#he's always there to help the Doctor and aid him (and further the plot with questions or arguing)

[moreaugriffins]

out of curiosity, does anyone else consider the Brigadier to be a companion?

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

MOTORCYCLE RIDER!nicholas x LITTLE SISTER!reader 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, Nicholas goes to his friend's house for help after a motorcycle accident, only to be surprised by his younger sister instead.

A/N, love this plot and everything about it. hope you guys like it 🤍

WARNINGS, none

Nicholas limped up the driveway, the sting in his leg pulsing with every step. His motorcycle had skidded out on the highway half an hour ago, the slick asphalt catching his tires off guard. He had escaped the worst of it, but the scrape across his knee and the dull ache in his side were enough to remind him that tonight could have ended much worse.

His head throbbed, and his jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, the leather torn in places from the fall. He didn’t want to go home—not yet. He needed a familiar face, someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. So, he had headed for Chris’ house. It was late, but Chris never minded; they had that kind of friendship.

He stepped up to the front door, wincing as he put pressure on his leg, and knocked softly. The house was mostly dark, save for the faint glow coming from the upstairs window. He waited for a moment, expecting his friend to answer, but there was no sound.

A shuffle came from inside, and after a pause, the door creaked open.

But it wasn’t Chris.

It was his sister.

She stood there, a book in one hand, her other resting on the doorframe. Her dark hair fell in loose waves, and her eyes widened slightly when she saw him standing there, bruised and bloodied.

“Nicholas?” she asked, her voice soft but full of surprise. “What the hell happened to you?”

His mouth went dry. They hadn’t spoken much in recent months. There had always been this strange, unspoken tension between them—a pull that neither of them acknowledged. But seeing her now, with the faint light casting shadows across her face, something in his chest tightened.

“Had a bit of an accident,” he muttered, gesturing toward his leg. “Chris around?”

She shook her head, stepping aside to let him in. “He’s out for the night. What kind of accident?”

“A stupid one,” he admitted, limping into the living room. “Bike went down on the highway. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

She closed the door behind him, her expression softening as she took in the state of him. “You look like you need more than just a few bandages.”

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing it off. “I just need to clean it up a bit.”

“Let me get the first aid kit,” she replied, not waiting for his protests as she disappeared down the hallway.

Nicholas sat down carefully on the couch, his hands trembling slightly from the leftover adrenaline. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable in front of her, of all people. He’d known her for years, watched her grow from the annoying little sister who always seemed to hover around the edges of his and Chris’s friendship, to… this.

She returned a moment later, a small kit in her hands. “Let me see,” she said, kneeling in front of him.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbled, trying to keep some semblance of pride.

“Clearly you can’t, or you wouldn’t have ended up here instead of the hospital,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. She motioned for him to roll up his pant leg.

With a resigned sigh, he did as she asked, pulling the fabric up to reveal the scrape along his knee. It was raw and ugly, streaks of blood running down his shin.

Her face softened. “You really should have gone to a doctor,” she said quietly, but she didn’t press it any further. Instead, she carefully wiped away the dried blood, her touch gentle but precise. Her fingers grazed his skin, sending an unexpected jolt through him.

The tension between them thickened in the quiet, the only sounds coming from the clink of the antiseptic bottle and the sharp intake of his breath as she applied it.

“Sorry,” she murmured, her eyes briefly meeting his before she focused on the wound again.

“It’s fine,” Nicholas said, his voice rougher than he intended. He couldn’t ignore the way her presence made the room feel smaller, the way his pulse quickened when she was this close.

After a few moments, she reached for a roll of bandages, wrapping his leg with practiced ease. “You’re lucky it’s just a scrape,” she said. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

He nodded, watching her hands move with surprising tenderness. “Yeah, guess I’ve always been lucky like that.”

She paused, her hands stilling on his leg for just a second, her eyes meeting his again—this time, there was something unspoken between them, something neither of them seemed willing to break. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but the words didn’t come.

Nicholas swallowed hard, feeling the pull between them grow stronger. The room felt too quiet, too charged. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, the same question he was asking himself. What would happen if he crossed that line?

“Angel..,” he began, his voice low. He didn't know what he was going to say next, only that his nickname he called her felt like an anchor in his mouth, keeping him here when he knew he should leave.

She didn't move. For a moment, neither of them did. The room felt smaller, the distance between them shrinking even though neither of them had taken a step. His pulse was loud in his ears, drowning out every rational thought telling him to walk out the door, to leave things as they were.

But he couldn't.

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, just for a second, and something inside him snapped. Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them in two quick strides. She didn't move away. In fact, she stepped toward him, her breath catching slightly as he reached her.

"Angel," he says, but this time it was a whisper, like he was asking for permission he wasn't sure she'd give.

She met his gaze, her eyes dark and uncertain, but full of something deeper -something that mirrored what he was feeling. "Nicholas..." she breathed, and in that moment, it was all the permission he needed.

He reached for her, his hand finding her waist as he pulled her closer, his other hand gently cradling her face. She didn't resist. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause around them, everything else fading into the background.

And then he kissed her.

It was slow at first, tentative, like both of them were testing the waters of something they'd been dancing around for far too long. Her lips were soft against his, warm, and he could feel the faint tremble in her body as she pressed against him. He kissed her deeper, and she responded, her hands sliding up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his torn jacket.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly all the restraint they had been holding onto vanished. His fingers tangled in her hair as he tilted her head back, his lips moving against hers with a hunger that surprised him. He had thought about this-too many times, in too many ways—but nothing compared to the reality of having her here, in his arms, tasting her lips like he'd never be able to get enough.

She pulled him closer, her body molding against his, and his hands roamed down to her hips, feeling the heat between them grow with every second. The tension that had been building for so long finally exploded, filling the room with the heat of their kiss, the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet space.

She broke away for just a second, her forehead resting against his as they both gasped for air. Her eyes were wide, lips swollen, and her fingers gripped his shirt as if she was afraid to let go.

"Nicholas.. your hurt we can’t be doing this" she whispered, her voice full of uncertainty but also something that felt like surrender.

Before he could reply, she stood up, breaking the moment. She started to gather the first aid supplies, her movements suddenly brisk and purposeful. “I’ll tell Chris you came by,” she said, her tone shifting back to something more neutral. “He’ll probably give you hell for wrecking the bike.”

Nicholas watched her, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between them settle back into place. He knew he should leave. But part of him wanted to stay.

But instead, he nodded, rising to his feet. “Thanks,” he said quietly, pulling his jacket back over his shoulders. “For, you know… this.”

She looked at him then, her expression softening just for a moment. “Anytime,” she said, but there was something else in her voice, something that told him this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

As he limped back toward the door, the silence between them felt heavier than before, but not unwelcome. It was a silence filled with possibility—possibility neither of them was quite ready to face.

Not yet.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 9 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: This one is a little bit of a tough read so trigger warnings apply—while no sexual assault is depicted, it is heavily implied, mentioned, and a plot point of this particular chapter. Reader discretion advised. As always, let me know what you think and enjoy!

August 1943 

Being roused from the depths of sleep two nights before the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission was most assuredly not what Ruth considered restful.  Considering the depth of planning that had gone into the mission, what with getting in contact with the base down in Africa, carefully planning routes with Bubbles, and going over the legality of getting the men further into Germany, Ruth was plain exhausted.  

And to be woken in the middle of the night with a phone call from the nearby RAF Base about an American pilot the night before and a British nurse was not something she could have predicted.  

Ruth was still in her pajamas as she hurried towards the phone in the mess hall, taking it and answering it tersely.  She had been given as few details as possible, but the British nurse had asked for her specifically and Ruth wasn’t one to turn down someone who knew enough about legal matters to call for her. 

“This is Lieutenant Sharpe,” Ruth answered, stifling a yawn behind her hand.  

A choked sort of sob sounded on the other end of the phone and Ruth clutched the phone tightly in her hand.  “R-Ruthie?  It’s me, Flora.” 

She couldn’t help the fact that her heart sank in her chest at the sound of Flora’s voice.  Sure, they had only known each other a short time.  But if something had happened to Flora by one of the men on this base?  Oh there would be hell to pay for someone.  

“What is it?  What happened?” Ruth soothed the words out in as gentle of a tone as she could muster.  There was a time and place for hellfire and reckoning and there was a time for kind words and quiet reassurances.  This was the latter.  Though she certainly intended to get whichever Major was over the American pilot involved.  

Silence on the other end for a long second.  

“Are you alright?” Ruth murmured.  “Have you seen a doctor?” 

“I was—I was so scared.  He wouldn’t let go and I kept on saying no.  I tried, Ruthie, I tried—” 

“Oh Flora,” Ruth let her eyes hit the ceiling, exhaustion and grief overtaking her shoulders.  “Do you know his name?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“Okay, you tell me the name and exactly what happened,” Tugging the phone away from her mouth, Ruth elbowed the camp aide.  “Go get me a pad and a pen, now!” He dashed away and Ruth turned her attention back on the phone.  

“His name is Sam Wayne,” Flora choked out the words like they were some sort of poison. Ruth supposed, that in a way, it was.  “We were talking at the bar last night and he offered to walk me back to the barracks but he didn’t walk me back.” 

“Just take your time,” Ruth encouraged gently.  The camp aide returned, handing her a pad of paper and a pen.  Ruth began writing down what Flora had said, verbatim, unwilling to mess a single thing up.  

“He-he shoved me behind one of the houses and—and he—” 

“You told him no?  Tried to fight him back?” 

“I clawed at his eyes but that didn’t stop him.  And I said no,” Flora said vehemently. 

“You did so good, Flora,” Ruth breathed out.  “So good.  I’m going to take care of this for you.  I have this all written down.  Now you go see the doctor—make sure it’s a woman.  And you get her to write up an official document about your assault being rape, alright?” Ruth advised. 

“I can do that.” 

“Alright sweetheart, you just get some rest,” Ruth murmured.  “I’ll take care of this for you and I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.” 

“Ruthie?” 

“Yes?” 

“I was so-so scared.  But I—I knew that if I called you, you would help.” 

“Always,” Ruth promised her in a firm tone.  And with that, the phone call had ended and all of Ruth’s fury had launched into something else.  Propriety be damned, she was going to handle this right now.  Her gaze of righteous fury turned onto the camp aide.  “You know where Sam Wayne sleeps?” 

“Uh no—but seeing as he’s in the Hundredth—” 

“You better go get the Majors of the Hundredth the hell up.  We’re cleaning house.” 

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

The last thing Bucky Egan wanted to be dealing with at 2 in the morning was a wake-up call from Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe.  It was one thing to deal with her during the day when he was slightly inebriated and had had a few drinks.  But for him to have been sleeping peacefully and have that interrupted was quite another thing. 

He stumbled out of his cabin, finding Jack Kidd suppressing a yawn and a very grumpy and confused Buck Cleven standing there alongside Bill Veale.  “What the hell is goin’ on here?” Bucky demanded. 

“I don’t know, somethin’ about cleaning house?” Buck mumbled. 

“It’s the lawyer,” Veale added.  

They didn’t get a chance to wonder long.  Ruth Sharpe made her appearance a few moments later, nearly making all of them jump in shock.  If not for the fact that Cleven and Egan weren’t wearing shirts, then for the fact that the fearsome Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe was still in her silky blue pajamas that bared her shoulders and part of her legs. 

“Uh, not that we’re not happy to see you—” Bucky started, blinking at the sight.  

“Sam Wayne, which bunk is he in?” Ruth demanded, turning so quickly to face him that her hair almost smacked him straight in the face.  

“Is there something—” 

“I doubt you want rapists in the Hundredth,” Ruth snapped.  “And considering that he raped a British Red Cross girl last night—” 

“Woah woah woah,” Buck put his hands up, eyes going wide.  “Are you sure—” 

“She’s a friend and she called me specifically because she knows I’m JAG-Corp and that he was a member of the Hundredth.  She said no and clawed his eyes.  If he indeed has claw marks that will be sufficient proof for you and your sensibilities, will it not, Major Cleven?” 

Buck fell silent, giving a nod.  “Yes, ma’am.” 

“He’s in hut 3,” Bucky said, feeling suddenly very solemn.  If there was one thing that he had learned in the last few months, it was that Ruth Sharpe was never wrong about anything.  And if this man was indeed guilty, then they needed to handle it quietly and discreetly.  “We can take you there.” 

“Then let’s go,” Ruth said, tilting her head at him. 

“Shouldn’t you—” Kidd started. 

“I’d rather not let a rapist sleep free.  If Cleven and Egan would prefer to cover themselves for modesty, then that’s their prerogative,” Ruth said coolly.  

Sensing that she had no intention of changing until the matter was done and closed, Bucky just gave a nod and the five of them began the trek back towards the bunks.  “Well how would you like to go about this, counselor?” Bucky questioned, glancing in her direction. 

“You can draw straws for all I care.  Just drag him out of there are claw marks around his eyes,” Ruth said, gesturing at the cabin they had come to a stop in front of. 

“I’ll go,” Buck finally said in a low tone.  He entered the cabin before anyone could stop him. 

Ruth tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed in front of her chest as she stared at the bunkhouse.  “Sorry that this happened, ma’am,” Veale apologized. 

“You didn’t do it,” Ruth retorted, shooting him a withering gaze.  “Besides, I’ve been doing rape cases since before the war even started.  I doubt this will be the last time.” 

“Is your friend okay?” Bucky asked in a quiet voice, exhaling as she turned to face him.  

Ruth’s features softened ever so slightly at the question.  “She’s alive.  And she’s resilient, she’ll be alright.” 

No one else got a chance to ask questions.  There was a clattering sound in the cabin and the next thing they all knew, Buck Cleven was shoving Sam Wayne through the door and he was landing in a heap on the ground in front of them all.  Buck grabbed onto his head, forcing his gaze upwards. 

And there, with Jack Kidd holding a flashlight, Ruth saw the claw marks as clearly as she could see the moon in the sky.  “What the hell is going on—” Sam started. 

But he didn’t get a chance to finish his question.  A swift kick to the ass from Ruth sent him sprawling into the ground.  “You thought you’d get away from it?” 

“You bitch!  Why the hell is she—” 

Not a single person could stop Ruth Sharpe from punching Sam straight in the nose.  A loud CRACK filled the air and Ruth let out a curse, wringing her hand out as she looked at the bleeding man clutching his nose.  

“First off, that’s Lieutenant to you.  Second of all, you’ve got yourself a hell of a court martial, you son of a bitch.  Maybe if you hadn’t raped one of my friends last night you wouldn’t be in this position.  I’m going to watch your entire career be sunk by this one shitty decision and you will never forget it.  Or me.  Get this piece of shit out of my sight!” Ruth commanded. 

No one dared to argue with her after that.  And Ruth was left standing there as they carted him off to be detained.  And she just stood there, hand beginning to bruise and swell as her rage continued to bubble.  When she finally glanced up, she realized that Jack Kidd was still standing there. 

“You can go back to bed, Kidd.” 

“You should probably get that hand checked out,” he advised in a firm tone.  “I’ll walk you there, considering the fact that you’re still in your pajamas and that’s probably not the dignified look that you think it is.” 

Ruth just let out a deep sigh.  “Alright,” she relented.  “But then you’ve got to get some rest.  You’ll be flying soon enough.” 

Jack Kidd just gave a crooked sort of grin.  “Yeah I know.” 

“Hey Kidd?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Be safe out there, okay?  I think you’re the only person I’ve ever worked with that I actually don’t hate.” 

He just gave a grin.  He couldn’t decide if she was just really tired and didn’t care about sharing thoughts at the moment, or if the pain from her hand swelling was getting to her.  “Yeah, you got it.” 

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

The fog before the mission was just the cherry on top of Ruth’s already shitty week.  This was going to be a damn mess if they didn’t take off at just the right time.  And considering that she was running on fumes, Ruth was ready to just command herself to take a nap (though she was sorely against them because it seemed like a waste of time in her opinion). 

And then of course there was the waiting.  For seven whole days, Ruth tried to busy herself in the court martial and the expulsion of Sam Wayne from the United States military as a whole.  Prison in London seemed like a fair enough sentence and she had gotten exactly what she wanted. 

It was a quick and quiet affair, with the higher-ups in brass not really wanting for her to make a big scene or fuss out of things.  So she got what she wanted and he was sent to prison.  

When the men finally returned from Africa, a whole week later, Ruth couldn’t deny the fact that she was very glad to see them back on base.  Those seven days of waiting felt like the Creation Period—and until the men were back, things did not feel right on the base.  And she wouldn’t admit it willingly, but she had, in fact, missed Kidd and Bucky quite a bit. 

Even if the latter was a nuisance to her sensibilities.  

It had been a costly mission, she had known what the fog would likely do to their carefully crafted plans.  But the people that she needed to keep this base going smoothly had returned.  And she would take that as a minor win. 

[backtothefanfiction]

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Six: He's Got A Soul As Sweet As Blood Red Jam

Summary: Peter may seem like a big tough gangster to the rest of the world but he's still that soft boy from Queens underneath it all.

Warnings: 18+ Only, eventual smut (like real soon), slight fluff and jokes, this is mostly plot, character and world building

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: This is basically just world building and further character development but still does a lot to bridge the gap between our lovers with their one to one dinner date. Expect some more name dropping and greater universe references and a lot of links back to our initial prologue and Peter's origins of friendly neighbourhood super hero to mob boss. Also title comes from the second verse of Lana Del Rey's Off To The Races, wanted to use both lines but it would have been too long. Anyway enjoy!

SIX

Peter had organised Miguel to drop the two of them off at F.E.A.S.T an hour later. The acronym stood for food, emergency, aid, shelter, training. It was a community outreach hub for the homeless or those in need. They had set multiple buildings up across the city under the banner when Peter first switched from being the friendly neighbourhood crime fighting vigilante to being a criminal in his own right. He still wasn’t like all those other guys though. Guys like her Father, Dr Octavious or even Quentin Beck. Whereas all those guys were solely out for themselves, Peter had never forgotten his roots or his mission to help his community. No, he was more like a Robin Hood figure. At least 50% of his annual profit always went back to the people.

And she had been there with him to set the whole thing up. After that first conversation they’d had all those years ago in the darkness of her college dorm room, they went back and forth for hours about what the people really need. Thus F.E.A.S.T was born.

They climbed out of the car and Miles quickly went round to open the trunk, to a mass of pink cake boxes. They quickly began to unload them from the car. Miles held out his arms and Angel stacked one box on top of the other until they were up to his eyeline. She took the final box out of the trunk before closing the boot. She shot a quick look of thanks Miguel’s way before her and Mile’s made their way to the door.

Her fingers quickly rooted around in her blazer pocket for the set of keys Peter had given her, her fingers holding a fob up to the side door of the building. There was a low buzz as the door unlocked and they shuffled their way inside with the boxes.

“Hey Karen.” Angel said, greeting a strawberry blonde woman as she made her way towards the same door her and Mile’s had just come through.

“Hey!” Karen beamed upon seeing her, an arm quickly raising to wrap around Angel’s shoulder. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s complicated.” Angel briefly responded. “How’s Matt?” 

“Oh, you know how he is, always takes on too many clients and never leaves himself enough time.”

“We’ll have to catch up properly soon.” Angel beamed.

“Yes. We definitely will. Look I’ve gotta run, I’ve gotta get some paperwork over to city hall before they close, but it was great seeing you.” Karen spoke joyfully as she wrapped Angel into her arms once more.

“Yeah, and you.” Angel concluded their conversation as Karen began to make her way to the door, buzzing herself out.

“Okay… so where are we putting these?” Miles asked, motioning to the boxes he was beginning to get frustrated with holding, after all, pink was not his colour.

She rolled her eyes before saying, “This way.” as she began to walk through the familiar halls. 

Not much had changed since the last time she had been there. Maybe some of the faces, but she was still surprised to see so many familiar ones. Particular Nurses who saw patients with doctors in special designated consultation rooms, all paid for by the Benjamin Parker foundation, little kids who enjoy coming and hanging out in the rec rooms recognising her, smiling and waving as she passed them.

“Hi, Angel.”

“Hi.” she’d say back.

“Hi, Angel.”

“Hi!” It was like that all the way down to the food hall. A large canteen that served regular hot meals for anyone in need, whether you were living on the streets, struggling for money or simply had no idea how to cook. It was a bustling hub of life and community. Mothers talking over cups of coffee as their kids bonded and played together. Newly divorced men looking for someone to talk to and sharing a table with those who called the streets their home as they swapped life stories. It was her favourite place in the world and her proudest achievement in life.

They set the boxes down on a free table along the back wall, opening them up to display the fresh goods. There was a sudden thud to her side as a small girl collided with her thigh, her small arms reaching to wrap around her waist. 

“Angel!” the girl beamed, “You came back.”

Angel recognised the young girl immediately. She had grown a fair bit since she had last seen her at the shelter. “Of course I did.” Angel beamed as her arms instinctively wrapped around her. “Look how much you’ve grown.” Angel commented.

“Look, I’ve got a loose tooth.” The girl said proudly as she used her fingers to pull down her lower lip and show it off.

“Oh wow. You make sure you take good care of it and that it gets to the tooth fairy okay, yeah?”

“I will.” she beamed before she ran off back towards her mother who politely smiled and waved in her direction from her seat at one of the tables.

“Wow, you really know everyone here.” Miles interjected as she continued to watch the young girl as she joined another little girl at a smaller coloring table.

“Believe it or not Miles, this used to be my livelihood. I used to come down and spend so many of my days here helping out. Veronica was actually born here.” She said motioning to the little girl who kept looking back and smiling at her.

“You don’t say.” Miles said with a smile as he finally began to relax.

“It’s my favourite place in the world.” she said fondly. “Come on, I’ll give you the proper tour.”

