#i once was reading the descriptions of each episode and the one was saying that soda got a girl pregnant so i was immediately like WHAAAT

[motorcycleboy9]

let's be honest for a sec did anyone actually watch the outsiders TV series because I genuinely don't trust it

[januaryembrs]

THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

-

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?” 

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 

And he believed her with everything in him. 

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 

They had found Doyle. 

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 

“Don’t do this, kid,” 

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

-

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 

Bugsy was laughing. 

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 

 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 

She wouldn’t tell her anything. 

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 

-

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 

“Why not?” 

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 

They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 

If Emily hadn’t been there. 

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?” 

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 

He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 

He sighed, hard. 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 

This was going to be a long day. 

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 

-

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?” 

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 

And Bugsy went down with it. 

Taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist t @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred

[abbysbasement]

(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)

 — PAPI BONES

A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.

content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.

wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)

proofread?; barely.

tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )

synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)

Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table. 

Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends. 

Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean. 

And somehow, despite everything, it worked. 

You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago. 

“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!” 

It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.

“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”

She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed. 

“Not interested, sorry.” 

“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off. 

“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit. 

“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?”  She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, I was planning on wa–”

Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.

Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence. 

The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.

Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay.  She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ‘taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.

You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way. 

“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod. 

–

“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”

“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.

“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns. 

“-And, and!  I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.” 

Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one. 

“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed. 

Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”

“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily. 

“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest. 

Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery. 

“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.

“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”

“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed. 

That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house. 

There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off. 

The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.  

It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.

You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room. 

You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs. 

Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.

 It’s fun being sardonic sometimes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass.  She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.  

There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.

There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well.  Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell. 

– 

“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right? 

Whatever. 

“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.

“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.” 

“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”

The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely. 

“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.

“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing. 

“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.  

“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”

Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.

“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”

The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body. 

Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in. 

The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall. 

There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies. 

Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.

“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”

“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum.  Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.

  If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up. 

You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.

“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line. 

“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”

“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”

Shit. She was going to make you say it. 

“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.” 

Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”

“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity. 

“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”

“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”

She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.

It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin. 

You jumped. 

As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.

“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage. 

Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself. 

You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.

“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.” 

It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed. 

She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants. 

Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands. 

She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness. 

Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips. 

You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots. 

“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.” 

and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real. 

“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.

Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly. 

Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more. 

She obliged. 

The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.

 It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else. 

Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection. 

Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly. 

Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it. 

“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold. 

Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow. 

She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers. 

You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it. 

A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again.  You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.  

She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes. 

For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone. 

Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile.  Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants. 

“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips. 

She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint. 

She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.

Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on. 

“Nothing man, we were just talking.”

Maybe she was actually just that charming. 

Yeah.

[atinylittlepain]

We'll Be Expecting You - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x pregnant!reader/pregnant!oc

Joel Miller masterlist

Baby Miller is on the way. Are they ready?

warnings | 18+ SMUT, angst, descriptions of pregnancy, descriptions of giving birth (non graphic lol)

a/n | it's here! this can be read as a standalone fic but it is really a continuation of Unexpected Expectings, it's pretty fun either way I think :) also, um, it's long, so go get a snack and sit down, yeah?

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

“That’s it, honey. Feels good, huh?” His lips are a smear against her temple, bare chest curled over her back as he keeps her steady with firm but gentle palms smoothing up her hips. She clenches her hands against the bathroom counter, weakly pressing back into him with each thrust.

“Joel– feel s’good, fuck– don’t stop, please–” He shushes her, bringing one of his hands down below the swell of her belly, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight circles that have her whining and throwing her head back against his shoulder. This has become how most mornings start since she had entered her third trimester, the morning sickness that had been rocking her all but gone and a new wave of hormones that had made her impossibly needy for him. And sensitive. 

“C’mon, mama. I know you can give me one more. Please– need to feel you.” The low thrum of his words is all it takes to snap the banded pleasure pulled taut at her spine as her cunt spasms around him. He’s not far behind, rutting into her one more time before his warmth is spreading through her core, his damp forehead pressing between her shoulder blades. He lays a kiss to the nape of her neck, a comfort as he pulls out and she whimpers. Turning in his hold, they meet in a sloppy kiss as she runs her fingers through his hair, brushing back his sleep-mussed waves. His palms splay over the wide arc of her belly, and he pulls away with a chuckle, looking down at his hands and shaking his head in awe.

“I think our boy’s awake, darlin.” She grins, laying her hands over the tops of his.

“You’re still gunning for a boy, huh?” His eyes dart up to hers, a crooked smile on his face. She shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything, smacking one more kiss to his lips before getting the water running for their shower.

It’s a bit of a struggle getting dressed these days. There aren’t exactly any maternity stores to go shopping at in Jackson. She’s been making do with an elastic looped through the button of her jeans and Joel’s flannels, but even those are starting to stretch at the swell of her stomach. It’s hard to believe that they’ve made it to December, that in a little under a month it’s going to be time for this baby to come, one way or another. 

She’s trying to stay calm, Joel already a nervous wreck the closer they inch to her projected due date, but the truth is, she’s just as scared as he is, if not more. There were no two ways about it, it hadn’t been an easy pregnancy. Much to her initial protest, Joel had gotten her off patrol shifts early on, but she wasn’t so upset about that when the vertigo episodes started coming on daily. There had been many a time when she just had to lay down where she stood and close her eyes until the room stopped spinning, something the town doctor had assured her wasn’t uncommon in pregnancy. 

It certainly freaked Joel out though. He wouldn’t move from her side if he was with her when it happened, keeping a warm palm rubbing up and down her back. What had scared him more was when she actually started to lose weight during the second trimester, her nausea getting so bad she was lucky to keep sips of water down. He had taken time off of patrol then, staying by her side and trying to coax any food into her system that she could tolerate. They learned then that baby Miller had a particular affection for mashed potatoes. But it seemed like she was out of the woods once she hit the seven month mark, at least until the delivery. 

“You know, I can still tell Tommy to go with someone else.” She huffs at his words, finishing up the buttons of her (his) shirt before waddling over to him. That’s the other thing, she waddles now. She’s never waddled in her entire life. She can see the entirely amused look on his face as he watches her from where he’s standing in their bedroom. When she reaches him she smacks his chest lightly before rubbing her palms up to clasp behind his neck and tug on his hair.

“I’m glad my gimpy walk is entertaining to you, Miller. But you wouldn’t be looking so smug if you had an entire human pressing down on your pelvis with each step.” He breathes a laugh, dipping down to press a kiss to her scrunched nose. 

“I know, darlin. That’s why I think I need to stay close. I just– I don’t wanna–” She leans up to cut him off with a kiss.

“You’re not gonna miss anything. We’ve got nearly a whole month before doctor Graham thinks it’ll be time. And I’m feeling the best I have in the last eight months.” He huffs, shaking his head at that as he brushes his knuckles under her jaw.

“You’re tougher than most, that’s for sure.” She snorts at his words.

“Damn right I am. Go. Do your watch with Tommy. And come back on Wednesday in one piece.” She rests a palm over the curve of her stomach. It’s obvious Joel’s fighting a smile under his furrowed expression, but he finally gives in.

“Alright, mama. I’ll be back before you know it, yeah?” He brings his much larger hand to rest over hers on her belly. She grins.

“We’ll be expecting you, Joel.”

…

Joel heads out soon after a quick breakfast. He and Tommy do this every season, camping out at the dam for a few days to make sure everything’s in order. Nothing was ever really wrong, a few swaths of infected, maybe a stray raider or two. It’s a routine check-up, and she isn’t worried in the slightest. It’s Monday, and he should be back Wednesday morning, nothing to worry about at all.

As she’s washing up after breakfast, Ellie comes bounding into the kitchen, holding something behind her back. She turns from the sink, resting her hand on her hip and taking in Ellie’s wide-eyed expression.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I swear you get rounder everyday. Seriously, that kid is gonna bust out of you all Alien style. Like ahhhhh.” Ellie makes more groaning noises, miming an explosion around her own abdomen before dissolving into laughter. She however, is less than amused.

“I take it that’s what was playing at movie night yesterday?” The girl hums, seeming to remember what she actually came in to tell her. She holds out what she had been hiding behind her back.

“Traded for this last night. Thought it’d be nice for the baby since she’s coming in the winter and everything.” She takes the bundle of fabric from Ellie, holding it out and seeing that it’s a sweet little quilt embroidered with pink and purple flowers. The other thing about being pregnant is how emotional she’s gotten, and before she even knows it, she’s starting to sniffle as she grasps the plush blanket. Ellie’s brow furrows, coming alongside her and awkwardly patting her back.

