charge here, Agent Bello. But you thrive on the control, so tell me how deep." 

Loki was pushing his luck but Delaney's cheeks were warm and her eyes darted between his and his lips, "A whisper, a want, a kiss?" The thought made her body tense but finally she stepped back. 

"You'll have to work a lot harder on your charms, Loki if you want to impress me." Delaney hummed like she was unbothered and fished her cell out. "Nat? Are you in position?" The two of them had a short conversation before the phone was back in her jeans pocket. "There's a group of unsavory looking people on the corner, block away, how about we survey our new establishment honey?" She forced a smile to her face.

Watching as Del walked to the front windows, Loki blinked. Would I have actually kissed her? Done more? 

He couldn’t deny that he was drawn to her. But what exactly was he drawn to? It’s not like she liked him.

They headed down the stairs and out onto the street. Loki was pleasantly surprised by the way Agent Bello didn’t seem to be put off by their interaction and played her part to perfection. She slipped her arm through his and hugged herself closer to him, just as a loving “wife” should.

Rounding a corner they caught sight of the people Romanoff had referred to, loitering and looking generally delinquent. Loki felt, rather than heard, Delaney’s sharp intake of breath and her hand tightened around his bicep.

“Is there a problem, little lamb?” He asked, trying for patronising but somehow landing on concern.

“I need you to hide me Loki. Can you do that?” She hissed, her voice laced with desperate concern.

“Of course,” he almost scoffed, “but you need to furnish me with a reason as to why I need to utilise my illusions.”

“I may be recognised. I didn’t truly believe that…I mean…I hoped that it wouldn’t be…” she shook her head in exasperation. “Those men were acquainted with my brother. I didn’t expect this.”

Loki let out a sigh, as if what she had requested were some great burden on his patience but, in less than the blink of an eye, he wove an illusion so strong around her that The Allfather himself would have difficulty in penetrating it.

“You are safe with me. Your identity I mean.”

Delaney lifted her hand to her face and examined it.

“I don’t see any difference, Loki,” she said warily.

“You may not, but I assure you, you are very much in disguise. I suppose you will just have to trust me.”

She stared at him for a moment, analyzing him, and he felt almost cowed under her scrutiny.

“I trust you.” She decided.

“Not many do, little lamb,” he sighed, but her fingers squeezed on his bicep and he found himself reaching around to stroke her hand with his own.

As they walked near the group of people, a couple of them whistled and showed off that they were armed. “Never seen you here before,” one called. “If you know what’s good for you, keep clear.”

Del rolled her eyes. They were throwing the usual threats. Not wanting anyone in their business.

"We just bought this lovely shop," Loki answered while pointing to the building they just left. His voice innocent and unknowing.

Deception at play.

"We hope we'll see you, lovely fellas, when we open up." He added with a smile. The men gave him an incredulous look that very clearly conveyed the message are you fucking stupid?!

Delaney's face was a picture calm and collected as she gave them a big, and what she hoped was a friendly smile.

"Be sure to drop by when we open, gentlemen." She told them as she subtly dragged Loki away from them before he provoked them any further. 

They got a good few feet away before she hissed at him lowly.

"What the hell was that?"

Loki shrugged innocently, "We are meant to be integrating into the community, no?" 

"Loki, these are not people you just make polite conversation with on the street," she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, "That is how to get these people to not trust you at all. We were suppose to just walk past" 

"How was I supposed to know? I'm not a mind reader!" he quipped back. 

Delaney narrowed her eyes at him, "Let's just go, finish our canvas of the block and then we have to get everything set up back at the shop,"

After walking the block, Del and Loki walk back up to the little apartment. “So… Tony will have people fix up the bakery and we’ll act as if we hired a couple of workers to help us out. Then we’ll open in a couple of days.” 

She pulled out her phone and checked in with Nat. “Looks like Nat and Bruce are laying low too.”

"We'd better get the equipment set up upstairs." Del said as they entered the small backroom which doubled as the bakery kitchen.

Loki turned to face her, "That's your domain, little lamb. I'm not here for manual labour," eyeing the suitcases containing monitoring and surveillance equipment, and the tiny staircase that led to the upper floor.

He took the stairs, empty handed, leaving Del to grab the communications devices and trail in his wake. As she reached the top, Loki emerged from one room, "Very basic, a day room, a bathing room and one bedroom."

"That complicates things," Delaney began.

"Worried you cannot resist my charms?" The demi-god smirked.

"Can't you magic up a second room?" Delaney rolled her eyes. 

"No," Loki laughed, loudly and it caught her off guard. "But I'm sure we can find a way to get comfortable, Agent." 

"Maybe sleeping on the floor will help you figure out how to conjure up a second bed?" She quipped. 

"There's plenty of room in the bed for two,"  he added, "no need for a second one, I don't bite."

Delaney turned to look at him with a scowl on her face. 

"Unless you want me too?" He looked her up down slowly.

"Unless you want me to bite back your head, I wouldn't suggest it."

Del replied cooly. Leaving him laughing mockingly at her as she sauntered inside the room, carrying what she can of the equipment to a corner to set up.

She could feel his eyes watching her as she worked. It was unclear though if he was watching her, or the way she quickly hooked up the wires and got them online in no time. It was clear that this god had much still to learn about Earth and their operation. But that wasn't in her job description to teach him. Delaney knew in the back of her mind that she had to avoid his charms at all. Not that he could get under her skin, but the small flutters deep in her chest were concerning and she needed them to stay focused. 

Delaney rolled her shoulders back and tilted her neck from side to side as she kept her dark eyes on the computer in front of her, until a loud dramatic sigh sounded from behind her. 

"Do you need something?" She mumbled, as her fingers moved quickly over her keyboard. 

Loki hummed and crossing his arms over his chest, "I'd just forgotten how slow the surveillance part is. We should be doing something exciting" 

"Like taking over the city?" she raised her eyebrow, glancing over at him. 

"No," he jeered back, "But sitting here isn't going to bring our target any closer to us"

Turning towards Loki, Del rubbed her neck, already feeling a kink in it. “What do you suggest then, oh powerful one?”

"Your theory is that whoever this enhanced being is, uses the weapons to empower the little people, to give them a way to defend themselves."

Delaney nodded, "and your point is?"

"We give them a reason to need defending, we draw him out of the shadows and reel him in."

"You want to put innocent civilians in harm?" She was painfully unaware of how close he had gotten to her again. 

"No harm will come to anyone with me there," He shrugged like it was common knowledge. 

"Forgive me if I don't trust you, we can't risk lives on the basis that you're turning a new leaf." 

"Ouch," Loki clutched his heart playfully, "I should at least be awarded the opportunity to try, is that too much to ask?"

"You ask a lot, of everyone, all the time." Delaney narrowed her eyes. "It's dangerous."

"What are you hiding, little lamb?" Loki leaned in. "You are playing this mission too close to your chest, you have something larger than just a memory invested."

"Nothing," she answered quickly.

One dark brow raised in obvious disbelief at her quick denial but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him anything more than what was necessary.

She had to distract him.

"If— and that's a big if, we were to cause a little scene to draw him out.. what would you suggest?" She asked.

Delaney could see the wheels visably turning in his head as he conjured his idea. Mischief glimmering deep within his emerald eyes and there was that flutter again. 

Okay fine, maybe he's hot. There I admitted it to myself, can we move on please she shook her head once and focused back on Loki, his glare narrowing on her slightly as a smirk tugged at his lips. 

"I could conjure an illusion. Out on the street from a rooftop that's away from our station. No one gets actually hurt and we cause a good scene to draw our target into," he stated proudly, sweeping his arms slowly out to the side with a small bow. 

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Delaney thought about it for a moment. It wasn't a bad plan, but the fact that it was coming from Loki was difficult to understand. She wanted to trust him with this mission and she did, but only to a certain point. She knew in the back of her head, that when it came down to it, the success of this mission was on her.

“What kind of illusion?” Del questioned further, reaching to rub at her neck again. She watched as Loki’s eyes moved to where she kneaded the bothersome muscle.

"A few dark figures, fireworks that sound like guns, loud noise," Loki watched, waiting for her to reveal anything. 

"No one gets hurt?" She asked. 

"Not a soul," he reached out and Delaney could feel the shiver of magic that tickled over her skin as his fingers brushed that sore spot. "Better?" He asked, his voice lowering. 

She stretched her neck, this time the sharp pain was gone. "What did you do?" 

"Just a little magic," he cooed, "and no one got hurt. Perhaps we try it on a larger scale this time?" 

Delaney didn't want to trust him, but what choice did she really have in the grand scheme of things. They needed to move things along, she needed to catch this enhanced.

"Fine," she swallowed. "I'll talk to the others and see what they think. If they agree, we'll coordinate a time and a place for it." 

There was a glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze as it roamed over her face before his features went back into a mask of boredom and disinterest.

Loki pulled back completely from her and walked to the window, glancing down at the life that was happening beyond the walls of their small operation.

Letting out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding, her gaze followed him to the window, tracing over him for just a second before she moved to relay the plan to the rest of the team. With some reluctance, everyone agreed to give Loki the benefit of the doubt and prove himself as one of them. Delaney knew from past conversation what he had put the rest of the team through and how most of them felt about him. There was a lot of distrust floating around them but this was his chance and a weird part of her wanted this to work for him. 

"Okay Loki, you've got the teams attention. But part of being on the team is working as a team, so you've got the magic part covered, where do you need the rest of us?" She crossed her arms over her chest, and half smiled at the look of almost surprise on his face when he turned around.

“We will need someone on surveillance at each position, keep an eye on things. Remember that it is not real for a second, don’t panic or go into action,” he explained. “Not until I tell you to.”

They planned for the 'attack' to happen the following evening. Loki was to position himself atop the highest building, so he could conjure the illusions without being spotted. The other three Avengers were also to take to the rooftops and watch for potential enhanced reactions.

"If you're all in position," Loki muttered into his comm link, "then I'll begin."

One by one the others confirmed their affirmative. Loki wasted no time, conjuring an alien battleship through a portal, the booms of its guns sending shockwaves above the rooftops.

Delaney had to stop herself from reacting, she knew it was an illusion but the panicked people in the streets below didn't.

She hated being up here, hated not being able to help. She collected her stuff and made for the stairs. The streets were chaos and she could hear the cries of a small girl to her east. Picking up her feet she took off as fast as she could. 

The little girl was alone and tears were steaming down her face. In the chaos she had lost her mom. 

"It's okay, I'm going to help you."

"I want my mommy," the little girl sobbed, backing up a step from Delaney. 

Putting her hands up, Delaney paused in front of her, "I'm here to help, you're okay, I can take you to find your mom" 

There was a sense of calm in her voice, and the little girl finally ran towards her, tucking her arms around Delaney as they spun around and the agent peeked her head out the door. When it was safe to do so, she held the little girl around the shoulders and moved quickly down the sidewalk, staying tucked close to the walls. 

"Bello! What are you doing down there?!" Nat's voice sounded through the comms. 

With a shake of her head, Delaney kept moving. She had her own mission now, and she was still watching the streets for their target. Her target. He had to come out of hiding sooner or later. 

There was a small alley way that the two of them ducked into and she took the little girls shoulders in her hands and bent to look in her the eyes, "Stay right here, behind this dumpster. Do not move, okay? I'm going to find your mom and bring her here. It's not safe for you out in the open." 

"Please don't leave me," the little girl sobbed. 

"What's your name?" 

"Anna," she answered. 

Delaney took a deep breath, "Okay, Anna," she held up her pinky and kept her dark eyes locked with the kids, "I promise you that I will be right back with your mom. But I can't find her and worry about keeping you safe at the same time so I need you to stay here, and keep yourself hidden and safe until we get back, can you do that for me?" 

Anna let out another sob but nodded and hooked her pinky with Delaneys. 

"You're so brave," Delaney spoke again, flashing the girl a quick reassuring smile before moving back towards the end of the alley. 

She checked back once to make sure Anna had listened and tucked herself away, before poking her head back out into the street to ensure it was safe for her too. Just as she moved around the corner and out onto the open streets, a sharp stinging pain radiated from her shoulder causing her let out a grunt. Her dark eyes flickered towards the injury and a sharp star-like shape pulsating orange was sticking out of her skin.

“Ouch,” Delaney growled before looking around for her assailant. 

“What are you doing Bello?” Nat questioned. “We haven’t been called in yet!”

“I wanted to help the little girl. She lost her mom in the scuffle.”

“Are you alright?” Loki questioned. There was something off about her voice.

"I'm hit," she admitted, "some sort of device, an orange star. I'm down but not out. I can't see who took me out either."

Banner was the closest to her six. "You're exposed there Del," he advised. "We need to get you to cover."

"Do not break cover," Loki instructed. "The enhanced is here somewhere. Keep your eyes peeled." 

Nat and Banner remained in situ, knowing that the demi god wasn't wrong and taking out Delaney had been a ploy to draw them out of their hiding places.

"Bello," Loki advised, "I'm going to up the ante."

"Loki!" Delaney cursed under her breath as the gun fire seemed to echo and grow tenfold around the block. The entire sky lit up like fireworks as Delaney tried to pry the device from her skin but it wouldn't budge and the further she moved the worse her vision got. "I think it might..." Her speech began to slur as her legs began to feel like lead. "It might be..."

Toxin she wanted to say but the words didn't come out and she could feel herself getting dizzy. 

"Little lamb?" Loki's voice was in her ear, the gun fire louder than ever but somehow he was right there. 

She couldn't respond, the words wouldn't form and she could feel herself crumbling to the ground. 

"Hello," he purred, scooping her up. Where had he come from? She thought, still trying to form words as he walked her down the alley away from the commotion on the street. "Seems you've gotten yourself in a bit of trouble," he hummed. 

He carried her effortlessly away from the chaos, "you made me break my promise. It seems someone did get hurt after all," he scowled down at her.

"I'm so sorry," Delaney slurred, trying her best to keep her tone sarcastic as her head rested against his shoulder.

A deep chuckle left his chest, "Hush now, lamb, I need to get you somewhere safe."

"The mission -"

"Agent Romanoff and Banner have it handled for now, and my copy is keeping the illusion up. Now will you stop worrying so I can figure out what trickery is going on here," Loki transported the two of them back into their little apartment, and placed her on the bed gently. 

Delaney winced at the sudden movement of her body, and a wash of concern flickered over Loki's face. It was strange to see him like this. Caring and soft with her, as if actually worried about what was happening to her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him that she was fine but her body wasn't listening to her brain. Every piece of herself felt heavy as the toxin pulsed through her veins.

Loki gently pulled back the fabric around the wound, his eyes furrowed. Del was close to passing out, he feared, as he used his magic to try and distinguish the toxin. “Where did they find this?” 

Loki silently sent a message to Heimdall, asking for his brother. Because, unfortunately for Loki, he would need him. 

“I’m going to remove your shirt, darling,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” 

As Loki gently and carefully removed Delaney’s shirt, he noticed a greenish hue around the wound. “Thor… hurry…”

The comm link came alive with Nat's and Banner's voices, showing concern for their colleague. Loki had nothing for them. Now they were away from the chaos he'd used his magic to first remove the star from the wound, concentrating on removing the tendrils which had attached themselves to Del's muscle, and then tried to draw the toxin from her system. Frustration flooded him as his powers proved ineffective.

Loki could feel Del slipping further from consciousness, his concern for her increasing, although he could not fathom why this inconsequential human meant something to him. "Hold on Bello, help is coming," he murmured to her, stroking her brow.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he heard the bifrost open over the noise of his illusions outside.

A dance of lightning appeared across the sky and on cue Thor paraded out of the chaos. Remnants of electricity trailed around him as he stormed toward Loki.

"Always in trouble, here" His brother huffed and handed Loki a bottle of glowing pale blue liquid. "You're lucky I had this." He said before backing away and roving his hammer in the air. Before Loki could thank him, Thor was gone. 

"This is going to sting," he whispered to Del, popping the cork and dripped the syrupy antidote to her skin. Delaney hissed and her body curled against Loki in pain as he worked. Within seconds the dark tendrils of toxin were dissipating and her skin was returning to it's natural color. "Chitauri toxin has a bite," he explained as she fought to slow her breathing and figure out where the hell she was.

Heat radiated down her arm as the antidote did it's work. Her dark eyes squeezed shut but she focused on the sound of Loki's breathing to steady herself. This was not a time to show weakness. She had to stay strong. She had to finish this mission. 

"I need to get back out there. We have to finish this." She stated through her tensed jaw as she tried to sit up, immediately regretting it as all her blood rushed to her head. 

Loki shook his head and caught her, his fingers spreading wide on her ribcage as he steadied her, "You are not going anywhere, Delaney. Isn't that a part of being on this team? Trusting that they can share the load of a mission when one of us is taken out? Rogers monologued about it for an hour at the last meeting" 

"No, you don't understand, I need to -"

"You. Need to rest, and let the antidote keep working," He scolded, his fingers rubbing gently on her skin. 