They walked around the halls together as she gave him the grand tour of all three floors. As well as the already mentioned doctor’s rooms, cafeteria, common rooms and childrens playrooms, there were counselling suites and consultation rooms for legal advice. The second floor had a community hall with regular classes from toddler groups to self defence lessons. The whole top floor was dedicated to the homeless project that provided emergency beds for those rough sleeping whether on site there at the hub or being relocated to one of the apartment buildings they had bought out as temporary accommodation until they could get their feet back on the ground.

They sat and talked to people in the communities, helped out staff where they could and overall tried to inject some light into people's lives amongst the darkness.

“Hey.” a familiar voice said behind her as Veronica, who had just come and given her a picture she had drawn for her, ran back to the coloring table.

“Heeyy!” she beamed softly as she turned around to find her husband.

His hand tenderly braced itself against her lower back and she couldn’t help but melt into his warm touch. She had become so wrapped up in what she was doing, she had almost completely forgotten everything else that had come to pass. The way that everyone had opened their arms to her made her feel like the last three years had never happened, let alone the last 4 hours she had spent there.

“I went back to May’s apartment but you weren’t there.”

“No.” she smiled fondly.

The whole moment felt so domestic, reminding him of days gone by where he would pick her up on Friday afternoons, a moment for him to show his own face and see all of the hard work that was continuing to be carried out with his money. He turned his head around the room looking for Miles, only to find him sitting on a tiny chair next to a little boy on a purple bean bag, playing with the new playstation that had recently been acquired.

“I’m assuming all of the baked goods are gone?” he asked, attempting to keep civil conversation and find good ground between them.

“Actually I think there might be a cupcake or two still in there if you want one.”

They smiled fondly at one another. He had to admit, despite all of the shit he ended up being involved with on a day to day basis, whenever he came back here, seeing families and communities thrive, it made it all worth it,

“You ready to get out of here and go for that dinner?” He asked softly.

She silently nodded as she found herself suddenly drowning in his honey brown eyes. Those soft eyes. The ones he used to look at her with back when they first met. Back when he would sneak into her dorm room. His gaze would soften like molten honey, a sickly sweet sensation always pulling her in as he told her how beautiful she was, his Angel. “Yes.” she finally said slowly, finding her voice. It was barely audible above the noise of the room, but she knew he heard it.

“Yo, Miles!” Peter hollered across the room to him, causing the younger gentleman’s ears to prick up, his head turning slightly, but his eyes never left the screen. “You’re free, man, go home.”

“Yeah, okay, just a minute!” he called back, “I just gotta win this race.”

“Nu uh.” the young boy next to him replied before Miles playfully bumped the kids shoulder with his own.

Angel couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at the exchange as she grabbed her blazer off the back of a chair as they left.

-

When they got out onto the street Angel had expected to find Miguel outside waiting for them, but instead her eyes came to rest on a black Maserati she recognised from her quick glance across the garage in their rush the night before. “Where’s Miguel?” she asked as Peter began to make his way towards the car, opening the passenger door for her. 

“I’ve got him out running an errand with Harry.” he replied as she stepped past him to slide herself into the passenger seat. “Plus, I want tonight to be just about us.” He said, his head bending down to look at her through the door frame.

“Okay, duly noted.” she replied with a curt smile before he closed the door on her. “So does that mean we’re gonna get through a whole evening without interruptions?” She asked when he climbed into the driver's seat on the other side.

He shuffled slightly in his seat before reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer for his phone making a show of putting it on aeroplane mode before handing it to her for safe keeping. She pursed her lips, attempting to keep a straight face as she looked down at the phone now turning around in her fingertips, trying not to let on how big of a deal that was for the two of them.

“So where are we going?” she asked as he clicked his seatbelt into place before starting the car up with a loud rev of the engine for good measure. She had no doubt he was showboating, trying to impress.

“Oh, now that would ruin the surprise.” he said as he quickly revved the car and sped away.

*****

They arrived 10 minutes later outside a restaurant on the upper east side called the Lemon Grove. The whole front of the building was lit with fairy lights and vines filled with fake lemons. They got out of the car and Peter tossed his keys to a waiting valet before his now free hand rested comfortably at the small of her back as he guided her to the restaurant door.

“Hi, good evening, welcome to the Lemon Grove, do you have a booking with us this evening?” a gentleman, who looked to be nearing his forties asked.

“Yes, there should be a table for two under Parker.” Peter said.

The maître d' scanned his list before saying “ahh yes, here it is. If you’d like to follow me this way.” he encouraged them as he held out a hand for them to follow him.

He led them through the bustling restaurant and over to a table tucked away to the back. He moved to pull out a chair for Angel but Peter quickly cut him off, “It’s okay, I’ve got it.” he said, wanting to make a show of putting in the effort with her after their fight earlier on he was still trying to make up for.

“Okay.” the maître d' said as he took a step back.

When Peter had stepped back around to the other side of the table and began taking his seat the maître d' stepped forward again to place the menus on either side of the table in front of them.

“Thank you.” Angel smiled, as Peter tucked his chair in.

“Can I get either of you a drink? Or would you like to take a moment to look at the wine list?” The maître d' asked, motioning to the smaller menu already on the table.

Before she had had a chance to say anything Peter hastily grabbed the wine list, scanning it over, before ordering them a bottle of an Italian Cabernet from Tuscany. 

“Coming right up, sir.” The maître d' said before walking away and leaving them to their table.

“You still love Italian food right?” Peter asked her as they both reached for their menus to start gazing over the cuisine. 

“Would you hate me if I actually said I’d gone off it.” she deadpanned from behind her menu, causing him to freeze. “I mean, living in Italy for just over two years…” she continued, seeing how far she could push him and make him squirm. She watched over the top of her menu as he swallowed uneasily. “I’m kidding Pete.” she quickly said as he met her eyes, a smile creeping across her face.

“Don’t do that.” he quickly shook his head at her, but he couldn’t hide from her the small quirk in the corner of his lip at realising he’d been had. “No.” he continued, trying to brush it off. 

“What? Spider boy can’t take a joke anymore?” she teased as she fought with the grin that wanted to take over her whole face.

“Oh no, I can take a joke.” he quickly interjects, looking to cover himself.

“Yes, of course.” she mockingly nods as he continues to get a hold of himself.

“It’s just, not often that I am the victim to them.”

“Okay.” she smirked as she continued to nod, her eyes turning back to the menu in front of her as she scanned the list of foods.

It was at that point she realised she hadn’t really eaten since their breakfast meeting this morning.

“What is it?” he quickly asked, noticing the sudden furrow to her brow, an air of concern taking over his whole body.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” She hastily responded, not wanting him to stress or feel like matters were worse than they were, as if either of them still weren’t somewhat on alert after the events of the past 24 hours, an unconscious paranoia just waiting to take over. “I just realised I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Oh.” he interjected quietly as he began to settle again.

They sat in silence for a moment as they continued to scan the menu, that unspoken paranoia sitting heavily in the middle of the table between them after his reaction that neither was sure how to shift.

“So do you know what you want?” he asked, clearing his throat slightly and breaking up the silence between them.

He watched for a moment as she flicked back and forth between pages. “Yes… no… maybe?” He can’t help but be warmed by the small questioning look on her face, one eyebrow twitching higher than the other, her head tipping slightly as she muddled over the different options in her head. It was the same look she used to get when he would watch her study for a test or when she was struggling to work something out for her thesis, back when she was still at college.

A waiter came over with their drinks and it made Peter smile when she didn’t even look up from the menu, but still reached for the glass the moment it had been sat down, swiftly bringing it to her lips and taking a sip. 

“Do we know what we’d like to order this evening?” The waiter asked as he stood patiently next to the table. 

Peter was about to ask for him to give them another moment when she closed the menu and sat it down in front of her. There was a pause as if to check she really was ready, when she said. “Off you go.” tipping her head to encourage Peter to place his order, as she once again brought her wine glass coily to her lips.

“Are we doing starters?” Peter quickly questioned her, an old habit suddenly popping into his head.

“Peter, just order.” she replied, but he could see the quirk of her lip and recognised the sudden dark gaze to her eye and knew she was up to something.

“Okay…” he hesitantly said, his head turning towards the waiter. “We’ll take the calamari and a portion of arancini to share for starters.” he began, his eyes quickly glancing back to his date for confirmation she was okay with this. She merely raised her eyebrows as she sank back in her seat, wine glass still poised in her hand, the tiniest tilt to her head encouraging him on. “Then for mains, I’ll take the sea bass…” he paused, flashing her another glance and her eyebrows rose higher still, encouraging him to surprise her and order for her. He quickly scanned back over the menu before him, re-familiarising himself with it. He smiled to himself. “She’ll have the parmigiana di melanzane, a portion of bruschetta and a small caprese salad on the side.” He said with perfect pronunciation as he ordered her a selection of their starters for her to pick and choose from like an Italian version of tapas. Once she had laid down the gauntlet he had felt her tense slightly, worrying whether or not he’d order the right thing, but upon making the order, he could feel her energy begin to relax, a smile forming on her lips again.

“Is that everything, sir?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, I think it is.” Peter said with a smile dismissing the waiter who quickly took their menus from them before heading to the kitchen with their order.

There was a pause between them as Peter took a sip of his wine and they tried to work out what to talk about. 

“How’s your shoulder?” Peter asked her as she folded her hands into her lap.

“It’s okay. A little tender but, it’s fine.” Her fingers automatically reached for the shoulder in question but quickly lowered her hand back into her lap.

“How bad was the house?” she asked. Peter noticed there was a slight hesitancy to her question, as if it pained her to think about.

“It’s gonna take a bit of work but-”

“Do you think we’ll be able to go back there, or will we need to sell it?”

Her question seemed to answer her previous hesitancy. It had been their house, their home. The place they had picked out together, decorated together. Lived in together. They’d always seen it as their forever home. The place to raise kids one day. Maybe get a dog. Hold large family events in the backyard. They’d tried so hard to keep it separate from everything else and now that privacy had been violated.

He was silent for a moment as he considered his response. “I won’t lie… it might have to be a possibility.” He watched her closely as she exhaled the breath she had been holding, the usual twinkle in her eye fading as the reality of their situation took over once more. “But until-”

“I know.” she said, not needing him to finish his sentence, her own mind already completing it for her. ‘Until the Vulture had been taken care of, they wouldn’t even be able to consider the house safe enough to go home.’

“So what do we do?” she asked. “I mean we can’t very well keep staying at May’s.” she noted.

Peter was silent for a moment as he looked down at the table in front of him. He had that face on him, she noted, the one where he had something planned but didn’t want to let on that he in fact had a plan.

He was saved by the arrival of their starters, the food being placed down in the middle of the table for them both to pick at.

“Thank you.” Angel said politely to the waiter as he quickly made his retreat, leaving them alone once more.

“Oh my god.” she sighed as she took a bite out of one of the arancini balls with a groan of satisfaction. “That’s amazing.”

Peter’s face changed to one of pleasant surprise as he placed one into his mouth and confirmed his wife's reaction by having a similar one, his own humm of satisfaction vibrating his lips as he chewed.

“So is it as good as the stuff in the actual country or…?” he asked as they moved on to the calamari.

“Not bad.” she confirmed as she finished her mouthful. “I made friends with this lovely old woman who lived down the road from the house and she used to make the best meatballs I have ever tasted. She had just that right ratio of tomato and garlic and she’d slow cook them so they just melted in your mouth.” Angel gushed.

“Now I’m glad I didn’t order the meatballs.” Peter smiled. “With a description like that I don’t think they could have compared and I would have spent the whole meal feeling disappointed with my food, dreaming about these mouthwatering, slow cooked-”

She giggled, a blush forming on her cheeks as she took another sip of wine as he jokingly continued to use as many adjectives as he knew to describe a plate of meatballs he would never ultimately have.

“Oh no, I’m serious.” he continued with a smirk, “I’m gonna call Miguel right now, get him to tell them to get a jet ready so we can fly to Italy to this mysterious magical Nona who cooks the best meatballs and we will do nothing else until-”

“How are you gonna do that, when I have your phone?” she teased back.

“Fine then, you call Miguel.”

“Peter.” she giggled and chastised. He loved it when he could make her blush. Make her forget about everything else. Take them back to their youth. Quiet rainy afternoons, wrapped up in each other's arms on that small single bed.

“Okay, okay.” he conceded with a smile.

“What do you wanna do about your Father’s house?” he asked her as their main courses arrived, her three smaller plates being laid out strategically in front of her by the waiter. Peter watched as she quietly thanked him before switching the order of the plates once the waiter's back was turned. It made Peter’s stomach turn, a sickly sweet feeling that sent tingles to the joins of his jaw that made him quickly turn his head to his own plate before him, inner conflict returning as his brain remembered the question he’d just asked and all of their recent history began to drive a wedge between them once more.

“Sell it.” 

“You sure?” he questioned. It had been the home she had grown up in.

“There’s nothing left for me there.” she said as she lifted a fork full of salad into her mouth.

“Did you wanna go back and sort through anything?”

“No.” she adamantly shook her head.

“Okay.” he silently nodded and agreed. “We can put all the money back into the foundation if you want. Maybe set up another hub in the city?” he asked, trying to chip away at the wall she seemed to just put up at the mention of her Father.

She paused as she lowered her cutlery. “Peter, can I ask you something?” Peter’s own hands froze either side of his plate as he gave her his full attention. “Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?”

“What do you-”

“I mean all this.” she gestured with her hand between them. “If you hadn’t given up the suit and the mask… do you think things would have been different?”

“I think…” he paused as he tried to comprehend her question. To think of the life they would have had if he had continued to be the Spider-Man, not whatever he was today, “I think we wouldn’t have much money. I think we’d have ended up living in a shoe box apartment somewhere in Queens, still sneaking around behind your father’s back.” She quietly sipped on her wine as she listened to his thoughts. “I think a lot of people's lives would be harder because they wouldn’t have the hubs to go to when they are in need.”

“That’s not what I mean.” she quietly said as her arms came to rest on the table, her fingers reaching out to him.

“You mean, do you think he would have let you stay?”

There was silence between them. Peter watched as she slowly removed her hand from where it had reached out across the table towards him. Reached out for him, to bridge that gap that had grown between them. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t be reminded what it felt like to feel her soft skin against his.

The two of them remained silent, unable to finish their food. The weight of everything that had been or even could have been already enough for their brains to process, let alone the last of their food in front of them.

When the waiter asked if they’d like to look at the dessert menu, Peter waved him off. He instead quickly settled the bill with a generous tip and they both left.

They waited quietly side by side at the edge of the street for the car to be brought around.

“I’m sorry.” she finally blurted out as her arms closed tightly around her with the evening chill. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” she added more quietly as the car revved to a stop in front of them.

The driver quickly got out, handing Peter the keys before stepping towards the passenger door to open it.

“Get in the car.” Peter instructed softer than she expected. “There’s something I want to show you.”

------------------------------

New chapters go live on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list make sure you put it in writing for me. Also if you are enjoying the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think!

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[my-timing-is-digital]

Starter for @galaxy-loved

Attired in a grey three-piece suit with a complementary Inverness cape, and a deerstalker cap positioned stylishly atop his head, the android made his way down a bustling street in a holographically designed Victorian London. After the incident with professor Moriarty, Data had modified the holoprogram; he had incorporated detective mysteries that extended beyond the Sherlock Holmes universe. Mysteries of which he did not possess prior knowledge; he wanted the puzzles to be a challenge without jeopardising the integrity of the ship a second time.

    The Commander had been meaning to return to the holodeck to further explore the world of Sherlock Holmes and solve more mysteries as Earth’s renowned fictional detective, but his duties aboard the Enterprise had always interfered. Until now. As per usual, he had invited his best friend, Geordi, to fulfil the part of Holmes’ loyal assistant, Doctor John Watson, and fortunately, Geordi was available and willing to join him. Frankly speaking, he had been a trifle hesitant to ask Geordi, especially because of the events that precipitated Lore’s attempts to manipulate his younger brother’s disposition. Although he had isolated the memories pertaining to the experiments he had conducted on his friend, Data could not help but spectate as his mind wandered and recalled the aforementioned recollections. He was cognisant that he could not be held accountable for his brother hijacking his positronic brain and manipulating it, but he found himself spending a considerable amount of time mulling over his actions regardless. If there had been a way to resist his brother’s intrusion, he would have... Geordi knew that, did he not? Perhaps the temporary distraction on the holodeck would pacify his perturbation and aid him to make amends...

    ‘According to Inspector Lestrade’s letter, this should be the address of the abode where the victim’s widow resides,’ Data enunciated in a posh British accent, his yellow eyes scrutinising the tall facade of the elegant house. ‘Watson! Let us proceed!’

    Deftly, the android ascended the flight of stairs to the front door and waited for Geordi to join him before he rapped his knuckles on the black, polished wood. Within less than 5 seconds, the housekeeper opened the door — no introductions were required, the woman had been informed and obligingly, ushered them into the foyer. She cordially instructed them to wait in the drawing room while she hurried upstairs to collect the mistress of the house.

    ‘I have made several adjustments to widen the scope of my Sherlock Holmes holoprogram,’ he informed Geordi while they waited in sumptuously decorated room. ‘I have revised the program in such a manner that it will arbitrarily select elements originating from other detective novels, in order to prevent situations like Moriarty’s to reoccur. Therefore, the general plot will retain its mystery and remain a challenge, even for me.’

    Shortly after he had apprised his friend of the latest alteration to his one of his favourite holoprograms, his auditory sensors discerned the input of noises in the foyer; one pair of footfalls was approaching the drawing room. However, the sound of the footsteps resonating between the sage green walls were too heavy to belong to a woman...

[icasttourniquet]

Common Misconceptions: Raising the Dead (CPR)

Let's start with the bad news: basically all the CPR you've seen in movies and TV shows is performed terribly.

Here's the good news: most CPR is performed on dead patients, which means even bad CPR is better than nothing.

What is CPR?

CPR stands for (googles hurriedly) Cardio-Pumonary Resuscitation. It has two parts: 1) chest compressions and 2) rescue breaths. Here's a video in case you're still confused, but most people have seen CPR performed a ton of times during the climaxes of medical shows. It comes right before either a) the nurse yells "Clear!" and the patient comes back to life or b) the EMT says "I'm not losing you" and injects the patient with adrenaline right to the heart, and then they come back to life.

Raising the Dead

CPR is generally performed on dead patients. That is, patients without a pulse. In the first responder business, the situation doesn't really get worse than dead, so it provides a unique opportunity for authors because you can't really get it wrong.

Here are some questions I've heard people ask while learning CPR:

Should I perform CPR on pulse-less patients who have chest wounds?

Can I continue performing CPR if I break a rib?

Should I perform CPR on pregnant people?

What if I can't give rescue breaths? Should I still give CPR?

My patient has a lot of broken limbs. Should I fix those before performing CPR?

My patient was electrocuted. Should I give CPR?

Here's the trick to answering all your CPR questions. Is my character dead (no pulse)? Does performing CPR put a) the first responder, b) another patient, or c) a bystander in danger?

If you can answer (yes) (no, no, no), congratulations! Your first responder can perform CPR, even really crappy CPR, even CPR that is ineffective, for as long as the plot requires (ModN's WFR instructor tells the story of a 6-hour CPR session on a dead patient during a journey to care that included a toboggan ride).

(NOTE: there's actually one solid contraindication: if the patient is severely hypothermic, their heart rate may be so slow and weak as to be undetectable. In this case (and pretty much only this case) chest compressions may actually do more harm than good. Other than that, obvious signs of death like decapitation or rigor mortis indicate you don't need to start resuscitation, but there are still plenty of compelling interpersonal reasons to do it – at that point you're doing CPR for the responder and survivors rather than the patient.)

Otherwise, your character should go for it!

The bad news about CPR

Time for the bad news (other than you having a dead character on your hands). In general,* CPR is not enough to bring someone back. Its role is to continue circulating oxygenated blood while you wait for a defibrillator like an AED to arrive. The AED or manual defibrillator is what actually convinces the heart to stop fluttering/beating erratically, and allows it to resume something like a normal rhythm. That means that in the wilderness, CPR is almost never going to work. That said, ModN's WFR instructors had a couple tales of AEDs falling from the sky (via helicopter, not under their own power), so it's worth trying regardless.

* The exception: lightning-struck patients can at times restart regular rhythms with just chest compressions. This leads to interesting triage considerations when dealing with the aftermath of lightning, but that's a subject for another post.

How to perform non-crappy CPR

There are a million videos on YouTube that can talk you through every sort of CPR. Keeping in mind, of course, that some CPR is better than nothing on a pulseless patient, here are some quick tips that could indicate your character has some training:

Your character distinguishes between adult and pediatric CPR. Because children don't tend to get heart attacks, pulse-less children almost always have a trauma or respiratory cause. This means responders give children more rescue breaths.

Your character keeps their elbows locked. Here's a playlist of some examples of bad CPR (and some are really quite bad). Actors generally can't lock their elbows because they'd risk injuring or even killing their scene partner (so, okay, fine, that's a decent excuse), but people with real training will know better.

They do not always give rescue breaths. Any CPR is better than no CPR. Rescue breaths can put the first responder at risk because they can involve lip-to-lip contact, assuming no PPE is available. I once had a paramedic say bluntly that he really only gives breaths to children—it's just not worth the risk to him for anyone else. If this sounds callous, remember, CPR is (almost) only performed on dead patients, and the number one priority in any disaster is yourself.

(ModN edit: in a professional setting your character will always have some sort of PPE for rescue breaths: a face shield at the minimum, or in the front country a full-blown bag valve mask (BVM) that allows them to use their hands to get air into the patient.)

Your character does a blood sweep before staring CPR in a trauma injury. You may have heard the rule no pulse = chest compressions immediately. This is almost always true, especially in the frontcountry, when most pulse-less patients you encounter will have had a heart attack. However, in the wilderness, we can run into a bad situation: chest compressions that pump all my patient's blood out the gushing wound in their side.

