#i changed her name to Reese now

[voidling-prince]

Teasing alistair is fun

[mlobsters]

person of interest s1e10 number crunch

I wanted to say thank you, Harold. For giving me a second chance.

first time watch liveblogging via gifs part 8 of ?rinch

[moonlitrapture]

Blues beats the clues pt 2, Blood in Every City

Warnings:(18+) 🩸🕯️

Blood, lots of it,Toxic vampire throuple , Possessive behavior disguised as love,Slow-burning madness, Angst, Psychological unraveling, Fangs where mouths shouldn’t go, mentions of past-life Trauma(Abuse), Emotional Manipulation, Smut , Unreliability (memory, narrator, reality—take your pick), lowkey body horror n gore , Mary being sweet in the scariest way, Stack being a red flag with a jawline,Reader slowly realizing she might not be theirs—they might be hers.

🔞 This is for adults only. don’t romanticize abuse. Read responsibly babes <3

————

A/n: 😮‍💨 here she is yall

Paring : Black! Reader x Stack x Mary

Summary : They didn’t just run — they disappeared.

From the smoldering remains of her husband’s house, the reader flees into the long dark with Mary and Stack at her side. The world becomes a blur of nightclubs and safehouses, back roads and blood-stained hotel rooms. Cities change. Decades shift. Names fade. But their bond grows fiercer, hungrier.

They bled their way through the ‘90s, hunted through forgotten alleys in Berlin, seduced the millennium in London nightclubs, burned through early 2000s L.A. like a fever dream of velvet, glitter, and ash.

It’s 2014. The blood is colder. The silence is louder.

You, Mary, and Stack have outrun time—cities burned behind you, names shed like skin.

Now, in a quiet town, you’re strangers under one roof.

Mary avoids your eyes. Stack drinks too much.

And you—

You dream of drowning in blood you didn’t spill.

Mirrors moved . Strangers forget you. And something inside was very wrong.

———-

It’s Halloween night on the quiet north side of L.A.—where the houses sit pretty behind trimmed hedges and the moon hangs low like it’s watching.

The porch light flickers gold against the haze of cigarette smoke and jasmine perfume, and you and Mary have been camped on the front steps for nearly two hours, handing out candy with practiced charm to tiny ghosts, glittering princesses, and boys with plastic fangs too big for their mouths.

She’s curled beside you on a plaid blanket, barefoot, wearing a silk slip black dress and a black sweater that keeps sliding off her shoulder. You’re halfway through telling a little witch that no, sorry, you’re all out of Reese’s, when Mary leans in with a giggle against your ear and says, “Baby, we’re out again. Think Stack’ll get more without being a dick about it this time?”

You sigh. “I’ll ask,” you mutter, brushing candy wrappers off your lap.

Inside, the house smells like cloves, wood polish, and something sweet baking too long. Stack’s in the kitchen, arms crossed, already watching you like he heard her.

“We need more,” you say, trying to sound neutral.

He snorts, doesn’t move. “Of course you do. Can’t have the little monsters going home empty-handed. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking this perfect little façade’s cracking.”

You blink. “Stack—”

He grabs the bowl off the counter hard enough to rattle the silver. “You two want to play house so bad? Go ahead. Just don’t ask me to pretend this shit is normal.”

Behind you, the door creaks open and Mary calls sweetly, “Did he say yes?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy watching the way Stack’s jaw clenches, the way something darker flickers behind his eyes.

And outside, the wind picks up.

——

A chorus of tiny knocks interrupts the tension—three quick raps on the front door followed by muffled giggles and a plastic pumpkin banging against the wood.

Mary pops her head in, grinning, effortlessly soft. “Last round’s here, sugar. You comin’?”

Before you can speak, Stack catches your wrist—not hard, but firm. His hand is cold, even for him.

“You go,” he says to Mary without looking at her. “I need to talk to her.”

Mary hesitates for a beat, then lifts her brows, unreadable. “Don’t break anything,” she hums, then turns on her heel, silk slip brushing the floor as she disappears outside in a trail of perfume and fake spiderwebs.

You and Stack stand in the low amber light of the hallway, the front door creaking behind her, children’s laughter barely audible through the walls.

“What is it now?” you ask, voice low.

He studies you, the flicker of the porch light reflecting in his dark eyes, making them look almost too deep. Like if you stare too long, you’ll fall into something that doesn’t end.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he mutters. “You’re out there smiling like we’re just a couple of bored thirty-somethings passing out chocolate in the suburbs. Playing house. Playing safe.”

Your stomach knots. “It’s Halloween, Stack. We’re blending in.”

He takes a step closer. “We’re fading. That’s what we’re doing.”

His voice drops to a near growl, something unspoken tightening between you both.

“You used to burn,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Now I don’t even know if it’s still you under there. Or something pretending.”

You pull your wrist from his grip. “You think I’m pretending?” you snap. “You’re the one who can’t go a single night without trying to start a fire in a glass house.”

Outside, you hear Mary’s voice—sweet and lilting—thanking the kids, telling someone to be safe, to not eat all the candy at once.

Inside, Stack’s gaze is burning into you.

“You’re changing,” he says finally. “And not just the way we did.”

A long silence passes between you.

And then he adds, dark and quiet, “I just don’t know if you’ll still want us when whatever’s inside you wakes up.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You’re starting to sound like him.”

That lands.

Stack flinches, just barely—but it’s enough. His jaw ticks. The bravado softens around the edges. He looks older in the flickering hallway light, like someone forced into remembering something he’s spent decades trying to forget.

You glance down at his costume—black jeans, steel-toe boots, a weathered leather duster thrown over a vintage sheriff’s badge and a blood-stained button-down. A plastic revolver holstered at his side, all part of his half-assed attempt at being “the outlaw.” Ironic, considering how often he acts like judge, jury, and executioner behind closed doors.

“You really wanna go there?” he murmurs. “Say I sound like him?”

You swallow. “You’re not there yet. But when you talk like that… When you look at me like I’m less just because I’m not killing like you two—yeah, it reminds me of him.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud: you’ve never killed. Not once.

Not in all these years.

You drink from the willing. You drink from the reckless, the lonely, the dancers who lean too close in the dark and ask you to bite like it’s foreplay.

But you never take too much. Never past that invisible line.

Mary calls it “starving politely.” Stack used to call it “your little self-control act.”

Now? He just stares at you like he’s trying to remember who you are underneath it all.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he finally says, voice low. “I just… I see you slipping and I don’t know how to hold onto you without pulling you down with us.”

The vulnerability in his tone cracks something in you.

You move toward him slowly, cautiously—like approaching a wild animal you still trust to love you. And when he doesn’t move away, you wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head against his chest. His jacket smells like smoke and clove.

Stack doesn’t say a word. Just holds you. Tight. Like if he lets go now, he never will again.

A few beats later, the front door clicks softly open.

Mary enters, smiling like a ghost in a long black dress with spiderweb mesh sleeves and a crown of dried roses in her curls. “I swear,” she says, “if I have to see one more toddler in a Paw Patrol costume I might combust.”

She pauses mid-step, watching the two of you. Her smile softens. “Everything alright?”

You pull back just enough to nod. “Yeah. We’re good now.”

Stack exhales into your hair.

Mary moves past you both and starts picking up candy wrappers from the floor. “Good,” she says softly, half to herself. “’Cause the night’s not over yet.”

——

the three of you are curled into the dim living room—candles flickering low on every windowsill, the scent of pumpkin-scented wax and woodsmoke thick in the air. The party you didn’t plan for is happening anyway.

A few stragglers from Mary’s boutique and Stack’s regulars from the bar drift in, half-drunk in mismatched costumes, collapsing onto your velvet couch and vintage armchairs like they’ve always belonged there.

Mary’s nestled beside you, legs across your lap, humming something off-key. Stack’s in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, ordering two large pizzas like he hasn’t killed a man in thirty years.

“Yeah, pepperoni on one, white with garlic on the other,” he says, glaring at the receiver. “And don’t fuckin’ skimp on the crust this time, bro.”

You snort.

Drake’s “The Motion” slips through the speakers—lazy, slowed-down, seductive in that strangely sad way only he can make sound sexy. Mary immediately croons along, a little off but charming:

“I’ve been drinkin’, I’ve been drinkin’…”

“That’s not even the right song,” you tease, laughing, “You’re mixing Beyoncé and Drake—”

“I’m remixing,” she insists, half-smiling. “Drunk witch energy, baby. Let me live.”

Stack finally comes back in, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and dropping into the armchair beside you both. The leather creaks under his weight. He eyes Mary, then looks at you, a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“What are we doing?” he asks.

You raise a brow. “Eating, vibing, pretending we’re not vampires for like—one night?”

Stack exhales a dry laugh. “Cute.”

Mary reaches out, linking her fingers through yours as she sings under her breath:

“I’m just saying, you could do better…”

The whole room echoes it seconds later. A chorus of slightly off-key, wine-loose friends joining in. Laughter. Someone clinks a wine glass against a bottle. A guy dressed like Frankenstein starts doing a slow-motion twirl.

For a moment—it’s almost normal.

You close your eyes.

But then the lights flicker—just once. Brief. Like the house itself took a breath.

Your eyes open.

Mary’s still humming. Stack’s scrolling through his phone. No one else notices.

But you do.

The feeling. That something just stepped inside with the wind.

——

You blink—

—and suddenly, it’s not 2014.

It’s a basement. His basement.

Your old husband’s breath is hot on your neck as he screams about the gas bill, his spit thick against your skin.

His ring catches the light just before it hits your face.

You remember the floor. How cold it was. How still you had to be.

How easy it became to disappear.

You remember thinking: maybe if I stay perfectly quiet, he’ll forget I’m here.

And now…

…now even the world forgets you’re here.

You inhale sharply.

——-

The music is still playing.

You’re back on the couch—Drake’s voice dragging through the room like a lazy, tired god. Mary’s fingers still laced with yours, her nails painted black with tiny silver moons. Stack’s halfway through his second beer, leaning back in the chair like the king of a castle that’s slowly crumbling beneath him.

The pizza’s here. Someone’s passing a joint. The smell of weed and marinara mingles.

But something isn’t right.

You stand up, a little too fast. Your body still humming with aftershock. You murmur, “Bathroom,” and slip down the hall before anyone can stop you.

The hall is quiet. Too quiet.

You pass the family photos you never took, the framed prints Mary found at estate sales—curated memories. The illusion of stability.

You pause at the mirror near the end of the hall.

And for a moment—it doesn’t reflect you.

It shows the couch. Mary. Stack. The room behind you.

But not you.

You lean in. Blink. The image resets. Your face stares back.

But your eyes are gold for half a second. Not brown.

Something deep and ancient stirs in your chest. A name you don’t know curls on your tongue.

Behind you, the floor creaks.

“Hey,” Stack’s voice, low and unreadable. “You alright?”

You turn. He’s standing there in the shadows, still in costume, beer bottle in one hand. His brow furrows as he looks at you—like he knows. Like he always does.

You nod slowly. “Just needed air.”

“You don’t look like you need air,” he mutters. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or maybe—finally saw yourself.”

He steps closer, leans against the wall across from you. Silence stretches.

“I know that look,” he adds. “That haunted, ‘what the fuck am I becoming’ kind of look. I wore it for years. Still do.”

You bite your lip. “You always talk like you’re not afraid.”

“I’m always afraid,” he says. “I’m just better at making it look like rage.”

You want to cry. Or laugh. Or grab him and scream into his mouth.

Instead, you say: “Sometimes I wish I’d never opened that door.”

Stack tilts his head. “You mean our door?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. His.”

Another silence.

Then he tosses his empty bottle into the trash bin across the hall. A perfect shot. No effort.

And when he moves to leave, he pauses just beside you and says:

“You’re not her anymore. Don’t ever confuse who you were with who you are. Not in this house.”

Then, softer, just for you:

“And if you are losing yourself… don’t do it alone.”

——

You blink once more at the mirror, steadying your breath. Your reflection has returned—brown eyes, soft mouth, a smear of lipstick at the corner. Human enough.

You shrug it off. The blood. The memory. The shimmer in your irises.

It was nothing. Just a trick of the light. Just a bad flashback.

That’s what you tell yourself.

You turn and head back toward the living room, where the music’s slowed to something mellow and electronic. Most of the guests are already gone, coats in hand, mumbling goodbyes and thanks. Someone mutters about work tomorrow. The door closes behind them with a sigh.

Mary’s the last one standing—perched on the edge of the couch, red wine in hand, her crown of dried flowers slightly tilted now. She smiles when she sees you. Her eyes track your every move, slow, soft, a little dangerous.

“There you are,” she says, voice smooth as silk pulled across skin. “I was starting to think the mirror took you.”

You force a small smile, and she sees through it immediately.

“Come on,” she says, setting her glass down. “I’m stealing you.”

Before you can answer, her fingers find yours—cool and certain—and she’s already guiding you down the hall toward the bedroom. You follow, barefoot and a little breathless, letting the haze of wine and incense blur the sharp edges of the night.

The bedroom is dimly lit, soaked in warm lamp glow and shadows. Candles flicker on the vanity. The sheets are already turned down, inviting. You catch your reflection again in the full-length mirror across from the bed—but Mary kisses you before you can look too long.

Her lips taste like cabernet and clove.

“Let me take your mind off it,” she whispers, against your jaw.

You hum, letting her guide you onto the mattress, hands already tangled in her dress. The tension in your chest begins to melt under her mouth, her touch—this soft, consuming rhythm you both know too well. Her crown slips off entirely, landing on the pillow beside you.

“Forget him,” she murmurs between kisses—your old life, your old pain, your too-sharp thoughts. “Forget the mirror. Forget the past. Right now, it’s just us.”

You nod, breath catching as she moves over you. And for a moment, you believe her. For a moment, the shadows hush. The monster quiets.

You pretend you’re not changing. You pretend it’s just love.

But outside, the wind picks up again. And something ancient watches from the mirror, patient, waiting for you to look again.

The candlelight paints you both in flickers—gold on brown skin, shadows on silk, the illusion of safety curling in the corners of the room.

Mary tastes like wine and wickedness.

Your hands roam her body like you’ve done it a thousand times—and you have—but tonight feels different. Hungrier. You’re not gentle this time, not entirely. Your kiss is all teeth and heat, and she takes it with a sigh that sounds like a dare.

She’s beneath you now, her slip bunched around her waist, thighs parted, breath coming faster as your mouth trails down her collarbone, licking away the faint line of blood you left there seconds ago.

“You like when I bite?” you murmur, voice husky against her skin.

Mary lets out a breathy laugh, tilting her head to bare her throat. “I made you, baby. You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?”

Your fangs slip longer now—sharp, aching behind your lips—and she watches with dark, delighted eyes as you lower your mouth again.

You bite her shoulder this time, deeper. Her nails rake down your back. You both moan.

The blood is hot on your tongue, dizzying, laced with the sweetness of her—like tasting power and perfume all at once. You lap it up, messy, smearing your mouth down to her chest, suckling over the wound until she arches up into you.

“You always take your time,” she pants, fingers in your hair. “Always so careful. But look at you now…”

You lift your head, lips stained crimson, golden eyes glowing. “What if I don’t want to be careful anymore?”

“Then don’t,” she says, pulling you into another kiss—open-mouthed, gasping, tongues slick with blood and heat. She pulls you tighter between her legs, her hips grinding into yours with slow, deliberate pressure. “Let go.”

And this time you do.

You sink into her—bodies tangled, mouths never far, hands exploring in rough, reverent patterns. The slick sound of skin on skin, the drag of fang against throat, the way you both gasp and shudder as you take and give at once.

Mary’s laugh turns into a moan. Your moan turns into a growl.

You don’t know where you end and she begins. You don’t want to.

And somewhere in the house, the front door clicks softly shut.

Someone has left.

Or something has just arrived.

But you don’t hear it.

You’re too busy sinking into each other .

The sheets twist beneath you as Mary rolls her hips into yours, pulling you deeper into her, breath hitching with each slow grind. Her blood still lingers on your tongue—rich and electric—making your head swim and your body ache with something ancient and starving.

Her hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, tugging your hair, dragging sharp nails across the curve of your waist. She kisses like she wants to swallow you whole, gasping against your mouth when your teeth graze her lower lip again.

“You forget how wild you get,” she breathes, eyes half-lidded, lips red and raw. “Like something just under your skin’s been waiting to come out.”

“It has,” you whisper, your voice rough, unsteady. “You brought it out.”

She smiles darkly, curling her fingers beneath your jaw and tilting your face toward her. Her fangs have slipped fully into place now—sharp, shining under the lamplight—and you swear you could come undone just looking at her like this. Beautiful. Unholy. Yours.