Delaney let out a deep shaky breath, and closed her eyes, "It's my brother." She admitted quietly. "The enhanced we're chasing is my brother..."

"What?" Loki recoiled at her words. "You said he was dead. Was that a lie?"

"No! I wouldn't lie about that. We were told that he died during the Battle of New York."

"So what makes you think that it's him now?" Loki hissed, mightily pissed off that he'd been wrongly accused in the first place and also because this enhanced was copying his signature.

Delaney paused, as if finding the right words to explain it. "As I was losing consciousness I could hear my brother, reassuring me, letting me know not to fight the feeling that he would take care of me." She looked at the incredulous look on Loki's face, before continuing with tears in her eyes, "I could feel his arms wrapped around me."

"You might have been imagining things, Bello." 

"I wasn't, not that." She's sure of it. "You wanted to help?" Delaney stares at him. "Help me find my brother before someone else does."

"And then what little lamb? We let him go, you become a family again. That's how fairy tales work" Loki's words were ice along her spine. 

"I just want to talk to him, I need to understand." She argued. 

Loki opened his mouth like he might say something more but closed it again as he helped her to her feet. She stayed frozen as his hands carded through her hair and set each strand straight again, his eyes raking over her to make sure nothing else had gone wrong. 

"Only because you asked so nicely," Loki smiled, even though she hadn't. It was a demand that left her lips.

A breath of relief escaped her chest, and she allowed Loki to help her stand up. Her hands fell on his biceps as she steadied herself back on her feet. Her dark eyes met his with a small smile gracing her lips. Of all the people Delaney expected to trust with this information and her secret, Loki was not at the top of that list but something inside of her told her it was the right. That he strangely understood more than she had given him credit for. 

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, "I know I should tell the rest of the team but I just - I can't. Not yet"

"So, what now?" Loki asked. "Do you know where your brother is or are we back to square one? Only now knowing who, but not what, where or why?"

"He's got to be with the group of mouth breathers who were on the street yesterday," Del predicted. "They were acting tough and protecting their turf. Maybe there's more to it than a pissing contest."

"Are you up to going back out there already?" Loki asked, his face showing some concern.

"Are you going soft on me?" She threw back at him. "The demi-god I know would be accusing me of laying down on the job and not pulling my weight."

"Well maybe you just don't know this demi-god at all."

Del huffed and crossed her arms, reminding Loki of himself… just a little. “The toxin was from the Chitauri. It can still have some nasty effects until the antidote fully takes effect.” In other words, I’m worried about you.

“I need to know if he’s with them… we used to have a-a call sign for each other when we were kids.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he nods, “After you wife.”

Delaney leads them from their spot of cover back into the street, keeping tight to the walls to avoid the chaos happening around them. The illusion was full force and it seemed like no one could figure out where it was coming from. 

“We need to get up there!” She pointed to the roof across from the illusion. 

“As you wish, little lamb.” Loki whispered and turned to his left down a new alley toward a hanging metal ladder. His magic gripped the legs and pulled it down. “Up you go.”

With another deep breath to steady herself, Delaney led the way up the ladder and perched herself on the edge of the roof, with Loki crouching down beside her. They surveyed their surroundings and the crowds in the street. She knew he was close. She could feel it. 

"Delaney, I need you to tell me what we're looking for out there," Loki spoke quietly, "I've located the gentlemen from last night but they're just standing there." 

"I just need to -" 

"Hello little sister," A sickly sweet, deep voice sounded from behind them, "I thought I took you out already"

Both Loki and Del turned towards the voice. "Vance, what the hell?" Del began but a wave of his arm sent her crashing to the floor.

"Hey!" Loki responded. "That's not very nice." His emerald eyes flashing at the enhanced, trying desperately to keep his attention focussed on him, as Del, in her weakened condition, tried to pull herself into cover.

"Well pardon me," Vance growled, taking a few threatening steps towards the demi-god. "I can't pretend to know why you're here, but I know that neither of you can stop us." 

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he took a couple of steps back, nearing the edge of the building once more. “Now, now… let’s not be hasty here.”

Vance merely laughed. “I think you’ll find yourself outmatched this time, Demi-god.”

“Vance, stop,” Delaney gritted out as she righted herself, steadying her stance and staring at her brother, “I know that you -“

“You don’t know anything!” He turned his attention to his sister, an orange glow emanating from his fingertips, “you and your band of heros, using the world as your plaything. You think me the villain?! Have you looked in the mirror? Have you looked through the path of destruction you all leave behind you!” 

His words washed over her like a tidal wave. Deep down she knew he was right, at least a little bit. He was here trying to clean up a mess that her team had neglected and Delaney understood better than anyone that no one was going to see it that way. 

“I’m doing what you didn’t have the guts to do,” he continued, “I am actually protecting the people of this neighborhood and making sure they have a way to defend themselves from you”

“We are not the ones they need protection from,” Loki countered. Silently, he made his illusion look as if they were retreating. He could hear the gunfire of the given weapons. “There are far worse than the chitauri in this world.”

Vance scoffed. “I thank the chitauri. They supplied us with weapons we could never dream of. Weapons to protect everyone like us.”

Loki moved slowly, putting himself between Vance and Delaney. “We are not who you have a quarrel with,” he stated firmly, silently putting a protective shield around himself and Del. He didn’t trust Vance further than he could throw him. Which would be quite far.

“Loki,” Delaney spoke, softly and so unlike her usual hard tone. He understood how she felt, the strangled internal struggle she was having. This was her brother after everything was said and done. 

He groaned, the logical side of him wanting to stay put but Delaney rested her hand on his arm and moved him to the side. 

“Vance I’m sorry, we’ve let you down, that I’ve let you down.” She said, “But supplying untrained civilians with alien technology is not the answer.”

“It’s not your answer!” Vance snapped. “It’s all fine and dandy when your people have the technology to use however you want.”

“We aren’t using the technology to fight civil wars,” she argued back. 

Loki tensed as Vance surged forward, flipping out a sharp, sleek knife that he angled elegantly toward her brother. “Careful,” he warned Vance. “She may hold sentiment, I do not.”

Vance breathed out a laugh as a smirk crossed his lips, "Wow look at little Laney, with her puppy dog protector" that orange glow of his fingertips pulsing brighter. 

"That's enough!" Delaney stepped up to get brother. This was her fight. Her family. No one else was going to get hurt. "Vance, we understand what you're trying to do, but this is not the way to go about it. Come with us now, quietly, and we figure this out together" 

Loki stayed behind Delaney, but placed his hand on her lower back to remind her that he was there. Her thoughts were racing, and the slight sting in her shoulder still pulled her focus, telling her that the man in front of her was not her brother. Not anymore. This man shot her without remorse and would clearly do so again if he had the chance. This fight was not going to end the way she wanted it to. 

"Oh Laney, you always did try and see the best in me. Even after everything. You still want to save your poor big brother," he jeered, lunging again, only to end up with Loki's dagger pressed firmly to the side of his neck. 

"One wrong move toward her again, and I will not hesitate," Loki gritted out, the green of his magic twisting out of his fingers.

Delaney stood, in shock, as she watched Loki threaten her brother once more. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We can do this peacefully…”

“Peaceful died a long time ago,” Vance grunted, lashing out with his own golden orange magic. 

Loki was faster, defending himself and Delaney without thought or hesitation. His magic lashed out and wrapped around Vance like a rope, restraining him tightly without remorse. 

“Don’t bother,” Loki groaned, with a flick of his wrist Vance had been contained before Nat and Bruce could even arrive. Both looking to Delaney for answers as they busted through the door on high alert. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce stopped to ask to her.

She didn’t have an answer for Banner. On one hand she was perfectly fine, but on the other her thoughts and heart were waging a war she couldn’t possibly explain. She nodded all the same as Nat allowed Loki to bind Vance’s wrists behind his back. 

“We’re going to transport the enhanced back to campus, Delaney will stay here on clean up. Make sure all the weapons have been accounted for.” Nat explained as the quinjet uncloaked, hovering above the rooftop and creating a tunnel of wind. “Can you handle that?” She asked over the sound.

“I’ll stay behind,” Loki offered. 

Natasha eyed him but nodded as Bruce walked the ramp to the quinjet. Vance gave Delaney one last look of disappointed anger before being thrust forward. When the plane was cloaked and the wind died down, Loki turned to look at Delaney, his eyes curious and bright against the night sky. 

“Are you alright, little lamb?” He asked her.

Delaney let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and let her dark eyes meet Loki's. There were a million different ways she wanted to answer that question. A small part of her still wanted to lie and hold back, but once she was met with his emerald green stare, her internal walls seemed to melt just a little. 

"Physically, yes" she breathed out a short, shaky laugh and shook her head, "Mentally... is to be determined" she muttered, looking down at her boots. 

Loki stepped forward, and placed his knuckle under her chin, guiding her eyes back up to his, "You did well today, Del. Standing up to family is never easy, but you stuck to your mission and allowed us to come to a peaceful resolution. Where we go from here, no one can know, but you were strong today. And I am proud of you," 

Her lip found a home between her teeth as her eyes searched his face. Those familiar flutters took over her stomach and she felt a small smile tug at her lips. Of all the people on their team, she never imagined how much his words would mean to her but this man had stuck by her through this night and she wanted to hold on to these moments. 

"Loki, I -  I don't know how to thank you," She spoke quietly, taking in his features that were highlighted by the moonlight. 

He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear, "You have nothing to thank me for. We are a team, and I protect those I care about,"

“You… you care about me?” She asked. “When I first met you, it seemed that I was dirt beneath your boots. What changed?”

“Nothing,” Loki hummed and circled around Delaney until his chest was against her back, his hand snaked around over her shoulder and pointed to the sky. Fireworks of all different colours and sizes lit up the sky with ease. “You commanded the room the moment you entered,” he whispered as the fireworks sparked and banged. “Your brain and bravery were astounding and nothing like I had ever seen from a human before. You were a display of brilliance and liveliness that demanded full attention.”

“Loki, did you just compare me to fireworks?” Delaney was tense still but the stress from everything seemed to simmer the more Loki spoke. 

“Bright, loud, strategic, beautiful,” he added, so close to her cheek she could feel his breath on her skin.

A shiver of nerves shot down her spine as she watched the colours streak across the sky. With every word that dripped from his lips, she felt herself relax against him as they washed over her. No one had believed in her the way he seemed too and it was a foreign feeling to be this at ease, especially with everything that had happened that night. 

Delaney slowly turned around to face, searching his features for any hint of mischief or malice, but there was none to be found.

The tips of their noses brushed lightly as each of them leaned in slowly, hesitating just a little. 

“Delaney,” Loki rasped in a whisper, his tongue jutting out just a little over his bottom lip as his hands found purchase on her hips. 

She shook her head, placing her hands on his chest and curling her fingertips into the fabric of his shirt, “kiss me.. please,” she whispered back. 

“Are you sure, little lamb?” He questioned.

Delaney breathed out a laugh and stood on her tiptoes, smiling as she took control and pressed their lips together. It was light at first until she felt Lokis fingers tighten against her, pulling her impossibly close to him as he deepened their kiss.

The sound of his fireworks faded into background noise as the two of them melted into each other, their tongues dancing together. 

Delaney broke away from the kiss with a laugh and shook her head, “I’m sorry,” she giggled, looping her arms up over Loki’s neck and tangling her hands into his hair. 

“What’s so funny?” The god of mischief asked, concern moving over his face. 

“This is just not how I saw this mission ending,” she continued to laugh, before settling into a genuine smile as she pressed her lips to his jaw, “it’s so much better” she whispered into his skin.

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Twelve

Poisoned Apple

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

The next few days felt like a fever dream to you, apparently the Guild’s headquarters, the Moby Dick almost crashed in Yokohama. There was still no word from or about Miss Jane which unnerving to say the least for you all. The next few weeks came and gone and life felt normal, a few members of the society returned to Europe to visit family and friends, Emma, William, Henrik, and Lewis, they would be back at the end of the month. So now that leaves you, Dr. Stevenson, Victor, Alexandre, and Gaston alone here. 

Dr. Stevenson and Alexandre were heading out for the weekend, going up to Tokyo to visit an old friend of the doctor’s, and Victor had been invited on a project to help with repairs after the Guild incident so you hardly saw him anyway. So this weekend it was just you and Gaston. You all had returned to the apartment complex now and so you now had your apartment that you shared with Miss Jane all to yourself now, but you didn’t like staying there, too lonely. So now you sat in Gaston’s lounge, he sat on a stood, playing the violin, while you read over the news, then you saw something.

“Hey Gaston.”

“Hm?”

“I think you should take a look at this.” You waved him over and he set his violin down and walked over, glancing over your shoulder. “It seems that gifted are committing suicide with their abilities after a strange fog.”

Gaston’s eyes narrowed as you spoke before he reached up and closed the lid of your computer. “Best not to worry about that, stressing will give you grays.”

You set your laptop aside and gazed out the window, it was raining pretty hard. Gaston’s eyes followed yours, he then looked around the apartment and ran his finger along the bookshelf behind you, not a spec of dust. He smiles and then looked to you. “Say I have an idea. We pack a lunch, go to your father’s estate, start cleaning, find what we can on where he may be, have lunch, bring a book, like an indoor picnic.”

“That sounds pretty fun actually.” You smiled and stood up from your chair, taking his hand he offered you.

“Then let’s be off, my lady.”

—————————

You arrived at your father’s old estate at around noon. You took the key Miss Jane had left you and unlocked the door to the old building, and it was as dusty as ever. Gaston stepped in the hall after you, sipping around to take it all in. “Reminds me of Dr. Stevenson’s manor back in London.”

“I’d love to visit one day.” You replied to his comment as you went to sit over on the staircase, setting the picnic basket and blanket you had brought next to you. “But this place is probably a lot more dusty.”

“Certainly, I honestly couldn’t imagine the doctor letting dust gather on anything.” He laughed to himself and walked towards you, hands in his pockets. “Well then, shall we get started?”

“We shall.”

So you and Gaston began exploring the rooms together, one by one. You showed each other what you found, strange objects left behind from your father that might have been important on a case of his once upon a time. Books in his study were unorganized but looking at them there was no way to organize them for they were all so different. Gaston found photos of your father and uncle along with another individual names “Dr. Watson” your father’s assistant, from what the old stories about him read. You also managed to find older documents from your father that you left inclined to read, they were about his old cases that he took when he was here in Yokohama. Both of you forgot that you came to clean as soon as you walked through the door, there was just so much to look at and see.

So now, hours had passed and now you and Gaston sit on the floor of the main entry, the blanket beneath you as you opened the picnic basket and ate the meal you two had packed, sandwiches, fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, pears, and two apples.

“Strange to think he just left this all behind.” You said, pushing a berry past your lips. Gaston shrugged as he took a bite of a pear slice.

“Your father was a strange man.” 

You laughed at that comment as you picked up one of the apples and took a bite…

Footsteps… walking down the hall

Gaston looked away from you alarmed by the noise, someone was here. His hands rested on his revolver as he stood up, looking around worriedly. “Did you hear that?”

You were to occupied to worry about the question, you eyes were fixed on the bite mark of the apple you just ate from, the fresh was black… it was poisoned. Your mind tried to process if you or Gaston packed this, was it slipped into your bag? If so when? You went to call Gaston’s name but all that came up out was coughs and wheezes as you tried to gasp for breath. You fell to the floor and Gaston was quick to kneel besides you. “(Name)! (Name)!”

Your vision was hazy now and you were just able to see the poisoned apple roll out of your hand and onto a ground where a figure out of the shadows came forth and picked it up. 

Gaston’s eyes were wide with horror as he stared at the figure who held the apple, but the figure merely smiled as Gaston was finally able to speak out his name.

“Fyodor.”

Gaston’s eyes flicked between your unconscious body and Fyodor, standing over the two of you. Gaston tried shaking you awake as the Russian man stepped even closer but it didn’t work.

“Oh ангел музыки, she won’t wake up.” The Russian man spoke, kneeling down to Gaston’s level. Fyodor reached out and brushed the hair out of your face. “Not without me that is.”

Gaston raised up his revolver to rest in between Fyodor’s eyes. There was only a look of pure range on his face. “Wake her up or I will kill you.”

Fyodor’s smile only widened. “Shoot me at this distance with that old gun and you will blow your own hand off along with whatever damage would happen to her.”

Gaston didn’t lower the gun until Fyodor reached out, grabbed the barrel of the gun and lowered it himself. “So I have to play your game to wake her up, don’t I?”

Fyodor nodded and reached out for the untouched apple that was left and held it in front of Gaston to take. “It doesn’t hurt that badly if that’s what you’re worried about. All will be well when you awake.”

“Or I’ll be dead.” Gaston said grabbing the apple from him and looking it over. Gaston brought it to his lips with shaking hands, the composer’s eyes dead locked onto Fyodor’s twisted smile. With all the courage he could muster Gaston bit down on the apple, the flesh of it black like before. He was sent into a coughing fit just like you when he swallowed. He was gasping for breath as he fell into unconsciousness, his breathing heavy as Fyodor looked down at you two, wearing the same twisted smile.