Maybe you're thinking, hey! I thought you said my character could always do CPR on a dead patient and they'd be fine! And yes, I did say that—thank you for listening. If your character performs CPR on a patient with no pulse and arterial wound, they have not killed their patient. This is because the patient was already dead. They have not "sped up" the bleeding out process because this patient has basically already bled out. So, I'm not blaming your character for anything.

That said, the pro-est of pros will do a blood sweep after finding no pulse and stuff/apply direct pressure/tourniquet as necessary. As an added note, your character with no pulse and the arterial bleed? Probably not going to survive.

This leads me to...

Writing more realistic necromancy

If your character's CPR is successful, your character has just raised the dead. Thinking about it this way can help you write more realistic resuscitation scenes. Here's the number one thing that will make all your CPR more realistic:

Your dead patient does not go from dead to walking and talking in a few seconds.

When the body has no pulse for a while, it gets unhappy. This is because all its internal organs are dying and also because it is dead. CPR replicates the pumping of a heart, but not particularly well. Most people whose organs are all dying don't get that shot of adrenaline to the heart (this is not part of any WFR or EMT protocol but whatever) and then go back to swashbuckling adventure after a quick sip of water.

In fact, in real life, checking the pulse of your patient is an important part of performing CPR because sometimes they come back to life and you don't notice.

So how might you accurately describe someone who's just come back from the dead via CPR (possibly plus defibrillation)? May I recommend some of the following words (no need to cite me—just plop 'em in your writing):

Unconscious

Unmoving

Pale

Clammy

Weak pulse

Non-responsive to pain

Not dead!!!

An added point: absolutely no one whose heart stopped is now "okay" because their heart restarted. They are "not dead" because their heart restarted. Admitedly, not dead is pretty good in the first response business, but they need to see a doctor. As soon as possible. This is because something caused the heart to stop and CPR did not treat that underlying cause. Many people who come back from the dead die again soon after, and could come back and die multiple times before picking a state more permanantly.

Wilderness-Specific CPR

In the wilderness, we have get one (1) special CPR-related ability and that is the ability to stop.

In the US, there's a thing called patient abandonment that can get folks in trouble. Basically, if you start treating a patient, you need to keep treating them until 1) they are dead, 2) they are conscious enough to refuse further treatment and do so, or 3) someone else with an equivalent or higher level of training is treating them (ModN: as a W-EMT this is tricky – it's hard to find people more qualified in the wilderness to hand a patient off to!).

Because WFRs and EMTs cannot declare patients dead, and a dead or unconscious patient cannot refuse treatment, that means you are treating them until someone else is treating them. (As a side note, my first first-aid instructor told the story of performing CPR for 30 minutes in an ambulance on a patient missing part of his brain [this is bad] because the police officer at the scene didn't want to declare him dead on the highway, which would mean shutting down the road for a few hours).

CPR is unique, however, because it's performed on dead patients. The law doesn't want a poor WFR to be stuck in an endless CPR loop because they can't abandon their patient, so in the wilderness only, your character can stop CPR:

After 30 minutes of sustained pulselessness.

If another patient needs more help.

If continuing is dangerous to self or others.

Otherwise, backcountry and frontcountry CPR are pretty similar.

Summary

CPR is generally performed on dead people.

It is difficult to get worse than dead.

Garbage CPR is better than no CPR.

Recovering from being dead takes time and always warrants more care.

WFRs have a superpower and it is called stopping CPR.

Good luck raising your characters from the dead!

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Next One’s on You 4/5

This one is going to hurt. I’m sorry. Here is chapter four: Champagne. Thank you so much for your support. I love every reblog, comment, and like.  Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + for language, mentions of pregnancy, toxic relatives  Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta​ @maxlordsgf​ 

My Masterlist 

Chapter Four: Champagne 

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neon's are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it’s quickly become the worst. 

Becoming a figure in the public eye was never part of your ideal life plan. But, falling in love with Maxwell Lord IV and becoming his future wife, did not leave you with much of a choice. When he made the announcement at the next public event the press went crazy. Tearing apart every inch of your life with tweezers, paying old friends, roommates, people you had gone to school with for even a smidge of gossip. They were ruthless and hounded you all hours of the day from the moment you stepped outside your home and then all the way to work. At the coffee shop business was booming and every day you felt like the new animal at the zoo. Everyone coming to stick their ugly faces against the glass and ooh and ahh at the barista who had managed to ensnare Maxwell Lord.

They weren’t interested in who you were as a person or even how you had fallen in love. Because stuff like that, it doesn’t sell papers. Luckily, your fiancé had been navigating the press for years and knew how to keep them off your tail in your private life. Shielding you from them in the comfort of your own home and helping him plan the ‘wedding of the century.’ Maxwell hired a wedding planner that he thought would get along with you and thankfully Juliet was perfect. She was organized, professional, and knew exactly what you wanted.

Yes, it wasn’t the small intimate wedding you had always hoped for but at least it wasn’t gaudy. Invitations had been sent out, food ordered, floral arrangements chosen, cake sampled, everything was going according to plan. Even going dress shopping with your mother, and grandmother had been perfect. Finding an eggshell colored dress with no train and small puffs on the sleeves. The salesgirl had placed a diamond headband in your hair holding the veil in place and giggled telling you it was sent over by Mr. Lord as a wedding present. The headband was white gold and had leaves encrusted with diamonds that shimmered in the light.

The big day was fast approaching, and thankfully Mrs. Lord the former was nowhere in sight. Although it didn’t leave you with a good feeling in your stomach, she had been too quiet. 

On your wedding day you woke up bright and early, Juliet bringing you breakfast in bed and going over the schedule for the day. You sipped a cup of coffee and smiled just letting her talk. When she was finished a team of stylists came in and got you ready. Manicure, pedicure, massage, makeup, and an elegant up-do, you glowed from the attention. When the dress was lifted over your head and cinched into place your breath caught in the mirror at your reflection. Fingers tracing over the fabric soft under your fingers and fitting just perfectly. They slid the diamond headband in place, and you wiped quickly at the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh honey,” you turn and laugh as your father cries watching you, “you’re so beautiful.” You hold out your arms and hug him and he squeezes you tight. Juliet ushers the two of you down and to the limo to take you to the cathedral. The only church big enough for all the guests you had been forced to invite. When you step from the limo you feel like Princess Diana on the television and give a small wave to the growing crowds. Fingers digging into your fathers’ arm as he confidently leads you forward. Inside are your roommates and friends Michael and Robin acting as your bridesmaid/man. They are ushered down the aisle to the wedding march and your dad takes a deep breath leading you.

Your steps are slow and sure as you pass the elegant floral arrangements of white roses. The petals lining the aisle as you smile at some of the familiar faces. When you look up your breath is sucked out and you beam at your husband to be. Wearing a tuxedo and a hint of a familiar pocket square sticking out. He’s perfect, and smiling so brightly he rivals the sun, as he watches you glide toward him. 

You reach out to grab his hand and feel it tighten around your own. His eyes glassy with unshed tears as he smiles at you. Not the fake one from the television but the one he reserves just for you, warm and so full of love. You beam right back at him and mouth I love you before turning to the officiant. You choose not to write your own vows instead following along with the usual lines. Saving your vows for when you’re alone later. When he comes to ask for objections your smile dims as the sound of heels clacking on the floor directs your attention to the aisle.

Mrs. Lord in a white chanel suit is stalking towards you with a sneer. Maxwell moves to stand in front of you when the doors at the back of the church open and in walks….Tom? Your sleazy date from the first night with Maxwell is strutting confidently up the aisle wearing a tuxedo and smiling broadly, coming to stand beside Maxwell’s mother.

“Hi baby,” he coos at you and you shudder.

“What is the meaning of this?” Maxwell hisses clearly angry.

“I have come to bring an end to this sorry excuse for a wedding. My son,” she turns to the crowd like the detective in the novels you read does before unraveling the great mystery, “has been tricked by this little harlot! She has been part of a plot to steal my son’s money and company from the beginning!” She turns to gesture at Tom. “Thomas here told me of her scheme. One year ago, she hired him to pretend to be her date and take advantage of her. She knew my son would be at the restaurant and wanted him to come to her aid.”

“That’s absolute bullsh-“ you're cut off as Michael steps forward.

“It’s true! She asked if I knew anyone she could use as a date to trap some rich guy, I never knew she meant Maxwell Lord,” he points at you and your heart beats loudly in your ears watching one of your oldest friends lie to your face.

“I was there that night, the night she needed to be ‘rescued’ she was all over my son and straddling him on the couch, sure didn’t look like someone who just needed comfort to me!” she shrieks, and several people scoff in outrage although at who it isn’t clear.

She continues on and on making more outlandish claims and each time you go to defend yourself another of your friends, coworkers, or even acquaintances would step forward and collaborate with her. Until you are in tears and Maxwell is withdrawing further and further away from you. The room goes silent as she makes the biggest claim of all, “AND I know she is pregnant! The little bitch is trying to claim my son is the father of her bastard child!”

Maxwell frozen turns to stare at you and your mouth drops open a hand coming to quickly cover it as the tears stream down your cheeks. From the back of the room another voice speaks out, “I can confirm it! She had the appointment two weeks ago, and I performed the ultrasound myself.” The technician from your doctor’s office steps forward holding out a black and white photograph.

Maxwell stares at it and then turns back to you, “Is it true?” he whispers voice cracking.

“Maxwell-“ you reach for him and he takes a step back.

“Is it mine?” he shouts, and you tremble, lip wobbling as you bite down hard enough to taste the tang of blood in your mouth.

“How can you even ask me that? Of course, it’s yours,” your voice quivers and he scoffs.

“Because it seems like everyone you know, is accusing you of sleeping around with fucking Tom!” he shouts, and you take a step back hand protectively covering your stomach.

He glares at you and you take a step back, “Were you going to tell me?” he begs, “That the baby isn’t mine?!”

Your voice cracks, “It is yours! I haven’t been with anyone else Maxwell, you know this!” you shout sobs swelling in your chest. All the guests watching the drama unfold. 

“Another lie!” his mother shouts, stalking over to Maxwell and whispering in his ear like the snake that tempted Eve. “She only wants to take your money, everything that you have worked so hard to build. All of your success will be hers. She doesn’t love you.” 

Your heart splinters as he nods and drops his head, she turns to you grinning. “I think it’s time for you to leave, you are not welcome here anymore.” 

“Maxwell,” you cry reaching for him but he is far away from you now. You hold your head up high and glare at the people who stepped forward. “How fucking dare you,” you say low and threatengly, “some of them taking a step back at the venom in your voice. You walk down the steps slowly and hold up a hand as your family tries to rush you, walking towards a smirking Tom you rear your fist back. It makes a satisfying crunch as you break his nose.

Shaking your hand as it stings and he curses at you from the ground, “Fucking bitch!” 

“Go to hell you lying son of a bitch! If you ever get near me or my child, I will have you arrested,” you storm out of the church blood boiling stomach sour. As you slam open the doors to the waiting area, a waiter for the cocktail hour passes and you crash into him. Coating you in champagne as he quickly apologizes begging for forgiveness.  You're too upset to even notice and when you open the doors of the church the press go nuts. Cameras flashing, you race toward the limo. Jeeves the driver, holding the door open as you dive inside, slamming it closed behind you. He quickly climbs into the driver's seat, and the tires squeal as he drives away. 

“Mrs. Lord, what happened?” You sob into your hands and try to catch your breath. 

“I didn’t become Mrs. Lord,” you mumble and he stays silent just driving until you’ve calmed down enough to give him directions. The night is dark and you make your way across town. You have nowhere to go. You live with Maxwell and your former friends and roommate betrayed you. “Jeeves?” he looks into the rearview in sympathy, “take me to work please,” your voice is soft and he nods turning the limo toward the coffee shop. He pulls up out front and you quickly wave him off as you get out of the car and stumble towards the door. Giselle is locking up for the evening and freezes upon seeing you. Quickly rushing to the door and letting you inside. You collapse in her arms and she lets you spill everything, running her hand up and down your back. 

The wedding, Maxwell’s mother, Tom, Michael, the baby...all of it comes pouring out. When you're spent and your eyes have no more tears you haul yourself off the floor and push into the backroom. Giselle follows and you ask for the keys, “I’ll lock the door when I leave just...please let me stay.” She nods and hugs you tightly again before grabbing her purse and sliding out the side door. You lock in behind you and lean against the door sliding to the floor. 

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neons are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it quickly became the worst. 

You place your hands protectively over your stomach, rubbing gently. Oh fuck...what have we gotten ourselves into now…

The rasp of knuckles sounds at the back door. 

[captaincravatthecapricious]

No Way To Get Help

@malevon​

Well... this was supposed to be about Jon, but it's about Tim instead. Under the wreckage of the wax museum, Tim isn't dead.

cw nausea, depression, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation (canon typical levels for Tim end of season 3), ambiguous mentions of injury, hospitals

Four more fics to go, and only one more prompt to send in, so if you have something in mind, get it in quick! I hope you know the drill by now!  Thanks @celosiaa​ for the wonderful card!

The silence is deafening.  Or would be if Tim wasn’t partially deaf already.  He hadn’t been wearing his hearing aids.  What would have been the point?  He knows the plan.  Daisy and Basira are ….were?  Hardly chatty.  He didn’t?  Doesn’t?  Didn’t?  Want to hear a single word that Jon had to say.  

God.  Tenses.  

Is anyone still alive?  Is it just him?  

He should clarify.  The silence is deafening after the explosion.  After the circus music that was somehow louder, possibly because it was at least partly inside his head.  There is probably the sound of rubble settling, and the groaning of burning building, and rushing emergency vehicles.  But… he can’t hear a goddamn thing.  Just that eternal ringing in his ears.  He has never been sure if that was tinnitus or just what silence sounds like.  Never thought it worth asking after he learned that people with tinnitus have higher rates of suicide.  And… well… if this stupid plan was nothing else, wasn’t it just some grand suicide scheme?  

One that looks to have spectacularly failed.  

Just him… probably alone.  In the dark.  

Then again, if he’s alive, maybe the others are too?  Does he want that?  

If he’s honest, he would rather just be dead.  

Not that that is a revelation.  

Then again, he could be dead in a minute.  

He can’t feel his legs.  Well… he can.  He wishes he couldn’t.  He wishes he couldn’t feel anything.  There is so much pain that it just… it’s too much for him to even register as pain anymore.  He just feels… cold and crushed.  Probably shock because there are actual fires burning around him.  He can smell it.  The burning plaster and plastic and wood and smoldering concrete… if that is even a thing?  Thick air.  He’s coughing.  And that hurts more.  

He can’t hear it, however.  

He can’t hear anything but that goddamn ringing in his ears.  

He thinks he might be crying.  

He can’t hear his own heaving sobs.  

Just that high-pitched whine of utter silence.  

Do you know what that sound is, highness?  Those are the shrieking eels…

That’s it.  

The only words his brain can find, as he grows ever more numb.  He has no doubt that darkness is eating at his vision, or would be if there was anything but darkness around him. 

Not even the words from the book.  Lines from the movie.   Which isn’t a bad thing…  He doesn’t even know his own feelings about his favorite book and his favorite movie.  

(That’s not true.  He was always a fan of the movie, but… he and Danny read the book to each other so often…  He has the work paperback in the pocket of his bomber jacket.  Wanted to die with it.  Ideally buried with it, but it’s not like he left a note.  Aside from that damn tape).  

The whine continues.  He doesn’t know how long it’s been.  

 Do you know what that sound is, highness?  Those are the shrieking eels…

That had been the first thing he had thought of when he first heard the worms.  

He curses the worms to the darkness.  If it hadn’t been for them… he could have lived in blissful ignorance about the darker nature of his job… well to some degree.  Sasha would still be here.  Jon wouldn’t have….  FUCK.  He doesn’t want to think about Jon while he’s willing himself out of existence.  But….

But Jon.  That little fucking moron.  Who he HATES.  Who he wants to hate.  

Does he hate Jon?  

Is Jon even still alive?  

If he’s dead, does he want to keep hating a dead man?  One who …wasn’t any worse than him.  

Which isn’t to say blameless, or not a twat at times….  But.  But not a monster.  And Tim can’t really blame him for not trusting anyone.  

Jon… was in the wrong, but so was Tim.  They have both been utter dicks.  Which has always been Tim’s least favorite plot.  God back in publishing… a Lifetime ago… he always hated books that hinged on characters fighting, not talking things out, not Understanding and that rift causing endless misery.  Has he really become something that he hated… still hates with every fiber of his being.  The number of books that set his teeth on edge from the first misunderstanding.  He actually hates most Rom Coms for that reason.  Which… surprised just about everyone he’s dated.  

He possibly groans.  He isn’t thinking clearly.  

He can’t hear himself groan.  

He really should give it up, and let himself pass out.  He hurts.  He’s tired.  If he wakes up… that’s a problem for later.  If he quietly slips away… well… maybe he’ll see Danny there.  Maybe he’ll see Sasha.  Hell, maybe if he sees Jon there, they can work something out.  If there is an afterlife… they’ll have all the time in the world.  (Or rather all the time in the next world).  And if not… well.  Eternal rest sounds pretty damn good.  

…But.  But Jon.  If Jon is alive down here… He should be close.  

And… Tim can’t let him die alone under this building.  He can’t lose someone else to the Circus while he sits idly by.  And Damn it, maybe he doesn’t want to meet Jon in the afterlife just yet, maybe he wants a break?  (And maybe he just loves him too much to completely give up on him… even though he knows he is far too late.  Too many bridges burned.  “We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”  A line from Jon’s favorite play.)

Tim tries to move his fingertips.  And almost screams.  It hurts.  It hurts.  It hurts.  

He thinks he might scream.  But he can’t hear a sound.  

He braces himself and tries again.  Stretching his arms out as wide as he can.  Moving dust and ash and rubble.  He almost passes out.  Or maybe he does pass out.  Time has no meaning in this place.  

He finds a hand.  Cold.  And limp.  And his heart stops, first for fear that this is another mannequin.  Then for fear that this is all that is left of someone who was… could have been… is?  Something to Tim.  Everything to Tim.  

Tim thinks he might vomit.  

He feels out a little further as his head swims.  He feels the stretched and puckered skin of undoubtedly Jon’s right hand.  Unresponsive.  Possibly dead.  

Tim coughs.  Choking on the soot and heat and fumes in the air.  A massive weight both metaphorical and painfully tangible on all of him.  Aching pain breaking him into little shards, which turn right around and skewer him.  

Tim loses consciousness.  Old and cracked and dry paperback of The Princess Bride in his pocket.  Limp hand of his… friend? In his hand.  

Tim wakes up in hospital.  

His lungs hurt.  And everything feels distant and fuzzy.  Probably being pumped through with a lot of painkillers.  Probably for the best, or he might be more upset for waking up.  He wants to ask after Jon… but he can’t get his mouth to open.  

And suddenly he’s thinking about Westley.  Mostly dead.  Revived.  Head flopping around on his neck.  Danny had lost his shit laughing at that… it always made Tim feel sick after… everything.  The imitation of life… couldn’t quite shake the image of… that night.  Christ if he was on less drugs, he would probably puke.  

He would shake his head if he could move. 

“You just shook your head, that doesn’t make you happy?”

He is also struck by the thought that this is Kill Bill in reverse.  Nearly died getting his revenge, and then ending up in a coma.  (He watched those movies on Bad days.  When he downs enough whiskey to drown a horse.  He can’t say he really remembers much of them, but they were always cathartic.)  

He tries to look at his feet.  But he can’t even lift his head.  

He closes his eyes again.  

When he opens them, he sees Martin.  Worn and tired.  Looking older than ever, more haggard than Jon.  

Shit!  Jon.  Is Jon here?  Is he dead?  

He still can’t move.  

He looks at Martin again.  Martin is… talking?  Tim can’t make out anything.  Just the dull murmur of meaningless sound.  

…But.  

Martin is holding a book.  

A sooty, singed book.  

Martin sitting between two hospital beds, holding Tim’s old copy of The Princess Bride, facing Tim presumably so if Tim were to come around, Tim could read his lips.  

“I said, ‘What do you mean, “Westley dies”?  You mean dies?

My father nodded.  ‘Prince Humperdink kills him.’

‘He’s only faking though, right?’  

My father shook his head, closed the book all the way.

‘Aw shit,’ I said and I started to cry.  

‘I’m sorry,’ my father said.  ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ and he left me.”

Martin is also crying.  Just like Billy in the book.  

“’Who gets Humperdinck?’” Tim whispers.  Painfully aware of how dry his throat is.  It’s no more than a cracked whisper.  

And then he’s coughing.  

He can barely hear himself, but he swears he is coughing out a lung.  

Martin has dropped the book.  Staring in wide-eyed shock for a moment, before yelling something.  Scrambling up.  Probably getting a doctor.  Tim wishes he hadn’t gone.  

He looks are where Martin had been, but ends up getting a good look at the bed next to him.  And sees one, very still and very pale Jonathan Sims.  Very bandaged, and frighteningly still.  Tim can’t see breathing.  

And then he’s being poked and prodded and tested and Martin is talking to him.  And everything hurts.  Until it doesn’t and he’s lying still and Martin is smoothing his hair down and holding his hand and telling him that he’s been unconscious for a month.  That Jon is all but brain dead.  That Elias is in police custody.  

By the time Jon wakes up, five months later, Tim has decided to give him another chance, he and Martin are sharing a flat, there is another room ever hopeful that Jon will want to join then if- no, when he wakes up.  

Also.  Jon’s hair may or may not be dyed green.  

Maybe.  

No, Tim has no idea what everyone is looking at him like that for.  

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on Episode 6--On the Inside

Very appropriate title by the way.  Works in a multitude of ways.  

As always, my randomness is going beneath a cut again to spare the eyeballs of those of you that don’t want to see it at all and also?  Help those of you that have somehow stayed spoiler-free in this brand-new age of early release episodes.  It is still so wild to me that I’m a full episode ahead of half the fandom.  I don’t know what I’m going to do when we get to the final episode and they decide to make us all suffer together--because somehow I do feel they will do exactly that after spoiling us for the first 23 episodes.  It is going to be agonizing.  