“Then show me,” she murmurs. “No more hiding.”

Your mouth crashes into hers, desperate now, messy and unrelenting. You’re both clawing at each other like the hunger might consume you otherwise. You bite down harder this time—her shoulder, her collarbone, the curve of her chest—and she moans for it, arching up into your teeth like she needs to be marked, like she’s been waiting.

The blood comes again—thicker now, pooling between your bodies as her hips buck and roll against yours. You drink from her like you’re parched, like it’s all you’ve ever wanted, hot and iron-sweet and alive.

She flips you suddenly, straddling your waist with practiced grace, the silk of her thighs sliding against yours as she settles atop you.

The silk of her skin drags against yours, and when your slick folds finally meet, the friction steals the air from both your lungs.

“God, look at you,” she breathes, voice thick with hunger and heat, curls wild around her face. “So soft for me now. All that fight gone.”

A gasp spills from her mouth—sharp and unfiltered—as her soaked heat grinds into yours with a deliberate rhythm. Wetness slicks between you, folds clashing with every slow, hungry movement. It’s primal, electric, and almost unbearable in its intimacy.

Her fingers trail down your ribs like she’s playing a melody only you were meant to hear.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. Let me have all of you.”

You nod, barely able to speak, fangs sharp, vision glowing at the edges.

Only with moans, with trembling hands clutching at her hips, pulling her closer, chasing the pressure. The room spins with heat, breath, the scent of candle wax and iron and arousal—until it doesn’t matter where one of you ends and the other begins.

You’re hers now. In every possible way.

And still, under all that euphoria—just beneath the hum of pleasure and blood—something inside you growls. Something vast. Old. Not quite her. Not quite you.

But for now… you let it sleep.

And you let her ride it out of you.

——

bodies move in sync still—slick and desperate, hips grinding, thighs trembling, breath tangled in gasps and curses and praise whispered like prayer. The room is drenched in shadow and candlelight, and every sound echoes like sin between the walls.

Mary grips your shoulders tighter, her forehead pressed to yours, curls clinging to damp skin. Her voice shudders against your lips, broken and breathless.

“Come with me,” she begs, or commands—you can’t tell anymore. “Right here, baby. I wanna feel you lose it.”

You nod, too close to speak. The tension builds like a storm in your spine, in your stomach, in your soul. Her movements grow faster, sloppier, the wet heat between you igniting into something reckless and beautiful. And when her body jerks, trembling above you, a raw cry spilling from her throat—

You go with her.

The release crashes through you like a wave of light—white, hot, searing. Your back arches. Your hands claw at the sheets. The pressure explodes, pleasure cracking open every nerve like lightning through blood. You cry out her name, and she chokes on yours, riding the high until your bodies collapse into each other, panting, shaking, utterly undone.

There’s blood between you, sweat slicking your chests, thighs tangled and trembling. Her lips find your neck again—not to bite, this time, just to stay.

And through the fog of afterglow, you feel it

Not fear.

Not hunger.

Not the echo of your old self.

But belonging.

Even in the ruin of it all.

——-

the candles are just dying embers, and the once-lively house has fallen into that strange hush that only comes after pleasure, after people have left and laughter has faded into the walls.

The bedroom door creaks open.

Stack leans on the frame, one hand still wrapped around the neck of an almost-empty beer bottle. His eyes are a little glassy, his shirt untucked, costume rumpled like he gave up on pretending somewhere around midnight.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t joke.

Just watches for a long moment.

You and Mary are a tangle of limbs and soft breath, still bare beneath the sheets, hair wild across each other’s skin. Her head rests on your chest, your arm draped over her back, both of you sunk deep into the mattress like a storm’s passed and sleep has claimed what’s left.

Something flickers across his face—something complicated. Not quite jealousy. Not quite sadness.

Grief, maybe. For a version of the night that never happened. For something he’s never been able to say.

He walks quietly into the room, pulling the spare blanket from the corner chair. It smells like cedar and old perfume. Gently, he drapes it over both of you, careful not to wake either. His fingers linger on your shoulder for a beat too long.

Then he straightens up with a tired sigh.

“Figures,” he mutters under his breath, not unkindly.

He leaves without another glance, heading down the hall. The creak of old floorboards marks each step until you hear the couch cushions sigh beneath him in the next room. A bottle clinks against wood. A breath escapes.

The house is quiet again.

And in the mirror across the room—half-fogged and still—the faintest shape flickers behind the glass. Watching. Waiting.

But neither of you stirs.

You just sleep.

Wrapped in warmth, blood, and something that almost feels like peace.

——-

The house smells like coffee and wood smoke.

Morning crawls in through the gauzy curtains—soft, grey, and almost too still. You stir first, blinking at the filtered light cutting through the bedroom. Mary is still curled against you, legs tangled with yours, one hand draped across your stomach, her nails painted and chipped from the night before.

For a moment, everything feels fragile and warm. Safe.

You rise carefully, slipping from the bed without waking her. The blanket Stack laid over you both falls to your hips like a hush. You pull on one of Mary’s oversized silk robes—black, floor-length, smelling faintly of her perfume and blood—and step into the hallway.

Stack’s passed out on the couch. One arm thrown over his eyes, the beer bottle still in his hand, now empty. His chest rises and falls slowly beneath his rumpled outlaw costume, the sheriff’s badge glinting dully in the morning light.

You pad into the kitchen barefoot.

The coffee pot’s already half full. Probably Mary. She always woke before the sun—says it’s a habit she never lost, even after centuries of avoiding it.

You pour yourself a mug and lean against the counter, watching the steam swirl.

Then the radio clicks on by itself.

You blink.

It was off. You’re sure it was off.

The static rolls in first, soft and slow, followed by a warbled, broken version of some 1950s doo-wop song. It distorts as if underwater, the voices echoing in strange, reversed vowels.

Then—

You hear it.

Your name. Clear. Drawn out in a whisper.

“You forgot us.”

“You were ours first.”

The mug slips in your hand and crashes to the tile—coffee shattering across the floor in a dark brown bloom. The sound wakes Mary.

She appears in the doorway moments later, robe loosely tied, hair wild, one brow arched. “Baby?” she asks, groggy. “What happened?”

You turn toward her, heart hammering. “The radio—”

But when you look back, it’s off again. Silent. Still.

Mary steps over the broken mug, eyes narrowing. “You’re shaking.”

“I—I heard something.”

Stack’s voice, hoarse, from the couch: “I told you that thing’s been acting up all week. Probably a fuse or some dumb shit.”

But Mary isn’t looking at the radio. She’s looking at you.

“Your eyes,” she murmurs. “They’re glowing.”

You freeze.

Stack stumbles in, still buttoning his shirt. He stops when he sees you. “Holy shit.”

In the reflection of the microwave door, you catch it too.

Not just glowing—your irises are ringed in deep black. Something ancient and violent pulses just beneath your skin. Not hunger. Not thirst.

Something older.

And far outside, in the shadowed edge of the street, where the Halloween decorations are still fluttering—

a crow with two heads watches the house without blinking.

—-

Stack is shirtless at the stove, flipping pancakes like it’s a performance. He hums along to something playing low from the Bluetooth speaker—a playlist called “Bloody Sunday” you wish was ironic. His gold chain glints under the morning light as he grabs a slab of butter with his fingers and slaps it right onto the stack.

You’re perched on the counter, freshly showered, wrapped in Mary’s robe again. Still shaken from the radio… but you’re hiding it well.

Or trying to.

Across the room, Mary lounges on the velvet couch, messy-haired and scrolling Netflix like it’s religion. She’s settled on The Fall—because of course she has.

“I like this one,” she says softly, one leg draped over the other. “The killer’s always two steps ahead. Like us in ‘08.”

Stack chuckles without looking up. “You mean when we had to skip town because you left a body in the conference room?”

“He left himself there,” she says coolly. “Nobody told him to grope my thigh mid-meeting. Pig.”

You smirk. The memory comes rushing back—fluorescent lighting, the taste of bitter coffee and stronger blood, the too-bright offices of Lawson & Flint, where you all worked for nine months before the incident. Stack in IT. Mary in litigation. You? A glorified assistant with sharper teeth than anyone suspected.

Your old boss—Mr. Crane—had called you “sweetheart” one too many times before Mary snapped and drove her stiletto heel straight into his thigh.

The short-lived killing spree that followed was almost nostalgic.

Three cities. Six bodies. Nothing traceable.

You’d all promised not to get reckless again.

Then came the quiet town. The false names. The rented craftsman home with big windows and a big enough lie to crawl into.

“Pancakes or blood?” Stack asks suddenly, glancing at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you offering a choice?”

He grins, fangs peeking out just enough to make your thighs clench. “Nah, just flirting.”

He walks over with a plate in each hand and presses one into yours before leaning in close, lips near your neck.

“Honey,” he whispers dramatically, fangs brushing your skin, “you smell like sin and shampoo.”

You swat him with the pancake spatula and he hisses playfully, staggering back with his hand over his heart.

“Domestic bliss,” Mary murmurs from the couch, eyes still glued to the screen. “Until one of us burns the eggs or opens a portal.”

You all laugh—but it’s nervous, half-buried under the weight of what happened earlier.

Because none of you mention the radio. Or the way your eyes glowed.

No one speaks about the thing that’s been following you across decades.

But it’s there.

In the silence between scenes.

In the way Mary keeps glancing at the mirror.

In the way Stack’s smile never fully reaches his eyes this morning.

You eat together, and it feels almost real.

But even in your laughter, even in the taste of syrup and salt…

You can feel it.

Something waking up.

And it knows your name.

Weeks had passed, but the shadows inside your mind had only grown thicker, darker—nightmares clawing at the edges of your waking hours, visions that blurred the line between memory and madness. Every night, you sank deeper into the hunger that no longer whispered but roared.

Mary and Stack had watched you unravel, helpless yet relentless in their push. They told you it was time. Time to stop fighting what you were—and start living it.

The night of the gas station was cold and unforgiving. The blacktop glistened beneath flickering streetlights, the distant hum of the highway a low pulse beneath your pounding heart.

You’d all stopped to fill the tank—Mary keeping watch near the car, Stack tinkering with the radio to drown out the silence.

Then he came.

A gangbanger, swaggering up with too much attitude and too little sense, brandishing a rusty blade like he owned the night. His eyes were wild, teeth clenched, rage spilling off him like heat.

“Hand over the cash, old man,” he snarled, stepping toward Stack. “And don’t try anything.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Something inside you snapped—the last tether to your fading humanity shattered like glass.

Before Mary or Stack could move, you stepped forward. The streetlight caught your eyes—no longer brown, but deep obsidian, rings of abyss swallowing the light whole.

The hunger was a tidal wave, dragging you beneath.

Your voice dropped low, predatory.

“Back off,” you hissed.

He laughed.

A fatal mistake.

Your hands blurred, claws sharp as razors tearing through denim and flesh. His scream was a guttural sound that ripped through the night air—half-man, half-beast—blood spattered in thick, hot waves.

You sank your teeth into the side of his neck—hot, salty, intoxicating—tearing with a ferocity that left no doubt: you were no longer fighting the monster inside.

His body convulsed beneath you, eyes wild with terror and pain as you drank. The crimson flood painted your lips, dripped down your chin, pooled on the cracked pavement.

His blade slipped from his grasp, clangs echoing like a death knell.

You ripped again, flesh shredding beneath your jaws, a scream torn into a final, wet gurgle.

Mary’s eyes gleamed with fierce pride as she watched, lips curling into a dark smile.

Stack exhaled slow, eyes locked on you, respect and something more burning there.

“She’s ours now,” Mary said, voice low and reverent.

Stack nodded, his own fangs flashing as he stepped forward, the predator in him awakening anew.

You stood dripping, breath ragged and sharp, the scent of blood thick on your tongue and skin. The world around you was still—the only sound the distant wail of sirens and the steady pounding of your heart, wild and alive.

For the first time since the darkness took hold, you felt… whole.

And the night was yours.

—-

Stack moved like a shadow slipping through the gas station’s back door, his jaw tight with focus. Years of knowing the owner—loose lips, debts, favors—had earned him this quiet leverage. The flickering CCTV screens that might have captured everything were wiped clean before sunrise, pixels disappearing like ghosts into the void.

He stepped back into the night, the familiar weight of power settling on his shoulders. “Done,” he said simply, voice low but steady. “No footage. No witnesses who’d risk talking.”

Mary was already waiting by the car, the sharp scent of victory in her smile, red eyes gleaming with approval. “You did good tonight,” she said, voice soft but sharp, almost proud.

You sat in the backseat, blood still warm under your skin, the adrenaline a slow burn fading into a deep ache. Mary slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The hum of the car felt heavy.

The long driveway home stretched ahead—an endless ribbon swallowed by dark trees, the headlights cutting through the black. Silence hung thick in the air.

You swallowed hard, voice barely more than a whisper. “What… what’s happening to me? What did I just do?”

Mary glanced back, her smile tight. “You survived. You became.”

You shook your head, tears burning behind your eyes. “I didn’t want this. I’m not like you. I don’t want to kill. I never wanted to.”

Stack shifted in the front seat, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “You think it gets easier? It doesn’t. But you won’t be alone.”

“But—” you choked out, voice cracking. “What if I can’t stop? What if I become… a monster?”

Mary’s eyes softened, but there was steel beneath the tenderness. “You are a monster now. But so are we. And that’s okay. You survived hell to get here. You’re stronger than you think.”

Your hands trembled, clutching your knees to your chest as tears spilled free. “I don’t want to be like him,” you whispered. “My husband—he broke me. I’m scared I’m going to turn into something just as cruel. Or worse.”

Stack’s voice was low, almost a growl. “You’re not him. Never will be. We’ve seen what happens when weakness wins. You’re different.”

Mary reached back, her fingers brushing a tear from your cheek. “You choose what you become.”

You looked up, eyes raw and desperate. “But what if I don’t want to choose this? What if I want to be human again?”

Mary’s smile twisted into something fierce. “You lost that chance the moment you took that first bite. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost yourself. We’ll teach you how to live. How to survive. How to own it.”

Stack laughed darkly. “And if you try to run, we’ll find you. Because we don’t let go of family.”

You swallowed hard, broken but unbowed, the weight of their words sinking into your bones. You were theirs now—in blood, in darkness, in the endless night.

——

The sharp crack of a fist against wood.

Your father’s voice—rough, shouting—echoing down the hallway like thunder, “You’ll never be good enough, girl!”

A younger you, curled beneath a threadbare blanket, trembling as the world outside faded into distant screams and silence.

⸻

The cold hospital room.

Your mother’s hand, pale and still, resting on your tiny fingers.

The slow drip of machines, the sterile smell of loss swallowing the air.

⸻

Your grandmother’s harsh voice.

“Men are what you tolerate, child. You can’t fix what’s broken.”

The sting of those words sinking into your bones like ice.

⸻

Your husband’s face twisted with rage, his fist raised—then you running into the night, breath ragged, heart shattering.

——-

The chaotic flashbacks fade like distant thunder as the kitchen fills with warmth and chatter.

Mary hums softly, chopping sweet potatoes with a practiced hand.

Stack stirs a pot, the aroma of herbs and roasting turkey weaving through the room.

You tie a faded apron around your waist, feeling the weight of the fabric—and something lighter in your chest.

Mary catches your eye and smiles, the kind of smile that holds centuries of pain and hope.

“First Thanksgiving,” she says, voice soft but sure. “Our way.”

Stack grins from behind the stove, tossing you a glance that’s equal parts challenge and affection.

“We might be monsters,” he says, “but at least we can cook.”

Laughter bubbles between you, a fragile thread pulling you all closer.

The past lingers—deep, dark—but tonight, in this quiet house on the edge of everything, you’re family.

And for now, that’s enough.

[notjustjavierpena]

The Making of Ellie - Part I: Baby-Making

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This DILF!Joel piece has rotted my brain for 24 hours straight. I have had absolutely no break from thinking about this, and it’s never been easier to write something.

Summary: A look into how you and Joel’s relationship is going two years in. Joel’s POV on his never-ending love for you and his extreme baby fever.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel’s POV, domesticated Joel Miller, Sarah makes an appearance!!!, tooth-rotting love and fluff, they’re crazy about each other, talk about birth control and ovulation, pussy eating (joel is a cunning linguist), fingering, bit of praise kink, dirty talk, bit of body worship, breeding kink, daddy kink (if you squint real hard), slow and sensual piv sex, intense orgasms, creampie, God they are in love

Word count: 4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051

Song inspiration(!!!): Too Lost In You by Sugababes

Baby-Making

Joel comes home from work around the same time each day now — and it’s never after dinner time. He has made it his mission to make time for Sarah and you, cut down work since you moved in, because two working adults living in the house means that he can slow things down. 