“Shit, don’t cry. It’s nice right?” She chuckles wetly, pulling Ellie into a tight hug that elicits a small “oof” from the girl before pulling away and holding her by her arms.

“It’s so nice, Ellie bean. I love it. Baby’s gonna love it too. I’ll tuck it in the crib for when they get here.” Ellie grins.

“You know, you can just say she. Everyone except for Joel thinks it’s gonna be a girl anyways.” She laughs, shaking her head at Ellie’s smug expression.

“I know. But he wants a boy so bad, the damn fool. I’ve been waiting to finish putting together the nursery because everything people have given me is pink.” Ellie laughs at that, sidling past her to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Might be a good time to get that done. Just rip the band-aid off before he gets back, you know?” She hums, folding the blanket back up in her hands.

“You’re probably right, kid. I’ll work on it today. The pinkening.” Ellie snorts around a swig of water before glancing at the clock hanging over the stove.

“Shit, I gotta go. My shift started five minutes ago.” She squeezes the girl’s shoulder as she brushes past.

“Be safe, alright? You better be home for dinner.” Ellie smiles, nodding over her shoulder as she’s already halfway out the door.

…

She’s been keeping all the baby odds and ends she’s been given in old boxes in a closet upstairs. Most of it really is pink, and she didn’t want to dash Joel’s hopes just yet. She picks up one of the boxes with a groan, shuffling down the hall to the nursery they’ve been working on. It had been Ellie’s room when they first got here. It was obviously a teen girl’s room before, bright colors and patterns on the curtains and the rug. But Ellie was more than happy to trade the room for her own little apartment in the garage that Joel had helped her build out. She could play her music as loud as she wanted to, a point that had really sold her on the idea. The twin bed remains in the room, but now pressed against the wall across from it is a crib. Joel had worked on it all summer, collecting scrap wood, sanding it down to perfection, carefully laying the pieces together, and carving swirling patterns into the rails. She had spent many a hazy afternoon sitting in his workshop with him, ogling the push and pull of his muscles under his thin t-shirts as he worked on it.

She shakes her head of her quickly simmering thoughts, starting to pull out impossibly tiny pieces of clothing to fold in the dresser. It feels odd, this quasi-nesting she’s doing. She certainly never thought she’d get to do anything like this after, well, after. In her old life, she did want kids someday, but she had only just started college when the world fell to pieces, and suddenly that desire turned into a pipe dream that she resolved herself to let go of. How things have changed.

She spends the rest of the morning organizing the baby’s room, laying the blanket Ellie had given her in the crib as a final touch. 

Pregnancies were sort of a big deal in town, and for good reason, so when folks found out that baby Miller was on the way, they started dropping off old toys and books, cloth diapers and bottles, anything that might be helpful. It was nice, if not a little stifling. She knew there was a weariness to their excitement for her, an unspoken acknowledgement of how quickly it could all go south. The further along she got, the less she liked being out around town as people seemed to get more handsy, asking more questions about how she was doing that only made her nerves worse. The only person who disliked it more than her was Joel, keeping a protective hand over her belly whenever they were out in town together, a deep scowl on his face if someone started getting too nosy. But at this late stage of pregnancy, her doctor had all but commanded her off any work detail, a free pass to stay in and away from prying eyes, though she did still like to help out at the stables most days. 

Glancing at her watch she sees it’s about time for her to head over to the stables. She sighs, standing in the doorframe to take one more look at the nursery.

“Ready when you are, baby girl.”

…

“You must be distracted because I’m whooping your ass harder than usual, man.” Joel huffs at Tommy’s words, throwing his cards down on the table and sitting back in his chair. Night is quickly closing in on the plains, and the brothers have set up their usual camp in the dam control room, a small lantern lighting their games of gin. Tommy smirks at his brother.

“Joel, she’s fine. She’s got Maria and Ellie looking out for her, and doctor Graham told you herself that everything’s looking good. There’s nothing to be worried about.” Joel scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t remember you being so relaxed when Maria was this close to her due date.” He’s got him there, a beat of silence passing before Tommy shrugs.

“Okay, maybe that’s true. But looking back, there was no point to that, getting so freaked out. Because I knew that Maria was strong, that she’d get through it. And hell, that woman of yours is one of the strongest people I ever met.”

“It’s not just about strength, Tommy, not in this world. You know that. One little thing gone wrong, that’s all it’d take.” Tommy lays his cards down, leaning over the table to look Joel straight in the eye.

“Well, that’s why we’re not gonna let anything go wrong, huh? All of us, Joel. We’ve got her. We’re gonna finish this watch and then we’re gonna go home and she’s gonna be fine because we’ve got her.” Joel swallows thickly, not wanting to press the issue any further, though his mind is still swirling in worry. He nods at Tommy.

“Get some sleep. I’ll take first shift. We’ll sweep the south side tomorrow morning.” Tommy nods, getting up and squeezing Joel’s shoulder before laying out his sleeping bag and settling in. 

As the quiet of the night deepens, Joel finds his mind wandering. He can’t help thinking about how different the circumstances with Sarah had been. And not just for the obvious reasons. Joel had been so young, so reckless, and when Sarah’s mom came to tell him they hadn’t been as careful as they thought they had, it turned his world upside down. What had started as a hazy one-night stand turned into a shotgun wedding, an attempt to do what his father told him was the right thing. But the only thing that brought them together was Sarah, and even that hadn’t been enough. Before his baby girl could even walk, Sarah’s mom had flown the coop, divorce papers in the mail a few months after she left. Joel didn’t even care, not when he suddenly could hold his whole life in his arms. Sarah was his whole life, from the moment she was born until the moment he lost her.

But this was different. Joel still has a hard time telling her he loves her, mostly because it feels like love isn’t a big enough word for what they have, what they’ve been through together. But, he does love her, so much it terrifies him. He’s been struggling to even wrap his mind around what he feels about this baby, their baby. Part of him fears forgetting Sarah, though he knows that’s impossible. The other part of him fears just how far he already knows he’d go for this person who isn’t even here yet. 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. It’s going to be a long night.

…

It had been a long night. She had already been having trouble sleeping, but laying down in an empty bed made it all but impossible to get any rest. It had also been a particularly uncomfortable night. Wicked cramps had kept her restless through most of the night. She wakes up the next morning to a clenching pain in her low back. She assumes it’s just because of the weird position she had ended up sleeping in, curled on her side in a jumble of pillows, and hobbles out of bed with a groan. Glancing at her watch, she’s shocked to see how late she slept, quickly cleaning herself up and padding downstairs, wincing at how the pain doesn’t seem to be dissipating. 

She finds Maria and Ellie in the kitchen, both of them brightening when she walks in.

“Well, good morning. Was starting to get a little worried that the alien finally busted out of your guts.” Ellie laughs at her own joke, but Maria shoots the girl a look before smiling back at her.

“You feeling alright?” She huffs, rubbing her low back.

“Yeah, just a little tired I guess. But my back is killing me. It’s like someone is wringing my spine.” Maria hums, passing her a glass of water.

“Sounds about right. I remember I could barely walk that last month, my back had seized up so much. Are you hungry? I made oatmeal.” She scrunches her nose, shuffling over to the kitchen table.

“I’m really not, but thanks. Think I just need to sit down for a moment.” Ellie takes the seat beside her, concern splashed over her face.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” She tries to offer her a smile, but it comes out more as a grimace.

“I’m alright, Ellie bean. I just–” She cuts herself off with a gasp when a sharp pain slices hot through her pelvis. It’s only afterwards that she realizes she had dropped the glass she was holding, shards all over the floor. Maria is cleaning the mess up in a flash with a dishrag.

“I’m so sorry, Maria– I don’t know what that was, I–” “Oh, shit.” Her eyes dart back to Ellie who’s staring at her pants. She glances down, having to look twice when she sees the liquid darkening the insides of her pant legs. She feels a cool panic settling in her spine.

“No no no no no–”

“Ellie, go tell doctor Graham she needs to get here, immediately. You’re gonna have to ride out to the dam after and get Joel.” Ellie nods at Maria’s words, her mouth agape, as she jerkily stands, but stays still, staring at her. Maria brings a hand to her shoulder.

“Go, Ellie. I’ve got her.” Ellie finally looks away, dashing out the front door. She meanwhile feels like her head is full of static, the only salient thought she’s having coming out of her mouth like a prayer.

“It’s not time yet, it’s not time yet.” Maria kneels down in front of her, taking her hands and squeezing hard.