Anyway.  Without further ado, Shae’s stream of consciousness review (of sorts).  

Not fair, Angela.  Opening the episode with that shot of that big ass spider.  I hate those suckers.  So naturally, they’re an easy sell for setting the horror scene to me, lol.  

Okay.  Who the hell’s chasing Virgil and Connie?  Walker No-See-Ums?

Barely a minute in and the atmosphere for this episode is moody AF.  

What is this?  Tara Jr. The Walking Dead?  LOL.  Where’s the Scarlett for this mini plantation house?  Anyway.  First three minutes of this episode?  Just as attention grabbing as the first five episode openings this season.  I don’t think people out there are giving our writers enough love for that.  Every episode so far has opened like a mini movie.  

With the way the Walking Dead logo keeps crumbling away with each successive episode, somehow it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the Carol and Daryl spinoff was eventually titled The Living and had flowers growing out of each letter, lol.  I mean, there would be a certain sort of life-affirming symmetry in a show that’s been promised to be much lighter in tone doing just that.  

More Carol and Aaron?  Yes, please.  I don’t necessarily like Carol staying at home and sitting the sidelines like a figurative happy little homemaker in the B story while the rest of the mains are trying like hell to sell the A story, but if she’s going to be totally prohibited from the main storyline until it’s time to blow shit up?  I’m going to continue enjoy getting to see her do what she should have been doing for seasons--interacting with others in the community, especially Aaron and the ladies.  

Truly.  I really am loving my girl getting some quality Aaron and Rosita time.  It’s so long overdue.  

Bless sweet Kelly.  Riding off to her sister’s rescue.  

Why isn’t Lydia shown as part of these plans?  For someone that could barely read last season, I doubt that big ass map was a piece of cake for her and it’s all just guesswork anyway without her guidance.  I mean, why does it feel like they are cutting some of this stuff that might not seem like much plot-wise but would go a long way toward establishing different character beats?  Personally, I would have loved to see her involved in the search and sharing scenes again with Carol and bonding with Kelly. 

Virgil be having that “I always feel like somebody’s watching me” feeling.  Don’t you hate that, lol?  

“You haven’t slept in days.”  But how many days, Virgil?  I’m going to need a number because I’m confused AF about this timeline at this point.  What we’re seeing and what different pieces of dialogue is telling us is not exactly lining up.  I’m going to find it awful hilarious if it hasn’t even been two weeks since the cave in.  For reasons.  

Connie’s spidey senses are clearly tingling.  

Alrighty, then.  She’s clearly got PTSD.  Understandable.  They’ve all had it.  Some have been treated more sympathetically than others, though.  

I mean, it never seems to cross anybody’s mind how Carol probably sees Henry’s head on that pike, Mika’s pale and bloody body, Lizzie crumpled face down in a bed of yellow flowers, Sophia with a smoking bullet hole through her undead head whenever she closes her eyes but whatever.  

Okay though.  But what if Connie had really shitty, impossible to read handwriting?  AKA doctor’s  handwriting.  What then?  

Leah’s face honestly twists my insides whenever I see it, lol.  It’s quiet a visceral thing.  No, that does not make me a horrible person.  Not everybody wants or has to drink the awesome, great, redeemable villainess Kool-Aid.  IMHO, she’s got a face meant for a Walker.  Perfect makeover idea.  Eh.  Mostly it’s her expression and the deadness of her eyes.  

Anyway.  Why is it always the fingers?  Eff that.  

Listen.  If ya’ll can’t tell Daryl’s conflicted AF with the situation he’s landed in, you don’t know how to read NR’s face and eyes.  He’s not a masterclass like MMB but he’s pretty darn good when he wants to be.  

I honestly feel sorry for Redshirt Frost.  

“You do what you gotta do.”  Frost knows what’s what and he’s willing to walk the walk for Maggie.  Impressive loyalty.  I’m left wondering how the current, colder incarnation of Maggie inspired it because I’m still struggling to see it.  Anywho.  My point is the dude knows the score and just gave Daryl the okay.  

Daryl taking off his angel vest before stepping into the role of torturer/interrogator=him shedding the persona/the man Judith and RJ and Lydia and Carol know him to be.  Pushing away his man of honor status so he can just survive somehow.  

Pope never quits chewing whatever the hell he’s got in his mouth.  It’s kind of distracting.  

Ohhh.  We’re back to the Haunted Mansion.  I mean house.  Where are the Hitchhiking Ghosts?  

All the eyes scratched out of those creepy pictures=spooky.  

The good old fogged up bathroom mirror shot.  Somebody’s been watching and studying their horror movies, lol.  Not gonna lie though.  I’m legit bracing myself for the jump scares I know have to be coming.  

I’m loving the music/score in these scenes.  

Truthfully, I could care less about these Reapers.  But they are hella attractive, lol.  Listen.  Angela knows what she’s doing.  

Kelly’s horse is so pretty.  Prayer chain for that baby.  

More dead horses?  Why?  

Connie’s slingshot?  Sorry.  I maintain, no matter how much I like these two, that they have the lamest weapons ever.  Endless supply of Virginia rocks or not.  

So.  Did Virgil and Connie enjoy a little equine for dinner?  Did they kill it before the Walkers fed?  What monsters!  Yeah, no.  Not if they were starving even if I personally could not have.  The more probable story is they fled the camp in a panic and left the horse behind and then it went down.  Sorry.  I didn’t exactly study the wounds on the poor animal because it is so traumatizing to me to continue to see them meet such dastardly ends on this show.  I don’t know who the hell has such a score to settle with horses but stop it.  

Days.  It’s only been days.  Not weeks.  So many times with all that Daryl and Company have had to contend with since the cave in?  Those do not exist, lol.  They’re just a convenient, appeasing piece of dialogue thrown at a fanbase primed and ready to read everything into not much of anything.  There’s just not been enough time for it to happen unless Daryl has literally been up 24/7 for all of them.  You know, strategizing how to attack the remainders of Alpha’s horde, figuring out how to defend Hilltop before it fell, healing from the wound he sustained at Alpha’s hand, sitting on that log all damn night with Negan waiting on Carol to come home, having a lover’s quarrel with his best damn everything, taking care of the Grimes babies and Lydia, being the reluctant leader.  Kang, why you playing them like that?  Daryl’s a super guy but he’s not a superhuman with clones.  So many times my ass.  

Seriously.  Who been watching Connie and Virgil?  The MIA Oceansiders?  Beta’s Fee Fi Fo Fum Ghost?  

Nice.  A Michonne mention.  Maybe the truth will start to trickle out.  

LMAO at Connie’s “I’m not staying here.”  Me neither, girl.  I would be outta that house so fast.  

They really “Quiet Placing” this episode.  Honestly?  I’m kinda loving it.  

WTF was that?  I know she can’t hear but you telling me all the little hairs on her arms, legs, and neck didn’t stand the fuck up and say fuck this shit, I’m gone?  Pardon my language, lovelies, but that moment had my heart kicking up several beats.  

Okay, okay.  To be fair to Connie, every hair on her body been doing that since the front door closed.  Maybe they’re desensitized.  

Gollum’s chasing Connie!!!  He/She wants their Precious!!!

The knee jerk reactions about this episode sight unseen are OTT, honestly.  And I mean no disrespect by saying that.  I can understand completely where they’re coming from because we’ve been burned so long in this fandom.  But it’s obvious the spoiler source has their particular biases and reads into things in such a way that don’t line up with what’s actually being shown onscreen.  Daryl’s loyalty in this episode and all along quite clearly lies with his family and his community.  He’s been playing Leah since the start and is truly just trying to survive somehow.  

Awful thought.  The Reaper that’s so suspish of Daryl--haven’t quite caught his name or really cared to.  I feel like he might try to get to Daryl somehow.  When he realizes that Daryl cares no more for Leah than any human would care for somebody (they thought) they used to know?  He’s going after Dog.  Or Carol should she finally join this story. 

I refuse to believe Carol isn’t going to be a part of this story.  Because they messing with her mans, lol.  

“You’re ever with us or you’re not.”  Now where have I heard those words before?  I wish I could find that Daryl gif because that had to be one of the funniest things ever, lol.  

Unrealistic suggestion to Daryl, Leah?  Breathing oxygen seems to piss off Carver.  Oh look.  He finally has a name for me, lol.  

I love how all three of the ladies--Carol, Magna, and Rosita--look at Kelly with such indulgent, adoring “little sis, you alright?” eyes.  

They are seriously the most beautiful quartet of characters.  I mean all of them are lovely but Carol and Rosita this season?  Ugh.  The unfairness of the pretty.  

Human bones.  Terminus callback, lovelies.  How it all would have eventually gone down if Gareth and Co. hadn’t met the business end of Rick’s red machete.  

So many horror movie homages in this one.  

Virgil’s like “let’s leave this Texas Chainsaw Massacre behind.”  

Connie and Virgil have obviously bonded, ya’ll.  I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying their scenes together when the character mostly got on my nerves with Michonne.  He’s a good actor and the core of his character is sympathetic, but I’m not going to lie.  I wasn’t super enthused when he was the one that rescued Connie because I didn’t know how their scenes would play out. But there’s a nice synergy there.  

Okay.  Does Carver want Leah for himself?  Because I’m sure Daryl at this point would love to scream “take her, I know where I fucking belong!”  

Daryl’s digging in deep because Carver has shown him Leah’s potential weak spot.  Nuance is truly lost on some people, LMAO.  He cares about Leah as a human being probably.  He’s Daryl, after all.  The sweet one.  But he sees her as his way outta this and he’s going to exploit it.  

It’s nice to have a silent Negan for once, lol.  I can pretend he didn’t take my baby Glenn away from me and enjoy JDM’s pretty.  

So.  These cannibal people were the watchers?  Hmm.  

I’m really digging Virgil 2.0.  Yeah.  Nobody’s surprised more than me.  

Sweet, sweet scene between Virgil and Connie.  His determination to reunite her with her family brings back the sympathy I felt for him when he told Michonne “I promised her flowers.  Every day.”  

Damn.  How many of those creepy crawly cannibals are there?  

How brave of Connie to confront her fears to save someone she’s obviously grown to care about.  

The Kelly/Connie reunion gave me chills and made me cry.  Thank fuck Angela didn’t cheapen that moment by having it focus on literally anybody else.  Kelly is the most important person in the whole world to Connie and vice versa.  Just like Carol is the most important person in the whole world to Daryl and vice versa.  Angela fucking knows.  Everybody does.  Except the people busy building castles out of sand while the waves of Carol’s and Daryl’s converging stories keep crashing closer and closer to shore.  

Such a beautiful moment given to us by Angel Theory and Lauren Ridloff.  So authentic and sweet.  Kelly and Connie are home to each other.  

Poor Frost.  That’s all I gotta say about that.  

WTF, though.  Was Mel just not available or what?  I want to see more of the ASZ characters that I care about, not the Reapers.  Like I’d be fine with the story if all the characters not named Maggie, Negan, or Daryl weren’t surviving on crumbs during it.  Especially the 2nd billed actress on the entire show.  Angela.  Please.  Fix this.  

One last WTF.  Seriously.  WTF has Maggie done to inspire Pope’s obsession?  It better be juicy after all this shit.  

Overall impression of the episode--

One of my favorites of the season so far.  The horror aspects were fantastic, IMHO. I truly didn’t expect to like Connie and Virgil’s scenes as much together so that was a nice surprise.  She got the reunion that felt most true and earned for the character and her story and I thank Angela from the bottom of my heart for that.  

I would have loved more Carol but I always want more Carol.  I’m okay with her taking a backseat because ultimately?  This was Kelly’s moment with her sister.  Carol and Connie will eventually have their time to sit down and talk.  And pick back up their blossoming friendship because I truly do not feel Connie blames Carol at all.  

I do wish Lydia had been included with the girl group.  Last episode felt like it was leading up to that.  

The Reaper storyline continues to be the weakest link because every time we see them the dialogue and interactions feel totally recycled from the time previous.  I feel like it would have totally been helped by a tighter focus and less stretching out because 8 episodes of this is really diluting what I feel like Angela and Co. are going for.  I’m not here for Leah being redeemed or being a bigger focus in any of the episodes because she does nothing of interest for me.  I’m just peeking in on that story for the Daryl of it all.  

Speaking of the Daryl? You lovelies out there gotta stop taking that spoiler source’s recaps at face value because it’s obvious to me at least that there’ some bias at work.  Every action and word coming from Daryl is coming from a place of loyalty to his family and wanting to protect them, no matter how he has to dirty his hands.  Leah is just a means to his ultimate end.  She’s not his future.  She never was.  His future’s already spoken for and 2023 can’t get  here soon enough.  But like Daryl, we have to just survive somehow.  

Oh goodie.  More Maggie and Negan next episode and looks like no real follow up on Connie and the ASZ reunions.  Hopefully, this is yet another instance of the previews being deceiving but I’m not holding my breath.  

Until later, lovelies.  

Hope my word vomit didn’t bore you too much.  

[erinxneil]

You know I own a gun, right?

So, I decided I was going to begin this as a prompt challenge because its been a SUPER long time since I’ve written anything, so I’m going to be using the prompts from @criminalmindswriter here and write a story for each if that makes sense? It’ll make more sense the more of them that I write, this is prompt #1 - “You know I own a gun, right?”

masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

>>>Not neccesarily romantic, this post is primarily focused on friendship!

Summary: Spencer seems to forget the advice that Morgan once offered him years ago about messing with a woman who carries a gun, when a prank war goes too far. 

I sat in the rolling chair in front of my desk, legs propped up on the table, smiling as I listened to Prentiss rant about the douche bag at the bar last night who didn’t know when to take a hint. As Emily continued to complain that it seems as if men no longer had any sense of decency, I reached down to adjust the height of the chair, realizing it no longer held the comfort that I remembered. My eyebrows furrowed as I twisted the knob however it refused to budge. Emily’s voice became white noise in my mind as I smiled kindly while roughly forcing the handle into movement, only for my efforts to be in vain.

“Y/N?” Emily questioned, an eyebrow raised in confusion. She was not angry at me for paying little attention to her story, she was more amused at my predicament and obvious frustration.

As I opened my mouth to explain my situation, I noticed a certain doctor smirking into his cup of coffee as he walked past our desks.

“Hey, genius!” I called out. “Do you have something to do with this?”

Spencer feigned surprise. “What are you referring to?” His face could almost be mistaken for innocence, had it not been for the flare of mischief that lit up in his eyes.

“Look, Reid, all I know is that someone moved my chair about ten inches from its comfortable position, and that you happen to be often chipper for someone who was forced to wake up at five in the morning today.” I narrowed my eyes at him as he blinked innocently.

“Again, wish I could help you.” He sipped his mug and began to walk away slowly, before throwing a glance over his shoulder branding a sly grin. “And if someone did happen to move your adjustment lock approximately 2.4 inches from its original position before jamming it into place, it would likely have to do with your inability to remain in your own seat on the jet, and intruding in their own personal space.” With this statement, Spencer smiled cheekily before strutting into the conference room.

“Oh, is that so?” I called out after him. Well, two can play at this game, Reid.

- * - * - * - * - * -

I grinned mischievously as I stared at the masterpiece in front of me. At first glance, it appeared as if there was not a paper out of place. Reid’s desk was as tidy as ever, to reflect the pristine image that he desired to be viewed as.

However, as we know, the surface is never what it seems.

I quickly marched back to my desk, a slight quirk in the corner of my lips to be the only hint of my devious plot. Morgan appeared to be the only one to notice, as his eyes glanced at me, back to Reid’s desk corner, and dragged slowly back to me with furrowed eyebrows.

Morgan was the only agent present this early- of course, aside from Hotch who was on the phone in his office. “Might I ask what you were doing over at Pretty Boy’s desk over there?” I smiled innocently. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

Before he could question me further, the man himself entered into the building. He walked over to us slowly, eyes raking the scene and not spotting anything unordinary. “Hey, Reid, make sure you tell your mother happy birthday for me, I remembered you mentioned it the other day.”

Reid paused for a moment, a smile crossing his face. “Thanks, I will.”

I grinned softly. “I’ve always loved birthdays. A sign of life and happiness.”

Spencer continued towards his desk, his smile growing as if he had hoped someone would give him an opportunity to spout his useless knowledge. “Actually, did you know that you are 13.8 percent more likely to die on your birthday than any other normal day?” Reid sat in his seat and reached for his pen. “ This is quite interesting, because-” 

He paused, hand hovering over the pen, confusion crossing his features as he leaned forward slightly.

Spencer looked around somewhat panicked, before his eyes passed mine and realization fell upon his face as he noticed my smirk. Glaring, he watched as I placed the bottle of clear, contact-drying glue onto my desk.

“What’s wrong Spence, cat got your tongue?” I grinned.

- * - * - * - * - * -

What began as a harmless prank war quickly escalated into a dangerous battle of wits as tensions rose between the two agents. 

The pranks evolved from small, mildly irritating occurrences into humiliating and mildly life threatening disasters. Both Spencer and Y/N were extremely competitive and often the best at whatever they did, therefore it would be nearly impossible for one to relent without the other admitting defeat.

The rest of the team refused to get involved. Morgan is aware that I could quite literally destroy him, while Emily fears that Spencer will revert into his robot form and unlock his repressed mind-controlling powers to force her to submit to his will should she dare to intervene. Hotch initially didn’t mind the banter, as it caused the two to become more competitive in terms of cases themselves and in turn solving them quicker. However, as the battle escalates, Hotch fears that the childish games will cause someone to get hurt.

Which he couldn’t be more right.

While the pranks initially began as hiding valuables or increasing the frequency of the volume of his headset every time that Spencer said the word “Actually-”, these elevated into becoming trapped in a closet for hours without food or drink, or trapping car keys above a large tub of hydrofluoric acid. (If it was not obvious, this was a prank straight from the mind of the doctor.) 

Spencer had gotten very fed up after the last prank required him to follow a scavenger hunt throughout the office within ten minutes to find his badge before it would be shredded, only to find that it had been taped under his seat the entire time. Because of this, when I walked into the office the following morning to find his elaborate prank, I was not surprised. 

As I walked through the conference room doors, I immedately froze as I felt the ground shift beneath me. I realized I was standing on a pressure plate when lights began flashing around me, sounding a faint alarm that gradually grew louder, and I spotted Doctor Reid sitting before me with a smirk planted gracefully upon his lips.

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise!” He grinned. I rolled my eyes. “What kind of prank is thi-” A churning sound above me caused me to slowly glance up, noticing a bucket slowly being lowered further towards me.

“You were saying?” He smiled. The once innocent grin had a devilish flame now as he stared at me, anticipating my next move. “How in the hell did you do this?” I questioned, growing nervous as the bucket drew closer.

“Garcia owed me one after she helped you hack into my computer.” He grinned sheepishly, as if ashamed that he could not do this all by himself. But of course- Garcia, the only one who while remaining impartial, had offered to equally aid on both of our sides. I suppose I had known it was only a matter of time that he had cashed in this favor, however with the amount of detail in this prank, it is clear that the brainpower of Garcia only amplified Spencer’s genius thoughts.

I decided to turn the tabled on him. “Aw, Pretty Boy, you really must think about me often if you came up with such an elaborate plan like this. How long did this take you to set up, several hours?” The slightly pink tinge that was hinted across his cheeks suggested that I was underestimating his preparedness for this prank, and that I had struck a nerve. 

Spencer quickly composed himself. “I’m not the one whose about to be drenched in that god-awful smelling liquid. It will drop on you in a matter of two minutes, unless I press this button telling it not to. I could explain to you all of the ingredients that it’s composed of, however-” “I’m good, thanks.” I huffed.

“Alright Reid, what do you want?” He smiled, knowing he had me right where he wanted me.

“I want you to admit that not only did I beat you in this prank war, but that I am also otherwise far superior to you in every aspect.” 

I glared at him. “You know I own a gun, right?”

Spencer chuckled. “So do I hear that you would enjoy smelling like-”

I huffed. “Alright, fine, fine, you, Doctor Spencer Reid, have bested me in this prank war and are far superior to me in every aspect of life or whatever.” I grumbled in annoyance.

Spencer grinned mischeviously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that, could you repeat yourself?” I offered him a deadpan stare to which he simply smiled and pressed the button. The alarms silence and the blaring lights died down. I stepped off of the plate, and all returned to normal.

“Now was that so hard?” He questioned smugly, holding the door open for me.

I walked up to him with a tight smile, before bashing him in the back of the head with the butt of my gun. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but definitely rough enough to make sure he knows to give it up. He yelped loudly as I walked away, arms crossed in annoyance.

Morgan glanced up at a flustered Reid who was rubbing the back of his head with a grimace.

“What did I tell you, kid? Never mess with a woman who carries a gun.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Tongue Tied

Notes: This is another Valentine’s Day fic, except it’s a bit shorter.This is for those who rather have pure, straight up fluff

Setting: I wanted childhood friends au. OOC Tai, kinda. Tried to make it short and sweet for Valentine’s Day, along with my other fic that’s more plot-y and smutty tOTALLY does revolve around yokai: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427309

 When you first met him, you were both about eight. He was round, cheeky, and friendly, greeting you to the new neighborhood. Only being eight, and not really having any friends, you were rather shy. He grinned, holding up a bag of blue gummy sharks. Eagerly but hesitantly, you complied, and he beamed at you with a blush, seemingly to rival the sun as he introduced himself.

“-but ya can call me Tai-chan!”

Regularly, his mom and your mom became close friends, and often brought the two of you to the park. Him being the only familiar, friendly face, you followed him everywhere, like a little puppy. He would be always smiling and talking, falling in step beside you as he munched on whatever or whichever his mom had brought for him, sharing with you, and you offered your own snacks.