His health has improved, his mood too, his fatigue has practically gone and Sarah has had more time to just be a kid, started playing soccer again, and has even taken up coaching the little league team now that she’s 16. It’s good for him. You are good for him. For both of them. 

He loves it. He takes the afternoon post-work ritual very seriously. Always texts if he should pick something up from the grocery store. Sometimes brings you flowers too, remembering that one time you’d said that you didn’t actually mind the cheap cellophane-wrapped bouquets. 

It’s interesting to him how natural it feels for him to slip right into domestic bliss with you because he never thought that he would get there again after Sarah’s mother. On top of it, he never considered himself a gentle thing, but after you, it’s like you kiss the calluses of him away. He is nothing but gentle now, even in his roughness. 

He throws the keys onto the side table by the front door after arriving home, shrugs off his jacket, and bends down to take off his boots. The sound makes you appear in the doorway. Joel notices that you’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a tank top with a strawberry on it since arriving home, basically removed anything from you that is professional and uncomfortable. Joel loves you like this because he is the only one who gets to enjoy you like this; relaxed and beautiful, hair in a messy bun on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your always-cold feet. He smiles at your radiance, then pads across the floor to kiss you hello. 

There’s something in your eyes; a flicker of mischief as you grab his wrist to look at his watch. With a grin that nearly sets his heart into overdrive, you hold his hand up so he can look at the time too. 

“It’s five minutes past,” you tut.

“Right, but I got ya something,” he says, reluctantly turning away from you to rummage through his jacket pocket. He fishes out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and you immediately snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest.

“Gremlin,” he teases and you stick out your tongue at him, “No needa hide it. ‘S too sweet for me anyway.” 

“I shall save it for later then,” you walk to the kitchen and open the top cabinet that holds the mugs. You stand on your toes to reach into the very back, shirt riding up just a little, and stash the chocolate cup for later consumption.  

“Hidden from Sa-rah, the candy thief,” you purposely pronounce her name wrong for dramatic purposes. Then you lower yourself onto the soles of your feet again, not bothering to pull your top down again. Joel watches the slight reveal of the dimples on your back.

“Right,” he chuckles. 

Dear Lord, he loves you so much that it is ridiculous. In a way that makes the future look better than it ever has because it’s no longer filled with uncertainty. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll build a house for the three of you, he’ll marry you in the Texan spring and he’ll give you as many babies as you want. He’d do it all today if he could. 

“How was work?” You interrupt his thoughts by wrapping your soft hands around the nape of his neck, resting them there. You have rosy cheeks, feel warm against his skin, with love radiating from your fingertips. 

“Good, told Tommy to handle the next few clients. Some hotshot guy comin’ into the office tomorrow,” Joel tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He thinks that you don’t actually care about any of this, but there’s no indication of boredom on your face.

“He building a castle or something?” You ask. 

“Somethin’ like that. Guy’s filthy rich but not from his own doin’, looking at blueprints at the end of the week. Should be interesting,” he continues, “Not that you care about that.”

“I do actually like hearing about your job,” you kiss him on the lips, peck them repeatedly until he cannot help himself and lifts you up to hug you tight. His arms rest along your back and his hands on your sides, fingers sprawled out underneath where your bra had been in the morning. You must’ve taken it off too. He loves you comfortable. 

“You just love my hands,” he retorts, nose against your cheek, “Don’t deny it. I see right through ya.”

“It’s definitely not completely wrong,” you admit when he sets you down again.

You walk back to the kitchen, too tempted by the knowledge of what is in your kitchen cabinet. You only take half, proclaiming some bullshit that you have to watch out for your blood sugar since one can never know when it’s going to get you.

Joel rolls his eyes, following you, “I can give ya some sugar.”

“Joel Miller!” You pretend to look shocked. He tastes the peanut butter in your mouth, pushes you against the counter. 

“Gross,” a teenage girl’s voice says.

“Oh right, Sarah’s home,” you announce sheepishly.

Joel pulls away to look at his daughter, “Hey kiddo. How was school?”

“You don’t care about that,” she smirks, “But if you must know, it was fine. No homework.” 

“That don’t sound like Mrs. uhhh…”

“Green, it’s Ms. Green, Dad,” Sarah says dramatically as she moves across the floor to put on shoes. Her tone turns taunting, “Go ahead and make out with your girlfriend. I’m going to soccer practice.”

“Have fun, Sarah! We’ll have dinner ready,” you chime in. 

“See ya, honey.”

The door closes behind her. The house grows quiet for a moment, but then the mischief is back in your eyes, “She’s seeing a boy.”

Joel nearly gets whiplash, not sure why his pulse spikes. He trusts his daughter to make good decisions and has taught her how since she was just a baby, “Nah, she ain’t. Just said she’s going to soccer practice.”

“Joel,” you sigh loudly, “It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“She has practice on Thursdays.” 

“Christ,” he runs a hand over his stubble, tries to keep his composure, and ignores the urge to send her a text. 

“But you know what?” You’re back in his personal space, tugging at his arms to make him hold you close again, “Such a fun coincidence. I’m also seeing a boy.”

Joel can feel the tension seeping out of him in an instant.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m seein’ a girl. She’s real pretty,” he wishes that he could show his past self how tooth-rottingly sweet he is being with you because he’d hate it. Though if past-Joel found out who he was treating like this, he’d instantly become a goner just like present-Joel is now. 

“‘S her sweet tooth, unhinged behavior that I love the most though,” he continues. 

You whine in his arms, lean your head back and it earns you a kiss on your neck, “Don’t be like that. Not when I’m ovulating. I’ll climb you like a tree.”

Oh.

Oh.

It may seem innocent but Joel knows this is how you play dirty. It suddenly explains a lot. The sweatpants, the rosy cheeks, the way you glow, no bra, the cravings, why Joel wants you so bad.

Joel wouldn’t say that he is controlled by biology, and he hates the men trying to argue their way out of acting like cavemen. But looking at you right now in your stupid strawberry tank top, knowing that you’re horny and ready because your body wants to make him a daddy... Joel’s head swims. 

Something shifts in the air. You can see it on him, but Joel assumes that you wait for him to act on whatever is bubbling up in his chest and below his belt.

And act, he does. He distracts you with deep, long kisses until he can snatch you up from the ground and carry you upstairs. You squeak out a giggle but don’t fight back, enjoying the freedom of being alone with him.

“That’s why you’re so fucking sexy,” Joel says after placing you on your shared bed. He is already shedding himself of his shirt, undressing hurriedly to get close to your skin with his own as quickly as possible.

You crawl back on the bed, untying the strings of your sweatpants and yanking them down your legs. You match his urgency, but still decide to tease him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut your mouth,” he yanks the rest of your pants off as soon as he is naked in front of you. He throws them in the pile of his own clothes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, dirty girl.”

You’re just about to take your top off before Joel stops you with a hand curled around the hem. He knows you’re sensitive at this point in your cycle, but it’s not why he wants to keep it on, “I love how cute you are in this shirt. Keep it on like this.” 

He crawls properly onto the bed to demonstrate and tugs the shirt up over your tits so he can still see the stupid animated fruit on the front. Afterward, he tugs your panties down your legs and off your feet. He will swear to a higher power that he can even smell it on you, sweet like strawberries and honey between your legs and it makes him feel like an animal. 

He has had baby fever for a while now, even told you his plans on giving you a whole bunch of babies and you’ve merely giggled at him, especially when he told you that twins don’t run in his family, but he is sure that nature will give him a whole litter with you. 

“Want me to eat you out?” He asks to which you whimper and nod. He doesn’t give you what you want right then and there, instead climbs up to cradle your head in his hands and gives you a long, slow kiss. He sucks on your tongue, hums into your mouth, and gets you worked up and wet before he’ll treat you right. 

“Tell me,” he says when he breaks the kiss, nosing along the bunched-up fabric of his new favorite top of yours. He sucks at the skin between your breasts, places open-mouthed kisses along the swell of the left whilst cupping the right. 

“I want you to eat my pussy,” you moan softly, running a hand over his hair as he licks a nipple. You slide your fingers into it, but you don’t tug at it unless you feel like you need to hold onto it for dear life. 

“God, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls before going further down your body, his spit leaving a shine where his mouth has been, “Can’t believe I own these tits.”

He goes further down, lets out a satisfied noise when he can see between your legs, “—and this pussy.” 

“Yes, it’s yours, fuck, baby,” you sound delirious already, happy and eager to be touched, on the verge of a giggle even, “Joel, need your mou—“

You gasp loudly into the quiet bedroom. Joel has covered you with his mouth, eyes almost rolling back into his skull at the taste of your ripe cunt. He is too lost in you, a complete idiot with how head over heels he is for you, and he shows it by devouring you like he is starved. 

“Baby!” You cry out, sensitive, “Fuuuck— just like that!”

He watches your thighs twitch in his peripheral, holds you down by placing a strong hand just below your belly button, and uses his thumb on said hand to pull the hood of your clit back. He sucks the little now-hard nub into his mouth, sending you into a state where he is unsure if you can even sense the sheets underneath you. If you had superpowers, he surely would’ve made you lift off the bed as if you were possessed. 

He bobs his head a little, probably looking obscene as he hums against your clit and wiggles his head too. He looks up at you through his lashes, sees the red flush on your chest, and knows that you are close. Christ, he hasn’t been this into someone before. 

“I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ you say like always, announcing your departure from reality. He keeps going, feeling your stomach jump in a stuttering manner underneath his palm with how uneven your breathing has become. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” You sob with a yank of Joel’s hair and suddenly your thighs are shaking violently without your control. Joel can feel you coming before you announce it, your cunt clenching rapidly against his lips and your clit pulsing in his mouth as he sucks your folds into his mouth. You taste so good as a gush on slick smears his lips and chin even more. He laps it up.

You push him away when he gets too much, and he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh. You finally release the giggle that you’ve been suppressing, drunk on dopamine and Joel falls in love with you a bit more. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” you say. The hand in his hair slides down so you can affectionately run your knuckles over his cheek. He responds by gently rubbing your thighs, soothing you on top of putting such strain on your heart and your breath. You hum, “I love you so much.”

Without warning, he smacks your thigh and you sit up straight. He grins, “Love ya too, sweetheart. Think you can give me one more before I fuck ya?”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” You ask genuinely as you lower onto your back again. 

“Wanna fuck a baby into you,” he replies, voice an octave lower than normal. He senses your shiver without having to look at your face, “Please. Wanna get her red and puffy so it fucking sticks.” 

You let out an involuntary moan at the idea. You want this as much as him, he hopes, and he slides two fingers into your neglected pussy whilst he waits for the green light to fill you up. He crooks them upwards, fingers the spongy spot that only seems to have been discovered by him, “Lemme in. Lemme come in you.”

You’ve been off the pill for a while with the reasoning that it wasn’t doing any good for your body. Joel had stocked up on condoms since then, actually filled the top drawer of his nightstand to the brim because honey, we’re young and healthy, red-blooded Americans. But it had planted the idea in his mind that he could potentially knock you up, and suddenly the stash of condoms was being used rapidly. 

“Okay,” you say with a half-moan, “Fuck, okay.”

Joel immediately sits up on his knees, still fucking you open on his hand. You squirm underneath his touch, trying to get a hold of your breathing this time, holding eye contact with him as he drags another orgasm from you. 

It is much less hurried and a lot more intense, muscles clamping down on his digits rhythmically as you bite your lip and close your eyes with a soft gasp. He can’t decide if he finds this more sexy. 

“Did you mean it?” He asks as he trails kisses up your belly. He kneels between your legs and places an elbow on either side of your chest so he can hold both your breasts in his hands. He squeezes them together, sucks on a nipple until you sigh deeply, and then watches them bounce back into place. 

“Yes,” you say and your voice doesn’t sound unsure at all, “Fuck yes, I want your babies. Wanted them since I saw you. Want you to make me a mommy.”

“The prettiest momma out there,” he says, euphoria evident on his face. He slides his arms underneath you, rests his head on your breasts, and hugs you close to his chest, “Wanna fuck ya.”

“Please,” you say softly, spreading your legs open for him but he has other plans. He releases you from his arms to sit up again, spreading his knees a little. His hands wrap around your ankles to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your feet behind his ears. He leans over you afterward and bends your flexible legs backward until the front of his thighs are against the back of yours. He can go deep like this, fill you up with his come how he has wanted to for months.

He takes hold of his cock, eases it inside of your spent and warm cunt inch by inch. You feel incredible around his dick without a piece of rubber separating the two of you. He can feel the head of his dick nudge at your cervix, moaning quietly as he is engulfed by your wet, pulsating heat. 

“How are you still so fucking tight?” He groans, resting his forehead against your calf as he gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch. He knows he is big, gets a thrill out of how well you take him each time as if you were made specifically for him. There had been one time where he’d called you a trooper, and you had laughed so hard with his dick inside you that it had made him come. 

“You feel so big like this,” you say as you look down between the two of you, already sounding out of breath. Joel kisses your calf repeatedly and softly, trying to soothe your overwhelmed body. 

“Goddamn. You’re so sexy,” he praises, placing both hands on the sides of your head so he is hovering above you. He finds your hazy eyes, “Look at you.” 

He gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes you whimper, both hands reaching for the backs of his knees. You hold onto him, staring up into his eyes with that siren-like look in them, and then you moan softly.

Joel starts fucking you desperately at that. He doesn’t hurry though, keeps his hips’ movements slow and sensual to have you moaning and gasping ever so slightly at the intensity. He knows he could just give in and fuck you rough and fast, but the heavy-lidded gaze that you are giving him with your mouth hanging open is too good to spoil. 

“Joel,” you cry but it’s barely audible compared to what he sometimes drags from you. He can feel your nails dig into the flexing muscles of his thighs, creating half-moon shapes in the flesh. He switches to a rocking motion, and it sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You moan with your bottom lip between your teeth, “Mhm—“

“I know, baby, let it out,” he can see your pulse jumping wildly underneath the sensitive skin of your neck, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool at the base of his spine. He needs to be closer to you. 

“Lift your legs down to the sides,” he tells you gently, thrusts coming to a halt and him realizing that you’ve heard absolutely nothing. He repeats himself, waits for you to follow his instructions, and then hooks his arms underneath your knees. 

Joel gets closer to you by resting his weight on his elbows, his own body on top of your slightly contorted one. You reach for him, grabby hands in the air until he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. You cradle his face, make him feel safe in your arms. 

“I love you, baby,” he breathes deeply. The new position gives him an opportunity to reach deeper inside of you, and it’s accompanied by each upward snap of his pelvis causing his cockhead to push into your g-spot. It makes it difficult for you to continue kissing him, eventually simply breathing into his mouth as he has you speared on his dick. Never once do you let go of his face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and tip of your nose against his. 

“I love you,” you whisper, unable to catch your breath. Joel can feel your walls flutter around his dick, threatening to pull his own climax from him too soon. You pant, eyes burning, “You— baby, shit… you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” He speeds up a little, carding a hand through your hair and gently tugging on the bun. He coaxes you, “Gonna milk my cock into you? Make me a daddy?”

“Yeah,” you whimper wantonly, tightening your legs into his sides as you try moving with him, “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you a daddy! Fuckfuckfuck. Ah— I’m, I—“

Joel doesn’t know if he’s ever made you come like this; without all the muscle and rough touches, without the fast-paced snaps of his hips and the foul taunting from his mouth of how dirty you are. But come you do, with your brows furrowed, gaze on his and a controlled breathing that suddenly becomes erratic and uneven after you let out a high-pitched cry. 

“That’s it,” he admires you, “So good f’me.”

You clamp down on his cock so hard that he sees stars, fucks you through each convulsion of your cunt. His mouth drips with filth as he works himself toward his own pleasure, “You make me so fucking horny, baby. Wanna knock— ngh, wanna knock this pretty pussy up all the time. Give ya a whole fuckin’ litter.”

He tips over the edge not long after, heart pounding in his chest and the sensation in his balls tightening. He releases with a groan, settles deep inside of you to make sure he doesn’t waste a single drop. His orgasm pulses through his cock, swirls in his belly, and warms the small of his back. 

“Fuuuck,” he pants. He carefully removes his arms from underneath your legs before he collapses, allowing you to stretch out underneath him. You look completely fucked out, gasping feebly as he teasingly gives you another thrust before pulling out. 