“It looks like it’s time, alright? A little early, but nothing we can’t handle. C’mon, we need to get you cleaned up and comfortable.” Maria goes to help her out of her chair but just then another shooting pain jolts through her that leaves her gasping for breath. Her voice is a cracked whine when she speaks again.

“I need him here, please, Maria. I can’t do this without him.” Maria nods, eyes wide.

“Listen, Ellie’s gonna get him back here as quick as she can. But we gotta worry about you right now, ok? Can I help you stand up?” She’s already helping her up, tucking under her arm to help her walk.

She can’t believe this is happening.

…

She can’t believe this is happening.

Ellie mounts Shimmer in a panicked haze, and when she gets out of the walls of Jackson, she rides harder than she ever has before.

She had been excited about this new addition to what she had only just started to call her family, but now, there’s only pure fear running like ice in her veins. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, and it has become incredibly clear that she could lose her today. The biting cold wind is freezing her tears on her face, but all she can think about is the gasp the woman she had started to think of as her mom had let out, and the crumpled look of pain that dashed across her face. If she hustles, it’ll be a three-hour ride out and back home. A lot can happen in six hours.

…

“Can we open the windows? I feel like I’m sweating buckets.” Even though it’s the middle of winter in Wyoming, Maria nods, creaking both windows open to let the frigid air in. She won’t let it show, but she’s nervous. It’s early, and unexpected. Unexpected is never good. 

Kevin had come early, back before. They had to keep him in an incubator for two weeks. She remembers only being able to touch him through plastic gloves, how it had sent her reeling, not being able to hold him close to her right away. What she would have given to have him laid on her chest the instant he was born instead of being whisked away by nurses. She just hopes that it’s not too early for her, this woman she’s come to think of as a sister.

She had certainly been wary of her, and of Joel, when they first came, grizzled partners of obvious violence that they were. But seeing the way they took care of Ellie, and of each other, it became clear to her that their violence was never purposeless, rather an unavoidable cost to their quiet love for one another. They were family now.

“Let’s get you into some fresh clothes, alright?” She nods to Maria, biting down on her clear expression of turmoil as Maria takes her into the bathroom.

“Do you think you can stand for a bit? Would a shower help?” She gets no response, a vacant stare has settled over her face. Maria kneels down to get on her level where she’s sitting on the closed toilet seat.

“Hey. I need you to stay right here with me, alright? Ellie’s gonna get Joel back here as quick as she can. But you have to focus on this right now. I’ve got you, you’re not gonna do this alone.” She brings her focus back on Maria, tears threatening to spill over. A twinge runs through Maria’s chest at the sight of this normally tough woman on the brink of dissolving. She takes both her hands in hers.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

…

Tommy hasn’t seen his brother like this in a long time. As he patrols the perimeter of the dam, he thinks to himself that Joel probably hasn’t acted like this since before the world ended, since before he lost Sarah. While it’s clear he’s worried, it’s also clear he cares. And while he’d never admit it to him, Tommy can see that he’s excited. For the first time in a long time, Tommy thinks that Joel looks wide awake.

But, damn, had he been so close to fucking it all up. Tommy had been so upset that day, when she knocked on his door and dissolved into tears, telling him what his brother had said. She’s tough as nails, and so is Joel, but it’s clear they’re each other’s weak spot. He’s just happy Joel didn’t fuck it up any worse afterward. There was no question he knew how to do it right. It was something Tommy always admired, and aspired to, how good he was with Sarah. When he found out Maria was pregnant, his mind often wandered to those first years that Joel had Sarah, and how amazed Tommy had been at how quickly he filled his new role. A natural father. Joel had told him he was hoping for a boy, but Tommy couldn’t see his brother not raising a girl.

He keeps walking through the snow, eyes shifting, looking for anything out of place. Like usual, it’s quiet, and he reckons Joel is finding the same thing from where he’s surveying a little further south. 

It’s not quiet for long, however, his ears pricking to the sound of what he thinks are galloping hooves. He stills, cocking his gun, eyes darting around him, settling on the lone rider bounding toward him. He fixes his sight in the scope of his rifle, letting out a low curse when he can see that it’s Ellie.

This can’t be good.

…

“You’re about six centimeters dilated. We’re getting there, my dear.” She lets out a low groan as the next contraction washes over her.

“Jesus, fuck.” Doctor Graham checks her watch.

“Five minutes apart. And it ain’t jesus, honey. That’s all you.” Maria snorts at that, helping her get up from her bed so she can start pacing again. It’s the only thing that’s been taking her mind off the contractions. She glances at doctor Graham who has sat down in the armchair to take more notes.

“Doctor? How much longer do you think until it’s time to– it’s time–” She sets down her notepad, smiling softly at her.

“Well, I’d say anywhere from two to four hours until you’re ready to push. But then that’s gonna be a whole new rodeo. And I’ve told you a hundred times already to just call me Suze.” She nods, trying to muster a smile as she continues to pace the rug, Maria hovering alongside her. She glances at her, a hopeful lift to her brow.

“Joel will be back by then, right? He’ll be back in time?” Maria sighs, squeezing her arm.

“I just don’t know. But I hope so.” She doesn’t have time to frown at her words, not when a new contraction is making her keel over where she stands. 

“Three minutes apart that time. Certainly getting closer. Baby’s gonna be here soon.”

…

Joel feels like he’s drowning as they hurry to mount up and get home. When Tommy and Ellie had come bounding towards him, he didn’t believe it at first, had shouted at Ellie that it was impossible, it was too early.

“Well you’re not the one who saw her fucking water break, old man!” That had shut him up quick. As they strap their packs to their horses, it feels like tiny fissures are splitting through his heart, and each breath is threatening to send him crumbling to pieces. He can’t think about it, if he does he’ll get paralyzed by terror, but all he wants is to scream because she needs him and he isn’t there. 

He’s broken out of his haze by the stark sound of guns cocking. 

They jerk around in a flash, he and Tommy holding up their rifles, Ellie whipping out a knife. Four men come prowling out of the treeline, the mouths of their guns facing them down. Raiders no doubt. Joel is just about ready to destroy them with his bare hands if he has to, but he takes a beat, trying to gather his fracturing thoughts.  One of the men finally speaks.

“You folks better drop your weapons if you know what’s good for you.” No one moves, Joel quickly glancing at Tommy.

“I said drop your fucking weapons!” Here’s what Joel knows in that moment. He knows that Ellie still carries a gun tucked in the back of her belt, even though he keeps telling her not to. He knows Tommy’s got a side piece tucked under his jacket, as well as a hunting knife strapped to his leg. And he knows that he himself has enough unadulterated rage in his body right now to rip this man’s head clean off his shoulders. 

He glances at Tommy and Ellie again, the slightest nod, and they all drop their weapons, palms up. The men step closer, eyeing the horses.

“Where are you folks from?” It’s Tommy who responds.

“Nowhere, we’re just passing through.” The man sneers at him.

“Oh yeah? Those horses look pretty good for you to be just passing through.”  Ellie butts in.

“We–we stole them! From an old couple a few miles north.” The men keep inching up on them. Joel just needs them to get a little closer. The man who seems to be the leader sizes Joel up.

“Well, then I guess it’s no hard feelings if we take them off your hands, huh?” It’s almost imperceptible, the look he shoots at Tommy and Ellie, a silent understanding that’s arisen after enough standoffs together. Joel’s on the man before he can even get his finger on the trigger.

He can hear gunshots ringing out, catching the sight of two of the men falling in his periphery, but he’s too zeroed in on the man he’s throttling into the ground to check if it had been Tommy or Ellie who got them. He keeps his hand pinning the gasping man down by his throat, reaching back to draw his knife out.

“Real sorry about this, but the missus is expecting me.”

…

She thinks briefly of the time she got shot in the thigh. Back when it was her, Joel, and Tess, and their smuggling business in the Boston QZ. Tess had to pluck the bullet out of where it had lodged in the muscle of her thigh, digging a pair of tweezers into the wound. She thinks that this hurts way more than that. 

Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, doesn’t even sound human,  when she lets out a low, guttural scream, pressing her head back into the pillows, her chest heaving under her sweat-soaked tank top. Doctor Graham - Suze - is kneeling on the end of the bed between her spread legs. Maria is holding her hand tight alongside the bed.

“Nine centimeters. We’re gonna have you pushing in the next hour, my dear.” She sobs, shaking her head.

“No, we can’t– we can’t yet– please– we have to wait–” Maria shushes her, bringing a damp cloth to her forehead.

“Listen, Joel’s gonna get here when he gets here– if we try to wait it could hurt you or baby. You have to do this, Joel or no Joel.”  Maria squeezes her hand, offering her sips of water that she refuses. She lets out a humorless laugh, bracing for another contraction.