He grew on you, taking you everywhere, creating blanket and pillow forts, and promised that the two of you will be best friends forever. Although rather shy, you were extremely protective of him, finding your young self snapping at bullies when they’ve made fun of his weight, and making sure that he was alright. He would look at you shyly yet with a soft grin and rub the back of his head, telling you that you were amazing.

………………..

You were both ten. In two years, you’ve grown very close to him. Of course, his family and doctor worrying about his weight, had put him on a diet. He was still a little round, but had grown a few inches taller. You didn’t care, as long as he was your friend. Who you totally did not have a small crush on. Nope.  

The two of you were in his living room, resting in your own separate sleeping bags as Bambi played on the VHS. No matter how many times the two of you seen it, his eyes would always water up when a particular scene came along as he shoved popcorn in his mouth. All you could really do was pat his shoulder gently, causing him to stutter and have the same odd red tint to his cheeks as he laughed nervously. You stared at his odd behavior, but shrugged, reaching for the popcorn as the two of you talked about future dreams and other things as the sleepover crawled on.

By this time, you’ve knew him a bit more, use to hanging out at his house, and his yours. Cooking and baking with each other’s respective moms, was a common weekend thing.

……………………………..

 He’d gotten a bit more loud and rowdy, but was still sweet as ever. Of course, being twelve, the two of you were experiencing your own physical and mental changes. Voice cracking, outgrowing baby fat, the two of you were still close. He’d gotten many scrapes and bruises, however, while being rowdy and not as careful, and he’d grumble a little with a pink tint to his cheeks, as you hushed him, placing a Hello Kitty band-aid on his cut.

Although a bit more older, the two of you still drank Capri-sun, watched classics on his VCR, and he didn’t mind that you tagged along wherever he went. Imagine his surprise when you’ve gotten a little braver, not hesitating to cheer him on during sports tryouts, or started doing more things of your own without him. Of course, the both of your parents were wary of the two of you spending the entire night for some weird reason, but you still hung out for most of the day, swapping Pokemon cards and playing on the old gaming system while mindlessly talking like you’ve always done.

…………………..

  High school was somewhat different. He was an awkward fifteen year old boy, but head-strong, tall, and a bit more lanky. You were still a little quiet and shy, but the two of you stuck close to each other like glue. He’d drag you to his baseball tournaments, and you’d invite him to your archery ones. He still was rowdy and somewhat of a hyper, cute klutz, grinning from ear to ear with pink cheeks as you sighed, wrapping yet another band-aid around his cuts.

 You, being still young, had to bite down an odd feeling that came over you when he was surrounded by girls. You didn’t understand it, they were just being friendly, right? He looked rather uncomfortable, but was still red in the face as he kept making glances at you, a silent plea for help.

 It’s when the bullying had started. The whispers and rumors, all because you helped him escape from a gaggle of young teens. He, being protective as always, shot glares and scowls at those who dared even came close to you, telling you that it was alright to defend yourself, and to call on him if he needed anything. So, while there was some bullying, the budding attention from kids hitting puberty, was a bit worse.

He was agitated for some weird reason, yet kept a dopey smile for your sake when you kept receiving love letters and confessions. You didn’t miss the relief in his eyes when you turned them all down, and vice versa when he stated that he wasn’t really interested in most of the people in your school. You didn’t fail to notice that he kept looking at you for an extra two seconds, but dismissed it.

……………

Senior year wasn’t as bad as freshman year. He, with all of his practice in sports and such, grew a bit of muscle mass, but at eighteen, was round and taller, around six foot, easily dwarfing you. Although older teens, you’ve kept in touch despite the crazy amount of tests, finals, and new friends. People were murmuring in awe at how the two of you were so close, and yet weren’t a couple. It didn’t stop either of your ears burning, but neither of you had either dated, only fueling those rumors.

He was very popular, as were you, despite your shyness and liking to blend in. Two peas in a pod, yet almost opposite personalities described him and you. You liking to read, and him liking to play sports and be outside. It didn’t stop you from following him around, him chuckling and ruffling your hair as you played a few games with him, or him hanging out with you at the library.

 Of course, a lot of admirers from both sides were jealous because of the two of your closeness. You still politely refused the applicants of the love letters, and he, gaining more courage, stated that he wasn’t really interested in the gaggle of fawners who surrounded him. The two of you had constantly protected each other from unwanted bullies and too pushy one-sided interests while living your own lives.

It took longer than you’d like to admit, but you’ve gotten a part-time job as well as your license, him not wanting to be left behind, followed after. You forever had the image burned in your brain that Monday morning. He, waiting for you, sported a Letterman jacket, beat up sneakers, grinning wildly and proudly as he leaned against his new car. It was an older model, but you were proud of him, and plus, he was still doing things to your chest that you did not understand.

“Get in, Sugar, we’re goin’ fer a spin.” He smiled, holding up his new keys, and you couldn’t help but feel cicadas buzz gently within your stomach.

Prom was different. You weren’t really interested in going, and instead, the two of you spent the night at your house, baking cookies and listening to old songs on the radio. He smiled, wearing your mom’s apron as he swiveled to the music, causing you to laugh more than you should as he mimicked her, cursing about the neighborhood children and gushing about soap operas.  

The tiny desserts ended up being burnt, his hair was wild, and the two of you were a laughing mess, reflecting childhood days.

By the end of the night, he looked like he wanted to say something before he left, but instead, gave you one of his warm, gooey smiles that made your heartbeat quicken.

……………..

College had a unique spin to it. Tests weren’t as frequent, but they were a bit harder. There were online classes, more deadlines, and yet, despite it all, nicer, calmer teachers. You, being an excellent student, earned your funding through the school. Of course you broke away from living at your parent’s house, and had to support yourself further by working, but it was worth it.

The dorm rooms were roomy, and your roommate, who was blessed with common courtesy, was kind and distant. He, attached to you at the hip, followed the same pattern, almost, except he’d chosen a different career. Oddly, he wanted to become a teacher, but the more you thought about it, the more you could see it. Always friendly, warm, and generous, an inner part of you knew that he was good around children, and it’d be a perfect career choice.

You yourself, only nineteen, had liked the idea of biology, studying animals and their habits. It also put the two of you in a lot of the same classes for the next four years. Despite studying, working, and worrying, the two of you had seemed to find extra time for each other. Granted it was more to study, but a lot of places were in the cafeteria, at the local coffee shops, and sometimes in your dorm room if your roommate was out. Within the four years before graduating, you’ve discovered more about your own feelings for the blond, and had secretly accepted them. You didn’t know of his own feelings towards you other than a very close friend, but you were surprised that he turned down popular, pretty people.

To say that you were relieved, was an understatement, but you couldn’t fathom why he’d turn down so many nice admirers. You’d accepted the fact that he might be asexual, or aromantic, and cherished him as your close friend no matter what the outcome might have been.

 ……………….

 Graduation was celebrated with lots of laughter and cheer from both of you and your families. Not really having a place, the two of you, being really close, decided to rent together on a lease. Age twenty-three, the two of you had to struggle a bit to find jobs, but luckily, with his charm and endearing personality, it didn’t take him too long to land as a kindergarten teacher, and you, with your experiences and tenaciousness, landed in the science lab some miles over.

   The two of you worked perfectly together, splitting bills and chores, making meals, it was almost as if the two of you were a couple, due to your wishful thinking. Which, to be fair, you thought and wondered a lot. What was the two of your relationship, what were you waiting for, and so on. It was growing on you, and you were feeling as if you had enough. Although not blaming him, you wanted to spend as much time at work as possible, staying away from the very being who made your heart soar and yet hurt from the questioning and pining.

He, being very keen, noticed immediately of your sudden absence. Going early and coming home later, eating briefly with that odd, distant look in your eyes as you joined in on his conversations, but it was as if you were replaced by something else. It was driving him mad, because in all of his years of knowing you, it didn’t add up.

One night, you came home to an odd sight. The table, although already set neatly, had your favorite dish set out on a platter. He sat there, pouring two glasses of wine as he stared at you.

“This ain’t like ya, Chickadee.” He stated bluntly, setting your glass near the platter, and you sighed, sitting down. Of course he’d notice, and although you felt guilty, you needed to give yourself space from the accepted, yet buzzing emotions welling within you.

“Ya wanna talk about it?” Was the silent plea, and you, caught off guard by the sheer hurt in his voice, found yourself nodding.

…………..

Present. The two of you, adults, sat at the table as he stared at you intently with a look of worry and hurt. He was your friend, and you guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to let loose your feelings, so he could know, and let you down, gently. Taking a breath, you started.

His eyes were widened, but he didn’t speak as you spoke. Letting the weight of your concerns and feelings be lifted off of your shoulders as you could only briefly make eye-contact. He was stunned, to say at least, but it’s what you’ve been feeling for years. As soon as you finished, you bravely stared at him, to drink in his reactions to your inner conflict. Swallowing thickly, he set his utensil down as he gave you a warm, heated stare.

“We’re both a lil’ dense, ain’t we, Sugar?”

You couldn’t help but nod a little as he stood up, walking over towards you to stare at you. It was your turn to look surprised, letting him cup your face, and lean in. Soft and warm, just like him, you couldn’t help but think as finally, finally, the two of you shared a kiss. The soft fluttering of butterflies within your stomach melted with a warm heat within your gut, surprising you in an instant as the two of you had broken away, him staring at you with a soft smile and a hot blush to his cheeks.

“Ya know how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that?” He asked rather shyly.

“Since we were eight?”

“Right on the nose. Ya as well?” He grinned, kissing your forehead gently at your nod.

“We gotta lotta talkin’ to do, but how ‘bout we start things proper with a date?”

  You gently took his hand within yours, rubbing your thumb over the back in soft circles.

“Sounds perfect.”

………………

Short bc I had a 12k fic already done not too long ago, and this is for the crowd who just wanted fluff and cuteness.  

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Twenty Two: The One When They Have Christmas

Warnings: mentions of blood and bruises

Word Count: 4625

      Bloody. Battered. Bruised. Fallen face. Messy hair. Lily could hardly find the words to really capture the image that stood before her. He just looked so...broken. The blondes heart ached as the two stood mere feet apart, staring at each other in the foyer of her home. Reaching her hand to the side, Lily flicked on the light, illuminating the face that she had missed over the past week. His typically bright blue eyes had a darker tint to them, highlighted by the discoloured bruise that surrounded one.

She took a few steps forward, and he followed suit. He dropped his bag with a soft thud as his hands enclosed her face, their foreheads falling against one anothers. Lily felt his breath fan against her face in laboured spurts, as hers quicked at the feeling of his rough hands on her cheeks. The world fell away around them as they relished in each other once more, that safe feeling he always provided her returning to the blondes bones. It was when he winced at the feeling of her hands on his chest, when Lily realized he was injured and well, that was her speciality.

"Go sit in the kitchen, I'll get the first aid kit." She whispered, pressing a gentle and ginger kiss to the man's lips before reluctantly pulling away.

Her fingers lingered briefly on his hand as Lily turned, walking towards the main floor bathroom where she kept the first aid kit. Her hands were shaking and mind was in a flurry. He looked so bruised, so hurt and broken. Lily was scared to even ask what happened on the mission. Sure she was curious, but the fact he was alive, and back with her, well that's all that Lily needed. Being able to see him and take care of him.

Picking up the white box, Lily made her way back towards the kitchen where Bucky sat with Joey, petting the dog carefully with his metal arm. Pulling out the white wooden chair next to the man, she opened the box in silence. Neither seemed to know what to say, and Lily didn't want him to talk. She just wanted to feel his presence return, and appreciate the moments where there wasn't anything to say. And just appreciate him being there with her, alive and safe now.

"How was the flight?" she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes as she helped him remove the leather jacket that was now ruined.

He didn't answer. His face was solemn and eyes distracted. Lily knew not to push it. Some mornings he would wake up in a similar state, mind too busy to fully form sentences. She knew he came with baggage and mental setbacks, but she would do whatever it took to make sure he was happy and felt safe during those times. So instead, she worked in silence. Helping him pull the blood stained blue henley off, and examining the gashes and bruises that littered his chest and entire upper body. The sight made Lily feel slightly sick to her stomach, seeing him in such pain.

Twenty minutes passed and Lily was still working, stitching and sterilizing. Neither spoke. But when she reached the largest gash that covered the side of his abdomen, the man lifted the young doctor's head gently with his flesh hand, making their eyes meet. His fingers tapped at her lips and she smiled solemnly at his request. It had become a tradition for the two that whenever he felt his darkest, she'd sing to him. It took awhile for her to feel comfortable doing it, due to her own nerves. But she saw the comfort it brought him, and she nodded.

"I've never felt this strong," she began, voice hushed as she prepared a cotton swab with alcohol, "I am invincible, how could this go wrong?" she sang, leaning forward and dabbing at the wound, "No, here, here's where we belong, I see a road ahead, I never thought I'd dare to tread." She squinted her eyes at the sharp hiss that fell from his lips.

"Like an imagine passing by, my love, my life," she continued, cleaning the blood around the wound, "in the mirror of your eyes, my love, my life."

"I can see it all so clearly, all I love so dearly," she began stitching the gash, working carefully, "Images passing by, like reflections of your mind, my love, my life," cutting the thread, "are the words I try to find, my love, my life," she unwrapped a bit of gauze to place overtop of the cut, "but I know I don't possess you, with all my heart, god bless you."

"You will be my love and my life," she continued, cutting off a piece of medical tape and sticking the gauze on his stomach, "You're my one and only."

Dropping her hands, Lily looked up at the man before her. They sat there for a brief moment, silence falling over them like a warm blanket. Lily wiped her hands on a towel and took his metal hand into her own, placing gentle kisses to the tips of each finger. Tilting her head, the blonde shifted her chair closer carefully, making sure she wasn't moving a bit too fast. When he didn't stop her, but leaned forward a bit, she smiled. She reached her own hand towards his face, wiping the small tear that ran down his cheek.

"You're home now, it's okay." Lily whispered, tilting her head and leaning it against his forehead, "I'm right here."

Bucky tugged her forward, resulting in her finding a seat in his lap. She readjusted so her legs fell on either side of his. Tipping her chin upwards, Bucky found comfort with his head nuzzled deep within the blonde's chest. She cradled his head into her, pressing gentle kisses to the neatly trimmed hair atop of his head. He smelled of dirt and grime, but Lily didn't mind. He was back with her and safe, that's all she cared about.

"You're okay, I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, "I promise."

-----

"Thanks Sam," Lily concluded, "he's asleep right now. Thanks for calling. I'll make sure he knows you did."

"Oh no don't let tin man know that I actually give a damn about him," Sam teased, a chuckle escaping from him, "Merry Christmas Lily."

"Merry Christmas Sam." She finished, hanging up the phone and letting out a shaky breath.

Placing her phone down on the counter, Lily let out a soft sigh. Sam had called her at the crack of dawn, when she had also been awake. He was worried about Bucky, and the silence that had covered the two the entire way back from Vienna. The darker attitude and air that had seemed to follow the man. But he was asleep now, peacefully in her room. Shaking her head, Lily returned to the pancake mix she was mixing for breakfast. She figured it would be nice to make the sleeping people upstairs homemade pancakes for Christmas morning. And she figured it would be nice for Bucky to have something homecooked after a week of god knows what.

After flipping the final pancake onto the plate, and setting it into the middle of the table, she was finished. But there were a few things missing...three people to be exact. Joey sat at the stairs and stared up at the blonde. Chuckling, she placed her hands on her, well Bucky's, shirt waist and shook her head. Beckoning the dog with her, she made her way to Rose's room, opening the door to her sister putting her hair up.

"Morning," Rose cooed as she turned around in her chair, "I would've come down last but I didn't really want to."

"Well at least you're awake. Breakfast is ready." Lily nodded, turning and walking towards her son's room.

"Mornin' mom!" Hunter exclaimed, turning to his mom with wrapping paper stuck to his cheek. Lily furrowed her eyebrows and laughed at the boy before walking into the room and bending down, and carefully removing the item from his face.

"What're you up to, hm?" she asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Wrapping Bucky's present." The blonde boy shrugged, turning his attention back to taping the carefully wrapped present.

"You got Bucky a present?" Lily cooed, "...When did you get Bucky a present?" she chuckled, glancing down at it.

"Doesn't matter," Hunter shrugged, glancing up at his mother, "I'll be down in a few for breakfast!"

Shaking her head, Lily stood back to her feet and left the boys room. She hesitated slightly at her own door, not sure whether or not she wanted to wake Bucky. She could tell the week was stressful for him, and as much as she would love to have him come down for Christmas, she didn't want to interrupt him. It was Joey looking up at her with big puppy dog eyes that convinced her to open the door. She cracked it slightly, peering in. There Bucky sat, a picture frame in his hands on the side of Lily's bed. Opening the door further, she leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, admiring his back profile. HIs head was dipped low, shoulders stretched tight with taut skin and tight muscles rippling beneath.

"You know you can't sneak up on a supersoldier," Bucky's raspy voice echoed through the room, causing the blonde to chuckle, "I just woke up."

"Well if you're up for it, you can join a very upset twelve year old boy who has been hoping for an impromptu return of a certain hundred year old Avenger." She tilted her head to the side, walking further into the room.

"He up already?" Bucky chuckled, his eyes still trained on the photo.

"Yeah. He's always an early riser on Christmas. And everyday, really." She sighed, walking forward and crawling over the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Placing her chin on the tight muscle that connected his neck and shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to the man's jaw, relishing in the slight burn of his scruff against her face. A feeling she longed for the past week. Turning her eyes down to the photo her boyfriend had been staring at, she smiled slightly. At his feet sat his open bag, and Lily put the puzzle together. He had taken it with him during his mission. The photo he held in his hands was one Lily tended to try and hide in the multitude of photos she had. It was the same one that he had stared at the night they shared their first kiss. The picture of Lily cradling a newborn baby boy, Hunter. She hated the photo. But it was Bucky's favourite, and he always reminded her of it. The look of pure radiance on her newly relaxed face as she stared down at the light of her life. She didn't miss the pain of that day, but lord did she miss the feeling she had the first time she held the boy in her arms.

"I looked at it every night," Bucky whispered, "I can never put into words the beauty you have in this photo." he continued, running his thumb across her face underneath the frame.

"Every night?" she chuckled, kissing his cheek, "that's romantic. Never pinned you as such a sap." Lily teased, running her fingers down his arms.

"Yeah?" Bucky sighed, a small laugh escaping his lips, "I call bull, doll."

"Mm me too, now come on love, time for breakfast and to make a little boy's Christmas even more magical." Lily smiled, turning his chin and pecking his lips before crawling off of the bed.

-----

"Hunt!" Lily called from the kitchen, bouncing on her feet as Rose and Bucky conversed at the table, "Come on the pancakes will get cold!"

Leaning around the banister, she grinned at the boy who came from his room with the same gift he was wrapping earlier. Her heart picked up its pace as she watched him descend down the stairs, before meeting her at the bottom. Lily took the gift and jogged to the living room, placing it underneath the tree before walking into the kitchen, beckoning her son forward. When he walked in, the look on his face made the pain of the past week disappear as though it had never happened. His jaw dropping ever so slightly as he stared at the man that had become more of a father figure than Scott ever was, sitting at the table once again with pancakes on his plate. Even Rose fell silent as the moment played out in front of her. Bucky stood, rounding the table and opened his arms to the young boy.

Hunter didn't hesitate. The blonde ran forward and threw himself at the brunette, tugging him close. Lily gripped onto the wooden island, pursing her lips as the tears threatened to fall from her waterline. The only noise in the entire kitchen was that of the gentle Christmas music playing from the speaker, and Joey scratching his ear as he waited for Lily to give him a bit of pancake. But the only thing on Lily's mind was the way Hunter held Bucky, with his eyes shut tight, deep and shaky breaths vibrating through his body. She had never seen him hug Scott like that, and her heart never felt more full. Of course the looming thought of this somehow being ruined continued to plague her mind. But she just wanted to live in the present, and convince herself that it will be okay. That she had nothing to worry about.

"Merry Christmas, buddy." Bucky whispered, placing a kiss to the top of Hunter's head as he stood up, looking down at the boy with so much admiration in his eyes it almost knocked Lily over.

"I was worried you would break your promise." Hunter responded, fiddling with the bottom of his pyjama shirt.

"I think if I did your mom would have killed me," the supersoldier teased, "now c'mon. Let's eat. I got some gifts for you."

Just before he sat down, Lily caught Bucky's hand, nodding her head to her office. The two made their way over, shutting the door behind them. Lily looked up at the taller man and smiled, tugging him down by his shirt collar and pressed her lips against his, relishing in the feeling of them on hers. His arms wrapped protectively around her waist as he tugged her closer, their bodies completely bending and melting into one another. Lily wasn't sure why she had pulled him out of her sister and son's view, she had kissed him in front of both of them many times. But she wanted to put an extra level to it, and really make him feel how much she appreciated the way he was with Hunter, or even just the way he was, period. Because he made Lily feel as though she were truly someone who could be loved and cared for, and didn't make her feel guilty for her emotions. He gave Lily the experience she longed for all those years ago with the man she thought was the one for her, despite his clearly toxic ways. But being there with Bucky, tucked away in her office...Lily knew what it was like to finally feel truly loved by another. And she never wanted to lose that.

"I missed you," she whispered against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as she knocked his nose with hers, "I didn't get to say it last night. But shit, I missed you. So much." Lily finished, the tears that she had held in falling gently down her cheeks, her hands fisting the material of his pyjama shirt tightly.

"I missed you too, doll," he replied, wrapping his arms even tighter around her waist, "I'm sorry for last ni- "

Her finger found his lips, and she shook her head, "I never want to hear you apologize for that. Ever. You've been through so much, Buck. I will never judge you for how you get through it. I'll sit there and sing, I'll bandage all of your wounds. I don't care. Because that's you, it's a part of you." She concluded, pressing her finger into his chest.