You wrap your arms around him as he falls onto you, nose against the shell of his ear. He can barely lift his head when you speak, humming into your neck that vibrates as you talk, “You think other people have sex this good?”

“Nah, ‘s why everyone is so fuckin’ miserable, why they gotta build mansions with their parents’ money,” he murmurs. 

“Stop thinking about the hotshot client in bed,” you tease as you cradle his head in your arms, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. It seems you cannot get close enough, “You should only think about sticky, sweaty me.”

Joel finds that he doesn’t care about sticky, sweaty skin and you feeling like a furnace after three orgasms. He lays with you like this for a while, sure that you’ve drifted off to sleep at one point, until you push at his shoulder, voice back to your normal pitch as the post-orgasmic bliss has faded slowly, “Gotta pee.” 

“Sure,” he rolls off of you. The sight of your waddle to the bathroom makes him smile, eyes following the way the fleshiest part of your ass and thighs jiggle with each step. 

When you’ve closed the door behind you, Joel finds the strength to rid the bed of the dirty sheets and start dressing again. He’ll have a shower before bed, he decides, ignoring the sensitivity of sliding on boxers and jeans again. 

Hurriedly, he bounces down the stairs to the kitchen. He gets the rest of your peanut butter cup, places it on the nightstand with your clothes right beside it. 

He checks the time. There’s no point in trying to cook something up for dinner if Sarah is home from ‘practice’ soon, so he goes down into the kitchen to order pizza, heart thrumming in his chest as he hears you shout a thank you from upstairs at the discovery of the other half of your favorite snack. He is happy. So so happy.

Especially as he writes ‘pregnancy test’ into his Notes app shopping list.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[jezabatlovesbats]

I had some redesign ideas for my Beanish OCs. I drew them alongside many of the canon characters that we meet in the Beanbean Kingdom!

I decided to have Red and her family be red beans. I mean, her full name (Red B. Anrise) is literally a play on red beans and rice. And of course, the Gwarhar Crawfish serves it every Monday. (It’s only cannibalism if they eat other Beanish people.) This is how I’m representing the food of my home state, okay?

This means that she and Prince Peasley won’t look exactly alike anymore, but I still imagine them having a Prince and the Pauper-style life swap.

When I made my Beanish OCs, I wanted to try making them different kinds of beans, like kidney beans and velvet beans. It’s why I decided to change Garbanzo’s color, and to redesign Tuki as an adzuki bean.

And, given the variety of appearances that Beanish people have, I’m trying to think of ways to redesign their features. For now, I just gave Snip a nose.

Also, Reese and Maizee are supposed to look like this:

Garbanzo too, although he’s somewhat slimmer.

And Soren is supposed to look like this:

Feedback is appreciated!

[phantomfairs]

I was really expecting to dread designing the racers more. These guys were actually really fun to design and think about!

Taffyta is a character I don’t understand why people like so much. She’s bratty and snobby and just mean spirited, like any child in her place. Yet she’s pretty popular and has like 3 lorcana cards. I don’t get it but go off I guess. She like most of the racers are going to look very similar with only minor changes and the addition of goggles. She acts as she does in the movie if a little more mean and less smiley.

Candlehead is a weird character to me. Everyone gets this elaborate and well thought out name and she just gets Candlehead. Very jarring to me in the movie and I still think it’s weird so ima tack ‘Angelcake’ as her last name. She’s really cute and I like her a lot. For some reason I imagine her really liking King Candy and wanting to emulate him so she had a crown pin on her jacket and likes to follow the king around.

Rancis is one of my fav racers cause I love Reeses candy. I like giving him a cooler attitude and seeing the teo next to each other he now vibes with Minty as his best friend. He’s a chill too cool attitude and Minty’s a snarky too cool for you attitude.

Minty is a character I fell in love with while drawing. I thought she was weird but I love her snarky little face and leg warmers. She has wings technically big enough to fly, but being candy wrappers they don’t have the strength to lift her. Just like the other racers her wings are decoration.

[grlsbstshot]

Join us for the next chapter of NEON LIGHTS premiering sat.

Catch up on the previous chapters here. Chapter I // Chapter II // Special Edition // Chapter III

James Lucas sits down with Reese Lane of RHYTHM Magazine! Hear all about life, love, and his upcoming third album -- promisingly titled Painted -- during this exclusive interview!

When he won a Grammy before the age of twenty, James Lucas – born Jameson Lucas to music legend, Anaïs Lucas – knew he was in trouble. He says his ego has always been an issue and didn’t improve.

“I caught myself thinking shit that should have never crossed my mind. That I didn’t need to keep improving. That I was already the greatest. I immediately started chasing gold. It was a high. But I wasn't ready for it...and deep down, I knew that."

He would choose to continue at Howard University, graduating at 21. Instead of returning to Los Angeles, Lucas moved to New York and in four short years, built a stage career -- a departure from his music dreams. 

He led a few off-broadway shows before hearing about one particular musical: Alexander H. He would be cast in the role of Aaron Burr but according to Lucas, he had a much more fortuitous thing happen to him – meeting his music collaborator, producer and songwriter, Ellington Dupree.

“He’s my best friend. I don’t know of anybody who understands music better than he does. He makes me better. And he’s the reason I found my sound. I stopped cosplaying as Ginuwine and Joe. I found me because I wanted to be as good as EJ.”

You know the story from here…Tony award. Grammy award. Moving back to LA to work on his second album with Dupree and then? Massive success with his second album -- titled 2506. Named for his age and month of birth, Lucas found himself exploring different kinds of r&b with an all new production -- provided by Ellington Dupree.

“Everything blew up. It was all a blur when we released 2506. Six Grammy noms, two wins. I didn’t even take the time to soak the moment in. My life had changed and I was just trying to keep up.”

His life changed in other ways on Grammy night. It was the first time he met his on-off partner, singer Imani St. Cirie. The two would go on to embark on a very public relationship for the next two and a half years before abruptly breaking up in early 2023.

The mention of her makes Lucas lapse into silence for the first time in almost an hour of conversation. Despite the rumblings of reuniting, neither star has spoken about the other. Even the reasons for their breakup are closely held secrets – unless you listen between the lyrics.

Reese Lane: Do you not like talking about her? James Lucas: I could talk about Mani all day. But I mean – we were together but now we're not. Reese Lane: And the Instagram situation? James Lucas: ...Do you listen to my music? RL: Yes. Often. JL: Then you understand me and Imani. You get that we're...complicated. RL: Is that what you want? JL: I want her. So...if she calls, I go running. If I call, she comes running. That’s what it means to be complicated as f*ck. It'll always be that way. I don't care who she moves on to – it'll always be me for her. And that's not ego. It's the truth.

And just as he says, there's an understanding of their relationship in the lines of almost every track. Lucas has never confirmed which songs are inspired by his personal life. But songs filled with lost love, longing, and frenzied sex paint the picture of a chaotic romantic life. I tell him so and Lucas laughs...long and loud before agreeing. He relaxes somewhat before escorting me back inside the suite, his new home while he films several films in New York.

Jameson and I enjoy a drink (or several), order pizza, and settle in for another round of questions. He's even more open than before. I ask him to tell me about his next album and he does one better -- he pulls out his phone and plays three tracks. Back to back. Without explanation or asking my thoughts. He says the album isn't done but from what i heard, it's pretty damn close to being that.

The first track he played was a smooth yet assertively playful croon about his love for someone who seems to not be paying him much attention in return. The next is a beautiful ode to a woman he seems to be encouraging to be happy. The last was completed recently he says -- two days ago, in fact -- and it's a moody deconstruction of...himself, his ego, and the way he treated another nameless woman.

I playfully ask if those tracks about his life and Lucas surprises me by answering with a nod. I push my luck and ask again if they were all about one woman. Lucas grins and shakes his head that time, confirming what i've long suspected -- chaotic.

RL: Why is your love life like...that? JL: I don't know. I mean...I kind of do it to myself. I love hard. I love foolishly. RL: So you've been in love a lot? JL: No. RL: Do you believe in having a soulmate? JL: I do. I suspect I have one. RL: Is at least one of those about her? JL: ...Yes. RL: Imani? JL: You keep asking me about her. RL: You two intrigue me. JL: Why? (laughs) We do what everyone else does. We fuck, we fight, we love each other, we hate each other. We get it right and we get it wrong. It's just love. RL: So why be apart? JL: Ask her. She may tell you. RL: I will. Tell me which one is about her. JL: The first. And the last. RL: Which one was the second one about? JL: A friend. I'm actually supposed to meet her at the MOMA in an hour. (smiles) I like you. You don't let me get away with shit. You remind me of another friend. RL: The same one you're meeting today? JL: No. Genie. She's practically my sister. RL: Genie Adesanya? Well, thank you. I'm flattered. You two are still close after the breakup of your parents? JL: I still annoy her just as much. She's my sister. Whether or parents got married or not. She probably wouldn't agree though.

Once again, I'm surprised that he answers so openly. If his publicist was sitting in the room, they might tackle me and throw me out...but Lucas breezes through each question, more honest than anyone would expect him to be. 

"I don't have any shame." he says when I ask why he tells me so much. "I put everything in my music. Why lie? It's all in the music." He's nonchalant as he brushes his hand over his head -- the trademark cornrows he's sported since he burst onto the scene at the age of 19 gone. I ask him about his hair and he gives me a sheepish grin before saying it was for a project but I doubt it.

RL: When do you think the new album will be ready? JL: Soon. I usually finish music way before it's released. I'm just...all over the place right now. RL: Rumors about you appearing in your first film are circling. Plus this upcoming album. How are you juggling it all? Jameson Lucas: Actor & Singer. JL: With a whole lot of prayer. (laughs) I don't know. I will always think of myself as a musician before anything else. I went to school for it, I worked my ass off for that title. I'll never just be a singer. I'm a musician. Everything else is secondary.

By the time we wrap up our conversation, I understand why Jameson Lucas has so many admirers. It isn't just the fact that he's handsome or the fact that he's incredibly charming. Not even the fact that he's tall, can sing like a prince, or that flash of gold you see covering his teeth when he speaks -- it's that he's an open book. Even when you know you shouldn't fall under his spell, you do. And he makes it very appealing to be there.

When he gives you that lazy grin with those blue-green-hazel color eyes while laying across a couch -- the image of virile relaxation -- you can only think of one thing. There's a cockiness about Jameson but isn't overbearing or unappealing. It's the right amount of (in his words) essence. Even when he's crooning about how to teach you 'correction', you can't find it in yourself to hate him. He makes you want it.

Jameson walked me to the door of his suite, holding it open for me as I left -- and insisted on walking down to the lobby with me. He's dressed casually but draws looks all the way down, his long legged stride tempered by the fact that I'm wearing heels and he doesn't want to leave me behind. We part ways outside his hotel -- with an offer to interview him again once the album is out. I take up on it, we exchange contact information, and then he's off. He doesn't slide into a black car and roll the window up. He simply heads off down the street, towards the subway. On his way to a dreamy museum date with some very lucky friend.

[ask-my-transforming-idiots]

Welcome to the blog wair you can ask and interact with my transformers ocs :D

PFP by @stained-soot

Rules:

1. Be kind no hate to other asks

2. Any type of ask is truly allowed (may it be about other charecters or backstory stuff you can cut deep)

3. I'm allowed to decline asks if I don't whant to answer them or I'm uncomfortable

4. Ryly just hav fun

Asks: open

(starting from March 29 2025):

Ask wip: 0

Ask completed so far : 4

Characters available for asks and interaction (yes more can be added to the list and characters can be subtracted): Wavebight, Sam, Reese, Sprocket, Gardjumper, Strider, Nightfin, Clouddiver, Sunshot, Crank, and Samson,

Here is a hight chart:

Frome shortest to tallest here is everyone:

Wavebight, Sam, Reese, Sprocket, Gardjumper, Strider, Nightfin, Clouddiver, Sunshot, and Crank.

(sorry Samson is not on this list you can see his ref here and here as well as swift-dust his ref is here)

Fore anny interactions that are anonymous Thay will be done through the anon charecter you see below (if not specified human or bot in the ask I will decide Wich I draw)

Lore and other information (under cut):

(ask to find out More)

Wavebight- oc

He/thay

Alt mode: Walkie talkie

Alliance: Decepticons

(does not belong to me he belongs to @soulsquiggled for more info pls ask them)

Sam- self insert 1/2

He/thay

Alt mode: old tv

Alliance: Autobots

Works as an autobot communications expert he is not the best fighter mainly du to the fact that he is a pacifist.

Reese-oc

He/him

Alt mode: iPod (tf one/past) disk player (erthspark/now)

Alliance: Decepticons

Best friends with Nash (oc belongs to @certifiedforklif) , in the past was one of Cybertrons most popular Dj/music artists (along with Nash) is now a mined control expert among the ranks of the Decepticons

Sproket-oc

He/him

Alt mode: moter bike

Alliance: Autobots

Works in transporting important items or information fore the Autobots. He is a geek and has a human adopted son named frisk (oc by @soulsquiggled ).

Gardjumper-oc (oc fore friend)

He/she/thay

Alt mode: jeep

Alliance: Decepticons -> Autobots (changes sides specifically in the erthspark continuity)

Adopted sparkling of Strider, is kind at Hart and just got unlucky being adopted by a Decepticon. Brother (adopted not ofishaly) of nightfin

Strider-oc

He/him

Alt mode: moped

Alliance: Decepticons (slowly starts to become unaligned with ether sied over time)

Has a history of being left behind and falling off of cliffs , he is brothers with Moterboris (oc belongs to @certifiedforklif ) and is an adopted father of Gardjumper he gets separated from both at certain points in time.

Nightfin-oc (for a friend @nighttoaster)

She/thay

Alt mode: Mazda Miata

Alliance: Autobots

Sister to sprocket (adopted not ofishaly) solder for the Autobots serious in her work a strong thinker but has a good heart.

Clouddiver-oc

Thay/theme

Alt mode: small jet

Alliance: N/A (dies before that could pike a side)

Ex conjunx of sunshot. Was killed by there ex partner fore lying and betraying him. Not a good bot in the long run.

Sunshot-oc

He/it (he gets called an it by Manny)

Alt mode: fancy Show jet

Alliance: Decepticons

Joined the Decepticons out of necessity. He is a powerful fow after going insane and killing his ex partner Clouddiver and many others.

Crank-oc

He/thay

Alt mode: Cybertronian ship

Alliance: Autobots

Is a bot of curiosity kind of a good version of shockwave but not really. He likes getting answers to his questions and usually will know very little of a topic until explained.

Samson- self insert 2/2

Info here

For all characters close up refs go here

[short-for-melancholy]

okay! so! Zalea. the youngest sister, with the curse of gluttony. this gives her a literally insatiable hunger, an inability to taste food, and an urge towards oversaturation of consumable goods. this does mean a stockpile of food that she could never eat on her own, but also, since she was a rather bookish girl before the curse, being surrounded by more books and knowledge than she could ever hope to consume. most of the books she's been studying are about magic, and she's become quite good at it. she's incapable of concentration if she's not eating, but as long as she's got something shes probably fine. vana and aletha find her at the academy, where she's taken a post teaching magic. the higher-ups were impressed by her intense dedication and surprisingly prodigious skill and offered her a job with food included, so she took it.

Orchid, her older twin, with the curse of envy, finds it completely intolerable to be around others because of her intense jealousy, not just of their things and possessions, but of their relationships and the attention they receive from others. unfortunately, she becomes physically ill without attention because she suddenly becomes jealous of everybody in the whole world, so she can't live without others, and the fact that shes something of a kleptomaniac and a bpd girlie means she has a hard time maintaining relationships. she's currently living as a hikkikomori in Zalea's living quarters, where there's enough food to keep herself alive and not really any possessions to steal that matter. Zalea's easiest to deal with because theyre twins and Zalea doesnt mind sharing. neither of these two has really overcome their sin at all, but at least zalea's learned to live with it.

Ira, Vana's twin, with the curse of wrath, is straightforward enough. she's just permanently filled with rage. very quickly she discovered that this is not a sustainable way to live as everybody began to hate her, so she started looking for ways to manage her anger. she landed on trying to channel it into something more useful, namely, meditation and personal training. she studied as many schools of martial arts as she could find, took the practices from each that helped with keeping calm, and became something of a wandering swordsman-type for punching and kicking. she's learned to suppress the hair trigger reactions and to be pissed off without reacting, but she is still quite terrifying.

thats all for now, i dont have reese or erin's curses figured out yet and i have cat litter to change.