“I swear to god if he doesn’t get here in time, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

…

Ellie’s never seen Joel move so fast, and the second he’s mounted, he’s gone, damn near impossible to catch up with in the whipping snow. She and Tommy do their best to stay on his tail, but he quickly becomes a speck in the distance as they all ride home.

…

She’s not sure how long she’s been pushing now, but it feels like an eternity. The only thing keeping her a sliver sane is Maria guiding her through each push, breathing with her.

“We’re crowning, my dear. You’re doing so great, honey. Let’s get ready for another strong push.” Her eyes dart between Suze who’s kneeling between her legs and Maria, wild panic creeping up her throat. Maria takes both her hands, holding her gaze firm and steady.

“I’m here with you. We’re gonna do it together, alright?” Suze squeezes her knee.

“I’m gonna count you down, my dear, and then I want another beautiful push just like you’ve been doing. Three– two–”

She lets out a blood-curdling scream on one.

…

“Open the fucking gates!” Joel glances over his shoulder, barely making out Tommy waving his red bandana in the air and hollering into the wind. He turns back, hearing the harsh groan of the wall opening. He’s coming in hot, hotter than he should. Normally people have to dismount before they pass through. But nothing about this is normal. 

He whips through the narrow opening, galloping right down the main drag of town, people scrambling in shock to get out of his way. 

When he reaches their home, he sees a whole cluster of people hanging on the railings of the porch, heads craned up towards the open windows on the second floor. He brings his horse to a hard, skittering stop, the crowd whipping around to look at him with agape expressions. He dismounts, but is stuck where he stands when a preening scream comes resounding from the windows. His heart finally shatters. He rushes up to the front door before thinking twice and shouting over his shoulder at the bystanders.

“Don’t you people have anything better to do? Get!” He barely hears their shocked gasps as he slips inside and slams the door behind him.

He’s still got his rifle strapped around him as he bounds up the stairs two at a time. He shoulders into the bedroom right as she’s letting out another ragged scream. The sight of her takes his breath away, her crumpled expression as she finishes pushing, her sweat-damp hair stuck to her face. Suze is quick to fix him with a hard look before he gets any closer.

“Oh, absolutely not, mister. You’re not getting anywhere near her until you lose the gun and clean off whoever’s blood that is.”

…

Her eyes crack open after her last push and she’s shocked to see him standing there.

“Joel?” He yanks his rifle off his shoulder, dropping it outside the bedroom door. She can see blood spattered across his jacket and face. 

“I’m right here, baby.” He quickly shucks off his jacket and boots, hustling over to the bathroom. She cranes her neck and can just see him harshly scrubbing at his arms and face before he hurries back into the bedroom, Maria moving out of the way to let him kneel down alongside the bed. She narrows her eyes at him as he takes her hand.

“F-f-fuck you. I’ve been trying– trying to wait for you all day. Do you know how fucking hard that’s been?” His face goes slack at her harsh words, but before he can respond a contraction hits and she has to push, curling up over her stomach and bearing down hard as Suze counts her through it. She squeezes his hand tight, slumping back in a mess of heaving breath when she’s done. He takes her face in his hands, holding her gaze steady.

“Are you seriously mad at me right now? I’ve been trying to get back to you all goddamn day! You were the one that told me to go, you mad woman!” She huffs, getting ready to reply but Suze cuts her off.

“Hey! You two! Cut the bullshit so we can get this baby out, huh? A few more strong pushes is all it’s gonna take.” Her focus immediately falls back to the pain she’s in, and she grips onto both of Joel’s wrists, whimpering his name.

“I’ve got you, mama. Tell me what you need. What can I do, baby?”  

“Want you closer, please– n-n-need you with me, closer.” He shushes her, letting go of her face and coaxing her to sit up a bit as he gracelessly crawls onto the bed to slide behind her. His legs splay out, framing her bent knees, and she rests back into his chest, her head laying back on his shoulder. For a moment, relief floods through her body as he brings a forearm to wrap over her sternum, hand squeezing her opposite shoulder as he presses kisses into her damp hair.

Suze settles back into position between her legs, Maria now standing alongside the bed with towels and scissors ready. Suze gives her a firm nod.

“Alright, my dear. I’m gonna count you down and you give me another strong push.” She brings her hands to curl over Joel’s forearm bracing, herself for another lick of pain, while he lowly murmurs in her ear.

“I’m here with you, baby. You’ve got this. I’m right here.”

…

“Three– two– one.” The scream she lets out sends a jagged shiver down Joel’s spine and he finds himself grinding his teeth as she bears down, her nails digging hard into his arm. He hadn’t been there for Sarah’s birth, not really, she was a c-section. This is certainly different.

She slumps back in his hold, her head lolling on his chest as she looks up at him through teary eyes.

“I can’t– I can’t do anymore, Joel– please.” He squeezes her shoulder, bringing his other hand to tangle with one of hers.

“You can, baby– I know you can– strongest person I know, huh? You’re so close, baby, just a little bit more.” She lets out a broken sob and Joel hates that he can’t do more for her, helplessly pressing a kiss to her forehead and continuing to murmur to her. Suze clears her throat.

“I think this next one is gonna do it. But you gotta make it a good one, my dear. Can you do that for me?” She huffs in his hold, shuddering around another sob before sitting up a little more against his chest.  When she looks up at him, there’s steel in her eyes and Joel realizes that those weren’t just comforting words he told her, she really is the strongest person he’s ever met. She looks back at Suze and gives her a quick nod.

“Count me down. I’m ready.”

…

It’s a searing pain and then the sweetest relief she’s ever felt. The room is awash with the sound of cries and it makes her head go dizzy that it’s coming from her baby. Suze snips the umbilical cord, and Maria wraps the squirming thing up in towels before giving her a bright smile.

“It’s a girl.” What she wasn’t expecting was the breathy laugh Joel lets out over her shoulder at that, his words dripping in awe.

“It’s a girl. Our girl.”

Maria carefully walks to the side of the bed and lays her on her chest. It’s the most natural feeling thing in the world as she cups her impossibly small head, a tiny palm splaying like a star over her sternum. Joel brings a tentative palm over their girl’s little back. She glances back at him, tears settling in the creases of his smile. 

“You did it, darlin. Did so good for her– you’re amazing.” She breathes out a wet laugh.

“I had help.” Joel grins, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Just a little. But that was all you.” She snorts, looking back down on her girl whose cries have settled into low coos before glancing back at Joel.

“You helped.” That makes him laugh, gaze focusing back on their girl.

“Just a little. Christ– know I wouldn’t shut up about wanting a boy– but she’s perfect.” She smiles, settling back against his chest and watching as her eyes open for the first time, wide and wild as she seems to take in her and Joel. He lets out a low sigh.

“Hey, baby girl. M’sorry I almost missed you. Never gonna happen again, huh? Think your mama would kill me first.” She scoffs, jostling back against him as he chuckles. He rests his chin on her shoulder, fully enrapt with their girl as she starts to look around, tiny fingers flexing against her chest.

“What’s her name, darlin?” She bites her lip, craning her neck to look back at him.

“I was thinking Olivia Sarah Miller. What do you think?” She sees his features soften even more, a sweet sadness threading into his joy. He nods.

“I think that sounds perfect for our girl. I love you, darlin. Love you both so much.” His voice is warbly, but she’s still never heard him sound so sure of something. She offers him the same certainty in her own voice.

“I love you too, Joel. And our little family.”

The sound of stomping boots sounds through the house, and Ellie comes blustering into the room, cheeks red and puffing hard breaths.

“Oh thank fuck. Is it– are you– are you ok?” Maria and Suze both chuckle from where they’re cleaning up Suze’s supplies. She smiles at Ellie, lightly nodding, but it’s Joel who speaks.

“They’re both alright, kid. Your sister’s a fighter, just like her mama.” As if on cue, Olivia lets out a small cry, her tiny fist pressing into her chest. Ellie laughs in disbelief.

A little family indeed.

…

Joel’s back is killing him. The first few weeks have been a bit touch and go with Libby coming so early, and they’ve been sleeping in a crunched tangle on the twin bed in the nursery, hardly leaving the room, making sure she’s warm and fed at all times. So Joel’s back is killing him, but he doesn’t care at all, not when every time he leans over the crib he’s met with the sweet sight of their girl, their little amalgamation of all their best parts. 

“Well, she’s looking good, very healthy, nice strong lungs, putting on weight just like we want her to. I’d say you’ve got a tough one on your hands.” His shoulders slacken in relief at Suze’s words as she starts packing up her bag of medical tools. Libby begins to fuss in her crib and her mama is quick to pick her up, murmuring to her and bouncing her lightly before turning her attention back to the doctor. 