—————————

You awoke with with a pounding headache and your body felt so incredibly stiff, like you had been asleep for days. Your vision was burly and it took a long moment for things to come into focus, you were laying in bed that wasn’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, dressed in clothes that you couldn’t see but knew aren’t yours. You tried to move but your muscles wouldn’t respond. The most you could manage was letting your turn fall to the side to see Gaston laying in an identical bed, asleep, dressed in clothes that weren’t his, and now you could also see an IV attached to your arm and one to his own. You could see a table in between the two of you, it had items and nicknacks from your pocket and Gaston’s glasses, but no weapons. When you went to open your mouth only a cough came out, your throat was like sandpaper, how long had you been out?

“Ahh мышь, you’re awake.” You heard a voice from behind you, Russian in origin. You heard a book close followed by footsteps approaching you. You felt a gentle gloved hand reach over and hold your cheek, bringing your face to face him. Before you there was a handsome man, he had black, mid length hair, dressed in white. “Do you know who I am?”

You couldn’t speak and your mind was too foggy to think but you managed to mouth the word no. He chuckled and ran his gloved thumb along your cheek. “My name is Fyodor Dostoevsky, my dear.” He watched as horror formed in your eyes at the mention of his name and his smile grew in his amusement. He leaned down so that his faces was only an inch away from your own. “I see you have heard of me, I have watched you for quite sometime and I promise you this is only the beginning of our game.”

He bent down to press his lips against your own. His lips felt rough and forceful, not kind and gentle like his touch. He reached over and pulled out the IV in your arm which made you wince in pain but he shushed, cooed, a kissed away your tears. He wrapped his arms around you and picked your limp body and carried you over to the arm chair he had been sitting in. With this new position you could see what you were wearing, a long white skirt, a black turtleneck, a white sweater, and white mary janes. He sat you down in his lap and took the book from the side table and opened it, you couldn’t read it because it was in Russian. He sat with you for what felt like hours and the only thing he said was. “Soon, it will begin.”

You didn’t know what “it” was but frankly you didn’t care, you just wanted to get Gaston and get the hell out of here. Soon you heard a groan from Gaston’s lips and your eyes shot over to the man who was coming back to consciousness. Unlike you he had at least some control of his limbs, must be all his endurance from his work with the society. He sat up in his bed his hand unconsciously searching for his glasses in the nightstand, you could now see at least the top of his outfit clearly, a white ruffled shirt, a white vest, a white jacket, white pants, but a bright red tie, it felt off for Gaston to be dressed in such things given his normal attire and personality. You heard a small hum from Fyodor as he also noticed the composer’s state. 

“Good to see you awake as well, Leroux.” Fyodor said as Gaston slipped on his glasses and ripped out his IV which made you cringe. “I see you are as alive as every.”

“I wish I was dead.” Gaston was quick to snap back as he stepped out of bed, but having to catch his balance on the footboard. He paused in his tracks and looked around. “We’re in Mukurotoride, aren’t we?”

Fyodor smiled and nodded, setting his book aside. “That would be correct, I brought you two here so you will be… safe from what is to come.”

“Safe?” You finally spoke, asking a simple question. “Safe from what?”

A low chuckle emerged from Fyodor as he looked at you with those violet eyes. “You were reading the story, gifted committing suicide, the fog…”

Then it clicked for both you and Gaston. The fog is coming to Yokohama and someone is behind this all.

Fyodor noticed the expression on your faces and hummed, brushing his fingers through your hair before standing up and helping you stand along with him. Your legs felt jello but Fyodor rested a hand on both your forearms and hip, keeping you from falling. Once you caught your balance he let go, letting you stand on your own. He walked forward, towards the door in the room and unlocked it with a key in his coat pocket. He glanced over his shoulder at Gaston and you. “Don’t try using your gifts to escape, призрак and мышь. I think you’ll find your abilities have left you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, concern coming across your face. Fyodor only smiled.

“You’ll see in due time. I’m sure my collaborators would be happy to explain when you meet them, but for now there are preparations to be made.” Fyodor said as he stepped out into the hall and you heard the click of the lock behind him.

Gaston fell onto his bed with a heavy sigh and you came and curled up next to him. “I’m sorry (Name), I have failed you. I let him get to you.”

“We didn’t expect it, Gaston. He took us by surprise.” You yawned in between words and so did he. “We’ll just have to be our own knights in shining armor, get ourselves out of here, escape the dragon.”

Gaston gave a weak smile and took off his glasses once more. “Yes, but I suppose for now we should get some more rest.”

“Agreed.”

You cuddled up next to him and just as you were slipping into sleep’s hold you heard his voice sing, beautiful, gentle, and careful…

“Think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

remember me once in awhile

promise me you'll try

on that day that not so distant day when you are far away and free

if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me.”

[schrijverr]

Tomorrow Will Be Different 4

Chapter 4 out of 26

Instead of managing to meet up later, Oliver has to keep running with Akio. The only way to keep them safe is to go public with Oliver being alive, leaving him back home in charge of Akio, while Tatsu and Maseo are still in the wind

In this chapter, Moira, Thea, Tommy and Laurel learn of Oliver's survival as he is splashed across the news. It drags up old feelings.

On AO3.