[gojoest]

Hey Ai, I just watched this movie earlier called Fear (idk if you already watched it but incase u haven’t I’ll just explain the storyline) and it’s basically about a guy named David (Mark Wahlberg) who becomes so obsessed with Nicole (Reese Witherspoon). I mean he’s literally obsessed with her he wants her to himself all the time, following her around, stalking her, and gets annoyed when she’s not with him and gets angry and jealous when she’s around her male friends. He also has a shrine made just for her with all her pictures and stuff, and tattooed her name across his torso. He also uses his charm and manipulation tactics to take her and resorted into violence when she doesn’t want to go with him and leaver her family behind like he literally tried to kill her family members just to forcefully take her.

I was wondering like I know Satoru wouldn’t do these kinds of extremes like u know trying to kill your family members, etc. But I want to know how similar could Satoru and David be in terms of obsession? Like I know Satoru can be pretty obsessed and intense with you minus the dark aspects like violence and murders.

so i watched the movie last night bc the second i saw your ask my mind immediately went ! yandere satoru ! but david and satoru are vastly different when it comes to their obsession, i think.

satoru would too be intense and quite mental with his obsession but in his own crafty way. he’d absolutely never be violent with you!!! insanity can manifest in various ways. but like he is very calculating and smart about it. he would never openly do things that would upset you and push you away — everything he does, he does so to pull you closer and keep you with him. he’d get rid of disturbances furtively. secretly, carefully, while he’s being your sweet and caring boyfriend. he wouldn’t show his true colors and intentions, because you wouldn’t love him if he did.

incredibly possessive. i think he’d get really worked up when faced with signs of you holding a special place in someone else’s life — it could be a friend, it could be a parent. like you belonging to someone in a different way than you belong to him. which leads to this one scene from the movie that i associated with something that yandere satoru would do — david stealing nicole’s baby bracelet and carving his name on it so it reads “david’s girl” instead of “daddy’s girl”. oh boy… i think it’s something satoru would do too ;-; just to feel good about it himself, like he’s won. see? you’re his.

tbh right now the yandere i associate a lot with satoru is the ML from the manhwa ‘tears on a withered flower’, i think yantoru would be a lot like him.

the ML there goes to the flower shop where FL works at and buys roses every day. every day, for months — his house is basically filled with them at this point, like there are roses and petals scattered all around the floors… he’s been watching her for so long, waiting for her to notice him. by this point he knows a lot about her. she’s having a really hard time, going through major changes, life has basically beaten her down — she got cheated on by her (ex) husband she’s been with since high school and is in a lot of debt because of him which is why she works multiple jobs to make ends meet and pay off the debt… so he comes into her life in a very tough and vulnerable time and knows exactly how to make use of it. they get close eventually... he pretends to be poor too, yk to be more relatable, while in reality he is rich af. swaps his brand new super expensive shoes with one of his friend’s worn out ones to make it look more believable that he’s a lower class (he’s also younger than her btw, 10 year age gap) also beats up men that hit on her, secretly in the alleyways, without her knowing about it. she suspects nothing NOTHING i really love the story — there’s so much depth to it — and highly recommend it to everyone! it’s still ongoing and we’re starting to see more about ML’s backstory and how he also went through very traumatic experiences. i wait for every chapter religiously!!!! if you ever read it please lmk if you see the vision! i think yandere satoru would be a lot like ML

[captaincapsicle83]

Iron Man

The Avenger series, part 2

Tw: cursing, Tony not following directions

Previous Part

"Dude, you're like a million years old-"

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I'm a billion! And your closer to zero. You're a baby. Added with the fact that I'm ten times as important as you-"

"Ten times zero is still zero."

"Not the point."

"I just wanna name it," you whined. Tony rolled his eyes, clearly baffled at your audacious manner.

"I picked an acronym before you were even born," He shakes his head, holding up the glasses frames in front of his face, not putting them on.

"Yeah? When?"

"September 21st, of..." He hesitated. "Of 19...93."

"Well, genuis, I was born in 1992-!"

"So me picking the name in the year of 1991 proves me right-!"

"You liar!" You exclaimed. "JARVIS, play back what Tony just said."

Before Tony can object, the ceiling emits his voice, "Of 19...93."

"JARVIS, you're being evicted," was Tony's response. "Pack your things. You're getting uploaded to a surf shop in Daytona Beach."

You laugh, taking the glasses from Tony and putting them into their case.

You were something of an accomplice to Tony's "Iron Man" shtick. You were what he called a "trainee," meaning you didn't fight anybody like Tony did. You practiced, though, and not just in a suit. You did end up giving Tony a black eye, Pepper freaking out over press stuff due to it.

"We can't send you in front of hundreds if people, or broadcast you to millions, if you looked like you run an underground fight club," Pepper exclaimed, pulling his head to the side with a grip on his chin. She looks at you all accusatory like, "You did this?"

"Cool right," you giggle, and pretend to bop Tony on the side of the face again. Peppers eyes roll before she stalks away, heels clicking.

"I'm her favorite," you say as she walks away.

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh."

☆☆☆

You sat on a gray couch, wearing pajamas and eating a bowl of cereal. A peanut butter reeses brand version of cocoa puffs. It tasted like heaven.

"Iron Man," Tony mumbled, reading a newspaper, standing behind you with Pepper. "Hey, that's kinda catchy."

"Thanks, I came up with it," you say, taking a bite of your cereal. Pepper was doing Tony's "makeup" since he had another bruise on his face, and also, the planned press conference scheduled for today was being broadcasted "everywhere."

Probably not in lesser fortunate countries, but you didn't mention that to Pepper. You wanted to stay the "favorite."

On the TV in front of you, the news was playing. You found the news to be exhausting, and quite morally wounding, but you were to lazy to find the remote and change the channel. You wished you could be watching literally anything else though. You had quite a liking for American children's shows. And Hannah Montana was on at this hour, maybe even SpongeBob.

Tony is given a speech, which he looks over as Pepper thanks Agent Coulson.

You wouldn't. The guy ate the last donut this morning, and he doesn't even live here.

As Pepper and Coulson walk out, you turn around in your seat to look at Tony.

"You aren't gonna read that, are you?" You say, crunching the last bites of your cereal.

"Of course I am, who do you take me for," He winks at you. "Now finish your cereal, and get dressed, we have ninety seconds before we have to be out there, and you look like a bum."

"I'm a squatter, it's the New York in me."

"The only 'New York' in you is Venice Pizza."

"And yet, I'm living in Iron Mans house rent free," you say, putting a false wistful look on your face, as Pepper is walking back into the room.

"He's not Iron Man," she shakes her head.

"Is so," you retaliate, walking away, tilting up your bowl to drink the milk out of it.

"You know, I'm starting to belive I'm not Iron Man," Tony says thoughtfully.

"You're not," Pepper scoffs. "And I'm starting to believe I'm raising two children. Y/n! You better come back out here dressed!"

☆☆☆

"And now, Mr. Stark will be making a statement," A man onstage says. You're on the sidelines with Pepper. You follow her lead, clapping when she does. Smiling when she does.

You were a star student. Have a star.

☆

You knew what was coming though. Oh boy, Pepper wasn't gonna be Happy. And, well, the head of security, who really was Happy, wasn't exactly gonna be a basket of roses himself.

But when was he ever?

"-To consider that I am a superhero."

Fuck up number one; they never said he was a superhero. You sucked in a breath, knowing the house of cards was about to fall.

As Tony stumbled over his words, a soldier whispered in his ear. Maybe something taboo, or maybe to read his cards. Guess the world will never know...

You have to bow your head, as you were already laughing. You felt Pepper smack you shoulder.

"The truth is..."

You pulled in another large breath, looking at Pepper to show you had composed yourself.

"I am Iron Man."

[moonlight-collective]

welcome to our plural focused sideblog. we'll try to keep our thoughts somewhat organized here. allow us to introduce ourselves proper, by name, text color (if applicable), pronouns, and any note we want to give. I will try to give general descriptions but they will likely change if the individual sees fit

Aros - he/they - I primarily run this blog. I will not take a text color as you can assume it's me unless otherwise stated.

Luna - she/they/sea/it - Host

Reese - he/they

Ivy - she/they - Primary caregiver

Nova - they/she - Primary protector

Envy - she/her - fusion of Ivy and Nova, takes care of our syskids specifically

Renn - any - Primary protector

Emily - she/her - Primary caregiver

Cyn - She/Her - Hello, I am Cyn, from, "Murder Drones". If you want to know, more, you should, message! I don't, bite. probably

that is all of us that would like to be introduced for now, do check in for updates in the future.

[feronaville]

im deep down on megamassikalove's blog cc shopping n saw her participate in an ask game thingie n i wanna do it too even tho its like a year old LMAOO bc it looks fun n i rarely see them on my dash!

1. What’s your favourite sims death? old age ,, boring answer but i love my sims man they my babies fr any other death genuinely upsets me

2. Alpha CC or Maxis Match? maxis match altho i do sorta uhh maxis mix i think it's called sometimes, really i download whatever i like (mostly maxis match) i just want everything in simlish fr

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight? i like when my sims gain weight bc that's how i get my body diversity but if their outfit doesnt have fat morph n i dont wanna change their outfit i do cheat it sometimessss but not very often

4. Do you use move objects? move objects is enabled in my game alwayss

5. Favorite mod? honestly im not sure! im def a big acr fan but that's just the first one that comes to mind, there's soooo many must haves imo!

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got? both sims 2 pets n sims 2 seasons! my auntie bought them for us, i got soooo excited about pets n lil ol me asked her, "woah can we get monkeys??" LMAOO

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing? i pronounce it like aLIVE

8. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? REESE BULLARD!! he was in my very first bacc years ago, he had more personality than any of my other sims ever had he was so silly

9. Have you made a simself? i have! i made one in sims 2 back in like 2018 but she didnt look like me fr haha, i made one some years ago in sims 4 n she actually looked a lotttt like me but i have lost all her pics unfortunately. now i just have a sim in one of my current 'hoods that's named after me

10. What sim traits do you give yourself? dang if only i knew myself better fr ,, hmmmm ima say animal lover, loves the outdoors, artistic, childish, socially awkward. maybe

Which is your favorite EA hair color? hmm i don't think i have one? i'll just say red

Favorite EA hair? i don't see ea hair in my game fr anymore but as a kid i think my favorite one was meg i think

Favorite life stage? im not sure honestly! i might have to go with child, or adult idk tbh

Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? i only started getting into building fr last year i think, building is a struggle for me but i really enjoy it! i think i'm def more of a gameplay person tho i just feel pretty restricted building for sims 2

Are you a CC creator? i am! pretty much just recolor things but i wanna try my hand at making terrains to share, and i'm slowly starting to upload lots n want to upload sims as well. i've made splash music and loading screens too, kinda wanna get back into doing that actually

Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? i consider @gir-sims to be my friend! yall should check out her bacc, its both on youtube n dreamwidth!

What’s your favorite game? (1, 2, 3, or 4) the sims 2 is my favorite game in the world, been playing since i was like four/five!

Do you have any sims merch? i have a social bunny sweatshirt that i adore! i tried to google for it but it seems the shop is closed now, i got it from etsy by littleplumbobdesigns. i found this shirt it's the same design, except what i have is a pink sweatshirt with a pink social bunny!

Do you have a YouTube for sims? i do! i currently just have my port taylor bacc series on it, it's linked on my blog :^)

How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? i spent the first manyyyy years of simming without cc ,, idk how i did it man. i used to use alpha cc for sims 4 then i ended up switching to mostly maxis match! for sims 2 i switched hair systems twice (started with new hair system, then simgaroop, now it's mostly poppet v2). i can recall switching eye defaults too. that's all i can think of

What’s your Origin ID? i think it's behindthesea00 (my mom made me the account to buy me sims 4 for christmas) BUT i share that account with my younger sister. i dont think she plays sims anymore so idk if she still gets on it, i dont either tbh i dont need origin/ea play/whatever to play my game anymore YAY

Who’s your favorite CC creator? oh gosh there are soooo many!!

How long have you had a simblr? hmmmm i think i've had this one for 3-4 years? but it's been longer than that bc i have a sims 4 simblr that i completely abandoned as i no longer play sims 4, i havent played it since right before infants came out

How do you edit your pictures? for gameplay pics i just cropped them for the most part, occasionally adding a silly lil detail to it. i add woohoo heart to censor nudity when needed. for cc i honestly seem to just do whatever i feel like doing, lately i think i just take the pic, crop it, n add text to it

What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? i only play sims 2 so no more packs for me! other than cc packs that our lovely community makes!

What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? for sims 2 hmmmm im honestly not sure, ahh this is a hard one! sims 2 has such great packs idk if i can choose! hmmmm def pets for sure n i really love open for business too

[karnakas]

From the Archive: The Good, The Bad, and The Dead

(I did not re-edit or re-proof this aside from formatting so this installment was written waaaaay back in late 2019/early 2020. Be niceys about it.)

The penultimate fic. The project that started as a silly crossover AU with my favorite book series, and a thought of "what if our story runs parallel to the main plot, but never directly crosses with the main cast?" It has spread and evolved and rotted my brain for the last five years until eventually I infected @dadbodsandbots with it, too.

But before we can get to 2039, political assassinations, and bioterrorism, we have to go back to the past. It is 2017 and it is the final year of the Rising and Reese and Isaac have been on their own fending off zombies and survivors for three years. Rural pockets of the country are finally getting cleared out. It is the dawn of a new day in America, and your neighbors are all ticking time bombs until the moment the virus sleeping in their blood stream wakes up and demands to be fed. CONTENT WARNING: universe appropriate violence (it's a zombie related story), plot relevant mentions of child death (it's a zombie story)

****

I never signed up to kill kids. --Lieutenant Samuel Ortez, United Stated Marine Corps

Sometimes people die, and that used to be really sad, but these days it's just another Tuesday. --Captain Curtis Eakes, United States Marine Corps

Somewhere in Appalachia, Winter, 2017

The air is cold around him and the gun is warm in his hand. He tells himself the tremble is from adrenaline and hopes to one day believe it as he lowers it in front of him. This far into the Rising, Isaac is well acquainted with what a .45 does to the body, undead or not. He is less acquainted with what it does to the body of a child. Behind him the rest of the group stands in stunned silence. It is broken by the sound of the boy's mother beginning to wail. Isaac turns, the gun loose by his side. He stares directly at her, watching as her face flushes as tears coat her cheeks, and he realizes he cannot remember her name.

“No,” she says, taking a step forward. “No, no, no.” She takes another step, then lunges.

He barely has time to stop her, and trades dropping the gun for it. She crashes into him as he grabs her around the waist and pulls her back.

“Let me go!” she yells. She fights against him and even as she does he can feel her losing steam. He is barely taller than her, and doesn't weight much more either. The last three years have not been kind to either of them. You would be hard pressed to find someone they have been kind to.

“I need to help him,” she says. There is an air of disconnect in her voice as it drowns within it's own fresh, burning grief. “He's my baby, I can't leave him.”

“He's a biohazard,” says Isaac. “You know what happens if you step in that blood.”

“I don't care,” she says. “I don't care, I don't CARE! He's my only thing left!”

Isaac grinds his teeth as he glances at the rest of the group. He can feel the changes in their demeanor, and it's not in his favor. His scan of the crowd causes his gaze to fall on Reese, and he pauses. He has never been good at empathy, but if the situation was reversed... if it were Reese on the ground, he knows damn well what his reaction would be. He sighs, dipping his head.

“Fine,” he says. He lets go of her, and she closes the gap between them and her son.

Isaac bends down and picks up the gun as she kneels next to her boy and cradles him in her arms. The blood begins to seep into her clothing and into the cuts on her hands while the live virus does what it knows best: it wakes up it's more dormant half, and begins the conversion process.

“It's okay sweetie,” she says softly. “It's all right now, we're safe.”

Isaac watches her. He taps his fingers his against his thigh in an attempt to excise the nervous energy surging through him. He wracks his brain as he tries to remember this woman's name, and finds himself lacking.

Twenty years from now, he will still be unable to remember her name. He will remember that her husband had converted while they were trying to escape the city, and that he took their oldest child with him. He will remember her crying as she told the group how she tried so hard to save the other child, and how her choices came down to which person she loved she was willing to kill first. He will remember her blaming herself and lamenting that her inability to act fast enough resulted in losing both of them.

He will not remember her name.

Maybe he doesn't need to.

He sighs again and raises the gun. She turns her gaze towards him, and she smiles, and it feels like she has socked him in the chest.

“I hope it's peaceful,” she says.

“For what it's worth, I am sorry,” he says, voice thick with the emotion straining to surface.

“I know,” she says. Her smile fades just enough to be filled with pity. “I know.”

The sound of the gun rings out louder this time.