“So would you say we’re in the clear?” He can see the worry creased across her face as she asks the question to Suze. He brings his arm around her shoulders, squeezing lightly as he gazes down at their girl. Suze grins.

“While anything’s possible, my professional opinion is that Miss Olivia here is going to do just fine. Although right now I’d say she’s looking a little hungry, so I’ll get out of your hair.” Suze slings her bag over her shoulder, nodding to them both before letting herself out.

She’s already moving to sit in the rocking chair that had been a gift from Tommy and Maria. Joel would never admit it, but he’s been getting worked up every time he gets to see her feed their girl. A softness takes over her that’s rare in this world, all hushed murmurings as Libby’s hand splays over the swell of her breast, content gasps coming from their girl as she starts to suckle. Joel can’t help but hover whenever he gets the chance, leaning against the back of the chair and dropping a kiss to her temple every now and again, sharing little smiles between watching their girl.

“Ellie told me she thinks you’re getting soft, Miller. Said she can’t believe you’ve opted out of patrol shifts to work the stables.” Joel huffs, standing up straight to stretch his aching back.

“Just got more important things closer to home I guess. But I ain’t getting soft, no ma’am.” She hums at that, craning her neck to peer at him.

“Oh really? It wasn’t you I heard up here yesterday afternoon singing some sweet little song to Libby?” He balks at that, trying to stifle a grin as he shakes his head. He had spent some time with their girl yesterday afternoon while she caught up on sleep on the couch downstairs, and maybe he had started humming tunes to her, watching her eyes widen with the sound of his voice like magic.

“Nah, couldn’t have been me. Think you’re hearing things, darlin. All them hormones are messing with you.” She rolls her eyes at that, righting her shirt before standing with Libby in her arms. She sways slightly side to side, looking at him over the top of Libby’s head.

“I like you soft, Joel. It’s a good look on you. At least when you want to be.” There’s such adoration in her eyes as she looks at him that he can’t help the blush creeping up his neck. 

“Only for my girls. Everyone else can fuck off.” She laughs hard at that, shushing Libby when she starts to fuss at the sound. He shuffles over to her, coaxing their girl out of her arms and into his. He had thought it’d feel awkward, holding her for the first time, but it all came back to him in a flash, and now nothing felt quite as right as when he had her little body resting in his arms. She steps back, taking in the sight of him and humming.

“Don’t let Ellie see you like this, she’s gonna think you’ve gone full teddy bear.” He only grumbles a little, too focused on watching their girl’s wide eyes peering around. If being soft means he gets moments like this, he’ll take all of Ellie’s heckling, no complaints at all.

…

“So what’d the doctor say? Everything looking good?” “Kid, if you don’t chew first you���re gonna choke with the way you’re talking. Just slow down a little, huh?” Ellie huffs at Joel, swallowing around her bite of dinner before looking at her expectantly. She chuckles lightly at the girl’s eager expression.

“She said Libby’s doing great, told us that she’s a tough one.” Ellie grins, startling Joel when she slaps him on the back.

“Well seeing as she came from you two hardasses I’d sure hope she’s tough– I say that with love, of course.” Joel grumbles, side-eyeing her and muttering “of course.” She lays her hand over Ellie’s from across the table.

“Ellie, I never really thanked you for what you did that day, riding out like that. You don’t know how much that meant to me.” Suddenly shy, Ellie offers her a soft smile, shrugging.

“Couldn’t let the old man miss all the fun, right? I’d do it again in an instant, just so you know. Seeing as I– like– love you guys– I guess.” She glances at Joel who’s obviously trying to hold back a grin. She squeezes Ellie’s hand.

“We love you too, Ellie bean. Me, the old man, and your little sister.” Ellie’s smile brightens into a grin at that. Joel grumbles again.

“Can y’all stop calling me that? Not even that old, goddamn.” They share a laugh at his furrowed look. As they finish dinner, she can’t help but sit back and take in the sight of this strange family they’ve created. Joel and Ellie bickering about training the new horses for the spring, Libby dozing in her bassinet alongside the table. It’s something she could have never imagined, but she knows it’s perfect. It’s family.

…

“Suze said we really don’t need to be sleeping in there with her now. It’ll be ok, we’re like ten feet further away and a whole lot less cramped.” Joel seems unsure about what she says, glancing back at the crib where they just laid their sleepy girl down. She huffs, tugging on his shirt collar to pull him along across the hall to their bedroom. 

“Joel, it’s fine. She’s gonna be crying in a few hours and we’ll both end up back in there anyways. Why don’t we try to get some sleep not as a human pretzel beforehand, huh?” He sighs, but acquiesces to her coaxing, following her into the bathroom as they both start getting ready for bed.

It’s silly, but she can’t stop watching the muscles in his forearm jumping as he brushes his teeth, her thoughts going a bit fuzzy and warm. Sex has been the last thing on her mind these last few weeks, and Suze had told her that was normal with all the hormonal shifts. But with six weeks in the rearview mirror of absolutely nothing, she’s getting hot under the collar just looking at his goddamn arms. She clears her throat, gripping the edge of the sink as she looks at him through the mirror.

“You know, Suze told me something else during my check-up today.” Joel hums, wiping toothpaste off his mouth as he turns to look at her. 

“Yeah, she, uh, gave me the go ahead for the other kind of human pretzels.” She’s mortified at her horrible joke the moment it leaves her mouth, but Joel lets out a laugh, throwing his head back and crinkling his eyes shut. She huffs, the floor suddenly becoming very interesting as he tries to recompose himself. When he sees her crestfallen expression, he immediately dips down, trying to catch her gaze while stifling his laughter.

“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. Just– please– never use the phrase human pretzel again.” He can barely get the words out as he dissolves into another laugh.  She rolls her eyes, turning to walk away from him but he’s quick to pull her in until her back is snug against his chest, his arms wrapping around her as he dips his chin down onto her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry– I’m done, I swear. So, uh, are you telling me you want to?” She scoffs, trying to get out of his hold but he just squeezes her tighter.

“Well, I did. But then somebody laughed at me.” He shushes her, pressing kisses into the side of her neck that trail up her jaw all the way to her temple.

“C’mon, mama. Don’t be like that, huh? Been missing you so bad.” She’s already melting in his grasp at the way he’s nuzzling the slope of her neck, letting his lips drag over her skin. She lets out a breathy sigh of his name and can feel the way his mouth curls into a grin.

“Now that’s more like it, darlin.” She turns in his hold, meeting him in a hard kiss. They both groan into each other’s mouths, practically devouring each other in a tangle of tongues and bumping teeth. Only coming up for quick gasps of air, they shuffle back into the bedroom, hands roaming and wandering. Joel’s quick to lose his shirt with a harsh tug of it over his head and she immediately dips to smear kisses along his chest, fingernails grazing down his front. He tucks his fingers under her chin to bring her back up for a kiss, licking into her mouth hotly. But she stills in his hold when his fingers start working at the buttons of her flannel.

“Wanna see you– been missing just looking at you.” His words are murmured hotly into her neck, so he doesn’t catch the crumpled look that’s settled over her face. 

She knows it’s stupid, but she’s been hiding from Joel over the last few weeks. It seems like her body looks a little different with each day, and while he had practically worshiped her pregnant body, this wasn’t that, and it certainly wasn’t what she looked like before. She steps back a bit, gripping his wrists to keep him from getting any further with her buttons. He looks at her with total confusion.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She sighs, tucking her chin into her chest, too embarrassed to meet his questioning gaze.

“I just– it’s different– I’m different– don’t want you to be disappointed.” A heavy silence falls between them. She’s shocked when it’s broken by Joel laughing, quickly whipping her head up to see him looking at her like she’s gone mad. She huffs.

“I swear to god, Joel Miller, if you laugh at me one more time, I’m gonna–” he’s quick to cut her off, grabbing her hands and pulling her back towards him.

“Hey, hey, hey– I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at that ridiculous shit you said. I don’t wanna hear that kinda talk from you ever again, huh? You– you’re amazing. I could never be disappointed when I look at you, darlin. You wanna know why?” She glances at him, seeing that he’s grinning.

“Because, when I look at you, I see the woman who was batshit crazy enough to love me.” She snorts at that, but he’s not done.

“When I look at you, I see the woman who gave me life back. Who gave me family. You’re everything, darlin. When I look at you, I see everything.” Tears run down her cheeks as she laughs wetly at his words.

“Ellie’s right, you have gone soft.” He huffs around his grin, shaking his head as he dips down to wrap her up in a deep kiss, bringing his palms to cup her jaw as he all but takes her breath away. When he pulls away, it’s only slightly, their lips lightly brushing as he murmurs to her.