His forehead nuzzled against hers and the two stood there for a second. Four months ago, he was a stranger in a coffee shop that Lily had only seen in the news, history books, and in interviews. But there he stood, holding her tightly as though she would slip away if he released her, spending Christmas with her son and sister. And she wasn't scared. She wasn't nervous he would up and leave her, or find someone else. She wasn't worried that he would put them in danger or somehow harm them. He was the safest place on Earth, in the eyes of Lily Osborne. The way he would listen to Hunter, instead of straight up giving his own opinion. How he and Rose would tease and bicker back and forth, yet be able to talk about Rose's worries with her pregnancy. How he and Gen got on better than she had ever seen her best friend talk with in a while.

But most importantly, how he reminded Lily she was enough. That what she had made of herself was enough. How she had managed to raise a son in a way that was a dream in most people's eyes. How she could balance the life of a doctor as well as a mother, and manage to be a fantastic sister and friend at the same time. But also reminded her that her flaws were okay as well. Her obsessive need to please everyone, her somewhat back handed comments that she doesn't intend to come off as rude. Her closed off mind that won't allow others in, and hides anything she deemed valuable. The way she hesitated with him every so often, because she was damaged. He made her feel as though it were okay that she was a human and had emotions, and had flaws, but also had so much good in her. Something Lily was sure she would never feel again, after being shattered by a man with a heart of ice.

"C'mon, let's get back out there before Rose is convinced we're doing it in my office." Lily whispered, pecking his lips and reaching around to open the door, stepping through the threshold.

"The idea is still on the table!" Bucky called as he walked after the blonde.

"No it's not!"

-----

With breakfast all cleaned and Joey satisfied with his pancakes, Lily was ready to face the monster that was Hunter on Christmas. That boy ripped through presents like it was his life mission. But the biggest monster was him giving gifts. Rose warned the young mom that he went a bit overboard with his gifts to her this year. And although he only got one gift for Bucky...it was one that Rose was sure would cause the soldier to tear up. Not to mention, Lily was an easy person to make cry, and Hunter was an expert at it.

When stockings and the presents from Santa were finished, the moment fell on Lily. It was time for the waterworks. Hunter made her cry every Christmas, it was like a tradition now. But the main reason she was preparing for the tears, was because of how nervous Hunter seemed to be about his gift to Bucky. The way he rocked back and forth in his seat and constantly glanced over at the gift then back to Bucky. First, Rose's presents from everyone. They had a tradition of doing everyone's gifts from the rest of the group first, and so on and so forth. But before things got started, a certain Fairchild burst into the house covered in snow.

"Sweet mother merciful!" The woman exclaimed as she shook off her coat and slid off her boots, "Glad to see you waited." She quipped, sending a wink to Lily as she slid into her chair.

"You told me to!" She laughed, lifting her phone and pointing to Gen's text saying she'd be late because of the snow and to start without her.

"Get out of here with your facts. Shall we?" She chuckled, pulling out the gifts for everyone from her bag.

Rose's and Gen's gifts later, it was Bucky's turn. Hunter nervously fiddled with his fingers, earning a raised eyebrow from his godmother. Gen glanced between Bucky and the young boy and sighed softly, sending Lily a knowing grin. It was evident that the two had a very father son relationship, but there was more to it than that. Hunter genuinely enjoyed Bucky, and wasn't just searching for that father figure. He enjoyed listening to what Bucky had to say as well as vice versa, and spending time with the Avenger just made Hunter seemingly float. The change in his demeanour was something Lily wished happened sooner. He was more social, and less reserved. As though seeing Bucky, someone who has had his life constantly on display for the public to criticize, continue to live with a positivity to life, furthered his own personality. Lily loved this new side of her son, the bright smiles and tantalizing comments. He was becoming himself, it seemed.

"Rose and Gen, why don't you two start." Lily commented, standing and bending down to grab her own gift for the man, before tucking back into his side on the couch.

A new sweater and a new henley later, the time came for Lily to give her gift to Bucky. She figured it would be a nice sentiment to leave Hunter's until last. Seeing as he was overly excited to give it. Lily handed the neatly wrapped box to the man, fiddling with her fingers anxiously as he began to carefully undo the immaculate ribbon Lily had tied on the top. She reminded herself that she could have given him a lump of coal and the man would treasure it with his life. But this, well Lily knew it would make him smile. Maybe even shed a tear or two. However, as he unwrapped, that unsettling feeling of doubt settled into the pits of Lily's stomach. Was it too much? Would he be freaked out? Lily wasn't sure. But inside the box sat a few things. A few boxes in a box, per say. And when he finally tore off the wrapping paper, Lily held her breath. Watching intently with her eyes somewhat squeezed shut.

First up, was a nicely framed photo of Hunter's school pictures, something Bucky had asked for to put on his desk, as well as a picture he had taken of Lily one morning when Hunter was at his friend Luke's house. She stood on the back deck, snow falling as she pulled his sweater tighter around herself. He had caught her just in time as she glanced over her shoulder at him, the sun shining behind her head like a halo. The second miniature box inside of the larger one was that of a watch. Beautifully crafted, with an inscription of Bucky's name and birthday on the back. The last thing he pulled out was the leather case that held a dog tag style locket with a picture of Bucky, Lily, Hunter, and Joey all in the backyard of her home, the three building a snowman as Joey seemingly posed. Rose had taken the picture and sent it to Lily, and she just couldn't help herself. She watched as he pursed his lips, gripping the locket in his hands before sliding it over his head. His war tags and the locket hit against each other and the noise it made released the tension that sat inside of Lily's stomach.

"Thank you doll, I love them." He cooed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her flushed and red cheeks.

Lily grinned like a schoolgirl and stared down at her lap, picking at her fingernails as he pulled her further into his side, kissing the top of his head. Only when Hunter approached did she snap back to reality, and she let out a final shaky breath before nodding, peeling herself from the man's side.

"Alright Hunt, your turn." Lily grinned, tickling her son's side gently before leaning back into the couch.

Hunter quickly dropped the present before darting back over to where his aunt sat, and curled into her side. Bucky chuckled gently and began to carefully take off the wrapping. A boy just like his mother, Hunter hid a few gifts inside of a larger box. Or, well, that's what she thought. Inside, there was a large photo of the stars, with the words The Day the Hero Was Born printed on the bottom. Lily pursed her quivering lips and sniffled, reading Bucky's birthday also printed just below the title. Somehow, Rose and Hunter had gotten their hands on the constellation of Bucky's birthday day. Next, was a picture of Lily and Hunter together with Joey on a beach. That was from early in July, when Bucky wasn't a part of their lives just yet. Lily smiled brightly, a white sundress brushing across her legs as her and Hunter played in the shallows of the water. But the final thing was a simple white envelope. Lily furrowed her eyebrows and peered over, watching as Bucky carefully opened it. He glanced over at Hunter, who was hidden deep within Rose's side. The blonde mother swallowed and watched as Bucky took out the envelope.

Only for the waterworks to start immediately.

Inside the envelope was a written paragraph from when Hunter was in grade three. The students were asked to write about their hero, and Hunter, being the superhero fan he was, had written about the winter soldier. Lily remembered him writing the assignment, sitting at the table and scribbling down everything he hid inside of him about the adoration he had for the man. And now, he was giving the exact replica to the man himself. Something she knew that would have only been a dream for the boy a few years back.

"Hunt..." Bucky whispered, looking up at the boy. The man stood and walked over towards him and bent down, taking the young twelve year olds hands into his own, "Thank you. This is amazing." He cooed, leaning forward and hugging the boy once again.

"Oh lord." Gen exclaimed, causing everyone to look at her. She was waving her hand in her own face, staring up at the ceiling, "Lily usually is the only one that cries what the hell!"

With a chorus of laughs around the room, Bucky took a seat once more. Next were Hunter's gifts. Rose gave him a chemistry set he could use, Gen gave him a limited edition Iron Man figurine, and Bucky gave him a framed picture of him with Sam, as well as a framed signed paper of all of the avengers. Lily however, got the boy a few things. First, a new video game the boy had been raving about, second, was a record player he had been asking for as well. But third, well, was an exact replica of Captain America's shield. Something Lily had to pull a few strings to get, but thanks to her boyfriend, it didn't take too much.

"Thank you mom," Hunter beamed, "I love it. So much!"

"You're welcome kiddo." She smiled.

"Your turn Lily." Bucky chimed in, nudging the blonde.

She hated this part. And from the look on Bucky's face, she knew that he had done something she would for sure sob over.

[danwhobrowses]

MCU: 10 Ways WandaVision and Falcon & The Winter Soldier are the Same

So now we have 2 of Marvel's Phase 3.5 shows in the books, and both have been pretty great. In the 7 week wait for Loki though we'll have time to mull things over.

When watching the Falcon & Winter Soldier finale though, I started to notice that there were some patterns between it and Wandavision. While two completely different stories they did share some similar beats, so here's 10 I spotted and thus 10 to look out for when Loki comes around.

Spoilers for WandaVision and Falcon & The Winter Soldier, give it a watch before you give this a look

10 - Villains become Memes

While one can contest that Zemo acts more as an antihero in The Falcon & the Winter Soldier, he still provides an antagonistic edge in the story. However, both he and Agatha became villains that had charisma to charm the audience, and their actions brought about multiple memes. On Agatha's side there was the wink, Agatha All Along and her in the fitness outfit, while with Zemo there was the 'it captures the experience', his iconic dancing and Turkish Delight. While not a story beat on the shows, the writers must've known that fans would gravitate to these characters to give them such content to use. Also add a hat tip to John Walker who got his own memes too with him about to embed the shield into a dude's chest, and Wanda herself for her nose scrunch being used as a meme alongside Thor's 'is it though?'.

9 - The Government aren't exactly helpful

While the Government aren't entirely the enemy in the show, they don't do well to stay on our heroes' good side. In WandaVision, they enhance Wanda's grief in the fact that she can't even lay him to rest, SWORD instead deciding that her lover is government property and they are harvesting his 'organs' and vibranium skin as a resource to use for weapons. On Falcon & Winter Soldier, the US Government deliberately deceive Sam by having him hand over the shield to put in a museum, only to then take it out and give it to John Walker without even telling Sam or Bucky about it. In addition when they disavow Walker they try to reclaim the Shield - which, as the Contessa does reveal, isn't technically their property either. While Falcon & Winter Soldier delved deeper into the government's lack of help through the GDC subplot motivating the Flag Smashers, there were still similarities found with how SWORD - which is quite different to its comic version - antagonizes Wanda. In the end all this escalates because of them, and in the end neither of them get to keep the Vibranium.

8 - 'Good Person' is Bad Guy

Although there's a more supernatural threat in both stories, the characters end up having their trust betrayed by people they believed to be decent. For WandaVision it is current Director of SWORD, Director Hayward, who appears adamant in silencing Wanda after using her as a means to power up White Vision as a programmable weapon. For Falcon & the Winter Soldier, it's Sharon Carter - descendant of Steve's beau who he also made out with - the discarded agent who gave up a lot for the heroes only to not get it in return, remaining enemy of the state and becoming the Power Broker. The shows can also have this reserved for 'Agnes' and John Walker but in the end people expected them to break bad from day 1. You could make a statement for Wanda since she looks to be an antagonist for Doctor Strange 2 though.

7 - The MCU add a little history

Marvel has had a habit of changing Wanda's (and Pietro's) origin on a whim, the MCU deciding to source their powers on an Infinity Stone. Doing this however left a gap in the fact that Wanda is a Witch, which they cleaned up in WandaVision. Treading back on the Scarlet Witch being a mantle (though cutting her mother being a Scarlet Witch before her) as it is in the comics, they changed Wanda's powers from being latent and amplified by the stone rather than gifted to the stone itself. Falcon & Winter Soldier added to their history with the impactful Truth: Red, White and Black story, adding Isaiah Bradley into the MCU to further layer the conflict and tragedy Sam faces with being Captain America. Both are welcome additions to the MCU timeline, setting up for newer things to come in Phase 4 Movies.

6 - The hero wins the fight, but not the day

Winning isn't always winning, as Wanda and Sam would discover upon the finale of their respective shows. Wanda defeats Agatha and Hayward is forced to face his crimes, but she has also come to terms with the face that the Hex must go, and in turn her family with it. While the Hex has freed all its residents, Wanda knows that she's not on anyone's good side either with the people she subconsciously enslaved. Sam gets it a little better, he's recognized himself as Captain America and given a patented 'Cap-speech', but he was unable to save Karli Morgenthau from being killed, someone who he was once so close to reaching and sympathized heavily with. Although the Super Soldier threat is neutralized, the Flag Smashers' ideals will live on to further radicalize itself, and its vision will further sow conflict and division.

5 - (Mostly) Bigger Roles for old MCU Side Characters

Never one to shy past their crossovers, Wandavision and Falcon & the Winter Soldier both brought back side characters - some more obscure than others - from older films to gel into the plot. WandaVision brought back Darcy from the Thor franchise and Jimmy Woo from Ant Man & the Wasp to great comedic effect, fans already wanting a spin-off with them and possibly Monica - who may also count but technically not the same actress, the same can be said for 'Pietro' too. Falcon & the Winter Soldier stayed primarily in their lane of Captain America movies; with Batroc and Sharon both debuting in Winter Soldier and Dora Milaje's Ayo debuting in Civil War, while it was less comedic, the story was more interwoven with them since they all had ties to the main two characters.

4 - [Person] is obviously [Character]

Possibly a bit of a narrative backdrop, or maybe years of MCU has clued us in on a plot twist a mile away, but both shows also were unable to hide well that Agnes from WandaVision and Sharon from Falcon & Winter Soldier were in fact Agatha Harkness and the Power Broker. It's not to say that knowing ruined the story, it just felt more of a 'when' rather than an 'if'. The main difference though is that Sharon managed to keep her villainy secret, and remains that way, while Agatha went too far in trying to take Wanda's power rather than help her with it and has now become stuck as Agnes instead.

3 - New Blood coming on the Hero Scene

While the shows already did their job in setting up Wanda and Sam as big league heroes, they also looked a bit more in establishing new blood too. WandaVision established the potential for the twin Maximoff boys to grow into Wiccan and Speed - once Wanda finds a way to re-canonize them, Falcon & the Winter Soldier also made sure to introduce Elijah Bradley, Isaiah's grandson, which may also aid in establishing a Young Avengers team - what with Kate Bishop also soon to appear in Hawkeye. WandaVision also created the origin for Monica Rambeau, having her body altered by the Hex, which will likely be furthered in Captain Marvel 2, Falcon & the Winter Soldier also established John Walker as the US Agent to leave a potential for Thunderbolts, as well as introducing Joaquin Torres - opening the possibility to have a new Falcon. While not a bad thing to set up for the future, it is interesting that both shows had exactly 3 names that could become future heroes.

2 - 'Villain' character partly redeems themselves after a Grief-Fuelled Mistake

Make no mistake, technically speaking Wanda is still a villain in WandaVision: she enslaved an entire town and suppressed them as side characters of a tv show. But the thing is that she didn't really intend to cause pain, it was an impulse action triggered by her grief. The same can be said for John Walker in Falcon & the Winter Soldier, he was already pressured by the standards being Captain America would entail and he was feeling the stress of a string of failures, a Dora Milaje humbling and a frosty reception from Steve's two close friends, juiced up on Super Soldier serum, and then his best friend just got killed because he didn't back him up, in a rage he killed a Flag Smasher with the shield - even though they were fleeing and not the one who killed Lemar, which he would lie about to Lemar's family. Despite this though, they managed to find some form of redemption, even if it was small. Wanda released the Hex and stopped Agatha from going haywire with her chaos magic, John gave up on his revenge seeking to save a truck from falling. Even though it doesn't entirely make up for what they did, it was at least a sign that they had not completely gone off the deep end...yet.

1 - Comic-Accurate Costumes

Comic costumes are always a tough one because some of the older costumes were borderline atrocious. WandaVision at the very least managed to poke fun at it with them dressing up most of the Maximoff/Vision family in their comic-accurate costumes, Speed getting a few more nods in the finale alongside Wanda's revamped and quite on the money look. In Falcon & Winter Soldier, there was accurate costuming for John Walker's US Agent look and Sam's Captain America costume, not to mention Lemar's Battlestar outfit, Zemo's mask and Batroc's jumpsuit.

Overall, it's not a bad thing that they kept these story beats, but it may be worth trying to avoid some of these in later tv show plot points so that it doesn't appear repetitive and formulaic. These shows have been great, so let's keep that momentum going.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #4- Man, Talk About Timely, Huh? It’s Time for the Plague Storyline!

Issue #4 opens up with First Aid writing in his diary about the less-than-stellar working conditions at Delphi medical center, and it’s not because Ambulon caught him reading Wreckers fanfic during office hours for the eighth time this week.

So, here’s the thing: you can’t be demoted from doctor to nurse. That’s not how that goes, because doctors and nurses aren’t on the same career path ladder. A doctor can have certain accesses and privileges taken away if their performance slips, or can be moved to a different ward or transferred to another facility, but outright demotion to nurse status isn’t a THING. If anything, First Aid would be performing nurse duties to cover for the fact that Delphi seems to have a grand total of three staff members for the entire outpost. Hell, they’ve had to outsource their mental health checkups to a guy who was in orbit over Cybertron until a couple months ago.

But anyway, something’s up at Delphi, and it all started when they let a couple of Decepticon surrendering combatants inside. These two dudes were running from the Decepticon Justice Division, a group who basically super-murder any Decepticon who’s decided to do a runner from the Cause. The DJD’s base of operations is in the same general area as Delphi, which seems like maybe not the best idea for the Autobots when it came to outpost placement, but it seems to be working out pretty well for the surrendering combatants.

Pharma shows up, and is ready to throw them back outside- he’s the big boss, so he can make that kind of call- but after a little detective works they figure out that the two don’t have their t-cogs anymore, having had them removed for religious purposes. Ambulon sees them as the exact opposite of a threat because of this, not to mention him having a soft spot for surrendering ‘Cons, and manages to convince Pharma to let them stay, and also not violate the Autobot Code, Article 7, which states that all surrendering combatants must be granted safe haven. Ultra Magnus would be proud.

They lock up the Decepticons, slate them for a patch up, then things get complicated as it turns out, they’ve got a branched spark. The last time we saw a branched spark, things didn’t turn out so hot, and it looks like things have started going similarly downhill.

But enough about the horrific deaths of dozens of robots on a frozen planet, it’s time for bar shenanigans!

While Skids prepares to commit an act of violence on a droid that’s done absolutely nothing to him and is just trying to do its friggin’ job, Swerve reveals to Ratchet that he’s decided to follow his dreams after all and open a bar. He doesn’t have all the paperwork turned in yet, per se, but he’s working on it. He hands Ratchet a free drink to celebrate the off-panel event of the Lost Light having found itself on the map again, and Ratchet, who’s apparently never heard of a shot, gripes about the portioning.

Of course, he might have a bit of a point, as the drink seems to shrink more and more as he talks to Swerve about the fact that they’re both giant nerds who were subscribed to Wreckers: Declassified.

Was non-war-related entertainment just not allowed for the last four million years? No wonder the war went on for so long- everyone was so steeped in it they forgot how to function like regular people. Since the logs were beamed directly into the brain, I can only imagine the amount of physic damage that last entry caused.

The reason Ratchet’s brought up everyone’s favorite podcast is that there was a new entry last night- odd, considering that Ironfist’s been dead for a couple years at this point. It was just a series of seemingly random numbers, or at least it would have been, if Ratchet wasn’t a good doctor who kept up-to-date on his medical news.

My my, I do wonder which Wreckers: Declassified subscriber could have sent those statistics on Delphi out into the aether.

As luck would have it, the Lost Light isn’t terribly far away from Messatine at the moment, which is the planet Delphi is on. Ratchet decides it’s time to check things out.

Over in Rodimus’ very pink room, Ultra Magnus wants to have a discussion about Tailgate, and the fact that he wants to be a Decepticon. This is, obviously, a problem, considering the fact that everyone on the ship, who wasn’t stuck in some sort of hole or alternate dimension for the last six millions years, is staunchly anti-Decepticon. Magnus laments on the fact that now that the war is over, he has to start seeing people as people, as opposed to cogs in the machine. Magnus is one of those guys who functions better with structure, which the Lost Light doesn’t really have a ton of.

Rodimus tells Magnus to lighten up a bit, before he pulls something trying to bring military regulation into civilian life, and says that he’ll handle the whole Tailgate thing.

Back down on Messatine, Ratchet’s dragged Drift and Pipes of all people into his little visit to Delphi, and they’re rocking up to the scene on the MARBs- Mobile Autobot Repair Bays. This is Pipe’s first space adventure, and he’s really happy to be here!

We’ll see how he feels a little later in the day.

As the boys make their way over to the plot, Drift and Ratchet lay a bit of groundwork down for future storylines, then arrive outside Delphi to find the door locked and spray painted with a big ol’ X.

Shane McCarthy slipped James Roberts a twenty to set up a slowburn between his OC and Ratchet. Let’s see how that pays off.

Pipes decides to do a thing and crash through the entrance like a hooligan. It goes about as well as one could expect, though we do a pretty sweet and unnecessary flip from Drift out of it.

We’re going to need to soak Pipes in rubbing alcohol for a good hour.

Ratchet yells at Pipes for busting into a medical outpost that clearly wasn’t meant to be cracked open like a cold one, not to mention knocking over at least three hospital beds.

Then a sick guy shows up and Drift flips the hell out and slices up a guy so hard Pipes has to remove his visor to watch the insanity unfold.

The whole “sword murder” thing doesn’t really gel with the idea of “do no harm”, so Ratchet and Drift get into it a bit before First Aid shows up and starts drawing on Pipe’s face.

Back on the Lost Light, Rodimus is keeping his promise and dealing with Tailgate, with the help of Rewind, resident historical archivist and the guy who’s about to rock Tailgate’s fucking world in under 12 seconds.

Okay. So.