Isaac isn't sure how long he stands there, staring at the mess that he knows they're going to make him deal with him when Reese touches his shoulder. They reach for the gun with their other hand, fingers brushing against his.

“You did the right thing,” they say.

“Like hell he did,” someone yells, and Isaac realizes why Reese took the gun from him.

“No one fucking asked you,” snaps Reese.

Isaac finally turns around, scowling at the man stalking towards them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?” he snarls. “We're killing kids and widowed mothers now? Huh? Who the fuck made that choice?”

“I did,” growls Isaac, “when you fucking idiots managed not to notice that dog was infected and let it get inside and start fucking biting the kids! This isn't day one, people, that fucking thing had no business being around any of us!”

“How could we have known?!” the man yells. He steps closer, face contorted in anger.

“I don't know, do you have fucking eyeballs?” Isaac yells back. He too steps closer. Reese reaches for his arm to pull him back, and he shrugs them off. “You want to get mad at something, get mad at the dog that bit that kid-- oh wait, you can't, because I had to kill it, too!”

It is at this point the rest of the group begins to step in, a few defending Isaac while the majority seems it fit to scorn him. Reese takes the side that everyone needs to lower their voices before the yelling begins to attract infected, and among the commotion no one notices when one of the adults picks up her own son and retreats to her tent. She zips it closed behind them with shaking hands as she turns and collects the boys coat.

“Aren't you chilly?” she asks, forcing a smile as she slips it over his shoulders.

“Not really,” he says. “My arm hurts, though.”

“I know, sweetie, I know,” she says. “That doggie was very, very mean. You are lucky that Isaac noticed how brave you were being keeping it from the other kids.”

“But...it bit Tommy,” he says. “Tommy got sick, that's...that's how this works.” He looks down at the bite on his arm as she pulls his coat over down over it.

“Yours isn't that bad,” she says, “it's not the same.”

“But, mom, I weigh more than Tommy did, even,” he protests. His voice is without fear and instead filled with the indignant tone of a 13 year old boy trying to win an argument. It hurts her heart to think about how much he has changed in just three short years, but she knows it's nothing compared to what the pain could be.

“I said it's fine,” she says curtly. She smooths out the front of his coat and forces another smile. “Now, we're going to do the nice thing and start trying to get some dinner going.”

“...now?” he asks, frowning. “But, don't we have to do something about the bodies-”

“I said dinner,” she hisses. His frown deepens as she turns and unzips the tent, and doesn't waver as she coaxes him back outside.

He is thirteen years old, and he is above the amplification threshold, and he knows that what she's trying to do is wrong. He knows this, and he keeps quiet anyway because he is thirteen and he still tries to be a good boy.

Good boys listen to their mothers. 

****

The sun sets quickly in the winter. The darkness swallows the camp whole until it is beat back by the fire burning in the center of it. The group will have to move in the morning, but for the night they settle with bleach and fire to sterilize the hot zone left behind by a stray dog and the chaos it caused. Reese and Isaac have retreated to the playground, each of them seated on a swing. Reese rocks slowly, tapping ash off a cigarette and staring up at the stars. Isaac is still next to them, hands gripping the chains of his swing as he glares at the vague outline of his feet.

“It's fucking bullshit,” he says. “No one noticed that goddamn dog but me and that other kid, what's his fucking name?”

“William,” says Reese. “Good kid, decided he'd be the babysitter after his birthday a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, that's just great,” he snaps, “let a kid watch the other kids, but don't give him a fucking gun because 'he's just a boy'. We're lucky he didn't get bit too, in fact, we're lucky only two fucking people and a dog died today. It could have been all of us. It could have been us.”

“But it wasn't,” says Reese. Isaac's head snaps up, and he turns his glare onto them. Their face lights up orange every time they inhale on their cigarette. “I'm just stating the obvious. It wasn't, so stop fretting about it.”

Isaac makes a noise of discontent and reaches over and pulls the cigarette out of their mouth, flicking it into the sand. “And what did I say about those fucking things? Jesus, you're barely older than William.”

“Oh I'm sorry, you're the designated adult these days, Mr. Big Sixteen?” they ask.

“Apparently, since none of the actual adults are bothering to do it,” he snaps. He blinks, and then sighs. “We're gonna have to go.”

“Yeah, we can't stay next to that mess,” says Reese amiably. “There's no way for us to be sure bleach and a fire will make it safe.”

“No, not that,” says Isaac. “I mean we are going to have to go.”

Reese frowns. “Why?”

“They think I just decided to murder that kid and his mom,” he says. “We all know that's not what happened, and that kid was dead as soon as that dog opened it's mouth, but it's been so long with this shit, and people are tired. People got past being panicked and scared and now they've moved onto tired and angry, and they're going to let that anger make them stupid, and I'm not going to sit here and wait for it.”

“...you really think so?” Reese asks after a moment of silence. Their shoulders slump as they drop their toes into the sand and bring the swing to a stop. “I like it here.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly. The two of them are now the opposite of how they started, with Reese gripping the chains and staring into the dirt, and Isaac swinging slowly and looking towards the sky. “I'm thinking I've had enough of groups these days.”

“...it was nice here,” Reese insists, and he knows they're trying not to cry. He reaches over and puts a hand on the top of their head, fingers brushing through their hair.

“I know,” he says again. “I heard they're really putting all hands on deck for trying to clear out the last pockets of survivors lately. I think finally giving the fuck up on Alaska has a lot to do with it. It shouldn't be too much longer, we'll scout out something and just hole up 'til then.” 

“Isaac,” says Reese softly, “I...I don't think I want--”

Whatever they were going to say is abruptly cut off by the sound of screaming coming from the center of camp. 

It only takes a few minutes for the two of them to barrel through the makeshift fencing enclosing the camp. The fire has managed to spread into the picnic tables, and Isaac is wafted by the smell of burning wood and fresh blood. It would seem the chaos brought down upon them by the dog has not yet finished.

“What the fuck is going on?” he yells at no particular person. The screaming cannot be pinpointed towards a source, and the end of his sentence is muffled by the sound of gunshots.

“Someone's converted,” says a voice in the shadows. The speaker steps forward, racking a shotgun as he does and Isaac discovers it's the same guy he'd been arguing with earlier.

“Fucking how?” snaps Reese.

The man swallows a lump in his throat. “When the dog came around...William got bit trying to push it away, and Elizabeth tried to hide it.”

“Oh that's just perfect,” says Isaac. The words tumble out in a bitter laugh. “First you people let a dog in and now we're hiding bites like it's day one again.”

“No one noticed William amplifying?” asks Reese, frowning.

“Best we can tell, when he started she tried to bring him back to the tents,” says the man whose name will be forgotten like so many others. “He bit her, and while she was amplifying he caught one of the other girls by surprise and now it's just...spreading.”

“Because that's what it fucking does,” Isaac hisses. “One failed spot check and one fucking dog and look where we are now!”

“Are you going to stand here talking shit or are you going to fucking help? We can still beat this back,” the man barks.

“No,” says Isaac, “you can't. And no, we're not.” He backs up suddenly enough that Reese nearly trips and hits the ground. The .45 is nestled comfortably in his hands, held evenly in front of him. The barrel remains pointed at the ground, for now.

A long moment stretches out into the dark nothing. The fires continue to burn, and the others in the shadows continue to scream. Isaac grinds his teeth, and Reese keeps a hand on the grip of their own gun.

Finally, the man sighs.

“You're probably right,” he says softly. “I...kids shouldn't be having to shoot kids. Y'all two get, someone might as well make it out of this.”

“...you're serious?” asks Isaac hesitantly. “I was expecting a fight.”

“And ya should,” says the man. “Always expect one, that way in times like this you can be surprised when there isn't.” He turns his back to them and scans the frantic scene in front of him as someone across the camp fires a weapon before succumbing to screams. Isaac grabs Reese by the wrist, choosing to continue to back up slowly until the man begins to walk forwards and away. He considers pausing to ask for his name and decides against it.

He'll forget it by morning anyway.

“Let's go,” he says, tugging Reese with more earnest and quickened steps.

“But our stuff--”

“Is where William amplified and helped himself to a buffet,” he says, cutting them off. “It's lost, like everything else here.”

“I don't want to start fucking over again!”

“Yeah and we don't get what we fucking want right now, Reese,” he yells, pausing long enough to pull them closer. “Do you get it? We're just stuck like this for now, going from one group to the next and always starting over, and I don't see it changing even if the military does manage to find us around here! So we go and we wait it out, and we figure out how to make it to tomorrow!”

“Yeah and what about the day after, huh?” asks Reese, voice thick with unshed tears and anger.

“Ask me tomorrow,” says Isaac. He resumes walking, and begins ignoring Reese's protests and insistence that they don't care any more, they're tired, let them go, who does he think he is, anyway?

The only one that ever gets anything done, he thinks as the noise from the camp and the heat of the fire fades behind them. The darkness, and the virus, claims this camp like it has so many others, and will so many more. It is a new circle of life, and he is unsure where he fits into it.

He is terrified to find out. 

[chicaotaku-fanfics]

There's Three of You?! Pt.17

This is the previous to last part of the entire arc, sorry for being so late, but here it is, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: foul language, might be some medical inconsistencies

CHAPTER 17

I arrive at Gaffney the next day, and find out thanks to Maggie that the three Halsteads are at the hospital, meaning that yes, our strange overdose case was in fact Intelligence’s case. I thanked her for the heads up and went to leave my stuff in my locker, when she yelled for me again, but this time she too called for Dr. Manning.

We treated the patient and stabilized her, and before I knew it, Natalie had disappeared with our new patient’s purse.

JAY’S P.O.V

We were at a conference room at Med, we had a board with the three overdosed women’s pictures up and were discussing what had happened to them, when Natalie opened the door and came in.

“Sorry to interrupt. A new patient just rolled into the ED. Unconscious, pancytopenic just like the others.” she started, we all looked at her and then between each other. “Look, I don't know if this is legal, but, right now, I really don't care.” she added, lifting a woman’s purse and leaving it on the table. “That's her stuff. Have at it.” she said.

“Thank you” Erin said, while emptying the contents of the purse on the table for all of us to check.

Natalie turned to leave after saying something about ordering a mass spectrometry.

Gotta ask Lilly about it.

“Uh, Leah has Dani Frank, Carol Shepperd, and Jessica Pope as contacts on her phone.” said Kevin.

“All our victims knew each other.” said Erin

“Yeah, looks like that.” Kevin said. Just then Antonio ended the call with the insurance company and gave us a name.

“I got a name. Dr. Dean Reybold.” he said. Voight’s and Erin’s expressions changed, they looked like they’d seen a ghost.

Him, Erin and Al all exited the room, and Antonio, Kevin, Adam and I were confused beyond belief.

LILLY’S P.O.V

As the day progressed I regularly checked on our newest patient, Leah Kamen, who had the same symptoms as our other three “cancer” patients. And when her mass spect came back, we confirmed it, loaded on chemo, never had cancer.

I’m not liking this at all.

At some point in the day, Jay sent me a message that only managed to confuse me even more.

From: Jaybird 💙

Need to meet you at the precinct.

To: Jaybird 💙

Ok, meet you there in 20.

I notified Maggie, and asked her to tell Goodwin just in case. I made my way to the doctors lounge to change my lab coat for my jacket and inside were Connor, Sarah, and Will.

“Hey you. Where’re you going?” asked Will.

“To the 21st.” I said, the three people inside looked shocked.

“What? Why?” asked Connor, his tone laced with worry.

“Did something happen?” asked Reese, then Natalie entered the room.

“All good in here?” she asked, I nodded.

“I’ll be back later, I told Maggie about me having to leave, and told her to let Goodwin know just in case.” I explain, grabbing my car keys, phone and wallet and making my way out.

I made my way to the precinct, parked outside and made it inside, at the same time, Jay was coming down the stairs to the lobby.

“You’re here, great. Come with me.” he said, I followed him, barely being able to nod towards Sergeant Platt.

We made our way upstairs and everyone was there, looking at the steps as if not to miss us coming up.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, everyone turned to look at Jay.

“Do you still have your student doctor scrubs and coat?” he asked.

“Stupid question, of course I do. Why?” I asked him.

“Do they still fit?” he asked instead of answering.

“Yes. Why? Why do those scrub matter?” I asked, beyond confused.

“You’re going undercover. We’ll send you in as a med student who wants to do their oncology residency at a private practice.” said Voight from the other side of the room.

“Oh-kay, you do know that I’ll need papers right? Also, by the sour look on Erin’s face, I can tell something went wrong.” I said. I heard Ruzek groan and turned to see him hand a $20 bill to Atwater. “What just happened?” I asked them.

“Atwater bet that you’d know Erin was pissed just by looking at her, but Ruzek didn’t believe it.” said Al, I just shrugged.

“About the papers, don’t worry, we have them.” Voight said, extending a file towards me.

I opened it and started reading.

“Miranda Walter, 4th year med student, and the rest is pretty much my file back in UC.” I said, everyone fell silent. “What?” I asked.

“You’re telling us, that you had the best grades of your generation, and were a candidate for valedictorian?” asked Atwater.

“I was valedictorian at my highschool graduation.” I said, that made everyone look shocked.

“Girl, what was your GPA?” asked Ruzek.

“Constant 4.0 GPA from junior high to high school.” I said, I could pretty much hear Ruzek and Atwater’s jaws hit the floor. “I know, I know, I was a nerd. Moving on… what do I have to do?” I asked Voight.

WILL’S P.O.V

One thing was knowing that my sister occasionally worked with Jay, another one entirely different is seeing her leave because Jay texted her.

“What just happened?” asked Nat.

“That was my sister… going to give a medical consultation to my brother at the 21st.” I said.

I mean, she told me she’s the medical consultant for the unit.

“Medical consult? Why? I don’t see why she’d be needed there, don’t the police have medical examiners?” asked Nat again, confused and, if I were crazy to think it, a bit jealous?

“Well, they’re dealing with people who’re still alive, Nat, so I guess they do need her input.” said Connor.

“This just got ten times more complicated.” I said, then sighed.

“You can say that again.” said Reese.

“Well, no time for that.” said Connor, this time pointing towards the nurses desk, we all turned and Maggie was practically two seconds away from bursting inside the lounge. “Looks like she’ll come here to drag our asses back to the ED all by herself.” he said, I snorted and nodded.

“Back to work then.” I said.

LILLY’S P.O.V

I had successfully made it inside Dr.Reybold’s practice, he trusted me right off the bat, and that made my job 100 times easier.

Certainly, this guy isn’t smart at all. Just arrogant.

The glasses I had were in reality a little camera that recorded everything said and done during the day. This went on for a relatively short time, considering that we didn’t have much time left.

“Hey Miranda, I need your help.” said the blonde assistant.

“Sure Elena, what’s up?” I asked her.

“I know you’re on your way to a fancy medical degree, but I need you to help me with some things.” she said, that raised alarm bells all over me.

“Sure thing, what do you need help with?” I asked her.

“Just need to shred some things.” she said, I got suspicious.

“Shred? What would we need to shred?” I asked her as innocently as I could.

“Oh, just some old patient files, nothing serious.” she said, as if it was nothing. I kept my cool.

“Why would we need to shred patient files?” I asked

“Some of them have, sadly, passed already, and some went to see another doctor. The paper file is kept as a formality, since now everything is digital.” Elena said

“Oh, so it’s kind of like cleaning up?” I asked her, she nodded, “Okay then, go on ahead and I’ll catch up with as soon as I go to the restroom, okay?” I asked, and she nodded again and left.

As I turned, I saw Reybold’s law team enter a conference room with him.

I took out my phone and texted Jay the safe word.

To: Jaybird 💙

Mermaid

JAY’S P.O.V

I received Lilly’s text, I looked at everyone.

“We move out. She texted the safe word.” I said, we started moving. Voight turned to me.

“Tell her we’ll maintain the cover just until we get Reybold outta here.” he said, I nodded and texted her one last time.

To: Lilyflower 🪷

Copied. Antonio will cuff you to maintain your cover.

From: Lilyflower 🪷

10-4.

We entered the practice and spread out, Erin and I went straight to the conference room where Dr. Reybold was. As I opened the door, I managed to catch the last part of what his lawyer was saying.

“It's just preemptive. They're just looking for…” she cut herself off.

“Sergeant!” Erin exclaimed, calling for Voight, I went inside the room.

“Where's the warrant?” she asked, I aggressively handed her the paper. She took it and gave it a quick read. “So you came here with a hastily written and narrowly defined search warrant to what? Upset my clients' patients?” she asked.