“Will you let me see you, darlin? Please?” She holds his gaze, nodding only slightly, but it’s enough to get a broad smile out of him as he lays one more kiss to her lips before letting his hands wander back down to the buttons of her shirt. 

She holds her breath the whole time, only exhaling when he slips the shirt down her shoulders. When she finally glances at his face, all she sees there is awe as he lets his fingers ghost up her hips, her sides, over the tops of her bare breasts.

“So fucking beautiful. Just wanna look at you, huh? Never wanna stop looking at you.” Before the hard blush creeps any further up her neck, she pulls him in for another kiss, her mind swimming in the feeling of bare skin pressed to bare skin. Joel starts to shuffle them back toward the bed until the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she’s splaying back with a soft “oof” as he hovers over her.

Joel’s mouth starts to wander, trailing down her neck, along her collarbone. She can’t help but preen when he laves his tongue over the swell of her breast, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin there before doing the same to the other side. He keeps meandering lower and lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses and nips in his wake until he’s nudging his nose along the waistband of her pants. She huffs under his teasing ministrations and he looks up at her deep pout with a smug grin.

“Patience, darlin. Just trying to love on you a little, huh? Been a while.” She cards her fingers through his hair, letting out a long sigh.

“It has been a while– so quit fucking teasing already.” He snorts at that, murmuring into her skin how she’s “so bossy, goddamn” but he seems to comply with her plea, fingers working quickly to undo her pants and slide them off her legs along with her panties.

He kneels at the foot of the bed between her legs, eyes roaming over her completely bare figure, lips parted and eyes blown wide. She feels like she could melt he’s looking at her so hard. He brings his palms to her calves, dipping down to nose along the inside of one leg, trailing up and up and up until his breath is just grazing where she needs him most. But he’s gone in an instant, and she actually whines as he starts to mouth down the soft skin of her other thigh. He shushes her, his low murmuring rasp thrumming through her skin.

“So beautiful. My beautiful woman. I’ll give you what you need, darlin.” With that, he skims back to the apex of her thighs, and she shivers as he coaxes her legs over his shoulders, spreading her out for him as he lays between her thighs. No more teasing, he licks a broad stripe through her folds that makes her press her head back hard into the pillows. He works her over like a man starved, fingers flexing into the softness of her thighs as he licks into her, smearing her wetness up to her clit and laving over the nerves there. She lets her fingers drag through his hair, tugging lightly, his low groans sending jolts through her core. A ragged moan draws through her chest when he pulls away just slightly to spit on her cunt, quickly chasing the slick with his tongue and coaxing out more gasps from her.

“Fuck, Joel– feel so good, please– I need– I need–” she can’t even get it out, she’s so far gone, but he knows her well enough to understand what she wants, slipping two of his fingers inside her and finding a steady rhythm as he mouths at her clit. 

“Want you to come for me. Just like this. C’mon, darlin, lemme see you.” The combination of his words and his wide eyes gazing up at her send her falling right over the edge of pleasure. She comes with a harsh gasp of his name, fluttering around his fingers as he works her through it. 

He pulls away, shifting up the bed until he’s caging in her heaving body, stealing messy kisses tinged with the taste of her. She brings her trembling hands to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with his belt until he gets the hint, sitting back to quickly shuck his pants down his legs. His cock is hot and stiff where it rests against the plush of her thigh, she can practically feel him throbbing. 

“Joel, need you so bad. Want you– wanna feel you–” he quiets her murmurs with another kiss before fisting himself and sliding the head of his cock through her folds, hissing at the contact. She whimpers when he starts to press into her and he immediately stills, worried eyes darting to hers. She cups his face in her palm, stroking his jaw reassuringly.

“It’s ok– just need it gentle, baby.” He hums, turning to press a kiss to the middle of her palm.

“I’ve got you, darlin. Wanna make you feel good.” He’s slow and careful as he rocks into her, laying kisses on her lips with each little gasp she lets out as he shifts deeper inside of her. When their hips finally meet, they both let out ragged sighs, and he presses his forehead to the top of her sternum, panting hard into her skin.

“Fuck, I missed you– I’m not gonna last long, darlin– feels too good– always so good for me.” She grazes her nails down his back, letting out a sigh of his name.

“Need you to move, Joel– please, baby– just wanna feel you–” he presses a kiss to the dip between her collar bones before pulling out, languidly rolling his hips back into hers in a way that has them both gasping. She crooks her leg up along his hip, spreading herself open for him to press deeper as he finds a steady rhythm of push and pull. They move well together, just like they always have, her hips canting up into his with each thrust as they swallow each other’s sighs and moans in a mess of kisses. Joel brings one of his hands down to the softness of her stomach, fingers circling her clit.

“Will you come for me, darlin? Fuck– please, honey– need to feel you.” It doesn’t take much more for her to dissolve around him, digging her nails into the sliding muscles of his back as he fucks her through it. She hisses when he pulls out, watching dazed as he strokes himself over her before painting his spend across her heaving stomach. Joel flops down beside her as they both catch their racing heartbeats. She turns her head to look at him, a grin crooking across her face.

“Still got it, huh, old man?” He huffs out a laugh, turning onto his side to draw her in for a kiss.

“Still got it, mama.”

After getting cleaned up, they may have only gotten an hour of sleep before their girl woke them both up with a cry, but it had certainly been worth it. 

[thenameswinterfics]

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying. 

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way. 

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago. 

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky. 

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars. 

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories. 

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.  

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go. 

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach. 

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her." 

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature. 

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened. 

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again. 

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..." 

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past. 

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?” 

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them. 

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd. 

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question. 

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long. 

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over. 

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight. 

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for. 

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust. 

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him. 

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern. 

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you. 

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do. 

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters. 

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead. 

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him. 

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.  

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.  

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.” 

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes. 

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it. 

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile. 

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words. 

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in. 

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence. 

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning. 

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands. 

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him. 

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness. 

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her." 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours. 

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..." 

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.” 

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before. 

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was. 

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave. 

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers. 

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim. 

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you." 

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors. 

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts. 

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt. 

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch. 

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[bunnypansy]

Little Death

Rated NC-17, read at your own RISK!

This is a dark fic, read ALL of the warnings before you consume. If anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable, TURN AWAY. As a creator, I do not condone the things I write about, though that should be obvious enough.

With warnings out of the way, this is the first episode in our 16 part Kinktober season; Drugging and Pseudo-Necrophilia. The Undertaker likes you quite a lot, but he likes you much better when you aren't moving as much. A little drink should do the trick, shouldn't it?

Featuring: The Undertaker, and You, dear reader

Beware! This film contains: Ftm! reader, nonconsensual drugging, noncon/dubious consent, implied/pseudo necrophilia (there is no corpse fucking, but the Undertaker is pretending you are a corpse), fingering, light sadism

You had your suspicions drinking tea from an Erlenmeyer flask, fearing there may be trace amounts of whatever foul chemicals it last contained, but the Undertaker was quite insistent that the funeral parlor had no other vessels with which to drink tea. You should've trusted your instincts.

It had tasted just fine. Not unlike any other cup of Darjeeling you've drunk, but only a few sips in, and his rasping, pitchy voice bleeds into the generalized hum of the air surrounding you. The entire parlor is murmuring and Undertaker has joined the chorus, his voice almost inseparable from the buzzing background. He's telling a story- something about one of the Jack the Ripper victims, you think.

You had no involvement, only knowing of the case from the paper- which you had stopped reading after a particularly gruesome description -but there he goes, describing in lurid detail exactly how the poor woman had been carved up like cattle. He's practically waxing poetic on the fun he had stitching her waxy white skin back together, shoving her remaining organs back into place, and tucking filler into the empty cavities the Ripper had left behind, as though stuffing a sagging stuffed animal until the vacant body was plump and full once more.

The pictures he paints in your mind are ones you can never erase, but you can barely form a clear image anyway. Under any other circumstances, you would be sick to your stomach, moving to leave the funeral parlor and never return, but under the mist of whatever was in your tea, you can't find it in you to move. You can't even find the strength to speak.

Your lips stay parted, jaw hanging open and tongue limp in your mouth. In turn, you watch the Undertaker's lips instead, pale and dry as they move with each word, trying to parse whatever he was saying from the movement of his mouth. You can't hear the Undertaker's voice over your own breaths, slow and labored, and your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. With every second, the world gets fuzzier and fuzzier. The already dark funeral parlor became a sightless void, with the Undertaker becoming a star in the center of your dark universe, his silvery hair almost glowing in the dim candlelight.