Ships: minor Tommy x Laurel

Warnings: none

~~~

Chapter 4: The News Anchor Says

Moira is gazing out the window with a cup of tea as the TV plays in the background. It is already late, nearly eleven, but she can’t bring herself to go to bed. Today has been one of those days where the ghosts of her past are haunting her, the grief suddenly making a return and feeling just as fresh as when she first heard of the passing of her son and husband.

Now, she is looking towards where their empty graves lie. She can’t see them from here and it’s already dark out, but she knows they are there.

The voice of one of her ghosts suddenly coming out of the TV scares her deeply and she whips around. When she sees the screen, the cup slips from her fingers, clattering on the ground and breaking into a bunch of little pieces.

It is not just the voice, it is his face too. Her baby boy is looking back at her, looking haggard with long hair and tired eyes. He looks very different, but she would know her boy anywhere.

Then his words register. “I’m Oliver Queen. I’m alive. I’m in Hong Kong. Someone had taken me along with others. I escaped. Send help. A man has this boys parents and Waller, a woman.”

Oh God, her baby.

That is her baby.

He’s in Hong Kong, China, all the way across from the world of her. He has been held captive and gone through God knows what, but he’s alive. He’s alive.

It’s not until she watches this on screen Oliver put down a boy and say: “This is Akio. Akio Yamashiro. He’s with me,” that she realizes that he had been holding a kid. She was so distracted by seeing him alive and well that nothing else had registered.

Now, her eyes are glued to the kid, who stares into the camera with big eyes. He must be around nine and has none of Oliver’s traits, so it can’t be his.

She wonders how he came to know the kid, what their relationship is like. She can still remember him on that couch, telling her about the girl he got pregnant, the one she made disappear. He wasn’t ready to be a father then, she doubts he is ready to be a parental figure now.

The footage cuts away and the usual news anchor appears on screen. “Oliver Queen is alive. The Starling City resident was found after he ran into a reporter from CNN. According to the Queen heir, he was found at sea by people who held him captive along with at least three other people; the parents of Akio Yamashiro – the boy who he was with – and a woman named Waller.”

Akio appears on screen again, replacing the picture of her son that had been there earlier. Moira still can’t wrap her head around it.

“Not much is known about what happened, but Oliver Queen has pointed to an unnamed man as being responsible for their captivity. There is no comment from Akio Yamashiro, who has been kept away from reporters by Oliver Queen as he is making arrangements inside the American embassy of Hong Kong. What the relationship between the duo is, is not known at this point,” the news anchor continues.

“So far no statement has been released by the American embassy or the Queen family to confirm that this is actually Oliver Queen. However, based on the visuals, it is very likely this individual is speaking the truth. Whatever the case may be, the entrance was certainly newsworthy, with gunfire being captured moments before the previously shown footage was recorded.”

Moira hasn’t doubted for a second that the man on screen was her boy. He might not look like how he did three years ago, but she knows that voice and she knows those eyes.

Still, the final comment from the news anchor, snaps her into motion. It’s an out of body experience as she walks to the phone to make all the calls she has to, to get Oliver’s identity confirmed and him taken back to Starling City as soon as possible.

In the back of her mind, she wonders where Thea is. She is supposed to be asleep by now, but Moira knows her daughter sneaks out of the house to do God knows what. She hopes that if she sees it, she’ll come to her, come for support. To process.

The news that Oliver is alive is amazing and she feels elated. However, her world has also been thrown upside down with everything this will effect.

Thea is in fact out partying with friends. Tommy’s party ended badly and she is trying to erase the memory by creating new ones. Margo has found a new plug and they’re planning on taking some pills later, but for now they’re just about to take shots.

Those plans are interrupted when Margo suddenly yells: “Thea! You have to come see this!”

“Ugh, what is it?” Thea groans, as she pushes herself off the bed. She wants to get drunk, not get dragged into whatever Margo has going on.

Annoyed, she leans against the door frame and crosses her arms. She is about to repeat her question about what the fuck Margo wants when she hears the news anchor say: “… Queen family to confirm that this is actually Oliver Queen. However, based on the visuals, it is very likely this individuals is speaking the truth. Whatever…”

Anything after that is static as Thea stares at the TV.

It takes her a couple of beats but then she comes back online, stammering: “Wha- What are they saying?”

“Your brother is alive,” Margo says. “It’s on every major news station. He came out of no where on CNN in Hong Kong.”

Margo clicks to a different channel, which shows her brother. His hair is long and he looks dirty as all hell, plus there is a random child that he is carrying in his arms. However, she’d recognize him anywhere, not to mention his voice.

“I’m Oliver Queen. I’m alive. I’m in Hong Kong. Someone had taken me along with others. I escaped. Send help. A man has this boys parents and Waller, a woman. This is Akio. Akio Yamashiro. He’s with me.”

That voice is one hundred percent Ollie.

He sounds very serious and a little out of breath and she is scared to death for him when he answers the reporter’s question with: “Yes, that’s me, got fished right out the sea by those people. I’ve been their captive ever since. We have to move now, they’re right behind me. Get to the embassy.”

However, the news anchor is reporting that he is okay. That he is alive. Actually alive. Oh god, her brother is alive.

She has missed him so goddamn much these past few years, lost herself in alcohol and drugs, because it is both the closest thing to forgetting and the closest thing to him. All these years she grieved and he was out there somewhere.

Her world is spinning and nothing feels real. It’s as if time has slowed, yet everything speeds past her at the speed of light. No thought sticks, but her head is filled with them.

“Dude, are you okay?” Margo asks, snapping her to the present.

“Uhm, y- yeah,” she nods, swallowing. “I’m- I’m gonna sit this one out. Go home.”

“Of course,” Margo says, understandingly. “Do I need to bring you home?”

“No, I’ll call a ride,” Thea assures her.

“Alright, I’ll be upstairs with the others opening this bottle if you change your mind,” Margo offers, showing her the bottle of vodka.

A part of Thea is tempted to take her up on it. To let the alcohol dull everything, so she can actually let herself be happy about the news instead of this shocked fugue state she has found herself in. But she can’t. She wants to go home. Hug her mom.

So, she lets Margo go upstairs and pulls out her phone. Mom doesn’t answer, either asleep or busy on the phone to get to the bottom of things, so she calls the next best thing.

“You alright, Thea?” Tommy picks up. He sounds pleasantly surprised, maybe a little apprehensive, which Thea gets after that time she called him to pick her up from a club she definitely should not have been at.

Obviously he hasn’t heard the news. It’s strangely thrilling to be the one to break it to him, the whole thing not yet feeling real yet. “Are you near a TV?” she asks.

“Uhm, yes, why?”

“Turn it on. Any news station,” Thea instructs.

There is some fumbling, before she hears the news anchor, then there is a hard thud and a loud exclamation, before the phone is picked up from the ground. Tommy sounds shaken as he asks her to confirm. “Is this real?”

“It’s real. I’ve checked three channels already, all show the same clips,” Thea says. “I’m at a friends house right now. We were gonna chill, but… Well, this came up. Can you give me a ride home?”

“Y- yeah, yeah of course. Where are you?” Tommy answers immediately.

Thea gives him the address, then they hang up. She doesn’t move from her spot, just keeps staring at the TV. Her brother’s alive.

Tommy is at Laurel’s house when his phone rings. They finally went on that date he promised on his birthday and he has even made it into her home, maybe even her pants. Until the phone rings, interrupting them.

He is about to turn it off when he sees it’s Thea. After his party he’s been trying to look after her a little bit more. He owes it to his best friend to keep an eye out for his sister now that he can’t anymore. Besides, he doesn’t want anything to happen to her. She’s his sister too in a way.

Apologetically he shows Laurel the caller ID, who nods at him to pick up.

Thea’s voice sounds weird and he’s afraid she took something as she asks him if he is near a TV, making him shoot Laurel a weird look as he says he is.

What follows next is one of the most surreal experiences of his life, because Ollie is right there on his TV screen. Older maybe, but definitely alive.

Laurel is also clearly in shock and Tommy can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Ollie was her boyfriend, but that boat went down with Sara on board. Ollie got her little sister killed while cheating on her.

It has taken Tommy literal years to get back to where they were – maybe even a little further – but this will surely drag everything up. He decides it’s better to make a strategic withdrawal. “Thea needs a ride home. Do you want me to come back? Or do you want to be alone?”

“I- I- Uhm, I…” Normally he would make fun of hotshot lawyer Laurel Lance being out of words, but not tonight. He watches as she straightens up and shakes it off, putting up those defenses of her as she smiles at him: “I’ll be okay. I’d- I’d like some space. Go pick up Thea.”

“Alright,” Tommy says a bit reluctantly, despite being happy with the out. He doesn’t want to be a total douche, however, he actually likes Laurel – god, that will be complicated with Ollie back – so he adds: “Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” Laurel promises, before she watches Tommy leave. Then her eyes go right back to the screen where a news anchor is describing Ollie’s return.

He doesn’t look like her Ollie at all. It’s like it’s his body, slightly older and scruffier, but being played by a new actor. No easy going anything, but tense and scared, yet sure of himself, deliberate in his movements. He was being shot at, but he looks so in control. It’s mind boggling.

Laurel wonders if her sister is with among those who Ollie was held captive with. If she has been out there, suffering. Or if she drowned on that boat.

A sob comes out.

She was finally in a good place, able to move on with her life. Now suddenly her past is being dragged back up. It seems like even now, Ollie can disrupt her life whenever he pleases without any warning.

He has wrecked all she built up with a single appearance on TV and she knows she won’t get any answers until he is back. That he’s placed her right back in time, when all she could do was wonder what happened to him. To Sara.

Laurel can’t look at him anymore. Anger burns deep inside of her and she turns off the TV. She knows it won’t help, this will be everywhere for weeks and everyone who knows her will ask her about it.

Then she realizes it will be everywhere and sighs, before getting up and getting her keys. She’ll be driving past every bar in town tonight to find her father and drag him home. He is already in a dark place and this won’t do him any good. Again Laurel curses the name Oliver Queen.

Later she’ll look at the footage better. Old feeling stirring up as new questions arise about the company he keeps and the person he has become. But that is later, now she just gets in the car.

Also on the road, are Tommy and Thea.

Neither of them have really spoken, except for a fierce hug when he picked her up. Instead, they have the radio on in the car, listening to the news station repeat the same information over and over again:

Oliver Queen is alive. He is found in Hong Kong with a boy named Akio after a violent chase through the streets. He says he’s been held captive. That there are still captives out there and the man responsible is not yet named. There is no comment from the embassy where he is now or the Queen family. Neither Akio or Oliver are talking to the press. Oliver has confirmed the Queen’s Gambit went down in a storm. He hasn’t mentioned any other survivors. No information is available on how he got there. Oliver Queen is alive.

At the mansion, Thea is out the car before it’s even in park, flying up the stairs. Her mom is on the phone, but there is clear relief in her face when she sees Thea, who doesn’t waste a minute and runs over to hug her.

Tommy follows after Thea and Moira addresses both as she lowers the phone to her shoulder. “I am on hold now. They won’t let me speak to my boy.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong? That it’s not him?” Thea asks, worry gnawing at her stomach. What if that news anchor had a point and it’s not Ollie? What if she has gotten her hopes up for nothing.

“It has to be him. I mean, it’s Hong Kong. That can’t be a coincidence,” Tommy speaks up.

“The email ping?” Moira asks and Tommy nods. Moira gasps, nearly a sob: “Oh, God, that was months ago. We left him there to suffer for months.”

“We couldn’t have known, mom,” Thea assures her, but her own insides are twisting as well.

Tommy luckily agrees with her. “I went to check it out, I was convinced it wasn’t real. That’s not on you, Moira. You’re doing everything you can. You have been for these past few years.”

“Oh thank you. Thank you both,” she weeps, hugging them both.

Then there is a noise on the line and Moira immediately straightens up, bringing the phone to her ear again as her boardroom armor comes over her. Any traces of tears are gone now. “Have you found out what’s taking so long?”

“Ma’am, there are certain procedures we have to follow. I’m sorry, but I can’t get him on the phone with you right now.”

“Why not? I demand to speak with my son.”

“He’s currently being questioned. I’ll make sure he calls back to this number when he is done.”

“Questioned? What is this? He’s not some sort of criminal, dammit.”

“Of course, ma’am. I understand that this is difficult. But he came here under quite unusual circumstances, we’re just trying to get the full picture. If he is telling the truth, other lives can be at stake.”

“I don’t care about other lives, let me talk to my child.”

“That is simply not possible right now. I suggest you hang up and get some rest. He will call back when he is able.”

“I’m not calling back, I’ll stay on the line the whole damn night if I have to. You will let me talk to him.”

“Then I will put you back on hold until Oliver is available. This will take hours, I hope you understand.”

“I understand,” Moira can be stubborn as all Hell when she wants to be and this is something she is going to be stubborn about.

“Alright, ma’am. Have a good evening,” the person from the embassy says, before the hold music starts playing again.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she tells Thea, who has been listening in closely. “We’ll talk to him soon, okay?”

[courtney-deserved-better]

my fair lady: part eleven - a gwourtney choose your own adventure!

(part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten) (read on ao3)

the new season is REALLY helping with my motivation to write total drama fics. enjoy the new chapter!

What is she going to do about this crush?

Don’t tell Alejandro your plans, a little voice in the back of her head warns. If Heather and Noah are right, then he can’t be trusted. And it was your relationship with Duncan that made you vulnerable to elimination in the very first season…

“I’m going to win the challenge,” Courtney declares, trying to steady her voice. She has a crush on Gwen. Holy shit. She has a crush on Gwen. “We really should go ahead and get that clue. What’s taking the others so long?”

Gwen decides to answer that question by sprinting across the courtyard and nearly collapsing at Courtney’s feet.

“Oh my God, Gwen! Are you okay?”

“Where are Noah and Heather?” Alejandro asks.

Gwen wheezes, trying to catch her breath. “Ripper got ‘em. I stepped out of the room for two seconds and… they screamed, and when I came back in, they were just gone.”

“That’s not good,” Courtney says.

“It’ll be a lot more difficult to win the challenge now,” Alejandro adds.

“Yeah, and Heather and Noah got snatched up by a serial killer!”

“But it’s not the real Ripper. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be alive nowadays. It’s just an actor to scare them and take them away, right?”

Courtney and Gwen glance at one another.

“…Right?”

“You do know I’ve fought an actual murderer that tried to chainsaw me in season one, right?” Gwen asks.

Alejandro blanches.

“…Right?”

“Look, whatever’s going on with Heather and Noah, we can’t help them now,” Courtney says. “And they’re probably not being murdered, Gwen only had to deal with a real serial killer because he snuck his way onto the island, it wasn’t set up.”

“I genuinely don’t know if that’s better or worse,” Alejandro says.

Gwen stands up, brushing off her tights. “Courtney’s right. We should go for the next clue. Which is…?”

“Probably in the jewelry case on the table on the table,” Courtney points through the window.

“Let’s get this over with,” Gwen says, resolutely marching toward the door.

The trio manages to make it inside and to the case, which Courtney roots around in. Alejandro and Gwen stand guard.

“Golden toothpick, emerald studded toothbrush… what is wrong with these royals and their dentistry?”

“Noah probably would make a joke about bad British teeth if he were here,” Alejandro sighs.

Gwen frowns. “He’s not dead… that we know of.”

“Very helpful, chica.”

“Where’s the freaking clue?!” Courtney grumbles. “How much of this stuff do I have to paw through—”

“Uh, speaking of paws,” Gwen says, “those guard dogs sure do have a lot of them.”

Courtney and Alejandro turn to see an army of corgis growling at them.

“Uh oh.”

“This is why I’m a cat person,” Alejandro mutters.

Gwen looks over at Courtney. “Got anything round in there?”

Courtney passes her a golden egg.

“See the shiny ball… now sit!”

I like seeing Gwen take charge, Courtney thinks. Wait, how did I not realize I had a crush on her until five minutes ago?

“That’s so cute,” Courtney says, watching Gwen transform the corgis’ growls into smiles and tail wags.

“Los perros también,” Alejandro adds under his breath. Courtney elbows him. “How’d you do that?”

“I taught my lizards obedience,” Gwen says, spinning the golden egg on one finger and utterly oblivious to Courtney and Alejandro’s exchange. “I guess corgis are just as—”

“The clue!” Alejandro cries, pointing at the piece of paper sticking out from the middle of the egg.

“You found it!” Courtney takes the egg and twists it open. “Nice work, Gwen!”

“Hey, I doubt our team would’ve even made it to the torture rack without you.”

Courtney grins, certain she’s blushing.

“Ah, Courtney, what does the clue say?” Alejandro asks.

“Right, the clue! The Ripper’s most natural place has two levels inside it’s space. Go use your sack to bring the guy back.”

“Sack?” Gwen asks.

Alejandro grabs a burlap sack off the massive dining table. “I was wondering what this was doing here. It seemed out of place.”

“So we have to capture the Ripper,” Gwen says.

“Who is… probably not an actual serial killer if the ultimate goal of this challenge is to capture him?”

“Probably,” Courtney says.

Gwen takes the sack from Alejandro. “This is going to be awesome.”

“Hunting down someone who may as well be an actual serial killer?!”

“Yeah!”

Courtney puts a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “Alejandro, it’s probably not even a real serial killer, but if it comes down to a fight with a real one, then we’ll for sure win. Gwen has a good track record.”

“And I’ve seen Courtney kick ass,” Gwen says. “The Ripper should fear us.”

Alejandro sighs. “Fine. Let’s just go to this final location… which is where?”

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Logic and Lore

BBC Sherlock x Doctor Who

Title: Logic and Lore

Prequel: Mad and Magnificent (AO3 | Tumblr)

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandoms: BBC Sherlock (Masterlist) x Doctor Who (Masterlist)

Relationship: Amelia Pond x Sherlock Holmes

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: It's been three years since Amelia Pond first met Sherlock Holmes, nine months since the tragic death of Amelia's husband, Rory Williams, and six months since the alleged suicide of London's only consulting detective. Amelia Pond has lived one hell of a life, so it really shouldn't surprise her when she receives a text from a dead man, asking her to meet him at midnight.

Amelia Pond walks across the silent plaza at twenty-seven minutes to midnight, the flames of her hair licking the night sky as the wind swirls a delicate flurry of snow around her. She finds Sherlock instantly, casually leaning against the brick building of a café, a perfect replica of the way he'd looked the night she'd first met him. Three years for him, eleven years for her. The life of a time traveler…it's difficult to follow, but Sherlock promises himself that he will try his damnedest to keep up with her. Together, the two of them stand there in a comfortable silence, shrouded in a cloud of cigarette smoke, mirroring that fateful night on New Year's Eve, content in one another's company, enamored by the complicated catastrophes of each other's history.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Sherlock Holmes stands in the very same place he'd stood nearly three years prior. It's a decent little hideaway, a quasi-claustrophobic alley cradled in between two brick buildings and shrouded from a crowded plaza by shrubbery and a rusting, wrought-iron gate. The last time he stood here, it was New Year's Eve, and he had been all on his own, staring hatefully into the sea of tourists queuing up around the clock tower in the middle of the plaza. Sherlock slides his hands into the inside pockets of his black pea coat and withdraws a lighter he'd stolen from John a few years back. 

He slips a cigarette in between his lips and shifts into a more comfortable position, reclining against the brick-embellished spine of the little café and trying to look as indifferent as he can possibly manage, a perfect imitation of the way he'd looked the night he first met Amelia Pond. 

She was mad and magnificent, a perfect stranger who had asked him for his very last cigarette, and had become, much to his surprise, quite lovely company in the twenty-seven minutes that they had known one another. The two of them had stood there, hidden away from the rest of the world and cloaked in cigarette smoke, content in each other's silence, broken only by occasional musings. 

At midnight, without the slightest hint or warning, Amelia had kissed him, leaving Sherlock utterly bemused, the mere memory of her burning into his mind, burrowing into the secret crevices of his mind palace and haunting him, despite the fact that he'd tried his damnedest to forget her. The years ticked past and Sherlock lost himself in other distractions, solved case after riveting case, found a family of truly wonderful friends in Dr. John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, and Molly Hooper. But that was ages ago, back when his life was very nearly perfect. Back when his life made sense. 