“Your client has been diagnosing patients with cancer they don't have to fleece them with treatments they don't need. I'd say he's the one upsetting them.” said Erin, coming to my side.

“This is absurd.” he said, then Voight came in and everything in Reybold’s expression changed.

Luckily, everything went as planned, and I ended up arresting Reybold for obstruction of justice, per Voight’s instructions. Just as I walked out with him, Antonio was walking out with Lilly, and Kevin with the assistant.

“Miranda, Elena, don’t worry, everything will be okay.” the man said.

“Actually it will. Because you won’t harm anyone else.” I said. Kevin followed after me, and Antonio behind him.

LILLY’S P.O.V

We made it back to the precinct and after making sure neither Reybold nor Elena were nearby, Antonio uncuffed me.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

“Nah, all good. I’ve got some very interesting things I need to show you.” I said, tapping the black frames. He smiled.

“Good girl. Go change, I’ll set it up.” he said, gently removing the glasses from my face.

I went to my locker here, courtesy of Sergeant Platt, and then changed into something more «me»: some dark skinny jeans, black sneakers, a purple button up shirt, and my wrist watch.

I went to the bullpen and except for Erin, everyone was there. My footsteps alerted everyone of my coming in.

“Hope you got what you needed.” I said, referring to the video on the screen of my brother’s desk.

“It’s enough to charge the assistant with obstruction of justice and destruction of medical records, as well as destruction of evidence in a police investigation.” said Antonio.

“Good.” I said, just then, Erin came back upstairs.

“The best the DA can do with the files recovered is charge him for fraud.” she said, clearly mad.

I was about to say something, when my phone rang, silencing everyone.

“Halstead.” I answered.

“Yes, I know who you are, that’s why I called you.” Will’s voice answered me back. “But, the reason I called you is because Jessica Pope didn’t make it. She was just pronounced dead.” he said, I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” he added.

“Me too. Thanks.” I said, then hung up. I turned to everyone. “Jessica Pope didn’t make it.” I said, everyone’s expression was serious.

“We need to nail this son of a bitch.” said Voight. “And I know who else can help us.” he said, before taking his leather jacket and leaving the precinct.

I checked my watch and groaned. “I better go, I still got three hours of my shift and all my stuff’s still at the hospital.” I said. “Anything you need, have Jay text me.” I added.

“Sure thing.” said Atwater, Jay stood up and walked to me, following me to the locker room.

“Hey.” he said, I looked at him, he opened his arms and I accepted the hug. “Excellent job out there.” he whispered into my ear.

“Thanks.” I said, squeezing him a bit tighter, it felt good. After a few seconds, he let go.

“Just, fair warning: we might need you to testify.” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, I nodded.

“Yeah, I figured. If it wasn’t on your side, Reybold’s lawyer will find a way to get me on the stand.” I said, a chill running down my spine at the thought. “Better convince that DA… Dana, is it? To hurry up with the case, if not… we know what’ll happen.” I added.

“Yeah, something neither of us want to happen.” he said, I nodded, hugging him again and then grabbing my stuff -namely my bag with my scrubs, wallet, phone and car keys- and turned to look at my brother.

“Like I said, text me if you need anything.” I said, he nodded and accompanied me to my car.

“Drive safe.” he said, I smiled at him.

“Always. See you tonight for a movie?” I asked.

“If we don’t get stuck here late, sure.” he said with a small smile on his face. “Love you Lillyflower.” he added.

“Love you too Jaybird.” I said, starting my car and driving to the hospital.

Please, God I beg you, don’t let this guy get away with it.

I made it back to the hospital in time for Maggie to call my name. I walked over to her, dreading what she’d say.

“New patient for you in treatment 5. 14 year old boy fell off his skateboard, dislocated shoulder, jaw, and a broken ankle. Possible concussion too.” I looked at her in shock.

“I get the head injury for not wearing a helmet, broken ankle and the dislocated shoulder might be from a bad landing… but the jaw?” I asked the head nurse.

“His friend accidentally ran over him, the impact went to his jaw. As a consequence, the friend is treated by your brother for a broken arm and scraped knees.” she said, I winced from the pain.

“Yikes… okay, I’ll leave this and grab my coat, I’ll change into my scrubs after seeing the kid.” I said, I went to the doctors lounge, barged in, left my bag as it was in my locker, changed my jacket for my coat, and made my way over to Maggie to grab the iPad with the patient file and treat the kid.

CONNOR’S P.O.V

I was in the doctors lounge, literally catching a small break to check the new medical journal when the door swung open. I raised my head to see Lilly barge in, change her jacket for her lab coat and leave again.

Just when I thought that’d be all the movement I’d be seeing, in came Will. He noticed Lilly’s bag on her locker, and her jacket on the hamper.

“I guess my tornado of a little sister came back?” he asked with an amused look on his face.

“She literally threw her bag in there and swapped her jacket for her coat. No second glance at the room.” I answered, Will snorted as he made himself a coffee.

“That’s her alright. Always making her presence known… even if she doesn’t notice.” he said with a fond smile on his face.

He looks kinda cute smiling like that.

Wait.

WHAT?

“Hey, you good? She didn’t scare you, did she?” asked the redhead in front of me, I nodded.

“Yeah, it was just surprising… to say the least.” I said. Will handed me a cup of coffee, making me realize that he had made two cups, not just one like I had originally thought.

“What you reading?” he asked, coming to sit beside me on the couch and looking at my tablet’s screen from over my shoulder.

“New medical journal. Wanna read it with me?” I asked, he nodded, a pink blush appearing on his cheeks.

He looks cute when he blushes.

OKAY! Connor Rhodes, STOP IT!

LILLY’S P.O.V

I checked the kid’s x-rays and managed to set his jaw and shoulder back into place without much trouble, then I asked for another set of x-rays to make sure everything was put back into place correctly.

Okay, all is back where it should be, thank God.

I then called ortho for a consult in regards to the kid’s ankle.

“Okay Emilio, I’ve set everything up for your CT. While you’re in there, I’ll get another doctor for a consult and work on fixing your ankle, alright?” I asked him, he nodded. A little bit overenthusiastically. “Careful. Your head isn’t 100% healed, remember?” I asked him again.

“Sorry Dr. Halstead.” he said, I gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay Emilio, all’s good.” just as I said that, April came in to take Emilio to his CT, I nodded and off he went.

I used that time to go back to the doctors lounge, grab my bag, head to the bathroom and change back into my scrubs.

I came back out, finally looking like a doctor, when Maggie shot me a teasing look.

“Don’t start Maggie, please.” I said, already knowing what she was gonna say.

“I haven’t said anything Lillian… though if you must know, it looks like you have a new admirer.” she said, mischief in her gleaming smile. I groaned.

“Maggie! No! He’s 14 years old!” I said, she laughed.

“Didn’t you see how he practically melted when you started treating him? You left him speechless when you walked into the treatment room.” she said, just then, Will and Connor joined us.

“Who did my sister leave speechless?” asked Will.

“Her new admirer. Emilio Acosta, 14 year old boy and Dr. Halstead’s new patient.” she said, tone teasing, I blushed.

“For the love of God Maggie! Stop!” I said, covering my face.

“So another broken heart for your jar of hearts dear sister?” asked Will, I slapped him in the chest.

“Shut it. And I don’t have a jar of hearts!” I said, he looked at me.

“Oh really? Then what about Tommy Maguire, Henry Yule, Dan Stewart, Greg Thompson…” he started the list, I slapped my hand on top of his mouth to shut him up.

“Okay, okay, shut it! Not my fault they had crushes on me!” I said, Maggie and Connor sneakered.

“Looks to me like our dear Lilly is a serial heartbreaker.” said Connor, I turned to him.

“Not you too.” I said, they all laughed. 

Then my phone pinged with a text message notification. I checked it, it was Jay.

From: Jaybird 💙

We’re going to court for homicide, you’re the ace up our sleeve.

To: Jaybird 💙

Good. Text me when I’ll have to be there.

From: Jaybird 💙

Officially, someone will send a citation with the details, but heads up, court date is THIS FRIDAY

To: Jaybird 💙

So, three days from now?

From: Jaybird 💙

Exactly.

To: Jaybird 💙

Ok.

Some time later, I had the results for Emilio’s CT and I went to his room, the mom had finally arrived.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Halstead, I’m treating Emilio.” I introduced myself to her.

“Elena Sandoval, Emi’s mom. His father will be here shortly, he’s parking the car.” She said, I nodded. Not two seconds later, the man came in… Emilio’s reaction and the vibe I got from him was enough to know the kid wasn’t comfortable.

“What did you do this time?” Asked the man, serious tone in his voice, I was surprised.

Normally when your kid has a broken bone or straight up ends in a hospital, you should be worried, not ready to kill them.

“Mr. Acosta. I’m-“ he rudely cut me off.

“Can you get the doctor that’s treating my son? We need discharge papers and then we’ll leave.” He said, focused on his phone instead of me.

“I’m Dr. Halstead. I’m treating your son, and he’s not going anywhere until the orthopedist comes for a consultation regarding Emilio’s broken ankle. And, as I was about to tell your wife-“ he cut me off again.

“Ex wife.” He said sharply.

I’m going to kill this man if he keeps this attitude up.

“As I was telling Ms. Sandoval, Emilio suffered a fall which resulted in a dislocated jaw and shoulder, those have been fixed already; but he still sustained a concussion, and has a broken ankle.” I explained, I saw the father about to talk, I managed to cut him off. “Now, the CT scan came back clear, so we have nothing to worry about in that regard. Meaning, the only remaining issue is the ankle. Dr. Valdoza should be here shortly to discuss treatments and course of action.” I said, just then, the orthopedist came into the room.

“I was paged?” asked the older woman, I smiled at her.

“Yes. Dr. Valdoza, this is Emilio Acosta, he broke his ankle while at the skate park earlier this afternoon.” I explained.

“The x-rays?” she asked, I showed her the iPad in my hand. “Thankfully it’s a clean break, meaning Emilio won’t need surgery to fix this. I’ll go for the necessary materials for a cast… that means, Emilio gets to choose the color.” said the woman, Emilio’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” he asked, his father interrupted.

“May I ask where did both of you get your medical license?” asked the man.

“Raúl…” started the mom, he cut her off very rudely.

“Mujer, si crees que me creo por un segundo que este par de inútiles tiene licencias médicas, te equivocas. Las mujeres solo sirven para cuidar de la casa y tener hijos.*” said the man, I was shocked.

And if I show him I understood everything?

“Lamento desilusionarle Sr. Acosta, pero mi licencia médica me la aprobó el IDFPR, al igual que la licencia de la Dra. Valdoza. Se las podemos mostrar si gusta.**” I said, with my most fake sweet tone, he looked at me with a scowl on his face.

“Estoy bien, gracias.***” he said, mad at being caught.

“Muy bien, la Dra. Valdoza vendrá en breve con los materiales para el yeso de Emilio.****” I said, Emilio’s eyes were even brighter.

“¡¿Hablas español?!*****” he asked, I nodded, then turned to the nurses desk.

“April, would you be so kind to come here for a second and keep Mr. Acosta and Emilio company? I need to talk to Ms. Sandoval about something.” I said, the man in the room looked ready to kill me.

“Ella no sale de este cuarto sin mi permiso.******” said the man.

“Señor Acosta, no creo que le guste que llame a seguridad para que sea uno de los guardias quien le haga compañía en lugar de una de las enfermeras.*******” I said, he clenched his fists. “Hablaré con la señora Sandoval, con o sin su permiso, ella no es de su propiedad.********” I said, then took the mother away.

“April, just in case, call Earl, and have him stand outside the door, out of the father’s line of sight, please.” I whispered to the nurse, she nodded.

I took the woman to an empty conference room and started talking to her.

“Mire señora Sandoval, no quiero parecer entrometida… pero su ex esposo parece ser un hombre agresivo. Emiliano se tensó apenas lo vio entrar en la sala.*********” I said to her, she let out a long sigh and then looked at me.

“Raúl siempre ha sido de carácter fuerte. Tengo el presentimiento que fue maltratado de pequeño, el problema es que se desquita con sus palabras y actitudes hacia mí y a las mujeres en general.**********” she said, I nodded.

“No tiene que tolerar esa actitud. Ese hombre dice que ya es su ex, ¿tiene la custodia completa de su hijo?***********” I asked, she nodded.

“El problema es que no respeta el hecho de que Emilio le tiene miedo. Ha sido tan severo con él desde que era pequeño, que Emi le llama «señor».************” that made alarms ring in my head.

“No debería de ser así. Si no se siente segura, o si siente que Emi no está a salvo en la presencia de su padre, puede decirme, notificaré a la policía y se lo llevarán. Con ese arresto podrá pedir una orden de alejamiento y se le concederá con mayor facilidad.*************” I said, Ms. Sandoval’s eyes were red-rimmed and glossy.

“¿Haría eso por nosotros? Apenas nos conoce.**************” she said, I just nodded, a small smile on my face.

“Es mi trabajo como doctora abogar por el bien de mis pacientes y sus familiares, y en este momento, alejar a ese hombre de ustedes es lo mejor para Emilio y para usted.”***************” I told her, she smiled and threw herself at me and wrapped me in what can only be described as a bear hug.

“Gracias. Gracias, gracias, gracias. Raúl siempre lograba hacerme parecer como una «loca paranoica», es por eso que nadie nunca hizo nada, porque eran «temas familiares». El que usted me crea… es mucho más de lo que jamás imaginé.***************” she said, still hugging me, I hugged back.

“Notificaré a mi jefa y luego ella notificará a la policía. Su pesadilla está por acabar señora Sandoval.*****************” I said, she nodded against my neck and then she pulled back.

I took out my phone and texted Maggie.

To: Mama Bear 🐻

Mags, about the kid in 5

His father is emotionally abusing him. I asked April to keep an eye on him.

Earl’s outside the door just in case.

Please tell Goodwin. Have her call CPD.

From: Mama Bear 🐻

You got it BabyBloom.

I turned to the woman before me and smiled.

“Está hecho. La jefa de enfermeras está enterada y ella le notificará a mi jefa en breve.******************” I told her, she nodded and we made our way back to the treatment room.

“Well Ms. Sandoval, as I told you, the aftercare is pretty easy, just make sure Emilio doesn’t put any pressure on that ankle, when lying down have the foot elevated, he’ll be in crutches or maybe a wheelchair if it’s more comfortable for him.” I said, she nodded.

“A wheelchair?! My son is not an invalid!” exclaimed the father, it took everything in me not to roll my eyes at him.

“Sir this is just a precaution. Your son did break his ankle after all, we don’t want him coming back to the ED in need of surgery.” I said to the man, he pretty much snared at me.

“Are you sure your license is valid? I can bet a real doctor will look at my son’s x-ray and say he’s really okay and reveal you only want to cash out some of the insurance money.” said the man, my eyes went from kind hazelnut to deadly russet.

“Sir, are you by any chance a doctor?” I asked him.

“No, I’m a businessman. But-” I cut him off, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Atwater, Ruzek and Burgess entering the ED.

“Didn’t think so. Now, I would appreciate it if you thought you know how to do my job better than me. So, if you could kindly shut up and follow the officers that have just arrived, that would be great.” I said, he froze at the mention of the officers, he turned and saw the three members of Intelligence behind me.

“You… maldita perra-*****************” he started to say.

“Yo no amenazaría a una mujer frente a un oficial de policía si fuese usted.******************” I said, smugness overflowing my tone and expression, he was removed from the room in handcuffs.

“Thanks guys” I said to Burgess, as she was the closest to me.

“Don’t mention it. Remember your court date on Friday.” she said before leaving.

With that done, the day was officially over for me, I went back to the room just in time to watch Dr. Valdoza finish putting the bright green cast on Emilio’s foot and leg. She smiled at me, I returned the smile, then I turned to the kid and his mom, Ms. Sandoval looked at me and smiled, mouthing out a thank you. I smiled and nodded.

Friday came very quickly, I had requested the day off, knowing I’d be at the courthouse all day. I woke up early, jumped in the shower, and once done got dressed in a white blouse, a black blazer on top, black dress pants, black heels, my heart necklace and earrings. Got my makeup done, and then got my phone, headphones, the copy of my CPD contract, my badge and car keys in a small brown purse and went to the kitchen to get my coffee ready. I got the finishing touches and made my way to my car.

Once at the courthouse, I met with everyone outside. The one who I didn’t expect to see was Dr. Charles.

“Dr. Charles.” I said as a greeting.

“Dr. Halstead. Pleasure seeing you here today.” he said, I nodded and we all headed inside.