With nothing else to reach for, you're leaning towards the Undertaker, a moth drawn to a flame. He's kind enough to catch you, a hand on either shoulder to steady you. Though his skin is no warmer than marble, you feel deeply comforted in his embrace.

"Oh my..." You don't know what he says after that. You only know that it feels so nice when he eases you into a more comfortable position, slumped against a coffin behind you, speaking in a low, soft voice. The sounds don't make sense, but they thrum sweetly against your brain as they enter your ears.

A moment later, the muscles in your neck give way, unable to hold your head upright. Instead, you entrust this task to the Undertaker and he gladly accepts, cupping your face in his spare hand. Your cheek rests perfectly in his palm, those long black nails scratching lightly against your skin; he's cold, but your skin is beginning to feel so hot that you can't bring yourself to care.

A feverish delirium has begun to swallow you whole, with no sign of releasing you any time soon. The energy sweats out of your body with every second, leaving you as still and limp as a mannequin, but warmer than a summer day.

Your brain is boiling within your skull, and it shows on your face. A thin strand of spit oozes from your lips and down your cheek, onto the Undertaker's fingers. Your hand twitches, but you don't have nearly enough strength to lift your arm and clean yourself up. How kind the Undertaker must be to lean close to you- close enough you can feel his frosty breath -and drag his tongue over your skin, tenderly tidying you up.

He traces the trail of saliva back up your cheek, finishing the intimate gesture by flicking his tongue across your lips. You're somewhat grateful he went to the effort, but it hardly matters when he makes a mess of you all over again, only moments later.

The hand on your cheek readjusts to your chin, gripping just tightly enough that the Undertaker can tilt your head this way and that to get the desired angle as he slides his tongue into your mouth and halfway down your throat. The taste of antiseptic and salt coats your mouth, but there's little you can do other than summon forth a quiet whimper. The movements are awkward and messy; the Undertaker eagerly runs his tongue over every crevice and tooth in your mouth, as if attempting to form a perfect map within his memory, while you lay unresponsive to his affections.

Whatever you and the Undertaker are doing together can hardly be called a kiss, but he probably prefers you this way. Still, weak, easy to manipulate; as perfect as a doll, as human as a body.

He pulls away and you're breathless, lips glossy with a sheen of his spit. "Look at you now, so still... What a good boy."

The praise barely penetrates the thick fog filling your skull, but when it does, you make a pitiful attempt at a smile back, barely able to even twitch your lips. You're rewarded with the Undertaker's abrasive laughter, startling a groan from you. "Und...er..."

"Shhh, shh..." His lips keep moving, but you don't pick up on a single word, whatever the Undertaker is saying must be nice, right? You feel so calm, entirely weightless as if you're floating.

Then the sensation stops, and instead, you're being pressed in upon at every side by something soft, a fabric... maybe velvet? The experience rides the line between claustrophobic and comforting, as if you're bound in a straitjacket made of velvet; warm and tight. So warm. Too warm. You want- no you need out, if you stay as you are, you'll surely cook to death. The heat is torturous when you can't even make a move to relieve it, forced to moan out to the Undertaker for help.

Hands dart across your body as he mutters something sugary into your ear, deftly undoing buttons and clasps on his way down. At long last, your skin meets the open air of the funeral parlor, bringing a sigh to your lips at the refreshing feeling. So caught up in your relief, you hardly even notice the cold fingerprints littering your body; poking and prodding here and there, adjusting your posture to his liking.

Legs straightened ahead of you, back flat against the surface beneath you, arms folded neatly. Great care is taken to interlace your fingers with each other, before he places your hands just below your navel, giving you a small pat on the tummy before his hands drift lower.

It's in this moment that it occurs to you where you must be laid and how you must look; in a funeral parlor, there's no place to rest but a coffin, and in a coffin, there's no way to look but dead.

The Undertaker plays with your lax body like a doll, rubbing his fingers across your lips for a few moments before he pauses and holds his thumb up against your lips, reveling in your shallow breaths for a few heartbeats. Although your ears feel stuffed with cotton, you can easily pick out the pleased groan the Undertaker makes.

Further down your body, a shiver crawls up from where the Undertaker's hand is tucked between your thighs. Whether the goosebumps pimpling your skin are from pleasure or temperature you can't tell. Something your mind tries to claw from the darkness, warn you how wrong this all is, but you can't hear it over the slick noise of the Undertaker dragging a finger through your slit.

You should be scared, you should struggle away or cry for help, but the adrenaline never comes; the fighting spirit you need is eagerly leaking away from between your legs and wetting the funeral director's hand. The silence that once fell between the two of you is replaced with a constant squelching of the Undertaker's fingers working over your clit; drawing slow, firm circles around the nub and simply enjoying the feeling of your breath against his hand as if it were an equal pleasure.

That calloused finger keeps rubbing at your clit, the rough skin pulling meager grunts from your lips with greater frequency the faster he moves. There's a twist in your stomach, something that makes you desperate to thrash in place, burning with frustration at your own limp body.

"Uh-" The hand on your lips quickly slaps entirely over your nose and mouth, clamping tight enough to cut off anything you planned to say. Those knife-like nails dig into your soft skin, threatening to cut.

"Hush. Don't speak." There are a few more words after that, still in a harsh whisper, that are inaudible to you.

Quiet panting, soft groans, slick fingers; the sounds and sensations are all too much, sending a vibrant buzzing through your veins, so strong it threatens to burst from your skin. Faster, rougher, harder; more, more, more-

The Undertaker mercilessly grinds the sharp end of his fingernail against your clit, and your body gives way to him completely. With just that simple demonstration of pain, the Undertaker rips an orgasm from your body as easily as a heart from a chest.

Acid pours through your veins, burning every vessel within you and filling your eyes with white-hot stars. Your eyelids twitch and your steamy breaths heave between the Undertaker's fingers as you lose any former semblance of control. The sleeve of the Undertaker's robe is soaked with your release. You'd be embarrassed with yourself if you could form coherent thoughts, but you can't even form a proper moan, just a pitiful gasp that seeps from your throat like a dying breath.

When the Undertaker finally pulls his hand away from your face, his hands are trembling just as much as your thighs. Briefly, you wonder if he enjoyed this as much as you did- or more.

That is all for tonight's episode of the 2024 Kinktober season, thank you all for viewing and have a lovely night.

I originally wrote a draft of this a couple months ago and was going to post it earlier... but it works so well for the spooky month that I just put it off teehee. i'm very excited about Kinktober, I've never participated before now so... we'll see if I can do it all!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Rush Of Anxiety

Summary: River Cartwright x Fe!Reader -> You and River are there for each other in a time of desperate need.

Disclaimer: This does include descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, blood, weapons and bullets. Based around the last episode or so of S4 Slow Horses, so spoilers. Swearing. Angst and Fluff. Not Proof Read.

It felt like fire crawling up your throat from your lungs. All the while a lead fist pushed through your chest, reached for your heart, dragged it to the centre of your chest not caring what veins it broke, before locking it against your spine. The harder your feet hit the ground, the harder your lungs begged for relief. 

Your arms were slicing through what atmosphere they could in the hopes to propel you faster. If your thighs didn’t hurt from before, kicking for your life, they would hurt soon. Each foot that hit the ground sent shockwaves through the rest of your body. 

But you had to keep going. 

You had to keep running. 

Your life depended on it. 

Meanwhile, just outside a train station, River was given the news you had been taken. Just before a grenade was thrown into his hood. 

“It really is a shame you said no to me, son. I even found that pretty little girlfriend of yours. It was in the hopes we could have a longer conversation, maybe you’d both like to join us. But know that her death will be on your hands.”

River gasped for breath. “Girlfriend?” He didn’t have a girlfrie-

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” His dad told him. “Yet. Grenade!”

It was River’s turn to fight for his life, to have his lungs burn with something awful. His feet heavy, his lungs filling with something heavier than air, and a burning against his chest for more than just one reason. 

Then he remembered. 

When you're being chased, stay still.

Of course, the others eventually followed suit but there was still one thing left to discuss. 

“Where is she?”

“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.” The man across River smiled. “By now, she’ll be long gone. Best just to move on, I’d say.”

River reached for him by his jacket. “Where is she?!”

“River!” Louisa pulled him back. Well, tried. 

“I’ll see you soon, River.”

As Frank was pulled from River’s grasp, River turned and swore. “Fuck.”

“We’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

River looked at Louisa. “He creates child soldiers. I don’t think he’ll be keeping her safe, do you?”

“That’s- I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m gonna find her. He wanted to finish her off before he left. She’s got to be close. Call- Call Ho. See if he can track anything. Did you notice she was gone?”