It's been six months since Sherlock had enlisted the help of Molly Hooper to fake his suicide. Six months since he had last spoken to John. Six months since the local newspapers had fabricated lies about his competency, poisoning the minds of all those who had trusted and believed in him with doubt and disapproval. Six months, twelve days, and eleven hours since he had started living with Molly in the spare bedroom of her flat, driving her absolutely mad.

Sherlock lives as a ghost amongst the unobservant residents of London, haunting cafés and bookshops and unoccupied street corners with his collar turned up against the wind. Though he'll never admit to it, he misses John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson terribly (and possibly even Sergeant Donovan, at times…but not Anderson…never Anderson) and will occasionally check in on them, disguised as a novice postman or takeout delivery employee, to make certain that they're still safe. The moment he thought that his life couldn't possibly become any more complicated than it already was, Sherlock discovered that Amelia Pond had moved to London.

One morning, three months into his afterlife, Sherlock had spotted Amelia locking up and leaving her flat, coffee in one hand, purse and keys in the other. She drove off in a little red car, and didn't even notice that Sherlock had been standing only a few paces away. 

Desperate for a distraction from his all-consuming guilt, depression, and boredom, Sherlock commandeered a laptop and began researching Amelia's history, what she'd been up to since they last met. He scrolled article after article, perused professional and candid photographs, promotional posters, and interviews with local television stations, evening talk shows, and a number of modeling agencies, none of which provided him with anything of immediate value or interest:

Amelia Jessica Pond. Approximately twenty years old the night Sherlock had met her on New Year's Eve, according to her birthdate. Married at twenty-one to Rory Williams, Leadworth Nurse. Disappeared for an extended honeymoon on the night of her wedding, claiming to have been traveling with a man who called himself "The Doctor." Lived in Leadworth for several years, intermittently traveling with her husband and their scholarly tour guide. Sources indicate that she and her husband had last visited Manhattan, New York.

Returned to Leadworth for three months after the sudden death of her husband. Tragic accident, according to Amelia's brief disclosure and the opinion of the local news columns. Rory Williams, having achieved the status of a medical physician, had been traveling abroad for a seminar, when his plane had unexpectedly crashed into the ocean. Widowed Pond relocated to London shortly thereafter to continue her flourishing career as a model, and had been living in a modest flat in downtown London for nearly six months.

While it had sounded like a relatively normal life, there was one little detail that had relentlessly clawed at Sherlock's curiosity: Rory and Amelia's sudden, seemingly random disappearances with this mysterious "Doctor." Odd, Sherlock had mused, considering the fact that both Amelia and Rory lacked medical histories of any notable diseases or debilitating ailments that would require the accompaniment of a professional physician. 

Therefore, it could only be assumed that this man either acted as their tour guide (curiously opposing professions, though Sherlock supposed everyone had their hobbies) as Rory's mentor (both in medical professions, after all, though why he would accompany the couple on extended holidays, particularly during their honeymoon is beyond him) or was simply a close family friend who did not mind accompanying a married couple as the perpetual third wheel.

However, there was another, much more disturbing possibility — that this man had been directly involved in the late husband's death. Perhaps there was more than just friendship between them. Perhaps the Doctor had, at one point in time, entered into an arrangement with Mr. and Mrs. Williams of a sexual nature (which would explain his accompaniment on their honeymoon) and grew tired of sharing Amelia's affections. 

Or perhaps the Doctor had only been a friend, but the reason he constantly hung around a married couple was because he had developed a romantic attachment to Amelia, and in a fit of jealousy, had arranged for the engine failure that had caused Rory's plane to go down, assuming that, with her husband out of the way, the Doctor could finally have Amelia all to himself.

(Though he didn't necessarily condone murder, Sherlock could, perhaps, have a unique understanding of the motive — he'd challenge anyone to kiss Amelia Pond and not at least consider doing the same. Erm. But that was neither here nor there. Anyway.)

As expected, Sherlock's mind had gone into overdrive with countless theories and possibilities. Regardless of the truth, it sounded like a promising cure for Sherlock's endless anger and boredom, with a potentially macabre, wonderfully intricate twist. Delighted to have a new case to distract him, Sherlock took to practically stalking Amelia Pond. Well…it wasn't actually stalking, Sherlock had reasoned, not in the literal sense of the word.

Amelia Pond was simply the strongest link that Sherlock had to uncovering the truth about the Doctor's identity and current whereabouts, which could have, in turn, lead to unmasking him as a cold-blooded murderer with terroristic tendencies…and wasn't that exhilarating? It was not, obviously, due to the fact that Sherlock couldn't keep the memory of New Year's Eve from constantly playing, over and over again, inside his mind. That would imply that Sherlock had enjoyed Amelia's company…that he hadn't long ago deleted the sensory-infused memory of her kiss…that was a thoroughly illogical, preposterous notion.

One evening, Sherlock had followed Amelia home from work, watched her park outside of a nearby café, and embrace a tall, voluptuous, older woman with curly blonde hair, whom Amelia had called "River." Sherlock had assumed, of course, that River was a distant relative who hadn't been able to make it to Rory Williams' funeral…though it seemed unlikely, considering River's air of lighthearted joy, the brilliant smile stamped across her lips at the sight of Amelia. The two of them sat opposite one another at a little wooden table at the back of the café, and the woman named River had pulled out a dark blue diary with baroque designs and indentations adorning the cover.

"Let's see, now," she'd said. "Where are we at in your timeline, mum?" 

Amelia forced a smile, absentmindedly stirring her tea.

"I've just turned thirty-one, and…Mels, your father, he's…" Amelia sighed, stumbling over her words and cradling her forehead in the palm of her hand. "Rory is dead. Has been for six and a half months now, at least in our time. Two thousand years ago, his time. He was taken by the Angels when we went to Manhattan. Displaced in time. I never found him, never got the chance to say goodbye. The Doctor, he…he still visits…whenever I'll allow him to."

Amelia smiled sadly, her features contorting into a combination of anger and sorrow. In an instant, River's smile had faded, twisting to match her mother's, and the two of them had spent the rest of the evening quietly crying into their tea.

Three details revolving around what Sherlock had overheard that evening had bothered him to no end. First of all, how could River, a woman who appeared as though she either matched or exceeded Amelia in age, have possibly been Amelia's daughter? Second of all, if her birthdate was indeed listed correctly on her certificate, then Amelia Pond should have been twenty-three years old, and yet she had informed River that she had recently turned thirty-one. Third, and possibly most troubling of all…for the very first time in his life, Sherlock had failed to understand the meaning behind their conversation. The phrases "two thousand years ago" and "displaced in time" had him reeling in confusion and self-doubt.

Obsessed with the mystery of Amelia's age contrasting with her appearance and personal records, wondering if this "Doctor" character (perhaps an incredibly efficient plastic surgeon and identity forging specialist?) had anything to do with it, Sherlock dove deeper into her history, all the way back into her adolescence and childhood. He pilfered her psychiatry records, discovered that "the Doctor" was, according to her physicians, a figment of Amelia's imagination, an imaginary friend, a fairy tale man from another world who apparently traveled through time and space in a blue police box. It was nonsensical, illogical, and completely ridiculous…and yet…somehow, it all made sense.

Desperately trying to convince himself that he hadn't gone rogue from investigative withdrawal, Sherlock began researching the theoretical and conspiratorial possibilities surrounding time travel and the existence of aliens, stringing together mad, impossible theories from subtle hints and rumors, worked his way into top-security files from private institutions called UNIT and Torchwood, and discovered the truth: the Doctor was real, and Amelia Pond was a time traveler. 

Enthralled and enamored, he found himself desperate to speak with her, to hear the truth of what he had discovered straight from her lips. He considered calling her near constantly, but always found reason to stop himself, most notably being that he was supposed to be a dead man. 

He wondered if Amelia had ever been curious about him in return, if she had researched his past as he had done with her, and if she had discovered the report of his suicide. And then, assuming Amelia knew that he had allegedly died, would she have even cared? Would Amelia even remember who he was, or was Sherlock Holmes merely a blip in her timeline compared to the brilliant, captivating phenomena she had undoubtedly witnessed traveling the realms of time and space that would likely outshine the corrupted monotony of humanity, himself included. 

It took Sherlock several weeks before he finally arrived at a decision, curiosity winning out in the end. And so, six months into his afterlife, Sherlock sent Amelia Pond a text message with a set of coordinates marking the place where they had first met, and a signature that simply read SH.

• • •

Everyone thinks that Amelia Pond has gone mad. Ever since the sudden, tragic death of her husband, Rory Williams, the night he'd flown abroad to America for a seminar and his plane had crashed into the ocean, she hadn't spoken a word to anyone about him. After all, if she had told them the truth, no one would have believed her. In reality, Amelia Pond and Rory Williams had run away with the Doctor on their wedding night to explore the universe, to travel through time and space. 

Amelia craved adventure, adored the sensation of adrenaline swimming through her veins, heart thundering in her chest at the possibility of danger and mayhem. She knew that it couldn't last, she knew that her days were numbered, but she hadn't ever expected that it would end the way that it had. One time, one fateful adventure, the Doctor, Amelia, and Rory had been surrounded by a swarm of Weeping Angels, and Rory had been taken from her. Displaced in time, the possibilities of where he could have been sent endless. 

She had found Rory in history books. The Lone Centurion, he'd been called. Brave and courageous and boundlessly loyal, a hero killed in battle. Immediately after he had been taken, Amelia had wanted to find Rory, would have spent the rest of her life searching for him, would have rewritten time and torn apart the universe to rescue him from his violent, battle-scarred fate as a Roman soldier…but the Doctor had told her that it was next to impossible, that the gap in his history was far too wide, that events recorded during that time period were vague and unreliable, and that they would likely never find him.

After that night, Amelia had demanded that the Doctor take her home, for good this time. She had told him that she was through with fairy tales, and that she had no desire to see him ever again, told him that she couldn't stand to be be around him anymore, that his continued involvement in her life would only serve to remind her of Rory, and of the fact that she had lost him. If he couldn't bring Rory back to her, if he couldn't even try, then what was the point of him? If he couldn't understand how much she loved Rory, how much she desperately needed to find him, had he ever truly known her, or cared for her at all? 

She knew that it was selfish, knew that it was wrong of her to assume, but Amelia couldn't help placing the weight of Rory's death on the Doctor's shoulders, couldn't help but wonder if Rory would become yet another death in the Doctor's timeline, another notch in the Doctor's guilt-ridden conscience, the blood of another companion, forever staining the Doctor's hands. From time to time, she wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him for everything that he had done, everything that he had taken away from her. 

Three months following her return home, after she had gotten well used to the tedium of time passing in the right order, she had decided to pack up and move to London, leaving her history with Rory and the Doctor behind her in Leadworth. It's been nine months since Amy left the TARDIS, and her life still doesn't make any sense. One evening, Amelia Pond nearly faints in the middle of a crosswalk when she receives a text message from Sherlock Holmes. Of course, she'd already had his number, but she hadn't been expecting to hear from a dead man. 

From the moment she'd moved to London, she'd heard rumors about Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective — the odd, arrogant genius of a man with a beautiful mind and a cold, calculating disposition. (Amelia had, of course, actively ignored the endless list of parallels linking Sherlock Holmes and the Doctor.) Desperate for a distraction, she'd immersed herself in research, followed most of his cases, followed his blog, The Science of Deduction, and his colleague, Dr. John Watson's blog, investigated the James Moriarty scandal, and cried the night she'd discovered that Sherlock had committed suicide. 

She'd often considered contacting John Watson, sought comfort in their coincidental connection to creatures with brilliant minds and a proclivity for danger and turmoil, in a man who had suffered a loss comparable to her own, but thought better of it. After all, she was probably just a blip in Sherlock's timeline, an amusing anecdote at best. A story that probably hadn't even made an impact on Sherlock's vast, expansive memory, one that probably hadn't been enthralling enough to share with anyone, in comparison to Sherlock's endless collection of riveting detective tales.

It's been eleven years since she first met Sherlock Holmes, (three years for him, of course) and Amelia still hasn't forgotten that kiss on New Year's Eve, especially since it had technically happened twice. The first time it had happened, they had been living in the original universe, and Amelia had been alone and her life hadn't made any sense. The second time around, after the universe had been rebooted, three weeks before Rory had admitted that he was in love with her, she'd been out with Mels (who had taken off with some bloke in a navy blue pea coat who called himself "Captain Jack") leaving her all on her own. 

She remembers that night happening in two completely different ways, remembers that, both times, in both universes, they had shared the same conversation and the same cigarettes. In both realities, Amelia had kissed Sherlock Holmes at midnight. It's oddly unsettling, and just a tiny bit terrifying, and Amelia finds herself wondering if certain events are simply meant to happen. If the paths of two seemingly different people are meant to collide.

If, despite a massive shift in reality, fractures in time that have the power to erase people and galaxies alike from existence, despite a second chance at the creation of the universe, forever changing the way history was lived and recorded, certain events simply cannot be rewritten, and certain people simply cannot cease to exist. Fixed points in time, the Doctor called them.

Amelia finds a quiet café, orders her favorite tea, and spends the rest of the afternoon pondering the mad, impossible message she'd just received. For the first time in nine months, Amelia smiles.

• • •

Amelia Pond walks across the silent plaza at twenty-seven minutes to midnight, the flames of her hair licking the night sky as the wind swirls a delicate flurry of snow around her. She finds Sherlock instantly, casually leaning against the brick building of a café, a perfect replica of the way he'd looked the night she'd first met him. This time, instead of hiding behind a façade of indifference, he immediately locks eyes with her, reaches into the pocket of his black pea coat, and without saying a word, offers her a cigarette. 

Without even needing to be asked, he lights it for her, lips quirking into a curious smile as he studies this guilt-and-sorrow-plagued version of the woman he'd met three years prior. (Of course, for her, it's been eleven years since they'd last spoken.) The life of a time traveler…it's difficult to follow, but Sherlock promises himself that he will try his damnedest to keep up with her. 

Together, the two of them stand there in a comfortable silence, shrouded in a cloud of cigarette smoke, mirroring that fateful night on New Year's Eve, content in one another's company, enamored by the complicated catastrophes of each other's history.

[xtruss]

The Death of School 10! How Declining Enrollment Is Threatening The Future of American Public Education.

— By Alec MacGillis | August 26, 2024

The building that housed Rochester’s now shuttered School 10. Such closures “rend the community,” a professor of education said.Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden for The New Yorker

In The Nineteen-Nineties, when Liberia descended into civil war, the Kpor family fled to Ivory Coast. A few years later, in 1999, they were approved for resettlement in the United States, and ended up in Rochester, New York. Janice Kpor, who was eleven at the time, jokingly wonders whether her elders were under the impression that they were moving to New York City. What she remembers most about their arrival is the trees: it was May, yet many were only just starting to bud. “It was, like, ‘Where are we?’ ” she said. “It was completely different.”

But the Kpors adapted and flourished. Janice lived with her father in an affordable-housing complex close to other family members, and she attended the city’s public schools before enrolling in St. John Fisher University, just outside the city, where she got a bachelor’s degree in sociology and African American studies. She found work as a social-service case manager and eventually started running a group home for disabled adults.

She also became highly involved in the schooling of her three children, whom she was raising with her partner, the father of the younger two, a truck driver from Ghana. Education had always been highly valued in her family: one of her grandmothers had been a principal in Liberia, and her mother, who remained there, is a teacher. Last fall, when school started, Kpor was the president of the parent-teacher organization at School 10, the Dr. Walter Cooper Academy, where her youngest child, Thomasena, was in kindergarten. Her middle child had also attended the school.

Kpor took pleasure in dropping by the school, a handsome two-story structure that was built in 1916 and underwent a full renovation and expansion several years ago. The school was in the Nineteenth Ward, in southwest Rochester, a predominantly Black, working- and middle-class neighborhood of century-old homes. The principal, Eva Thomas, oversaw a staff that prided itself on maintaining a warm environment for two hundred and ninety-nine students, from kindergarten through sixth grade, more than ninety per cent of whom were Black or Latino. Student art work filled the hallways, and parent participation was encouraged. School 10 dated only to 2009—the building had housed different programs before that—but it had strong ties to the neighborhood, owing partly to its namesake, a pioneering Black research scientist who, at the age of ninety-five, still made frequent visits to speak to students. “When parents chose to go to this particular school, it was because of the community that they have within our school, the culture that they have,” Kpor told me.

Because she was also engaged in citywide advocacy, through a group called the Parent Leadership Advisory Council, Kpor knew that the Rochester City School District faced major challenges. Enrollment had declined from nearly thirty-four thousand in 2003 to less than twenty-three thousand last year, the result of flight to the suburbs, falling birth rates, and the expansion of local charter schools, whose student population had grown from less than two thousand to nearly eight thousand during that time. Between 2020 and 2022, the district’s enrollment had dropped by more than ten per cent.

The situation in Rochester was a particularly acute example of a nationwide trend. Since the start of the coronavirus pandemic, public-school enrollment has declined by about a million students, and researchers attribute the drop to families switching to private schools—aided by an expansion of voucher programs in many red and purple states—and to homeschooling, which has seen especially strong growth. In addition, as of last year, an estimated fifty thousand students are unaccounted for—many of them are simply not in school.

During the pandemic, Rochester kept its schools closed to in-person instruction longer than any other district in New York besides Buffalo, and throughout the country some of the largest enrollment declines have come in districts that embraced remote learning. Some parents pulled their children out of public schools because they worried about the inadequacy of virtual learning; others did so, after the eventual return to school, because classroom behavior had deteriorated following the hiatus. In these places, a stark reality now looms: schools have far more space than they need, with higher costs for heating and cooling, building upkeep, and staffing than their enrollment justifies. During the pandemic, the federal government gave a hundred and ninety billion dollars to school districts, but that money is about to run dry. Even some relatively prosperous communities face large drops in enrollment: in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where enrollment has fallen by more than a thousand students since the fall of 2019, the city is planning to lay off some ninety teachers; Santa Clara, which is part of Silicon Valley, has seen a decrease of fourteen per cent in a decade.

On September 12, 2023, less than a week after the school year started, Rochester’s school board held what appeared to be a routine subcommittee meeting. The room was mostly empty as the district’s superintendent, Carmine Peluso, presented what the district called a “reconfiguration plan.”