The trial started and, halfway through Dr. Charles’s cross examination, everything was going well, but Dr. Charles’s diagnosis on Reybold was something I had already suspected.

“My conversation with Dr. Reybold coupled with a look at his history led me to a clear diagnosis of psychopathy.” Dr. Charles started his explanation. “The psychopathic mind lacks fear, remorse, empathy.” he continued, telling everyone something I had known for years now, as well as my brother and every member of the Intelligence Unit present there. “In essence, it can't connect to or care about others. That's Dr. Reybold.” he concluded.

“But he's a doctor.” said Ms. Shelby, the ADA “Doesn't that suggest empathy or caring?” she added, looking at the jury.

“Well, you'd be shocked how many functional psychopaths are in the world, you know, attracted to power, control. Flaunting his success rates, the therapies only he can administer, belittling his patients to keep them under his control. «I'm the one with the medical degree», he would say to his patients.” added the psychiatrist.

“You know this how?” she asked.

“Because he told me.” answered the doctor.

“I renew my objection. This entire conversation…” started the dirty blonde lawyer, but was cut off.

“Was a spontaneous admission that has already been ruled on.” said the ADA.

“Agreed. Overruled. Continue, Ms. Shelby.” said the judge.

“So Dr. Reybold would ask his patients if they had a medical degree?” asked Dana.

“And made sure they knew he was the only one who could save them. Those are actual words from our conversation.” said Dr. Charles. I was disgusted by that behavior.

“Thank you, Dr. Charles.” said Dana, as a way to show she was done before going back to her seat.

“Well, let's talk about that conversation. Was it at your office?” said Reybold’s lawyer.

“No.” was the simple answer.

“At the court? Ordered by a judge?” she continued with the assault of questions.

“Nope.” again the psychiatrist gave a negative answer

“Did Dr. Reybold know he was being interviewed?” asked the lady, and I was two seconds away from strangling her.

If she’s like this with Dr. Charles, I don’t even wanna imagine how she’ll act when I take to the stand.

“As I said before, it was not an interview. It was two doctors striking up a conversation.” said Dr. Charles.

“Where did this conversation take place?” asked the lawyer.

“In a coffee shop.” said Dr. Charles.

“Near your house?” asked the blonde woman.

“No.” Dr. Charles said.

“Your office?” she asked again.

“No.” he answered again.

It got to the point where I completely tuned out of the trial. The woman was roasting Dr. Charles for literally just cooperating with a police investigation, but what brought me back was a comment she made towards the end.

“Ever socialize with members of the intelligence unit, Dr. Charles? Perhaps at a bar called Molly's?” she asked this time.

“I have.” he answered.

“So they're friends of yours?” she asked, now I knew what she wanted to do.

“My report on Dr. Reybold is an unbiased analy…” he was cut off.

“That wasn't the question.” she said, a smirk on her face.

“I know them through work and would be very proud to call them my friends.” he said.

“No further questions.” she said, going back to her seat, I could only worry about how this would look for us.

“I would like to call our next witness to the stand, Dr. Lillian Halsted.” said Dana, I stood up, fixed my blouse and blazer and made my way down to the stand. I could see Reybold and his lawyer’s shocked expressions when I walked by.

I pledged to speak the truth and took my seat at the stand.

Time to fix the image of the unit’s investigation and bury this son of a bitch.

“Please state your full name for the record.” said Dana.

“I’m Dr. Lillian Marianne Halstead.” I said.

“What’s your profession Dr. Halstead?” she asked.

“I’m an emergency medicine doctor working at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. And I’m also, occasionally, the medical consultant for the Intelligence Unit of the Chicago’s Police Department District 21.” I said, I could tell the exact moment realization hit Reybold’s lawyer.

“Could you tell me, were you involved in the treatment of any of the three patients, Jessica Pope, Dani Frank or Carol Shepperd?” she asked me, I nodded before answering.

“Yes, I was involved in Jessica’s Pope care as a consultant doctor. As well as Carol Shepperd.” I said.

“How did you get involved in their care?”  Dana asked me, then Reybold’s lawyer intervened.

“Objection. Your Honor, this girl said that she was a 4th year medical student going by the name Miranda Walter. This is clearly some ploy to destroy my client’s reputation.” she said.

“I’m inclined to agree… does the witness have a way to explain the deception?” asked the judge.

Thank God I came prepared.

“Yes Your Honor, I have a way to explain. With me I have the copy of my contract with the CPD, as well as the highlighted section where it covers the need for me to go occasionally undercover, all tied in a pretty red bow with this.” I said, producing said document, and my police badge from my purse. “The contract is real and legally binding.” I said.

“I’ll accept the document and badge. Proceed Ms. Shelby.” said the judge.

“Could you please explain how you got involved in the care of Jessica Pope and Carol Shepperd?” asked the DA.

“Yes. Jessica wasn’t originally my patient, I had been treating a firefighter from FireHouse 51, Christopher Herrmann, when her doctor and my colleague, Dr. Ethan Choi asked me to take a look at her charts, to see if I could see something strange, or notice if he had missed anything.” I started retelling the story of the last three days in the ED.

“What did you find?” asked Dana.

“I found the same thing he did; abnormalities. Originally, Jessica had been brought in because of smoke inhalation, it was just that her blood results just didn't make sense.” I said, pausing for a second, I then turned to the jury. “Normally, fire and smoke inhalation victims show a high white count from stress demargination. But Jessica, her cell count was low across the board. Something that worried both Dr. Choi and me.” I said, turning back to Dana.

“What happened next?” she asked.

“Objection Your Honor, are we here for a trial or a storytelling session?” asked the rude lawyer.

“Overruled. Continue, Dr. Halstead.” said the judge.

Thank God. 

“Thank you, Your Honor. Next, student doctor Sarah Reese suggested a mass spectrometry to be done on Jessica, by this point, my brother -Dr. William Halstead- had already gotten involved. We went through with the mass spect, hoping to get some answers, and we did.” I said. “The results showed that Jessica had an overdose of chemo, in fact she had seven times the regular amount. And on top of that, we discovered that she didn’t have cancer.” I added.

“What did you do when you found out?” asked Ms. Shelby.

“I went back to my patient. I then heard through the speaker system that another colleague, Dr. Rhodes, was needed in the ED. That’s when Dani came into the picture. Sadly, despite Dr. Rhodes’s and my brother’s best efforts, Dani passed away, at 16:21 that afternoon.” I said, looking down, the pain of losing a patient evident in my expression and voice. “Later, Dr. Charles ordered an autopsy, I was notified of it when I got a page to go to the morgue.” I added.

“You’re talking of Dani Frank, another one of the fraud victims, correct?” asked Dana.

“Yes, that is correct.” I said.

“And at what point did you get involved in Ms. Shepperd’s care?”  she asked me.

“When Dr. Charles came to me in confidence, and asked me if I didn’t find it strange that despite Dr. Natalie Manning’s best efforts, she didn’t seem to improve.” I said honestly.

“And what did you do next?”

“I got clearance and ordered a mass spectrometry and some biomarkers on Carol Shepperd. The results? The same as Jessica and Dani: an overdose of chemo for a cancer she never had.” I concluded.

“Thank you Dr. Halstead, no more questions.” said Dana, nodding at me and going back to her seat.

“Well Dr. Halstead, this is clearly a shock. Finding out you weren’t who you said you were.” said Reybold’s lawyer.

“That’s what undercover work is, you create an identity and live your life as that person, it’s an act.” I explained.

“So you were acting when you came into Dr. Reybold’s office and said you were a medical student?” she asked.

“Yes.” I answered.

“If you lied about that, I wonder what else have you lied about?” she said, in a clear attempt at making me mad.

“Objection!” exclaimed Dana.

“Sustained.” said the judge.

“If I may answer?” I asked, looking at the judge, he seemed to hesitate, but nodded. “I haven’t lied about anything I’ve said so far, as you may know as a lawyer, I am under oath.” I said, not an ounce of regret, nor malice in my tone.

“Very well… why did you go to Dr. Reybold’s office that day?” she asked.

“I was called by the Intelligence Unit to help, since I was involved in the care of three patients that had shown a pattern in their symptoms. They first asked me how likely it was for something like this to happen…” I said, and the lawyer cut me off.

“And what was your answer?” she asked.

“Well, if you’d let me finish my earlier sentence, you would’ve saved yourself the trouble of asking, since I was about to say it.” I said, a fake sweet smile on my face. “But my answer was that it is highly unlikely for three different women to overdose from chemo on the same day. That’s when I was asked to go undercover as Miranda. To figure out what was going on.” I said. 

“And that had nothing to do with the fact that you have socialized with the Intelligence Unit? Just like Dr. Charles.” she asked.

“I would’ve done it despite the fact that I do socialize with the Intelligence Unit, since it’s in my contract with the Chicago Police Department. Contract that the judge already has in his possession.” I said, she looked mad and desperate.

“Any reason why you socialize with the Intelligence Unit?” she asked.

“Well they drop by the hospital from time to time, either to interrogate a witness or warn us about a suspect, as well as the fact that I go to Molly’s regularly.” I said.

“And that has nothing to do with your relation to one of the members of the unit in particular?” asked the woman, I looked confused.

“If you want an answer, I’ll need you to clarify the question.” I said.

“Objection!” said Dana.

“Sustained.” said the judge.

“Very well, let me rephrase, are you familiar with the name…” she went back to her desk. “Chicago Police Department’s Detective Jason Joel Halstead?” she asked, a smug grin on her face.

“Of course I am.” I said, keeping my answer short and letting this fool of a woman play herself.

“Isn’t that your husband’s name?” she said, I let out a snort, when I looked up, Jay was rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I apologize for that.” I said, looking at the judge and then the jury. “No ma’am, that’s not my husband’s name.” I said, she looked mad.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re under oath, Dr. Halstead?” the lady asked.

“No, you don’t. But that’s not my husband’s name, simply because I don’t have a husband. I’m currently single.” I explained. She looked confused. “I know Detective Halstead for the simple fact that he is my older brother.” I said.

“Then you pretty much did this as a favor to him?” she asked.

“Objection Your Honor, the witness has already given an answer.” said Dana.

“Sustained.” said the man.

“I’ll rephrase, did Detective Halstead ask you to do this as a favor to him?” she asked me, I wanted to roll my eyes so badly.

“Your Honor!” exclaimed Dana, I beated both her and the judge.

“As I’ve said before, I did this because I was ordered to, both by the sergeant in charge of the investigation, and because my contract with the CPD says so.” I said, my tone showing my annoyance. The woman looked mad, I wanted to laugh at her so bad.

Poor fool. Has a law degree but can’t seem to understand what the implications of having a contract are.

“No further questions Your Honor” she said, her tone of voice clearly showing her anger at not being able to play me or make me slip and look bad.

“Very well, the witness can go back to her seat. We’ll reconvene after a brief recess.” said the judge.

Ok, here's the chapter, the translation for the Spanish parts is as follows:

*: Woman, if you think for a second that I believe that this pair of idiots have medical licences, you're wrong. Women only serve to take care of the house and have children.

**: I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr. Acosta, but my medical licence was aproved by IDFPR, same as Dr. Valdoza's. We could show them to you if you'd like.

***: I'm good, thanks.

****: Very well, Dr. Valdoza will be back in shortly with the materials for Emilio's cast.

*****: You speak Spanish?!

******: She doesn't leave this room without my permission

*******: Mr. Acosta, I don't think you'd like me to call security and have one of the guards keeping you company instead of a nurse.

********: I'll speak with Ms. Sandoval, with or without your permission, she's not your property.

*********: Look Ms. Sandoval, I don't want to seem nosy... but your ex husban seems to be an agresive man. Emilio tensed up as soon as he saw him enter the room.

**********: Raúl has always had a strong character. I have the feeling he was mistreated when he was young, the problem is that he takes it out with his words and attitude towards me and women in general.

***********: You don't have to tolerate that attitude. That man's already your ex, do you have full custody of your son?

************: The problem is he doesn't respect the fact that Emilio is scared of him. He's being so strick with him since he was a child, that Emi calls him "sir".

*************: It shouldn't be like that. If you don't feel safe, or you feel Emi isn't safe in his father's presence, you can tell me, I'll notify the police and they'll take him away. With that arrest you can petition for a restraining order and it will be easier to obtain it.

**************: You'd do that for us? You bearly know us.

***************: It's my job as a doctor to advocate in favor of my pacients and their family's best interest, and right now, getting than man away from you is in Emilio's and your best interest.

****************: Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Raúl always managed to make me look like a "paranoid crazy lady", that's why no one ever did anything, because it was "family issues". You believing me... is more than I'd ever imagined.

*****************: I'll notify my boss and then she'll notify PD. Your nightmare is almost over Ms. Sandoval.

******************: It's done. The chief nurse knows and she'll notify my boss shortly.

*******************: Damn bitch-

*******************: I wouldn't threaten a woman in front of a police officer if I were you.

Also, adding a pic of Lilly's court outfit, the only difference is the color and typo of the shoes.

[polycephebi]

A directory/clarification of Dri's most embedded relations, including details about his hometown itself. These people and places have deep ties to his lore and are referenced a lot, & if you pay attention to all the nonsense I'm doing you've already seen them a bit

@sentrymemes → Reese; twin brother, the only biological relation here. dri's probably too mean to him at times, but this kind of love runs from birth to death. he'll kill anyone who hurts him, and also him.

@sutoriitera → Hotaka; occasionally called a brother for shits and giggles, but distinctly not. '' friend '' is the easiest term, but dumbs it down a lot. Very chaotic history.

@goldnepenthe → Kathe; also called a sister. this time it's a little more felt. they're also doppelgangers- more apparent when her hair was shorter -- which is funny when is his actual twin is fraternal. She was missing for 10 years, so his doting side is much more extreme now in the aftermath; they also have a very chaotic history, though.

@glavnaya → Yasha; adoptive? uncle. Dri loves him a normal amount? That's all that needs to be said there.

@serpantsfall → Dimitri; adoptive father. A detective! Isn't that fun! He adores screwing with him, but there's a softness there. For some reason this guy took the time to legally adopt him? He didn't even have a legal identity til then. Almost everything about 'Seth' is owed to this man, too, and the poor guy doesn't even know that's a thing. lmao

@serpantsfall → Cecilia; by some technicality, a cousin? ish? Hates him. It's fair!

@nxceur → Minori ; dri's. wwife? Yeah, sure, we'll call it that.

@ WIP, cameos here until then → Hamon. Enigma. Tiny bit hated. In the olden days, this guy started as a pet rat-- a literal rat - that evolved into a guy who's. dating his dad?? The lore has changed a lot, but Dri misses the days when this fucker was just his pet. They make good accomplices, though, the few times Dri is willing to work with him. This guy is much more capable and powerful in this town than Dri wants to give him credit for

@ WIP. no cameos allowed here, but occasionally mentioned Inoue; public enemy no.1. A prominent ex-figure in the gang who has done some stuff to the snek fam. we love to hate him? everybody's a little scared of him.

---

---

Anyway, for that matter, this town - Kashiwa - has evolved into a severe off-shoot of its real world equivalent. It needs a different name tbh, I've just forgotten the few we tried coming up with.

It's a slightly quainter city, nowhere near the bustle of any within Tokyo Prefecture. But it neighbors closely, the next prefecture over, so Dri enjoys traveling to Tokyo when he's bored. -- Kashiwa does have its vibrant downtown though, as well as a more rural district in the northeast.

Since it's quainter overall, the off things about the city are much more noticeable, and rumors are somewhat rampant- especially around the highschool. Teenagers love to talk, and they make up crazy stuff.

Some gang that's got territory over the whole city, but beefs within itself a little.

which connects to a lot of missing persons. deaths, presumably.

heard they got a hideout in the abandoned area over there, which is why that spot was. bombed a couple years ago?? wtf even was that

random ass people being attacked a few years back without reason. sometimes claiming the mugger tried to eat them? that's gotta be bullshit! freaky tho.

people with spooky glowing red eyes :( they're definitely connected to the gang they gotta be. nobody really knows what they do, but it's scary, and some of them have been spotted with the gang s. so. :(

lot of foreigners involved in these gangs and red-eye stuff too actually.... so like we're not saying any mafia stuff is going on but like.

been sightings of people who seemed pretty damn hurt up and fine the next day ?

I swear to god I saw this dude walk straight out of a wall in the alley. like not a broken wall or anything just straight out of it.

wait actually a few decades ago wasn't there a whole thing with this ~organization~ being broken up over child experiments?? was that a thing?? was the gang involved in that too?? I don't remember. this town is crazy. nobody should live here.

-- Now, none of that is true, so don't worry about it. People just love to talk.