The thing about recorded history is everything has a bias. No matter how impartial the recorder attempts to be, no matter how detached, there will ALWAYS be at least a little bleedthough. Now, while it’s unlikely Rewind’s been in direct combat, because he’s friggin’ tiny and turns into a data slug, and while he doesn’t seem the patriotic type, he’s still an Autobot. He’s only been on one side of the war, so most, if all all of his archive, is built from the framework of being surrounded by Autobot mindsets and propaganda. It would appear that this isn’t the first time Rewind’s done something like this, if he already has the upload time committed to memory down to the tens decimal. If he’d been asked to do this prior to the conclusion of the war- very likely, considering it ended a few months ago- what are the odds that he was asked to frame things a little more in favor of his own team? Pretty good, I’d think.

Guys, I don’t think Tailgate is having a good time with the history lesson.

Needless to say, any concern over Tailgate wanting to be a Decepticon is pretty soundly quashed after this.

Back over with the plague plotline, First Aid gives Ratchet the rundown on the symptoms they’ve run into at Delphi.

You fucker, you got that line from Wreckers: Declassified.

Delphi hasn’t been able to call for help, because even if they didn’t have their hands full of liquified robot, communications have been out since something went off and broke pretty much everything in the outpost, general health and well-being included. First Aid suspects a dirty bomb, curtesy of the DJD. The tour of the facility ends in the medical bay proper, where Ambulon is hard at work trying to keep folks alive.

Ratchet looks over the scene, and notes that the older patients in the ward aren’t crying their literal eyeballs out. Weird, that.

Ambulon shows off their super-secret patient, who is kept in shadow for the reader, to keep the suspense going for a bit longer. Mystery patient’s been in an “everlasting coma” since he got here, and while Ambulon and Pharma don’t think anything can be done, First Aid’s willing to get weird with it.

Earlier in the issue, it was mentioned that Ambulon didn’t think First Aid took any initiative. Turns out, First Aid does, and has, just not on things Ambulon agrees with.

It was at that point that Ratchet decided he rather liked First Aid.

Back with Tailgate, he’s returned to his room to confront Cyclonus, who’s busy doing something on the computer. What exactly isn’t revealed, and never will be.

Tailgate is really cross about the fact that Cyclonus let him walk around on a ship full of Autobots claiming he wanted to be a Decepticon. Of course, it’s not like Cyclonus knew he was going to be such a loudmouth about it, otherwise maybe he would have told him to maybe NOT do that, if only to prevent his life getting further muddied up by a war he wasn’t even around for.

Tailgate’s gotten really worked up over this, because that’s just how he is as a person, and even goes so far as to punch Cyclonus in the arm in his frustration. He apologizes almost immediately, but the bear’s already been poked, unfortunately.

Oh, honeybunches, you are going to be regretting that move for the next five years.

But not before the customary “pulling away from the one guy who’ll even talk to you because you don’t know how to properly react to anything anymore" thing.

Back on Messatine, we find out where Pharma got to- he’s been locked into the quarantine room by accident, and will remain there until all technopathogens are completely dead. This will take millions of years.

That seems like poor planning for such a room.

Or, at least, it would be, if Ambulon was still running the show.

How the fuck has Ambulon survived this long without dying of stupidity?

As Ratchet starts trying to get Pharma out of his glass case of emotion, Pipes is starting to not have so much fun on his first-ever field trip.

Yaaay, space adventure!

Ratchet warns Drift not to kill Pipes- repeatedly- and Drift manages to do that, though it looks a little dodgy for a second, as he bonks the little guy on the head and knocks him out. Ratchet’s managed to get Pharma out, and Pharma immediately runs for the prison cells, saying he’s figured it out.

Ambulon carries what’s left of Pipes back to the emergency ward, and Ratchet holds the little dude’s hand while they get him hooked up to some feeds. Drift starts bleeding from the eyes. Awesome.

Enter Pharma.

Today just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?

Turns out those two Decepticons from earlier got out of their cells somehow, and they’ve got guns. Things aren’t looking too good for the Autobots.

Well, I mean, if he says it’s fine, then I guess…

Yep, our mystery patient is none other than Fortress Maximus, warden of Garrus 9, victim of Overlord, and glorified lock-pick for the Aequitas chamber. He’s looking a lot better than the last time we saw him, in that he’s got some limbs attached to that torso of his, and also eyeballs. Good for him.

[gumnut-logic]

When the World Goes Boom (Part 8B)

Here is the rest of Part 8. This fic definitely has a life of its own. I was seriously stuck this morning but with a pile of help from Bri, I managed to get writing again. So much for a quick fic for Alan’s birthday on 12 March. It is a matter of an hour before 12 April at the moment and every brother has his finger in the pie now ::sigh:: I hope you enjoy whatever this is ::hugs::

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three, angst, hurt/comfort, brothers and family, 4007 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @onereyofstarlight​​​ and @i-am-chidorixblossom​​ for putting up with my crazy and reading this at random moments. Also the extra plot help from @onereyofstarlight​ when I was all wibbly and stuck earlier today ::hugs you all::

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part 7A | Part 7B | Part 7C | Part 8A | Part 8B

-o-o-o-

Jeff continued to stroke his eldest son’s back, ever aware of the tense muscles there. Those shoulders supported so much. So much he should have been here for.

Scott’s head rested on the edge of Virgil’s bed. His breathing was quiet, but his face held a frown, even in sleep. Jeff hadn’t missed the grey hairs at Scott’s temples, or the worry lines faintly creasing his forehead. The last eight years had been the worst in Jeff’s life, but the worst of it was what he had done to his sons.

Scott’s fingers lay intertwined with Virgil’s.

He couldn’t think too hard about Virgil. Dark hair, pale bruised skin, white sheets.

Life support machinery.

If he thought too hard, he would lose it.

From the moment he had stepped foot on Thunderbird Two in the depths of space, Virgil had been there, hovering and worrying.

His engineer, medic, musical and artistic son.

One hand on Scott’s back, Jeff reached out his other and lay it gently on Virgil’s leg.

Please.

He closed his eyes.

Only to fling them open again as the door was thrown open. A doctor and nurse burst into the room, urgency in their expressions. Jeremy and Brie followed them in.

The room was suddenly crowded.

Jeff pushed himself to his feet, both hands suddenly signalling quiet. Scott’s sleep was precious.

Both of the medical professionals eyed the sleeping pilot. The doctor’s lips thinned, but her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Mr Tracy, we’ve identified the drug that your son was attacked with. We have an antidote. We would like your permission to administer it.”

The woman was virtually bouncing.

Jeff’s eyes darted to Jeremy. The security guard nodded just once.

Oh, thank god.

He turned back to the doctor. “You have it.”

“Thank you.” The woman moved over to Virgil and began running a series of obs. “Mr Tracy, according to your son’s medical records, he has a medication sensitivity.”

Jeff nodded.

The doctor fiddled with Virgil’s IV. “The dosage currently in his blood stream is a large dose, but a man of his size should not have reacted in the way he has. Consequently, we have minimised the antidote and will increase the dose if necessary. The last thing we want to do is overdose him on another drug.”

Jeff nodded again mutely.

Scott shifted where he sat and Jeff reached out to resume the circles on his son’s back. The nurse glanced at their interaction, but Jeff ignored her.

The doctor administered a hypodermic to the IV and took a step back.

The room fell silent and the tension climbed.

“How soon?” The words fell from his lips unbidden.

“Response times vary, but we should see a change very soon.”

As she said it, the heart monitor beeped quietly several times in a row and he watched as his son’s heart beat flickered a moment before switching from stimulated to self-sustained.

He sucked in a breath.

Virgil’s heart rhythm held strong, the pattern regular and a wonderful sight.

Oh, thank god.

It wasn’t everything, but it was a step in the right direction. Jeff’s sight blurred.

“Mr Tracy?” The doctor’s voice was gentle. “We will be monitoring Virgil’s progress closely, but you should know that the prognosis is good. The antidote is a proven foil for the drug your son was attacked with and your son received excellent first aid.” A glance in Jeremy’s direction. “The prognosis is good.” Her lips curved in a small encouraging smile.

Jeff straightened his spine. “Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor Harris.”

She held his eyes a moment longer before backing up a little and gathering her equipment. A glance and the two medical professionals slipped out of the room.

Jeremy stayed.

Jeff’s eyes flickered to the man.

A worried frown as he stared down at his gravely ill charge.

“Thank you, Jeremy.” Jeff’s voice was rough. “You saved his life.”

The man swallowed and continued to stare at Virgil. “Shouldn’t have had to.”

Jeff had no answer to that. His soul was baked dry. He had no comfort left.

Instead he sat down again beside Scott, a hand falling gently to each of his sons.

He would call his mother shortly. His sons.

The heart monitor’s quiet beep echoed his own heart as if it was keeping him alive.

He waited.

-o-o-o-

Gordon found John on the roof exactly as Eos had told him, Tane standing beside him. What she hadn’t told him was what his astronaut brother was doing.

Still wearing his tan-coloured gravity support shirt...and people claimed Gordon had a bad taste in clothing, John took the cake...his red-haired brother’s head was buried in guts of the hospital’s communication satellite dish.

“John, what are you doing?”

His tall brother startled and whacked his head on an overhead metal bar. “Ah! Gordon?”

“Sorry.” But Gordon wasn’t feeling too gracious at the moment. “What are you doing?”

“Tracing communications.” He pulled out his tablet and tapped it repeatedly. “Eos needs a little more bandwidth than this ancient piece of tech can provide. I’m providing it.” Red brows frowned at his tablet screen. “I haven’t been able to identify how our suspect was receiving information.”

“You reckon this will help.”

More taps of his fingers. “Definitely.”

The big question. “Authorised?”

Turquoise flickered in his direction. Hmm, obviously not.

“Scott?”

“With Virgil...injured...command is left to me.”

“What about Dad?” It was a question that had to be asked.

John didn’t look at him, continuing to stab his tablet. “Dad authorised GDF access to our files. Virgil was almost killed within hours. I don’t believe he has the knowledge required in this instance.”

“It was Dad?” Gordon’s shoulders tensed.

With that John did straighten up. A sigh. “My fault. I didn’t give him the information he needed to make the correct decision.”

“But he knows of our history with the GDF, the spy?”

John turned away, but shook his head.

“What? Johnny, he needs to know.”

“I told him and he didn’t give it the credit it was due.”

Gordon frowned. “When?”

“The day Virgil was injured.”

“What? That recently?”

“It was just...he isn’t long out of recovery and we thought a gradual re-introduction to International Rescue was warranted. I was forced to tell him without preparation and I didn’t have time to follow it up with a situational report. Aunt Val was demanding information and Dad made the decision.” His brother turned back to the dish and dove in head first again.

“So, what are we going to do?” Gordon was sure he knew the answer. John wasn’t one to beat around the bush. The astronaut, if anything, was direct and to the point.

“We…” His brother emerged and grabbed his tablet again. “…are going to find who did this to our family and…prevent…them from hurting us any further.”

Gordon held his brother’s gaze. There was so much unsaid in those eyes. Calm though John appeared, he was anything but, and while Gordon might scream at the nearest target, John would simply act.

Lips thinned, Gordon straightened his shoulders. “Count me in.”

-o-o-o-

Someone was stroking his cheek.

Sensation.

Followed by pain.

He groaned.

His throat screamed at him.

“C’mon, honey, I know you’re in there.” The stroking continued and he became vaguely aware of someone holding his hand.

“Virgil, c’mon, bro, you can do it.”

He frowned and found his face aching almost as much as his chest and throat.

Another groan.

Ow, shit.

“Virgil?”

Dad. That was Dad. They had found Dad and he was safe and home and, thank, god.

“Open your eyes, Virgil.”

Scott.

His big brother.

Augh, his face hurt.

“Hurts.”

Shit, that was his voice? He coughed and everything flared up in pain.

The hand on his cheek moved to his hair, fingers combing through it. “Virgil, dear, let us see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Hurts.

But he was always one to do what his grandmother asked of him.

He found his eyelids and forced them open.

They dropped immediately, the blur and the glare, harsh and painful.

“Shut off the lights, please Jeff.”

His eyelids grew dark and he relaxed a little. Sleep would be nice.

“No, Virgil, you need to wake up, dear.”

Don’t want to. Tired.

“I know it is hard, but open your eyes for us.”

He gave it another go and the darkness became a dim blur. He blinked and the blur sharpened into his family.

Grandma stood beside his head and was the one responsible for the hand in his hair. Scott sat beside her and was holding Virgil’s hand. Allie was on his own bed and at an angle to the bed Virgil was lying on so he could see clearly. Blue eyes sparkled and grinned at him. “Virgil!”

Allie.

Allie was being attacked.

“Al-an!”

“No, you stay put, young man.” His grandmother was holding his shoulder. “Alan is safe. You saved him. He is safe.”

Safe.

Allie was safe.

Oh, thank god. Memories flickered in and out and his right hand clenched.

And screamed at him.

The sound that issued from his throat wasn’t remotely English, but it said everything he felt.

And there was Dad, worried grey eyes staring down at him. “Dad…”

A hand gripped his leg gently. “You’re safe, Virgil.”

“Alan…”

“I’m here, bro, thanks to you.”

Thanks to him. Memories swirled again as his arm throbbed in complaint at the movement. His eyes closed involuntarily and he found he had no strength to open them again.

-o-o-o-

Scott’s vision blurred as Virgil slipped back into sleep and he had to blink his eyes to clear it. His fingers spasmed just a little tighter around his brother’s hand, ever grateful for the warmth there.

“He needs his rest.” Grandma reached an arm around Scott’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “He’s going to be okay, Scotty.”

All eyes in the room immediately turned to him and he swallowed. His voice failed him, but he sat straighter.

“Now I want you back in bed. You’ve been sitting here for hours and you have your own recovery to consider.”

“Yes, Grandma.” He didn’t have the energy to protest. Virgil was going to get better.

His eyes didn’t leave the bruises on his brother’s pale face.

“C’mon, honey.” She helped him to his feet and he stumbled, turning and reaching for his bed. “You need rest almost as much as Virgil. Sleep is the only thing that is going to fix your head, so give it all it needs.”

“Yes, Grandma.” The bed felt lovely to roll into as gravity took its pressure off his weary body. Sitting hunched in a chair for hours wasn’t good for anything.

He rolled onto his side so he could see Virgil.

But he wanted to see Alan as well. His little brother was having a rather intense discussion with their father as to whether he needed more sleep.

“But Dad, I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“You need rest, Alan.”

“I am resting!”

“Alan.” Scott’s voice cut across the room. “Do as you are told.”

Blue eyes glared at him for a moment before dissolving into a more familiar pout.

Their father frowned at Scott.

“Dad? Can we leave Alan over there? Allie, can you stay there?” He wanted to keep his two injured brothers in sight.

Alan’s eyes narrowed. “So, you can keep an eye on me.”

“Yes, for that very reason. Do as you are told, Alan.” But the message was there, he could see the vulnerability in his little brother’s eyes.

“Fine. But only because I want to be able to see Virgil as well and if I’m stuck in the corner, I can’t see beyond your big head.”

“Alan.” Their father’s voice was full of warning.

“He’s bossing me around, Dad!”

“Because apparently you need it. Now, I’ve asked you to rest and so has Scott. Do I need to wake up Virgil and get him to nag you as well or should your grandmother come over here?”

Alan opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Wow, Dad. Scott just stared.

Alan may be an adult, but he was still technically a teenager and every now and again he regressed.

Said teenager glared and with an exaggerated pout, curled up in the bed on his uninjured side. Their father reached over and squeezed an ankle. “Rest, son. You’ll feel better for it.”

Alan’s expression just grew grumpier.

“Virgil is getting better.”

And that hit the nail on the head. Alan relaxed just a little bit more and the frown lessened. Another squeeze of his son’s ankle and their father pushed the bed gently into dock on the other side of the room, opposite from Virgil’s bed. Alan stared at his sleeping brother, still attached to monitors and multiple IVs.

“He’s getting better.”

Dad’s voice was reassurance itself.

Grandma, who had obviously elected to stay out of it, brushed Scott’s hair off his face. “Go to sleep, Scotty. You need it.”

A sudden thought. “What about John and Gordon?”

She snorted. “You let your father and I worry about the vigilante brothers. You worry about yourself.”

Vigilante? “What?”

His grandmother sighed. “Relax, Scott.” She began stroking his hair.

He couldn’t remember the last time he combed his hair. He probably looked awful.

But that one word stuck in his head.

Vigilante.

What the hell were his brothers up to?

-o-o-o-

Gordon had to admit that having Eos on the team was a great advantage despite the situations that resulted.

He could almost hear Virgil’s snort at that comment, followed by the inevitable ‘situations you create, Gordon’.

God, he missed his brother.

But Virgil was improving. His dad had been adamant and Gordon clung to that. Apparently, he had even woken briefly. He wished he had been there, but this was important.

Tin walked beside him, her pace one he had to keep up with. She was not happy. But then neither was Gordon.

Using the wider bandwidth John had jimmied into the system, Eos had been able to swoop into the network and gather information much faster. She dove straight through protected systems like a phantom. Or so John described the process. How she did it, Gordon did not have a clue, but he was ever so grateful she could.

She was able to crunch all the communications data that had occurred in and around the building for the entire time the Tracys had been resident. It had been a massive task, but one she was uniquely suited to. The majority was civilian comms traffic hooking into the hospital network due to the communications restrictions around medical equipment, but there was a small portion that was GDF flagged. None of that had appeared suspicious, but John as particularly interested in the traffic around the time Aunt Val had been in the building.

One anomaly had been found.

Aunt Val entered the hospital with Foster and two aides.

She left with Foster and only one aide.

Tracking down what had become of the second aide had proven difficult. Hallway security cameras located Foster speaking to the missing aide and that aide leaving the corridor outside the Tracys’ hospital room, but from there the aide vanished.

She did not exist the building.

Both John and Gordon agreed that it was likely this person was the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.

The question was did Aunt Val know?

“I’ve called in Jack Dunning. We may need a lawyer to keep Virgil’s attacker out of the hands of the GDF.” Tin’s voice was matter of fact, but underneath he could hear the boiling pot of anger she was keeping under control.

Gordon grunted. His anger was much closer to the surface. It was cold and it made him sharper. The perpetrator – his mind spat the word – was currently being held by New Zealand police, but Aunt Val was moving for global extradition due to the Tracys being the Tracys.

They couldn’t let that happen.

John had called the elevator down and taken off for Five. He wanted to be hands on hunting down the details of the explosion, even if that called for shifting Five into an orbital path contradictory to GDF directives.

If there was a way to discover what had actually happened up there to injure their brothers, John would find it.

Ignoring the GDF was quite liberating.

Until they found out.

Jack Dunning was good. Gordon hoped they didn’t have to find out how good.

Aunt Val had retreated to the local GDF base after his ‘words’. So, this time he had to go to her for a meeting.

Iz hovered as they crossed the gardens at the entrance to the building.

It was always amusing to flip out his International Rescue ID. The expressions on the face of security was always worth it and these guys were no different. Yep, there was the surprise, followed by the starstruck expression.

“Thank you for your service, sir.”

Gordon blinked. Wow, a devotee. He nodded once. “You’re welcome. We’re here to see Colonel Casey.”

The guard was still staring at his ID. “Gordon Tracy…so you fly Thunderbird Two?”

Blink. “Sometimes.” He wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

“Aw, great. Thunderbird Two is the coolest Thunderbird.”

Gordon’s flat-eyed stare at that comment got a confused reaction.

“Excuse me, we are in a hurry.” Tin’s cold voice cut across the silent conversation. “Colonel Casey’s office?”

The guard jumped and hurried to lead them where they needed to go.

The colonel lacked her usual smile when they entered and Gordon wondered how many bridges he had permanently burnt.

At this point he didn’t care.

“Kayo, Gordon, what can I do for you?” Her tone was cool and curt and she eyed Iz as she slunk in behind them.

Tin didn’t waste one moment, deploying an electronic security net with one hand. The subtle hum was unnerving, but it created a bubble around them that secured all transmissions in and out of the room and blocked all audio-visual equipment.

Casey eyed the gadget, but didn’t comment as Tin slapped it down on her desk.

“Colonel, we would like your assistance in identifying this person.” Tin’s phone flickered up a hologram of the missing aide.

They had already identified the woman as Brede Williams, a New Zealand born GDF administrative aide. John had even located her address in Auckland. Eos had infiltrated the apartment block and found her room’s electronics undisturbed, including the locks, for several days.

John feared for her safety.

The perpetrator in custody was definitely not Brede Williams.

The colonel eyed the hologram with an arched eyebrow. “That is Corporal Brede Williams, one of my executive assistants.”

Tin didn’t react. “When did you last see her?”

“She called in ill a few days ago and has been on personal leave since.”

Tin took a step forward, her entire body whip sharp with potential energy. “Colonel, when was the last time you saw her.”

Aunt Val blinked and frowned. “She was with me at the hospital, but had to leave due to a family…what are you implying?”

Tin switched the view to the incriminating scene where Captain Foster spoke to the woman outside the Tracy’s hospital room. They watched as she walked off.

“She never left the hospital.”

Aunt Val’s mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Gordon took the opportunity to state the obvious. “We believe she wasn’t who she appeared to be. That she was in fact the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.” He drew in a breath. “You brought a killer into the hospital and Virgil nearly died.”

The strict military officer he expected to turn around and rip him a new one melted in front of him. Aunt Val sat down hard on her desk chair, shock on her face.

Still nothing came out of her mouth.

Gordon was caught between distress at the devastation in her expression and anger that she had been so easily fooled.

“We advised you that you had a spy in your ranks quite some time ago. What has been done to identify the person or persons responsible?” Tin was sharp and no nonsense.

Aunt Val found her voice, but it was uncharacteristically uncertain. “I reported the issue to my superiors. There was some shuffling of staff and I was assured the problem had been negated.”

“Assured.” The word fell from Gordon’s lips with a snarl.