A decade earlier, twenty-six hundred kindergarten students had enrolled in Rochester’s schools—roughly three-quarters of the children born in the city five years before. But in recent years, Peluso said, that proportion had sunk to about half.

Within ten years, Peluso said, “if we continue on this trend and we don’t address this, we’re going to be at a district of under fourteen thousand students.” The fourth-largest city in New York, with a relatively stable population of about two hundred and ten thousand, was projecting that its school system would soon enroll only about a third of the city’s current school-age population.

Peluso then recommended that the Rochester school district close eleven of its forty-five schools at the end of the school year. Kpor, who was watching the meeting online, was taken aback. Five buildings would be shuttered altogether; the other six would be put to use by other schools in the district.

School 10 was among the second group. The school would cease to exist, and its building, with its new gymnasium-auditorium and its light-filled two-story atrium, would be turned over to a public Montessori school for pre-K through sixth grade, which had been sharing space with another school.

Kpor was stunned. The building was newly renovated. She had heard at a recent PTA meeting that its students’ over-all performance was improving. And now it was being shut down? “I was in disbelief,” she said. “It was a stab in the back.”

School Closures Are a Fact of Life in a country as dynamic as the United States. Cities boom, then bust or stagnate, leaving public infrastructure that is incommensurate with present needs. The brick elementary school where I attended kindergarten and first grade, in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, was closed in the early eighties, as the city’s population declined, and then was razed to make way for a shopping plaza.

Still, there is a pathos to a closed school that doesn’t apply to a shuttered courthouse or post office. The abandonment of a building once full of young voices is an indelible sign of the action having moved elsewhere. There is a tangible cost, too. Researchers have found that students whose schools have been closed often experience declines in attendance and achievement, and that they tend to be less likely to graduate from college or find employment. Closures tend to fall disproportionately on majority-Black schools, even beyond what would be expected on the basis of enrollment and performance data. In some cities, efforts to close underpopulated schools have become major political issues. In 2013, Chicago, facing a billion-dollar budget deficit and falling enrollment, closed forty-nine schools, the largest mass closure in the country’s history. After months of marches and protests, twelve thousand students and eleven hundred staff members were displaced.

Now, as a result of the nationwide decline in enrollment, many cities will have to engage in disruption at a previously unseen scale. “School closures are difficult events that rend the community, the fabric of the community,” Thomas Dee, a professor of education at Stanford, said. He has been collecting data on declining enrollment in partnership with the Associated Press. “The concern I have is that it’s going to be yet another layer of the educational harm of the pandemic.”

Janice Kpor knew that her family was, in a sense, part of the problem. Her oldest child, Virginia, had flourished in the early grades, so her school put her on an accelerated track, but it declined to move her up a grade, as Kpor had desired. Wanting her daughter to be sufficiently challenged, Kpor opted for the area’s Urban-Suburban program, in which students can apply to transfer to one of the many smaller school districts that surround Rochester; if a district is interested in a student, it offers the family a slot. The program began in 1965, and there are now about a thousand children enrolled. Virginia began attending school in Brockport, where she had access to more extracurricular activities.

Supporters call Urban-Suburban a step toward integration in a region where city schools are eighty-five per cent Black and Latino and suburban districts are heavily white. But critics see it as a way for suburban districts to draw some of the most engaged families out of the city’s schools; the selectiveness of the suburban districts helps explain why close to a quarter of the students remaining in the city system qualify for special-education services. (The local charter schools are also selective.) One suburban district, Rush-Henrietta, assured residents that it would weed out participants who brought “city issues” with them, as Justin Murphy, a reporter for the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle, wrote in his book, “Your Children Are Very Greatly in Danger,” a history of segregation in the city’s schools.

Kpor understood these concerns even as she watched Virginia thrive in the suburbs, then go on to attend the Rochester Institute of Technology. As Kpor saw it, each child’s situation was unique, and she tried to make decisions accordingly. “It’s where they’re at,” she said. “It’s not all or nothing for me.”

She enrolled her middle child, Steven, in School 10 for kindergarten and immediately liked the school, but stability was elusive. First, the school moved to temporary quarters for the renovation. Then came disagreements with a teacher who thought that her son’s behavioral issues stemmed from A.D.H.D. Then the pandemic arrived, and her son spent the final months of second grade and most of third on Zoom. For fourth grade, she decided to try Urban-Suburban again. He was accepted by Brockport, which sent a bus to pick him up every morning.

Other parents shared similar accounts with me of the aftermath of the pandemic closures. Ruthy Brown said that, after the reopening, her children’s school was rowdier than before, with more frequent fights and disturbances in the classroom; a charter school with uniforms suddenly seemed appealing. Isabel Rosa, too, moved her son to a charter school, because his classmates were “going bonkers” when they finally returned to in-person instruction. (She changed her mind after he was bullied by a charter-school security guard.) Carmen Torres, who works at a local advocacy organization, the Children’s Agenda, watched one of her client families get so frustrated by virtual instruction that they switched to homeschooling. “Enough is enough,” Torres recalled the mother saying. “My kids need to learn how to read.”

But, when it came time to enroll Thomasena, Kpor resolved to stick with the district, and she was so hopeful about her daughter’s future at School 10 that she took the prospect of its closure with great umbrage. She and other parents struggled to understand the decision. One of the reasons School 10 was chosen to close was that it was in receivership—a designation for public schools rated in the bottom five per cent in the state, among Peluso’s criteria for closure—but Kpor knew that the receivership was due not only to low test scores but also to the school’s high rate of absenteeism, which was, she believed, because the school roster was outdated, filled with students who were no longer there. According to a board member, the state had also placed School 10 on a list of dangerous schools, partly owing to an incident in which a student had been found with a pocketknife.

Making matters worse, for Kpor, was that the building was going to be turned over to another program, School 53, the Montessori school. It would be one thing for School 10 to be shut down because the district needed to cut costs. But the building had just been renovated at great expense, an investment intended for School 10, and now those students and teachers were being evicted to make room for others. “It was more of an insult,” Kpor said, “because now you have this place and all these kids and a whole bunch of new kids in the same building, so what is the logic of, quote-unquote, closing the school?”

The awkwardness of this was not lost on the parents of School 53. The school had a slightly higher proportion of white families and a lower one of economically disadvantaged students than School 10, and it was expected to draw additional white families once it moved to its new building. “The perception is that you’ve got the kids at this protected, special school—you can see the difference between what they get and what we get,” Robert Rodgers, a parent at School 53, told me. “If I was a parent at School 10, I would be livid.”

After Peluso announced the plan, the district held two public forums, followed by sessions at the targeted schools. The School 10 auditorium was packed for its session, and Kpor lined up at the microphone to speak. She asked Peluso if Thomasena and her classmates would get priority for placement in School 53, so that they could stay in the building. “I do not want her to go to any other school,” she said. “Every time we think we’re doing something right for our kids, someone comes in and dictates to us that our choices are not valid.” Kpor was encouraged to hear Peluso say that School 10 kids would get priority.

Janice Kpor, whose youngest child had just started at School 10 when the city announced its closure.

On October 19th, five weeks after the announcement, the school board met to vote on the closures. During the public-comment period, a teacher from School 2 pleaded with the board to let its students enroll at the school that would be replacing it. A teacher from School 106 asked that the vote be delayed until after board members visited every school, including hers, which was engaged in a yearlong special project geared toward the coming total solar eclipse, so that they could get a more visceral sense of the school’s value. The principal of School 29, Joseph Baldino, asked that the school’s many students with autism-spectrum disorder be kept together, along with their teachers, during the reassignment. “They’re unique, they’re beautiful, and they don’t do real well with change,” he said. Chrissy Miller, a parent at the school, said of her son, “He loves his staff . . . he loves his teachers, and he wants everybody to stay together as one.”

In the end, the closures passed, five to two.

In September, 2020, as many public schools in Democratic-leaning states started the new academic year with remote learning, I asked Randi Weingarten, the president of the American Federation of Teachers, whether she worried about the long-term effects on public education. What if too many families left the system in favor of homeschooling or private schools—many of which had reopened—and didn’t come back? She wasn’t concerned about such hypotheticals. “At the end of the day, kids need to be together in community,” she said.

The news from a growing number of districts suggests that the institution of public schooling has indeed suffered a lasting blow, even in cities that are better funded than Rochester. In Seattle, parents anticipate the closure of twenty elementary schools. The state of Ohio has witnessed a major expansion of private-school vouchers; in Columbus, a task force is recommending the closure of nine schools.

In Rochester, the continuing effects of the pandemic weighed heavily on some. Camille Simmons, who joined the school board in 2021, told me, “A lot of children felt the result of those decisions.” She went on, “There were a lot of entities at play, there were so many conversations going on. I think we should have brought children back much sooner.”

Adam Urbanski, the longtime president of the Rochester teachers’ union, said that the union had believed schools should not reopen until the district could guarantee high air quality, and it had not been able to. “When I reflect back on it, I know that I erred on the side of safety, and I do not regret the position that we took,” he said.

But Rebecca Hetherington, the owner of a small embroidery company and the former head of the Parent Leadership Advisory Council, the group Kpor was part of, feared that the district would soon lack the critical mass to remain viable. “I am concerned there is a tipping point and we’re past it,” she said. Rachel Barnhart, a former TV news reporter who attended city schools and now serves in the county legislature, agreed. “It’s like you’re watching institutions decline in real time,” she told me. “Anchors of the community are disappearing.” School districts have long aspired to imbue their communities with certain shared values and learning standards, but such commonality now seemed inconceivable.

By the spring of 2024, parents at the eleven targeted schools were too busy trying to figure out where their children would be going in the fall to worry about the long term. A mother at School 39, Rachel Dixon, who lived so close to the school that she could carry her kindergartner there, was on the wait list for School 52 but had been assigned to School 50. She wasn’t even sure where that was. Chrissy Miller was upset that School 29’s students with autism were being more broadly dispersed than promised; she worried that her son’s assigned school wasn’t equipped for students with special needs. Many of her fellow School 29 parents were now considering homeschooling or moving, she said, and added, “We don’t have trust in the district at all.” It was easy to envision how the closures could compound the problem, leading to even fewer students and even more closures.

Thomasena had been assigned to School 45, which was close to her family’s home but less convenient for Kpor than School 10, which was closer to her work. Kpor wondered how many other families were in similar situations, with assignments that didn’t take into account the specific context of their lives. “All of this plays into why kids are not going to school,” she said. “You’re placing kids in locations that don’t meet the families’ needs.”

She had taken Peluso’s word that students from School 10 would be given priority at the Montessori school taking its place, and she was disappointed to learn that Thomasena was thirtieth on the wait list there. It was also unclear to her which branch of the central office was handling placement appeals. “It’s all a jumble, and no one really knows how things work,” she said.

On March 26th, as families were dealing with the overhaul, Peluso announced that he was leaving the district to become the superintendent of the Churchville-Chili district, in the suburbs. The district was far smaller than Rochester, with some thirty-eight hundred students, more than seventy per cent of them white, but the job paid nearly as much. “It’s one of the hardest decisions I’ve had,” Peluso said at a news conference. “There’s a lot of commitment I’ve had to this district.” Rodgers, the School 53 parent, told me, “This hurts. It’s another situation where the suburbs are taking something from the city.”

Parents and district staff tried to make sense of Peluso’s departure. Some people speculated that he had grown tired of the treatment he was receiving from certain board members. Other people wondered if he simply wanted a less challenging district. Peluso told me, “It was the best decision for me and my family.”

In Late June, I returned to Rochester for the final days of the school year. I stayed at School 31 Lofts, a hotel in a former schoolhouse that was built in 1919. (The Web site advertises “WhimsyHistorySerenity.”) An empty hallway was still marked with a “Fallout Shelter” sign. I stayed in a room that, judging from its size and location, might have been a faculty lounge.

One afternoon, I met with Demario Strickland, a deputy superintendent who’d been named interim superintendent while the school board searched for a permanent replacement for Peluso. Strickland, a genial thirty-nine-year-old Buffalo native who moved to Rochester last year, was the seventh superintendent of the district since 2016. He told me that he was not surprised the closures had prompted such protests. “School closures are traumatic in itself,” he said.

But he defended the district against several of the criticisms I had heard from parents. School 10 had been improving, he said, but still fell short on some metrics. “Even though they met demonstrable progress, we still had to look at proficiency, and we still had to look at receivership,” he said. And, he added, School 53 had limited slots available, so the district had made no promises to parents of School 10 about having priority.

Still, he said, the district could perhaps have been more empathetic in its approach. “This process has taught me that, in a sense, people don’t care about the money,” he said. “When you make these decisions, you really have to think about the heart. That’s something we could have done a little more. It makes sense—we’re wasting money, throwing money away, we have all these vacancies, that makes sense to us. But our families don’t care about that. Our families want their school to stay open—they don’t want to do away with it.”

At the end of the academic year, Rochester closed eleven of its forty-five schools, including School 39.

I asked him whether he worried that the district’s enrollment decline might continue until the system could no longer sustain itself, as Hetherington and Barnhart feared. “I try not to get scared about the future,” he said.

On the second-to-last day of the school year, I went to School 10 to join Kpor at the end-of-year ceremony for Thomasena’s kindergarten class. She and her fourteen classmates sang songs, demonstrated spelling on the whiteboard, and rose one by one to say what they had liked best about kindergarten. “Education and learning,” Thomasena, a tall girl with her front teeth just coming in, said. “When it’s the weekend,” one boy said, to the laughter of parents.

It was not hard to see why Kpor and other parents were sorry to leave the school, with its gleaming new tile work and hardwood-composite hallway floorboards. A few weeks earlier, the latest assessment results had shown improvement for School 10, putting it close to citywide averages. “All of us are going to be going to different places, but I hope one day that I get to see you again,” the class’s teacher, Karen Lewis, said.

Kpor was still waiting to find out if she had moved up on the list for School 53. I asked if she might have Thomasena apply for Urban-Suburban, like her siblings, and she said she was hoping it would work out in the district. “I still have faith,” she said. Outside, I met a parent who was worried about how her daughter would fare at her new school after having been at School 10 with the same special-needs classmates and teacher for the past three years. “The school has been amazing,” she said.

The Next Day, I attended a school-wide Rites of Achievement ceremony in the gym. Parents cheered as students received awards for Dr. Walter Cooper Character Traits—Responsibility, Integrity, Compassion, Leadership, Perseverance, and Courage. (Thomasena won for Courage.) Thomas, the principal, called up the school’s entire staff, name by name. The shrieks from the assembled children for their favorite teachers and aides indicated the hold that even a school officially deemed subpar can have on its students and families: this had been their home, a hundred and eighty days a year, for as long as seven years.

Walter Cooper himself was there, watching from a thronelike chair with gilt edges. Eventually, he addressed the children for the last time, recounting his upbringing with a father who had received no formal schooling, a mother who preached the value of education, and six siblings, all but one of whom had gone to college. “The rule was we had to have a library card at seven. We didn’t have a lot in this community, but we had books,” he said. “There are always things in the street for you, but there is much more in books. . . . The guiding thesis is: books will set you free.”

The children sang a final song: “I am a Cooper kid, a Dr. Walter Cooper kid, I am, I am / I stand up for what’s right, even when the world is wrong.” Sylvia Cooksey, a retired administrator who is also a pastor, gave the final speech. “No matter where you go, where you end up, you are taking part of this school with you,” she said. “You are taking Dr. Walter Cooper with you. We’re going to hear all over Rochester, ‘That child is from School 10.’ ”

After the assembly, I asked Cooper what he made of the closure. “It’s tragic,” he said. “It points to the fundamental instability in the future of the schools. Children need stability, and they aren’t getting it in terms of the educational process.”

Wanda Zawadzki, a physical-education teacher who had worked at the school for eight years and received some of the loudest shrieks from the kids, stood looking forlorn. She recalled the time a class had persuaded the city to tear down an abandoned house across the street, and the time a boy had brought her smartphone to her after she dropped it outside. “My other school, that phone would have been gone,” she said. “It’s the integrity here.” Like many teachers at the targeted schools, she was still waiting for her transfer assignment. “This was supposed to be my last home,” she said.

And then it was dismissal time. It was school tradition to have the staff come out at the end of every school year and wave at the departing buses as they did two ceremonial loops around the block. Speakers blared music from the back of a pickup, and the teachers danced and waved. “We love you,” Principal Thomas called out.

It was quieter over at School 29, the school with many special-needs kids. The children were gone, and one teacher, Latoya Crockton-Brown, walked alone to her car. She had spent nineteen years at the school, which will be closing completely. “We’re not doing well at all,” she said, of herself and her colleagues. “This was a family school. It’s very disheartening. Even the children cried today.”

She was wearing a T-shirt that read “Forever School 29 / 1965 to Now.” The school had done a lot in recent days to aid the transition—bringing in a snow-cone truck and a cotton-candy machine, hosting a school dance. “One girl said she feels like she’s never going to make friends like she had here,” Crockton-Brown said. “But we have to move on. We have no other choice.” ♦

— This Article is a Collaboration Between The New Yorker and ProPublica. ProPublica is a Nonprofit Newsroom that Investigates Abuses of Power. Published in the Print Edition of the September 2, 2024, Issue, with the Headline “The Last Day.”

[stevenyohay]

Steven Yohay - A Executive Director

Steven Yohay—known as Steven Yohay—is a philanthropist. He supports AIPAC and B’nai Zion. In 2002, he founded Nine Eleven Case Management. His experience as a recovering heroin addict led to treatment and eventual employment with ACI Healthcare Group. He enjoys musical theater and has invested in shows like Sweeney Todd and Little Shop of Horrors. Mr. Yohay is counselor emeritus with Addiction Counseling Associates of New York, a private and self-pay counseling center.

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home For Traumatized Kids - Chapter Five

Bad Memories Don’t Erase

Chapter Summary: Roman tags along with Logan and Virgil to hang out at their friend’s house.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, stealing, and one inappropriate joke

Word Count: 4,008

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258, @eternalmoonlight19, @remy-the-lemon-berry, @look-ma-im-on-tv, @mariniacipher, @bigwendymonster, @nonbinary-octopus

Notes: This chapter’s a little short, but the next one is gonna be really long, so hopefully that makes up for it

On Sunday the next day, Patton finally took Roman to buy his gym clothes. Roman was trying to hide a goofy smile while sitting in the back seat, desperate to not get his hopes up while also ecstatic his plan was working so far. He was going to have Patton stay in the car while Roman shopped for clothes! This had never worked on his dad before!

By the time Patton finally parked the car in the parking lot of the store, Roman’s chest felt weighted from his anxiety, waiting to see Patton’s final verdict. So long as he didn’t change his mind now, then Roman was in the clear. He hoped to be in the clear.

“Alright, kiddo,” Roman’s heart stopped as Patton pulled out his wallet and gave him some money. “Forty dollars should be more than enough for some pairs of gym pants and shirts. Give me back all the change when you come back, okay?”

“I will! Promise!” Roman wanted to jump for joy. It was working!

“Text me when you’re checking out so you don’t surprise me, and if you see something else you might want, just text me before you buy it so I know. Tell me if you have any issues, okay?”

“Okay!”

Patton smiled. “Go on then, kiddo.”

Roman practically leaped out the door to skip his way to the front entrance of the clothing store, two twenty dollar bills crumbled in his pocket. He got away with it! No parents staring him down while he changed outfits!

Roman walked into the store and tried to hide the skip in his step. With no parents to watch him, he could buy what he actually wanted to wear, no tight pants and scoop neck shirts. No, Roman wanted to look like his real goal. His goal of being a blob of cloth that vaguely resembled a human.

Granted, he’d mostly gotten there. His aunt replaced all of his wardrobe, so his current clothes were a lot more comfortable to wear even if they weren’t very fashionable. Mostly bright colored t-shirts and pants, maybe some shorts if they were able to reach down far enough. Maybe once he was more comfortable with himself he could actually test out more styles, but for now, oversized clothes were all he could handle.

Roman’s walk sped up slightly when his eyes landed on the men’s athletic section. He had to be quick with this, he didn’t want Patton getting impatient and coming in to check on him. Roman looked through the shorts and shirt sizes, easily finding a size up for a couple shirts while heavily struggling on the shorts. Roman groaned. It was always the shorts that caused the issue, they were always too high up. What if he was sitting down and the pant leg rode up too far? No, Roman refused to get something like that willingly.

Roman took all the athletic shorts that could fit him and held them up in front of his legs. Most of them only made it to his lower thigh, but he managed to find two shorts that made it to right below his knee. Roman smiled and bounced on his toes, grabbed his items and rushed to find a dressing room. Once he did, he rushed into the first empty area he saw and locked the door. The mirrors on the walls and gaps in the door made it hard for him to change comfortably, so instead Roman tried to press himself against the very corner of the room when he was changing.

Between the six shirts and two pants Roman found, he was pretty happy with most of his choices. Thankfully, the long shorts looked fine, so Roman hung them up on a hook with a sign over it saying I’m buying this! and considered it a success. However, when it got time to look at the shirts, only three of them were good enough for purchase. The white one he grabbed was practically see-through, and the other two had a scratchy inside material that Roman couldn’t stand, so they got put on the reject hook while the other three passed the test. 

For a rushed shopping visit, Roman was pretty pleased with his choices. Two shorts might not be enough for five days worth of classes, but maybe Roman could keep one pair in his locker until it started to stink. Which might be a little gross, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Roman exited the dressing room and put his rejected shirts on a rack outside, carrying his other items to the checkout area. Before he got in line, he looked at all the price tags and added them up in his head best he could. The shirts were about six dollars each, and the shorts were a little over five after tax. Which means, adding up the extra cents, he’d have to pay twenty nine dollars for the clothes in total. Considering Patton gave him forty dollars, this was plenty.

Roman hesitated for a second. He stuffed his hand into his pocket to feel the money in the palm of his hand while he thought about his options. If he told Patton the truth, Roman would give him eleven dollars and there would be no issues. Patton might let him do this again next time they go shopping, too. But also…Roman had no backup plan. He was stuck with Patton with nowhere to go if things went wrong.

His aunt told him that Roman could always go back to her house if a guardian was abusing him, and he had every intention to take her up on that offer the second the opportunity arose. But even if Roman walked to her house on foot, he had no money for food during that trip. She lived so far away from him now, there was no way to get to safety without a dollar to his name. But if he stole some from Patton, then Roman could have a serious issue on his hands.

Roman slowly walked up to the check out area and handed the teenage worker the clothes. As she scanned all the items with a satisfying beep, Roman felt himself getting antsy. There’s no guarantee Patton will let me do this again. I’ve already gotten away with so much, and the more time I spend around him, the more danger I’m in. But if Patton notices I stole from him, he could be furious. Is there even a right answer here?

“Twenty nine dollars and thirty two cents.” The cashier said cheerfully. Roman handed her the money and she put it in the register, then handed Roman a bunch of coins, two five dollar bills, and a one dollar. She smiled. “Would you like a receipt?”

“Uh, no thank you.”

When the receipt printed, the cashier tore it out and threw it in the trash behind her. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Roman squeaked, rushing away from the register to stare at the money. Apparently they ran out of ten dollar bills, because the money was split perfectly for taking without it being obvious. Roman considered this a sign to take his chance. He put a five dollar bill and a quarter in his left pocket and shoved the rest in his right. It wasn’t much, but he could build it up. This was only the beginning.

Roman walked out of the store and tried to act normal instead of anxious. Worst case scenario, he’d say he forgot to bring out the rest and give Patton the other bills. Giving away the quarter also would be too obvious, but he could get away with stealing that at least. When he made it to Patton's car, Roman opened the back seat and tossed his clothes next to him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, “Got any extra cash to give me?”

“Uh, yeah, here.” Roman dug into his right pocket to grab half the money and handed it to him. Patton put the coins in his pocket and put the two bills in his wallet. He didn’t seem to consider how much Roman gave him, instead he started backing out of the driveway and got distracted while reversing. Roman let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He felt the five dollars still stored in his pocket. He got away with it. For now.

***

“We’re home!” Patton announced as he and Roman stepped inside. Logan and Virgil were both lying on the couch, and Logan perked up from his spot.

“Wonderful. We wanted to ask both of you a question.” Logan said.

Patton seemed intrigued. “What question?”

“Can we go to Janus’ house, Pat?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, of course, kiddos! Do you know when you might be back?”

Virgil thought about it. “Probably at six before dinner.”

“Perfect! Just text me if that changes so I don’t worry, okay?”

“We will.” Logan reassured, “And Roman, would you like to come with us?”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Me? I don’t even know who Janice is.”

Virgil sunk into the couch more. “Friend of ours. Has a snake, talks a lot about philosophy and books. Acts like a tired underaged wine aunt.”

“Right, well, still. Isn’t it a little strange for me to tag along to a stranger's house?” Roman pointed out.

“Janus wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.” Logan said. “Of course, you don’t have to, we simply figured you would like the invitation so you’re not the only one left out.”

Roman’s eyes widened when Logan said that. Wait, shit, if Logan and Virgil are going to this girl’s house, then Roman will be here. Alone. With Patton. Until six in the afternoon.

Roman’s mood change was almost instant. “Well then, perhaps I should go! Make new friends and establish bonds, or whatever!”

Virgil smirked. “Sweet. It’s a short walk, just a block away. Just let us grab our shoes and we can head out.”

“I’ll tell Janus we’ll be bringing a third party.”

Roman let out a breath of relief. As Virgil and Logan grabbed whatever they needed, Roman set his new bag of clothes in his room next to his backpack. He’d have to remember to put some boxers in there before tomorrow morning, too.

Roman felt the five dollars in his pocket again. He took the money and hid it deep in his backpack in a hidden pocket he hoped wasn’t too easy to find. Satisfied with that for now, Roman stepped back outside of his room and waited for the others.

Once everyone was situated, Virgil called out to let Patton know they were leaving the house and then closed the door. Logan and Virgil did most of the talking as they walked while Roman just listened, following behind them and letting the two lead the way.

“Oh, and Roman,” Logan suddenly said during a point of silence, “Another one of our friends may also show up later at Janus’ house. He said he might be coming, so we’ll see.”

Roman shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Alright.”

No one said anything else after that on the walk. After a while, Virgil and Logan stopped in front of a house and started walking up the driveway to the front door. As Virgil knocked on the door, Roman stood awkwardly off to the side until someone answered.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open, showing a teenage kid with a large birthmark under his left eye. He rested his elbow on the top of the black and yellow cane next to him and smirked. Was he the brother, perhaps?

“I’ve been expecting you.” He said menacingly.

“‘Sup, fucker.” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, Janus.”

Wait, what? Against his better judgment, Roman forced himself to stand in front of Logan to face Janus. “Wait, your name is Janice?” He asked.

Janus put his hand on his face. “Janus. It’s Janus. J-a-n-u-s, not the old lady name Janice.”

Roman felt his face grow hot. “…Oh. Well, uh…”

Janus rolled his eyes and held the door open wider. “Just come inside.”

Virgil was the first to step in, with Logan following after while Roman hesitated. He made an awful first impression, maybe he should just walk around the block for a while instead-

“Come on, my arm is tired.” Janus coaxed. Roman felt too awkward to walk away, so he instead sucked it up and stepped inside the house with everyone else.

The house was quite nice. The walls were painted dark and the carpet was red, but it looked nice in a Victorian era kind of way. On the living room coffee table were piles of fabric and a sewing machine, seemingly making something that looked like a suit. Janus took the cane he was holding and threw it onto the couch. Well, apparently it was just a part of the outfit.

Virgil motioned to all the fabric on the table. “Fuck are you making now, dude?”

“I’m making the refined villain look of my dreams.”

“Nice. When do you think you’ll finish it?”

“Possibly tomorrow. I’ll start on it again after school.”

“Do you make your own clothes?” Roman asked, hoping to distract himself from his previous embarrassment.

Janus smiled slightly. “Less clothes, more costumes. Mostly for myself, but sometimes I make them for the high school’s theater when I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“Wanna see Janus’ costume closet?” Virgil asked.

Roman shrugged. “If he wants me to.”

“Oh yeah, just talk about me like I’m not here.” Janus rolled his eyes and motioned for everyone to follow him. He had a downstairs family room with a closet off to the side. Once everyone was downstairs, Janus opened it and let Roman look inside.

“…Woah.” Roman looked at all the costumes, astonished and full of wonder. A lot of them were very extravagant, like they were specifically designed for a dramatic person, so Roman felt a calling toward them. He took a few of them off their hangers to look at; roaring twenties inspired suits and a black dresses with fancy gold finishes. Roman ran his hand on the fabric like they were fancy relics.

“They are quite high-quality.” Logan said, “Costume design is certainly one of Janus’ greatest skills.”

“I can see that.” Roman whispered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t make his ego bigger than it already is.”

“Oh no, please do continue, I’m designed to be the center of attention.” Janus smirked.

Roman laughed and put the costumes back on the rack. It seemed like him and Janus were pretty similar in personality, just on opposite ends of the spectrum. Both dramatic artists, except one likes to add that with tons of sarcasm. He could see them getting along quite easily.

“Also, Janus,” Virgil said while looking at his phone, “Rat bastard says he’s coming over. He’ll be here in ten.”

“Ugh, fine. I was getting used to the silence.” Janus sighed.

“…Who’s rat bastard?” Roman asked.

“Friend of ours.” Virgil replied, “You’ll meet him in a bit. He’s a rat bastard. Smells vaguely of cheese.”

“…Attractive.”

“You get used to it.” Janus shrugged. He then smirked at Roman like he got an idea. “Would you like to see my snake?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Janus led them all upstairs to his bedroom, Roman following last in the line so he could keep Janus’ door cracked open. As he stepped inside, he noticed a very large cage on the wall to his right. It was very long with lots of wood decorations spread across the container, with a fluorescent lightbulb above it. Roman looked around in the enclosure to try and spot the snake.

Before he could find it, Janus opened the top and stuck his hand in the cage. The snake climbed up his hand onto his arm, and as Janus stuck him out for Roman to see, Roman jumped back.

Janus rolled his eyes. “He’s a corn snake, he’s not known for hurting people.”

Roman still looked at it from a distance. The snake was large enough that Janus had to hold him with both hands, as well as being a mesmerizing yellow color. Roman never had a friend with a pet snake before. “…What’s his name?”

“Lawrence.”

“Nerd.” Virgil called out.

Logan smiled. “I think it is a wonderful name. Lawrence Kohlberg developed the theory on moral development, the very basis for ethical behavior.”

“Nerds.”

“You’re very mature, Virgil.”

Roman ignored them. “I think he’s cool. How old is he?”

“About five. I’ve had him for a while now.”

A buzz came from Virgil’s phone, making him check it and read the message. “Rat bastard says he’s outside your door.” He announced.

Janus didn’t seem rushed. “He can get in on his own.”

Roman laughed, and Janus set Lawrence back in his enclosure so he could bask underneath the heat lamp. Roman still watched his movements from inside the cage. “I wish I had a pet.”

“Patton would get you a dog in seconds if you asked.” Logan suggested.

Roman shook his head. “It’s fine, I won’t ask.” He didn’t really know what kind of pet he even wanted, and besides, it’s not like he’d be able to keep it once he leaves Patton’s house. There was no point.

Suddenly, a loud stomping came from the stairs outside Janus’ bedroom. Roman yelped and ran to hide behind Janus in the corner of the room, but the others didn’t react. 

Roman sputtered. “What the-”

Before Roman could finish, a large bang came as someone kicked open the door and let it smack into the wall.

“I’m back by unpopular demand!”

“Hello, Remus.”

Roman completely froze up at the sound of that name. He turned around to look at the person that just busted down Janus’ bedroom door, a kid with messy hair and peach fuzz for a mustache, ripped jeans in the summer with a cast boot on his right foot.

Roman felt himself choke on air as he processed what was in front of him.

“Slugs are goopy like jello! So jello is made of slugs, duh!”

“Remus, that’s gross! No one would make food out of slugs!”

“What’s up, fuckers!” Remus announced. “I’m back from the pits of hell! Also known as the emergency room.”

Roman didn’t say anything, only stared at him in disbelief. Remus’ voice was a lot different now. He’d hit puberty, so the pitch had dropped a lot from what Roman was used to. A tuft of his hair was white, also. Roman couldn’t tell if it was dye or a condition.

That piece of hair and Remus’ mustache were the only things that made them both look apart now.

“What actually happened?” Logan asked. “You never told us specifics.”

“I broke my foot sucking too much-”

“Remus.” Janus warned.

“Fine, fine. I tripped trying to run up some steps and my fall didn’t look badass at all. Don’t tell people that though. If anyone asks, I broke it running from the cops.”

Janus nodded and smirked. “Noted.”

“We brought a third foster brother, also.” Virgil noted. Roman stopped breathing.

“Oh, really? Shit, I fuckin missed everything!” Roman looked in the corner trying to avoid Remus noticing him, but it was never that easy. “Why hello, welcome to our humble- …Oh, fuck.”

Remus tilted his head to make eye contact with Roman, and the surprise on Remus’ face was something Roman would never forget. He seemed genuinely baffled, like nothing in the world would have prepared him for what he saw. Roman wanted to cry.

I wanted to leave behind these people.

“…Roman?” Remus finally said, “Dude, holy fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Wait,” Virgil staggered, “You know each other already?”

“He’s my fucking cousin!” Remus exclaimed. “Come on, look at us, we’re only a little related but we look like twins!”

Logan turned to Roman. “Is this true?”

Roman could feel the tears ready to burst. His throat was scratchy, but he tried to talk anyway. “…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Princey, don’t be shy!” Remus teased. “We used to be best friends, let everyone believe we were twins until our moms called our shit out. Absolute bastard children- …wait. Wait a fucking second.”

“What is it?” Janus asked.

Remus turned to Virgil and Logan with a shocked and confused face. “…You said he’s your foster brother?”

Logan nodded. “That is correct.”

Remus turned to Roman, seemingly at a loss for words. “…Dude, the fuck? What happened?”

Roman looked at the floor, gripping onto his arm so hard it’d be a miracle if there weren’t marks later. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean, I know I haven’t seen you since your mom fucked off to Neverland, but what happened to your dad? He’s still alive and shit isn’t he? The hell happened?”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” Roman seethed, grinding his teeth together as he practically growled out that sentence.

Virgil flinched violently. “Roman-”

“Whatever!” Roman pushed Remus off to the side and kicked the door fully open, storming his way down the stairs despite the sounds of people yelling for him to come back. Roman stomped out the front door and took a sprint for it down the block, not caring if he had to be alone with Patton, so long as he wasn’t here.

“I bet you would eat a slug!”

“No I wouldn’t! Liar!”

“Boys, boys!” Roman’s mother laughed, crouching down to meet their eye level from their place sitting in the grass. “No eating slugs. Be nice to the bugs or we’ll go back inside.”

“Yeah, Remus!”

Remus huffed. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Not yet!”

Roman’s mother laughed again. “I’m going to help Uncle André with dinner. But I better not hear a fight, okay?”

“Okay!” Roman promised, watching as his mom went back inside his uncle’s house into the kitchen. Roman and Remus continued to play in the grass by looking at bugs and telling stories to each other, making Roman smile more than he has in a long time. He always loved going to Remus’ house. His dad never came with them, so he and his mom were always happier.

“How come we never go to your house?” Remus eventually asked after a few minutes of playing. Roman stuck his tongue out.

“‘Cause our house is tiny and the backyard isn’t as cool.”

“Still! When you come over, you never bring Uncle Theo!”

“Good!” Roman defended, “Dad’s boring so he doesn't getta come!”

“I like him! He’s fun and nice and always brings chocolate!”

“He’s awful!” Roman covered his mouth after he blurted that out. Remus gave him a look.

“He’s not awful!”

Roman looked over to the glass sliding door. His mom was in there, he could see her, but she couldn’t hear him. Maybe he could get away with it. He could tell Remus a secret and his mom would never find out.

Roman hesitantly took his hands away from his mouth. His tone grew to be a lot softer. “…He is, though.”

Remus tilted his head to the side like a dog. “What makes him awful?”

“…Promise not to tell anyone?”

Remus leaned in closer. “Uh huh!”

“No one at all, ever?”

“Triple quadruple promise!”

Roman looked back at his mom. She wasn’t paying attention to him, seemingly talking to his uncle and pouring juice into cups. Roman hesitated for a moment. “…My dad-”

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Roman’s mom called out, making Roman jump almost a foot in the air. Both of them got off of the grass to walk inside, but before they did, Remus turned to Roman again.

“Your dad what?”

“…Nevermind.” He missed his chance. Remus would never find out, and Roman never told anyone for another five years.

Roman ran faster down the street at the memory, fighting back the tears in his eyes. It was fine. Roman was fine.

He never wanted to talk to Remus again.

[isthisthingeven0n]

number eleven : s.r

a serial killer is at large in atlana, carving numbers into his victims and throwing their bodies from rooftops. yet, things seem to hit a little too close to home for your liking, and sadly you get caught up in it all (4.2k)

( this is an original idea of mine, I’ve gone based off what I know in the show but the killer is made up! pls do not steal my concept without at least asking, and i hope you enjoy :) )

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

“Please, let her go!” You can hear the crack in his voice as his gun shakes in his grip, his eyes not leaving yours as tears pool. “You don’t have to do this, there’s another choice for you.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

*

Two Days Earlier

“Hey, Spencer,” You smile as you walk through the doors to the bullpen, two cups of coffee in hand as you place onto his desk. “how was the Doctor Who convention?”

Out of everyone in the team, you were the only one to pay attention to the small details Spencer shares. You always have done, ever since you first joined the BAU, you noticed the subtle eye rolls as he rambled on with facts and statistics so you made sure to always pay attention.

Lifting his head up, Spencer can feel a smile tugging his lips as you take a seat at your desk adjacent to his. “You would’ve loved it. They had the original designs from the Cybermen’s first appearance in 1966, ‘The Tenth Planet’ and for the time, it was high tech stuff.” He explains whilst you listen contently, oblivious to the others watching you both.