Dark eyes glared up at Gordon. “I had no reason to disbelieve the assertion.”

“Colonel, you were once disposed by those superiors and an infiltrator replaced you. The result of those actions nearly cost us Thunderbird Two and several innocent lives at Saad Madina. Yet you’re telling me that you trust them?”

She stared up at Gordon and some of the more familiar steel returned to her expression. “Not all of us have the luxury of complete trust, Lieutenant. As you should well know.”

His eyes narrowed at the barb obviously referring to his past in WASP and the end of that career. He ignored it. “You can trust family, Colonel.”

She stood up slowly. “Easy when you have choice.”

“There is always a choice.” A huff of exasperation. “C’mon, Aunt Val, dump this outfit and come work with us.”

Brown eyes flickered with the briefest of fondness and his heart clenched.

“You know I can’t do that, Gordon.”

“Why not?”

“I can do more here.”

“The system is corrupt!”

“And it is one person less corrupt as long as I’m here to fight it! Do you think International Rescue would last very long without me here, Lieutenant? I stay for Lucille, for her family, for you and for the smallest chance that I can do some good and prevent this damned organisation from taking the world with it!”

It was Gordon’s turn to have his mouth drop open and nothing come out of it.

The anguish returned to his aunt’s face. “I’m sorry Virgil…I didn’t think we were that vulnerable. I thought my office was secure. Please, I would never want to hurt any of you. How is he?” The plea was an honest one.

It was Tin who answered. “An antidote has been found and he is recovering slowly.”

“Oh, thank god.” The woman wilted. “Scott and Alan?”

“Also recovering.”

Alan might have nightmares for the rest of his life, but Gordon kept that to himself.

Tin straightened. “We believe Alan was the target of the attack. Virgil got in the way.”

Aunt Val frowned. “They think he remembers something.”

A single nod was all Tin was willing to give her.

“So, if you find who was responsible for the explosion, you’ll find who ordered the attack.”

“That is the plan.” A considered gaze. “We need everything you have on the incident.” Tin threw a drive onto the desk.

The colonel eyed them a moment before reaching down and picking up the drive with the IR logo wrapped around its edges and plugging it into her terminal. A flick of her fingers, a breath, and she unplugged it again. “It’s not much, but if there is a mole in my staff, the data may not be comprehensive.”

“We are aware of that.” Tin slipped the drive back into her pocket. “Thank you for your assistance.” She turned to leave and Gordon took a step to follow.

“Gordon. Kayo. Be careful.” She knew they weren’t going to play by the rules, he could see it in her eyes. “And give my love to your family…and my sincerest apologies.”

Gordon found he couldn’t answer. The Colonel he could yell at, but Aunt Val had always been a part of his life, a cherished reminder of the mother they had lost.

Tin answered for him. “Yes, Colonel.”

The use of her rank struck hard and her shoulders bowed just a little.

Gordon said nothing. He grabbed the electronic net and turning, followed Tin out the door.

It hurt, but GDF and International Rescue relations could never be the same.

-o-o-o-

End Part Eight

[har-rison-s]

heaven: 16

nothing lasts forever

request/plot: Stan x Reader where they were together back in Derry and kind of forgot about each other after moving away but they always had a void in their lives. And then when Stan is just about to do it after Mikes call his phone rings and it’s you and you’re crying after just getting off the phone with Mike to come to Derry. You both end up going back and seeing each other at the restaurant and you guys just catch up after all these years that passed and old feelings come back.

A/N: Hi! Part sixteen already. Whew, last one was quite long, wasn’t it? It’s one of my best works ever, I think. Has me feeling so many emotions, and quite strongly, idk. Welp, here goes one of the last chapters. I still haven’t decided how many more chapters there will be, but I just know this Heaven is nearing its end. I hope you all like how this turns out. I’m still a bit conflicted between a few characters and plot points of the ending, like I have a few versions of the ending in mind, and I wanna execute all and none of them at the same time. If I decide on this one ending that’s the most strong out of all of them, I hope y’all won’t kill me. I just finished rewatching the 1990 mini-series. Damn, that’s messy. The dialogues, the special effects… Don’t even get me started on the acting. Anyways, happy quarantine reading! Love you lots <3

warnings: long as always hahahah, wounds, blood, food, nothing else

word count: 3.7k

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Gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me! (Also, it's raining in the gif but idc! Y'all know it's morning and sunny as hell in Derry, Maine rn!)

“Could we have six menus and a first-aid kit?” Richie Tozier asks the young waitress who has approached their miserable-looking table. Her eyebrows raise and she scans the eight adults to see why they would need a first aid kit—not that it’s any of her business—and she screams, coming across Eddie’s bleeding side. The Losers flinch at the high pitch of her scream.

“You need to get to the hospital!” She says, tears streaming down her face. Now this one’s quite emotional for six o’clock in the morning, the Losers think in unison and exchange looks between themselves, finding it imposible to say any words at the current moment. 

“I promise, he’s fine.” Richie tells the girl, looking at her through his thick glasses.

“It’s just a scratch.” Eddie says non-chalantly, and the waitress thinks to herself that these really are a bunch of crazy people, as she presumed when they walked inside the diner. “Besides, I’m a doctor. Could you please bring the menus and a.... uh, a first-aid kit?” He squints and tries his best at a smile at the crying waitress. 

She gathers herself, wipes her tears and smiles as wide as up to her ears. “Right away.” She says in a squeaky voice and leaves their table. The Losers exchange looks between themselves once again, overwhelmed by the events of the night and by the heavily emotional waitress that they have to deal with. They huddle closer together to one another in their red-and-white leather seated booth. 

The place smells of freshly cooked food, coffee and cigarettes. Oh, they’ll all definitely have coffee. A mood and energy booster, that’s for sure, that’s what they need. Though none of them are sure they even have such a thing as a ‘mood’, or ever will. This morning they’re certainly not in any kind of mood. To be completely honest, the Losers feel quite hollow. They feel completed, and they feel a lot of love and pride, but they feel empty inside, as if there’s a hole in their chests and it keeps getting more hollow. 

Stanley’s head rests on Y/N’s shoulder, his hair fallen against her delicate neck. She runs her fingers slowly through his semi-dry curls. Only the roots have dried, and slowly the draught moves further through his jet black strands, taking its time. Stanley places his hand over Y/N’s in his lap, their fingers intertwining seconds after. She lays a kiss on his forehead, and he closes his eyes. You can be at peace.

Y/N looks onto Eddie and Richie, both anxiously waiting for that requested first-aid kit. But they look more peaceful than ever before and Y/N thinks, they all must look that way. Richie’s arm has fallen with natural force around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie holds that slack hand in his own, creating a lock of security around himself. Richie’s other hand is drumming against the marbled surface of the table, and he looks at Bev and Ben across the table.

They’re talking to themselves abotu something so quietly that no one can hear them. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re playing with each other’s hands softly, playfully. Bev’s crimson locks touch Ben’s cheek ever so softly and he closes his eyes. January embers. He opens his eyes again and looks strongly into Bev’s. My heart burns there, too.

Bill tries not to watch them too strikingly. But it’s hard, his first supposed crush and love sitting at the other end of the table with his best friend, completely in their own world, completely in love. It’s hard for his heart, to be precise. His mind knows better. You know better, Bill, you have a wife that you love and, now that you think of it, looks a lot like Bev here. And Beverly’s happy. So are the rest of your friends. You’ll go home and you’ll be happy, too. Back home with Audra, her movies, your novels and their shitty endings. 

Maybe I don’t want to go home, he finds himself thinking. And he’s a bit surprised by that thought. Hmm. What does that mean? Maybe I could live in Derry, spend the rest of my days here, watching as the town, hopefully, evolves, changes. Maybe he can live with Mike now. Bill looks over at his friend. Mike’s smiling, smiling for his friends and his own self, but he’s not looking at them. Mike is probably gonna stay, isn’t he? So what’s so bad about me staying here, and with him? 

Actually Bill doesn’t even wanna think about going back what’s been, for the last thirteen years, considered home. The thought of it makes him sick, for some reason. Maybe he’s not yet ready to think about it all, think about the possibility of going back to England and telling Audra they’re moving to Derry. Yeah, she is not gonna like it at all. And he’s not gonna like that she won’t like it. The thought of it makes him sick, as already said. 

“Here are your menus and the kit.” The waitress has returned, and she doesn’t look shabby anymore. She lays out the menus on the table with her delicate, seemingly teenage hands, and puts the first-aid kit on the table in front of Eddie. 

“Thanks so much.” Eddie speaks his thanks the loudest, and the young girl leaves again. Eddie immediately opens the red box and searches for disinfectant and bandages. He finds a bottle of Equate antiseptic and hands it to Richie, continuing his search for cotton gauze and pads, assuming he won’t find plasters as big as he needs in here. 

Richie unscrews the antiseptic and lifts up Eddie’s shirt. Jeez Louise, it’s a bloodbath. Eddie’s started to bleed onto the seat. Y/N sees their desperate situation and hands the box of tissues on the windowsill to Richie. But Richie gives them to Mike, so he can help clean the wound while Richie cleans it with wipes Eddie’s found in the box. 

“You’re losing a shit ton of blood, dude, you feeling okay?” Richie asks Eddie, carefully cleaning the scrape in his side. Eddie winces here and there, and even draws back when it really stings. 

“I’m fine.” Eddie replies in that same non-chalant voice he’s used for the past half hour. “It’s not that much, anyway.” Richie shakes his head at that statement. They’re almost done with cleaning the skin and wound. The blood still flows, though. 

“We’re going to the hospital later.” Richie states in a soft, commanding voice. Eddie doesn’t really pay mind to Richie’s words, having trouble connecting to thoughts about the next five minutes. He’s gathered some bandages from all that he could find in the kit. Then Eddie looks down at his left side and groans.

“Looks like something took a bite out of me.” He states, looking at the obvious strike in his skin and a bit further than that. There’s other layers visible already, a darker red than his skin. Muscle, that is, and he can see some blood vessels too. Oh, dear God, he’s going to faint. The blood flow is not stopping. 

“Be thankful it didn’t.” Richie reminds him. Eddie takes some medical wool and gives it to Richie. He puts it, as softly as he can, directly into the wound after it’s disinfected, to hopefully stop the blood drip for at least a while. Eddie winces, and his face scrunches so much he feels tears squirting out at the corners of his eyes. That is not a nice feeling at all. 

Mike presses his hand on the wool to keep it there while Richie gets bandages from Eddie. He puts the biggest plasters at the top and bottom of the wound, securing the wool, and Mike lets go. Then Eddie adds more wool, puts tissues and bandages over it, and Richie helps him secure it all with gauze. Quite messy, but for the time until they’re in the hospital, this will have to last. Richie cleans up the blood around their make-shift work place and puts Eddie’s shirt back down. They throw the tissues in a trash can under their table—wow, they have that kind of thing here?—and lean against the sofa, both tired, more tired than before.

“No staph infections in our lifetime.” Richie states between yawns. The ones who were there, in the back alley where the two holy words were spoken first, laugh. But Mike and Bev only share looks of confusion. Richie lays a kiss atop of Eddie’s head and embraces him back in his arms. Now they have time to look at what the menu’s offering.

Y/N opens the menu in front of her and Stanley so they can both read it at once. Stanley sighs. “I don’t have my glasses.” He mewls. The words printed on the laminated paper are blurry to him, and he realises his obstacles are either back at the  hotel or lost in the over-flown sewers or the underground lair. He blinks his eyes twice, but he still can’t read anything except for Derry Diner Menu, which are much larger and in bold. 

Y/N tilts her head to rest on his. “Breakfast. Pancakes - ones with caramel, ones with chocolate, ones with bacon and cheese, ones with berries and fruit, ones with ice cream…” She reads out loud. “Country breakfast - ham, eggs, fries, baked beans. Eggs Benedict, Lobster Benedict, Irish Benedict, Eggs Florentine, waffles, steak & eggs.” She sighs. “Anything strike your fancy?”

Stanley shrugs. “Keep reading.” He says, and feels his eyelids and chest heavy. Her voice is so sweet and soothing. Y/N nods.

“Breakfast burrito, mac and cheese, mac and cheese with lobster,” she widens her eyes, “chili, chicken pot pie… turkey, roast beef sandwhiches… sea food, side orders…” she flips through the menu, which requires to move the arm that’s around Stanley. And she finds that his body is limp against hers. She worriedly looks down. 

His breath passes through his slightly parted lips, his eyes are closed and his face is completely relaxed. He’s asleep. Y/N almost laughs into his face, but she turns away and suppresses her giggles. Her friends look at her. “He’s fallen asleep.” She tells them in a whisper, pointing down at Stanley. They nod and most of them smile. No wonder. They feel like doing the same, and they’re actually on the verge, if they weren’t concentrating on reading the menu and hoping for coffee soon. 

Y/N stops her giggling fit and looks down at the menu again. What do I want, what do I want… “What are you guys gonna order?” She asks her friends. 

“Probably pancakes.” Comes from Bev, who’s decided for both her and Ben.

“Us too.” Mike informs. “Bacon?” He asks.

“Berries.” Ben responds. 

“We’re gonna get that country breakfast or whatever.” Richie says. “To get proper fat, you know, grow into Eddie’s mom.” He explains further and everyone giggles, even Eddie himself. 

Y/N hums. “I’ve got no idea. I want everything, but it just won’t fit.” She states and Bill chuckles. “I know what to order for Stanley, but myself…”

“Take the same and stop working your brain.” Mike suggests. Y/N looks at him.

“It’s worked enough for the past hours.” Bill supports his argument. Her eyes shift to Bill, and then she looks down at the menu again, a smile on her face now. 

“I guess it’s just that easy now.” She admits and closes the menu, putting it on the table instead. Making decisions really is that easy now. She leans back into the seat, Stanley’s body moving with hers. He gets more comfortable while sleeping, his face nuzzling into her neck, tickling her a bit, and his arms going around her, securing themselves together at her waist. Y/N smiles and hugs him back, resting her cheek on his curls. She closes her eyes. 

“What will you have?” Bill asks her and she opens an eye to look at him, her own eyelids feeling sort of heavy now. “Before you join him.” He whispers, smiling. She smiles back.

“Love you, Bill.” She tells him sincerely. “Eggs Benedict for us both.” She says and Bill nods. “And coffee, too. Both black, but two sugars in Stanley’s.” She’s surprised herself that she still knows how he likes his coffee, or which breakfast option he’d always choose. It’s like it’s basic knowledge now, something that’s imprinted in her mind and feels like it’s been that way since she can remember. She closes her eyes again and lets her exhaustion take over. She wants to rest, just for a little bit, just lay with Stanley for a while.

She did join him in sleeping for a while. Bill wakes her up when the food and coffees have arrive, starting to tickle her, Ben doing the same to Stanley. The two adults jolt awake, eyes wide and confused, and make their friends laugh. 

“Morning, sleepyheads.” Richie nods to them with a smile. Stanley nods right back and Y/N and he both right themselves, sitting up straight. Y/N moves her hair behind her ear and Stanley flattens his shirt. They look down at the fresh food in front of them, though their vision and look on their environement is still hazy from the good-as-hell nap they just woke up from. 

“Bone, apple, tit, was it?” Richie suggests as a toast for the Losers’ diner breakfast. Everyone laughs once more, but they clink their coffee cups together, repeating Richie’s ridiculous words and they laugh again, harder this time. Languages have never been Richie’s strongest side. 

They all drink coffee in unison and regain some amount energy at that, then delve into their steaming breakfast which fill their noses up to the maximum with utterly irresistible aromas. Richie, like the beast he is, devours half of his plate in the first few minutes while everyone else devours their food bit by bit. But everyone is so endorsed in eating that they don’t pay mind to their friends, for the time they’re eating they even forget they’re with their friends, lest someone else entirely. Food is very good right now. Heavenly, if you might.

When they’re done, they all slump into their seats, letting out groans of content and holding their bellies. “For a diner, that was really good.” Bill says. Y/N laughs. Bill, Eddie, Stanley, Ben—cross that, all of them, except herself and Mike, have grown used to dining at fancy restaurants where it costs to even reserve a table, grown used to making great mega-dishes at home for themselves. They’ve grown used to business events with crazy dinners and a wide range of appetisers. Champagne, wine, whiskey of the highest classes. So this is entirely out of their usual menu, and Bill is, of course, taking it like a snob. Hence Y/N laughed. 

She and Mike have not lived the life their friends have. Not that it’s bad lives they’ve been living upto this point, just different, way different from most of the Losers Club. Y/N hasn’t become a famous writer, architect or fashion designer, neither has Mike. So for one, their daily routine differs, and two, their eating habits differ from their friends’. Diner food may be the lowest of them all, considered so by the highest class of society, but Y/N can safely admit that she likes diner food and doesn’t mind having it once in a while. And what can Mike have in this shithole town, anyway, other than make-believe restaurant meals, takeout and diners? Neither of them mind eating here now or any other time. 

“I want more.” Y/N manages to croak out, and everyone laughs. “Anyone up for a sundae split?”

“Ugh, we’re really gonna get fat.” Eddie sighs. 

“Haystack’s gonna have a come-back!” Richie announces and changes his face into an excited expression. But he still makes his friends laugh, including Ben himself. His laughter rumbles deep and low like a bear’s roar.

“I’ll have a sundae split with you, Y/N/N.” Beverly says, then. Y/N smiles at her. 

“Anyone up for a Diet Coke and salad?” Mike asks now, and they all laugh again. Richie joins the girls for a sundae split, and the rest agree with Mike’s offer. 

“Wait, wasn’t Y/N working in a diner for a while? In, like, high school?” Eddie asks now, as they wait for the waitress, and he looks at Y/N. She looks at him, tired and full from the eggs, but nods. 

“I was.” She confirms. “Not this one, though, the one in the center of town.” She leans towards the table to sit proper and rests her elbows on the surface. She crosses her arms and puts her chin on top of them. “After Bowers and Cockstetter were… out of the picture, I had the freedom to work in the skirt the diner required me to.” She recalls. Those boys were always onto her and Beverly, while they were still alive, which made it hard for them to ever wear something remotely feminine. They always got some sort of cat-calls, and groping was the worst of what would come from them. “Jesus…” 

“What scumbags they were.” Beverly joins in, also leaning against the table. She moves her hair out of her face, and looks to Y/N, but Ben’s worried gaze catches her eye instead. She turns to him. He only reaches for her hand with his own. I’m here now. 

“You working in a diner was the best thing, Y/N.” Richie says, putting emphasis on ‘best’. She looks at him now and smiles, remembering how stoked they all were for free food and the food that she actually made. Mostly deserts. Stanley’s arm makes its way around her waist. She leans closer to him. “I mean, the birthday parties there were amazing. Nothing could top them.”

“Wow, Rich, even college and work parties?” Mike asks, and they both chuckle.

“You bet your fur, Mikey,” Richie says, patting his friend’s shoulder. He looks reminiscent for a second, his head hangs down, and then he tries to put it into words, ��you know, I think—I think because childhood, and teenage years, were the best part of my life. I mean, I’m forty now, so I’m old enough to say shit like that, you know, but… It’s true. I know that I thought it then and I know it now—those were the best parties of my life.” He admits and looks around at his friends. “Because—because I was still young, and because it was the best childhood, I think, any kid could wish for. Even counting in all the shame, the fear, and IT. And because I was with you guys.” 

A silence falls upon the Losers Club. But they smile at Richie, and at each other, realising that’s true. Those were the best years of their lives, and actually, taking the horrible parts, the best childhood any child could wish for. The best friends anyone could wish for to spend that childhood and those confusing, difficult teenage years with. Without each other, they wouldn’t be the same, and they wouldn’t be as strong and as full of love and, perhaps, belief. 

“You know…” Stanley starts to say, they look at him, “nothing lasts forever.” He states, shaking his head with a dreamy look in his eyes. Nothing does seem to last forever, that is true. But he has a feeling of differing in opinion with his own statement. Nothing lasts forever—the monster they thought had lived under Derry forever, eaten its kids and other residents, cast a spell on the adults and the whole air of Derry, is now dead. So that doesn’t last forever. The promise they made—it is fulfilled now, meaning it won’t last forever, either. It lasted as long as needed to unite them all again. But this… what they have…

“Except for friendship.” Y/N says, looking at him. “And love.” Yes, friendship and love. Those will last forever. The love they have for each other will outlive all their future deaths, all their future kids’ deaths, and their kids’ deaths. This love, and this bond, it will last forever. It will always be somewhere in the predicted long life of the Earth and humanity. It will fly with the wind, blossom in flowers and rosy cheeks, it will swim with the ocean and breathe with the air. Always.

“And love.” Eddie says it with Y/N in unison. They smile at each other. Love. What a wonderful thing. It might as well be a living creature, like fear was. Only much stronger.

“Desire.” Ben suggests. Beverly closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder. I know, Ben. But we’re here now. All the desire pent up in teenage and adult years seems much lighter now. For Beverly, Ben and for Richie and Eddie, too. And for Stanley and Y/N. All their desire towards each other has finally been released, even if the door to it is only open in a narrow slit now. Desire might as well live in all eight of them, desire for each other, desire to meet each other again, desire to have that unbreakable friendship again. Desire for that lived in their hearts all these empty years, it was unknown and mysterious, a feeling they could not guess. Now it’s known, and out in the open, nothing to hide from each other. Or anyone else, for that matter. They’re proud.

The Losers Club fall silent, but comfortably so. They’re finally in a comfortable state with themselves and each other, and with the world around them. Strange, vile and ignorant as it may be, the world is truly amazing, though, and much bigger than they all thought. Brought them together that one summer, made a bond that will last forever. They’ve got a lot to thank it for. But they’ve also got every reason to kick the world in the butt and other places. 

For now, they’ll let it slide. For now, they’re only focused on being in the diner, getting desert and then showering. Most importantly, for now, they’ve got each other, safe and healthy, and that’s all they need. That will do. 

“Anything else you’d like to order?”

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