“God, they’re so into each other it hurts.” Emily sighs as Penelope nods along.

JJ walks over to the girls, catching sight of what they’re fixated on. “Why can’t they just say something? I mean, it’s been three years.” Penelope questions, but JJ simply chuckles.

“This is Spencer and Y/n we’re talking about.” JJ comments. “For one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Spencer can be stupid sometimes.” She states, returning her focus to how you look at Spencer as he talks, but also how willing Spencer is to be close to you and laughs at your input in between his rambles.

“I bet twenty dollars he’ll say something by the end of the year.” Rossi chimes in, but Emily scoffs. 

“Dream on, Rossi.” She comments, but Rossi shrugs his shoulders. 

Hotch exits his office, catching a glance from the girls who quickly stand up straight. “We’ve got a new case,” He announces, passing between you and Spencer on the way.

As you all enter the board room, you sit beside Spencer as you look at the tablet in front of you whilst he sticks to the original file.

“Within the past few months in Atlanta, Georgia, at least nine women have been found dead having fallen from rooftops, all in their twenties, latest victim was Caroline Kutes, twenty-three. Last seen having gone for a run after her shift at a local diner.” Penelope explains as you scroll through the images, seeing what was left of them from the crime scene.

“It’s not some suicide pack, is it?” Morgan speaks up, but Penelope shakes her head.

“I’m glad you asked, sugar.” She turns her back as she pulls up more images, displaying the victims left forearms. 

“Numbers?” You question, zooming in onto the number three having been carved into the victim's flesh. “Someone’s keeping track.”

“So we know there are nine confirmed victims of this unsub then, it’s not a suicide pack.” Hotch states. “The police have requested our insight on the case, wheels up in thirty.”

Closing the tablet you push your chair back. “You alright?” Spencer asks you as everyone begins to file out.

You force a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, just some cases are never easy.” You mutter before heading out and grabbing your things.

*

Arriving straight to the latest crime scene, Hotch splits the team up. “Prentiss, I want you and Morgan to go to the rooftop, see if there’s anything left by the unsub or Caroline Kutes. Reid, Y/L/N, go to the morgue to take a look at the carvings and if there’s any other sign of torture.”

With that, you climb into a car with Spencer, looking at the drop from the building to where Hotch stands. “One hell of a fall.” You whistle as the driver pulls away, Spencer not missing your comment or how you’ve been wiping your hands over your pants since you arrived.

Standing in the morgue, Spencer took the lead as you stood back whilst bodies were examined. “There isn’t any sign of sexual assault on any of the women, but there are bruises across the neck and the carvings on the arm.” The diener explains. “From the fall she suffered several broken bones, a collapsed lung and a crack to her skull along with internal bleeding.”

“Are you saying she was alive when she hit the ground?” You speak up, stepping closer to see how they’ve managed to clean up the victims face, what remains from the large gash in her head.

“Yes, but only for a minute. She chocked to death on her own blood.” The diener states and you can’t help but feel a shiver through your spine.

“It’s most likely the unsub approached these women, if Caroline was out for a run, he might’ve asked her for directions or grabbed her. If she was grabbed, it would explain the bruising on the neck in an attempt to cut the circulation off to the brain, rendering her unconscious.” Spencer suggests, looking over to you as you remain too quiet for his liking. “You in there?”

Snapping out from your thoughts, you nod. “So the unsub approaches these women, tries to strangle them and then takes them to a rooftop. He isn’t sexually assaulting these women, but why throw them off a roof?”

“If he’s trying to pose it as suicide, it’s unusual for women to throw herself off a roof, it’s too dramatic. If a woman were to commit suicide, she’d overdose or drown herself. A subtle way to go.” Spencer explains as you nod along. “It’s almost as if he’s apologetic. He wants them to suffer, but can’t inflict the pain besides carving a number into their forearm.” Spencer looks over the number on Caroline’s arm. “You can see in some area’s he didn’t go deep enough with the knife, he’s dug in multiple times to carve out enough skin to make it bleed.”

“Maybe he’s a narcissist? Keeping track of his victims, making sure no one else can take the limelight for these girls.” You state. “I mean, he knows he isn’t going to get caught by the girls. Based on Caroline, she could barely move let alone tell anyone who did this.”

“I’ve seen countless bodies from suicide by jumping from buildings. It’s a rarity if you survived such a fall like this.” The diener tells you. “Clearly they knew what they were doing.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, when the body falls from a height their head does not splatter onto the ground. Their bones will break and splay out, but if you were to fall from say a 48 feet building you’re most likely to live with a 50% chance of surviving.” Spencer explains, and you nod along. 

“But our unsub picks tall buildings. Office blocks, malls, parking lots.” You tell Spencer who hums. “He knows they’re not going to survive the fall.” 

“Yes, but statistically,” Spencer begins, but your phone begins to ring cutting him off. 

“Sorry, Spence.” You tell him with an apologetic smile before moving out from the morgue, taking the phone call. “Yeah?” 

“Ah, my sweet angel. Have you found Cupid’s arrow yet?” Penelope chuckles, causing you to roll your eyes. “How’s the case going? No one’s called to update me on the gruesome details.” 

You sigh quietly. “Honestly, Pen, you’re lucky.” You tell her. “And what’d you mean by Cupid’s arrow?” 

Penelope groans loudly through the phone, and you can hear her head hitting the keyboard before she apologises to it. “Y/n, how are you so pretty yet oblivious to the attraction of one Spencer Reid?” 

“I, what?” You stumble over your words as you look over your shoulder to see Spencer staring back at you with a small smile on his lips as he waves to you. “I, he, Spencer? No,” You scoff, trying to think about anything else to reduce the spike in your heart rate. 

“I’m no profiler, but I know things,” Penelope states. 

“You’ve got it all wrong, Pen. Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no way he could ever like-” 

“Y/n?” Spencer calls out, now standing in the doorway in front of you. “Hotch wants us to meet him, has a potential lead.” 

“Sorry P, I gotta go.” You tell Penelope before she has the chance to say anything else and hang up the phone. 

Walking alongside Spencer, you can’t help but notice how close he is to you. For someone who is a bit of a germaphobe, he’ll always sit with you before anyone else. During a flight last month with bad turbulence, he held your hand in his as you began to fall asleep, resting your head on his shoulder. You woke up concerned he’d mind, but Spencer just smiled and offered his shoulder any time. 

“So, what’s the lead?” You ask as you walk into the police precinct, finding the rest of your team in a small room as boards with pictures have already been set up. 

“I’ve checked with Garcia about the possibility that whoever is doing this must have some form of access to each of these buildings. There has to be something tying them together,” Prentiss begins. 

“Like a cleaning company, or security?” JJ suggests. 

Emily nods before grabbing a file and reading directly from it. “SecureO is a security company based all over Atlanta. They have hundreds of security guards working at various office blocks, department stores, parking lots. You name it, they’ve got people there.” 

“And our unsub works for them?” You question, looking at the file to see the hundreds of names. “How are we supposed to find him?” 

Hotch reaches out to call Garcia. “And here I thought you forgot about me.” Penelope states through the line, and Morgan smiles to himself. 

“Garcia, can you take a look at the employee records for SecureO and crosscheck to see if any of them have criminal records.” Hotch asks as you listen intently to Penelope typing away. 

“Okay, fifty-seven members of staff have criminal records.” Penelope states.

“How about any with troubled pasts? Maybe this guy is using these women as a form of release. He’s not sexually assaulting them, so it’s less likely to be about an ex, maybe it’s more personal.” You suggest, and Spencer scans through the file once again before looking back at the victims on the board.

“You, my pretty might be onto something,” Garcia chirps. “right, there are twelve members of staff who grew up in the foster system. I’m sending their details over to you right as we speak.”

“Wait, Penelope,” Spencer calls out and Hotch raises his head. “how many of those twelve lost family? Basing on their age and strength, he must be at least in his late twenties or early thirties. Try looking up any accidents in the state in the late eighties to early nineties.”

“Thinking he might have never left the state?” Morgan questions, his arms crossed over his chest.

Clearing his throat, Spencer stands taller beside you as you glance up at him with a reassuring smile. “Looking at all these women, they’re all young and pretty. Anyone who grew up in the system is less likely to leave the place they’re comfortable in. If our unsub grew up in Georgia, he would’ve stayed here and have gotten a job at eighteen. SecureO has been around for twelve years, and five of these employees have been around since it began.”

“Okay, I’ll send across anything once I’ve found it.” Penelope speaks up and hangs up the phone.

“Good work, Reid. Let’s go deliver the profile.” Hotch nods as he leads the way out of the room, Rossi patting Spencer’s shoulder as he departs.

“Not too shabby, Doctor.” You nudge Spencer playfully and he softly chuckles as you walk out.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Y/n.” He mutters under his breath as you walk out of earshot.

*

Entering the station the next morning, you looked around as solemn expressions greeted you.

“What’s happened?” You ask, taking a seat beside Spencer who notions to JJ.

“Another victim was found in the early hours of this morning. Amelie Hartnell, twenty, was discovered on top of a dumpster in a back alley below a seven-story abandoned office building.” JJ passes over the file to you as you flick through the images whilst you hold your breath.

“She was only twenty,” You mutter to yourself, unaware of Spencer eyeing you carefully. “there’s something about the carving on her, it isn’t as deep. You can see it’s a lot shallower than the others.” You explain.

“He was in a rush this time.” Morgan states. “But if it was an abandoned building, who was going to see him?”

“I’m not sure,” Hotch mutters. “call Garcia, see if she’s found anything yet about those five employees.” 

“On it. Baby girl,” Morgan comments before exiting the room. 

“You seem tired, Y/n.” Rossi speaks up, and you lift your head up to see the concern in his eyes. “Is something bothering you?” 

Shaking your head, you dismiss the matter as the team look over at you. “I’m fine, just thinking about a few things. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You tell him, but Spencer can tell there’s something else underlying you’re not saying. “Excuse me, I just need some air.” You mutter before exiting the precinct. 

Watching you walk away, Spencer sighs. “Well, go follow her,” Rossi motions to Spencer who quickly gets up and exits the room. “these kids, I swear.” He mutters to himself once Spencer is out of sight.

As you walk out, you take a deep breath, clearing your thoughts. “Y/n,” Spencer calls out and you turn around, forcing a smile. “something’s clearly bothering you.” He states as you move away to sit on a bench whilst Spencer hovers beside you. 

“When I was growing up, I had a friend, Sylvia,” You start, and Spencer watches as you brush your hands over your pants once more. “she moved to Savannah and we just grew apart, but I’ll never forget her brother, Killian.” 

Spencer sits down beside you, your leg touching his as he reaches out and takes your hand. “Y/n, what was it about Killian?” He questions quietly. 

“He was always there, just watching us.” You mumble, remembering those bright blue eyes always in the background, never leaving you or Sylvia. “But, their parents, they died in a car crash when Sylvia was thirteen, Killian was fourteen.” You begin to explain as you exhale a shaky breath. 

Squeezing Spencer’s hand, he shushes you. “It’s okay, just, take it one memory at a time.” He reassures you as your eyes remain tightly shut. 

“From what I know, Sylvia couldn’t take it, losing her parents,” You swallow the lump in your throat as you open your eyes, focusing on Spencer’s. “she killed herself, by jumping off of the roof of a mall.” 

“Just like the first victim.” Spencer mutters as he quickly stands up. “We gotta tell Hotch.” 

*

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner, Y/n?” Hotch stressed as he frowns at you, but Spencer remains by your side as you keep your focus on the team, eyeing the photos behind Emily. 

“I suppressed a lot of memories from when I was growing up, I forgot all about Killian and Sylvia, but seeing these photos it just made me think back to it all.” You explain, looking around at all of your team. “I’m sorry for holding back.” You apologise, and JJ smiles as she walks over, hugging you lightly. 

“Garcia, can you look up Killian and Sylvia Atwork?” You speak up into the phone and Penelope begins to type rapidly before pausing.

“Oh my god,” She mutters. “Killian has been working at SecureO for ten years. He was employed when he turned eighteen and is in charge of the security footage for various locations.” 

Hotch rises to his feet. “We have to inform the police department and the news outlets, JJ, can you sort a press conference?”

“I’m on it.” JJ states as she begins to call her contacts, taking the call in another room.

“Y/n, we might’ve just had a break in the case because of you, thank you.” Hotch comments and Rossi gives you a subtle thumbs up. “Garcia, I need you to look at any other buildings that SecureO are in charge of the security systems, see if our unsub is heading to any of these next. If we’re lucky, we’ve got enough time to stop him killing again.”

“Will do, Sir.” Penelope calls out from the phone.

“You think we’ll get him in time?” You speak up, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

“Hopefully.” Hotch sighs and JJ walks back in.

“Ready when you are, Hotch.”

* The plan was simple, and it should’ve been effective. All of you were teamed off into pairs. Prentiss and Morgan, JJ and Rossi, Hotch and the chief of police whilst you went with Reid.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n.” Spencer mutters as you sit beside him in the car on route to the office block about ten minutes west of the station. “Without you, we might not have gotten to this point.”

Spencer can’t help but feel warm inside as you smile up at him. “You think so?”

“I know for a fact.” He states as his hand reaches out to yours as he pulls up to the building. “Just keep an eye out, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Again.” You add as you close the car door, securing your vest on as the pair of you begin to head up to the roof of the building, you leading the way.

“Any sign, Y//L/N?” Hotch asks through your earpiece.

Looking around, you keep your gun extended in front of you as you quietly open the door to the roof. “Negative.” You state, turning the corner as you continue to search the place whilst Spencer is still coming up the stairs.

“Reid, my dead grandmother could’ve gotten up those stairs faster than you.” You joke playfully as he comes into sight, the sun beginning to set behind you illuminating his hazel eyes as they widen.

“Y/n!” Spencer yells, but you’re too slow to react as an arm is tightly holding your neck whilst a knife is being pressed against your back beneath the vest.

“Long time no see, huh, Y/n?” Killian mutters into your ear as he begins to drag you back as you sight against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, this can end one of two ways, I prefer to keep this clean.”

“We need back up and medics at 1238 Meadow Lane, I repeat, we need backup. Killian is here, he, he has Y/n.” Saying that through the comms immediately causes his heart to sink as tears fill your eyes.

“We’re coming now,” Hotch announces, and you can hear the sound of sirens across the city as Killian drags you toward the edge of the roof with you in front of him.

“Spence,” You focus on Spencer’s face as his gun remains out, directed at Killian’s head. “what are the statistics of surviving this?” You ask him as a tear falls down your cheek.

“Y/n,” Spencer starts, but you shake your head as you fight against Killian, taking shallow breaths as he continues to apply pressure to your windpipe.

“Please,” You breathe out as Killian chuckles against you. “I need to know.”

The truth of the matter is you know your odds of making it out alive are slim to none, but you wanted to hear Spencer ramble one last time. 

“From a building like this, a ten-story drop your odds aren’t great, in fact, falls from ten-story buildings have a 90% chance of death.” He explains, his gun now shaking in his hand as he pictures you on the ground below, bleeding out. “Those, those who survive can be paralysed if they land on their backs, permanent brain damage from skull fractures or,” Spencer stops himself as Killian focuses on him.

“Do finish Doctor Reid, I’m enjoying this.” Killian states, and you shudder at the fact he’s finding this entertaining.

“In cases like Sylvia, she survived but was left to bleed out.” Spencer finishes, and your eyes widen. “You see, Sylvia wasn’t suicidal like we thought. She was just in the wrong place, wasn’t she, Killian?” Spencer steps closer, but you wince as you can feel the knife starting to pierce your skin.

“No, Sylvia killed herself. I, I saw it.” Killian yells, tightening his grip around your neck as your hands lie limply by your sides. “I would never hurt her.”

“Not intentionally,” Spencer comments. “you were playing, and you knocked her, didn’t you?”

Killian shakes his head. “No! She jumped!” You can feel his heart beating against you. “She jumped and never said goodbye, she left me all alone.” He cries out.

“Killian, I’m sorry.” You manage to say. “It wasn’t your, your fault.”

“She left me here.” He spits at you. “Everyone else moved on, but I was left with the guilt.”

“There’s always another way, Killian.” You speak softly, focusing on Spencer. “But if this is it,” You start, but Spencer shakes his head. “Spencer, I’m so sorry.” You let your tears fall freely down your cheeks as Spencer steps closer.

“Y/n, don’t do this.” Spencer tells you.

“I love you Spence, but please, please be strong for me.” You can feel yourself beginning to slip out of consciousness as Killian continues to apply more pressure around your neck.

“There’s another way out, Killian. I promise you, just let Y/n go.” Spencer is yelling at the top of his lungs as Killian simply laughs.

“You think there’s another option? You sure you’re a Doctor, kid?” Killian scoffs.

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

“Please, let her go!” You can hear the crack in his voice as his gun shakes in his grip, his eyes not leaving yours as tears pool. “You don’t have to do this, there’s another choice for you.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

Closing your eyes, you embrace the feeling as Killian falls backwards, taking you with him.

“NO!” Spencer screams, running over as Killian lets go of you at the last second.

Spencer grabs a hold of your hand, but within a split second, it slips. “Spence,” You cry out as you hang on to the ledge of the building with all your might.

The sound of Killian hitting the floor only worsens your fear as Spencer begins to pull you up. All you can hear is the sound of your heart in your ears as the sirens dull behind you whilst Spencer is yelling in front of you, yet you can’t hear any of it. 

“Come on, Y/n, stay with me!” Spencer screams as another pair of hands appear by his side.

“Come on, we’ve got you.” Hotch states, pulling you up with Spencer and away from the ledge.

Immediately you fall into Spencer’s arms, your hands gripping his arms as you sob into his chest. “It’s okay, I’m not letting go.” Spencer holds you tightly as he looks up at Hotch, his expression saying more than words can.

“We need a medic!” Hotch yells as three men appear, checking over you as you remain sat with Spencer on the roof, far away from the ledge.

“You’re okay,” Spencer tells you as you go quiet, going into shock as the medics help you out from the building and into the ambulance as your team stands by.

“Oh thank god.” JJ blurts out as Spencer exits the building, enveloping him into a tight hug. “Are you alright?” She checks as she pulls away, but Spencer can’t help himself as he focuses on you in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in foil as the medics check you over.

JJ follows Spencer’s gaze and can’t help but force back her smile.

“Go on, you should be with her.” She assures him, but Spencer pauses.

“Y/n told me she loves me.” Spencer quietly tells JJ who quirks an eyebrow. “You, you knew didn’t you?”

JJ chuckles under her breath. “Spence, we all knew. But she doesn’t know you love her too, does she?”

Spencer shakes his head as he glances back over to you, seeing you being given the all-clear as you begin to rise to your feet.

Immediately, Spencer darts over to help you, his hand resting on your waist as you look up at him. “Spence, I,” You stumble over your words, watching as Killian’s body is being transported away in the body bag.

“Hey, don’t focus on that,” Spencer rests his hand on your cheek. “you’re alive, and I guess you beat the statistic.” He states, listening as you laugh lightly.

“Probably because I didn’t fall.” You add.

“But you almost did, and, and I would never have had the chance to tell you this,” Spencer tells you.

“Tell me what?” You ask, looking up at him with hesitation.

Spencer opens his mouth and after exactly three years, two months and nine days of knowing you and falling in love with you, he cannot find the right words to string together. “In the English language. there are 171,476 words. I’ve only ever needed three of them to tell you how I feel, but I can’t even do that properly.” He laughs uneasily as he focuses on you.

Lifting your hand up, you rest it on the back of his neck as you rise to your tiptoes. “Is this okay?” You whisper.

“More than okay,” Spencer responds before his lips are on yours.

You can hear Rossi cheering in the background as Hotch tries to shush them all but secretly is proud of you both. Having seen the way you gripped Spencer’s shirt when he saved you on that roof, he knew it was about time something would finally happen.

Pulling away from the kiss, you laugh lightly. “I take it the feeling is reciprocated then?” You question, and Spencer smiles.

“I’m never letting you go again.” He mumbles into you as you rest your head against his chest, hoping that promise will remain intact.