Louisa shook her head as she brought her phone to her ear. “We were a little busy trying to make sure you didn’t become a victim to your shoot-to-kill target. Ho, I need you to find-”

Louisa’s words drowned away from River as he looked around. You had to be close by. If River hadn’t stopped, Frank would have left. He would have gone somewhere people wouldn’t have seen. 

Or maybe somewhere they would. 

Larger crowds meant less safety for the victim, but more safety for Frank. Hiding in plain sight. 

So he started running. He didn’t know where, but he started running. 

“River! Where are you going?”

“Just keep talking with Ho. She has to be close!”

As River ran, his body seemed to slip back to a memory he wished he could forget. Stansted Airport. Granted it was a rigged training exercise but that fear that he’d fucked up, that fear that thousands of people could be killed, that he was the man soley responsible for the biggest fuck up in MI5 training history. It all came flooding back to him. Into his mind, into his lugs, around his chest and arms, tightening at his throat. But there was something extra. Something wrapping tightly around his heart. 

He’d had his blood pressure taken once or twice. It was almost like the cuff of one had slipped around his heart and was tightening and pinching at every part of the muscle. Where were you? You had to be close. Frank was going to kill you. He’d had you in his grasp for God only knows how long. From his track record, he might not have killed you. He might had taken you to serve his fucked up purpose. 

No. You couldn’t be dead. You had to be alive.

Frank would have made the conversation longer. Bringing you into it, Frank had a card River wouldn’t have been expecting. It would have meant a longer conversation. It would have meant an even larger ticking time-bomb placed around both of you. 

Did Lamb know you’d gone missing? Usually he was ten steps ahead. Why hadn’t he seen this? Or had he? Were you with him, watching through the monitors with Lamb? Was he about to turn a corner and hear your laughter over the tannoy to tell him to get his arse back to the others?

Something made River stop. This was useless. Running without any sense of direction. What if he was going the wrong way? What if he was going the right way and only wasting time?

River spun around on the spot looking around him. Any exists? Stairwells? Storage closets? 

He ran a hand through his hair and swore again. “Fuck. Christ. Where are you?” Chewing on his lower lip, River tried to focus. 

Then he heard a noise. 

Bullets. 

Who was firing? Why was someone firing? Frank was in custody. The hit on River’s head was gone, wasn’t it? But they weren’t aiming for him. They were aiming for someone else. 

Then he heard footsteps. They were that loud, they echoed around the entire space. And there wasn’t just one set. More bullets flew. 

Then. 

“River!”

Turning around, River saw you. Running. As fast as you could. From behind you someone was following. One of Frank’s men? Blood caked the side of your face, and some of your clothes. The momentary relief of seeing you was quickly replaced with a rush of anxiety once more as he ran towards you. 

“River!”

You called out his name as if it would be the last thing you’d ever say. Your lungs were screaming for relief which you were yet to grant. 

“Y/n!”

More bullets flew and you dropped your head in hopes to avoid them. You couldn’t afford to look back. You didn’t want to look back. Running towards you was River. 

Somewhere in the middle, you crashed with River, his arms wrapping around you tightly before he turned you. Somewhere behind you, or in front of you, someone shouted “get down.”

River turned once again and you felt something firm against your back, the lead hand that locked your heart against your spine suddenly pulling itself from your chest and out of sight. 

The tightness of pain in your arms and legs were released and what remained was a desperation to hold onto River as tight as he was holding onto you. 

“Get down! Drop your weapon!”

More bullets flew and you ducked your head. A firm hand behind you brought your head closer to River. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just stay down. Breathe. Y/n, you’ve got to breathe.” 

The amount of air rushing into your lungs told you that you were. But to River he could still feel your entire body tensing, your lungs refusing to cooperate and your heart, thundering fast that his own. 

River curled your head into his neck and chest, his body flushed against yours. He could still see the man who had been chasing you. His bullets were flying everywhere, hitting more inanimate objects than moving one’s. 

River looked around him without letting go of you, as best as he could. Most of the station was clear, save for the Dogs, armed police and a few others that worked for the Service. 

River turned back to look at you and if it was physically possible, he held you tighter. 

“Drop your weapon, now!”

The man stopped in his tracks and River looked up. They made eye contact. And he raised his weapon. 

If he pulled the trigger – and going off his recent aim – he’d most likely miss River. Maybe the bullet would bounce off or go through the pillar. But this time the man stood still. He was focusing on River. 

Then a bullet flew. 

River ducked his head and curled around you. If he didn’t look, maybe it would be quicker. But after ten seconds, River opened his eyes. Everything had gone silent. Was he dead? After everything Slough House had thrown at him, was he dead?

But he was still breathing. 

Looking back, he found the man’s body on the floor and Louisa slowly approaching him before kicking the gun from his grasp. River didn’t focus on them once Louisa brought one of the Dogs over to check. 

He just focused on you. 

“You okay?” That was a stupid question to ask but he asked it anyway. “Just breathe. Y/n, you’ve got to breathe. Breathe with me. Deep breath in. And out.” River waited for you to copy him. “Good, and again. In. And out.” His body was still flush against yours, his hand at the back of your head, your hands holding onto him for dear life. The top of his head resting against yours, he spoke to the shell of your ear. “In, And out. In. And out. That’s it. Just a few more.”

If his own chest couldn’t feel your heart beating, his hand that was wedged between your back and the pillar could. 

“Your heart’s beating really fast. I need you to breathe. He’s gone now. They’re all gone. You’re safe. You’re with me. Just breathe. With me, again. In, And out.” A few more deep breaths and the fire in your lungs was starting to finally be doused out, the burning in your throat would soon turn to ash, and your heart was finding its way back to its original place. 

Eventually River found the strength to lean back a little and look at you. His thumb brushed a sore point by your head, but you didn’t really flinch. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, so neither had the natural pain-killer. 

It was still bleeding. Slowly. Clearly slower than when it had first started. But slowly nonetheless. He took a log of your other visible injuries. Blood stained hands, likely from your own. You were still wearing your jacket so he couldn’t see the likely bruises on your arms. 

A forgotten nosebleed and long dried up, and the smaller scars were still red. A few had a deeper shade than others. 

River took a quick, closer look at your hands. Redness and a little bruising around your knuckles. He pressed a light kiss to one before looking in your eyes. You had a concussion. He could tell that much. 

With a hand beside your ear, River pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to your head before hugging you tightly. 

“You need to see a paramedic.”

“Don’t.” Your voice was still shaking. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Taking you under his arm, River just gave a small nod to Louisa. You’d be okay, but he could look after you. Without saying a word, River rode with you to the hospital where you were checked for more internal injuries, as well as harsher external ones. 

As you sat on the bed, River on a chair with his elbows on his knees, you told him and the other service agent that had arrived everything you could remember while it was still fresh. How and where you’d been taken, the violence you’d suffered through before Frank came in and told you his plan. About River, about his history with the service. Everything. They asked you why he’d tell you all of that and your own suspicions confirmed River’s. That you would have become another member. That, since you’d been taken before even River could figure it out, he’d save you the trouble and tell you himself. 

“I did try and tell him we’re not…” Your words stalled for a moment as River looked up at you. Frank had taken you for a reason. One that was bigger than just becoming another member in his fucked up circle. You meant something. But you also meant something more to River. “But he didn’t listen.”

River asked you more once your statement was finished and the officer left. 

“What did he say, exactly? When you told him about you and me?”

You took a shaky breath and River’s fingers held onto yours. “That he knew I was telling the truth. The truth that I’d convinced myself off, at least. He told me he’d been watching us. That he saw the look not only on my face but also on yours. He knew I meant something to you. More than the others meant. He told me I was important to his cause – not for the thing in France – his cause to you. I was his secret weapon to use against you. I guess when you called Lousia that kinda ruined his plan, but…after that he just locked the door and left.”

River just nodded silently as he listened to you, his fingers and hand never leaving yours whilst his other reached into his pocket to pull out your phone. Frank had taken it from you and blocked all trackers. You’d found it on one of the men you managed to stun with his own taser. But since your entire body was still shaking from the aftermath, you had given it to River.

Louisa kept River updated from the train station to Slough House and River kept her updated on you. 

By the time one of the doctors came back in, you’d begged him to let you go home. 

“You need to be supervised-”

“I can look after her.” River said. “She can come home with me. There’s a hospital less than ten minutes from my house.”

The doctor sighed but agreed. “If she has any of these symptoms, take her straight there.” The doctor tore a piece of paper from his clipboard, folded it and then handed it to River. He stood up, took it and nodded. 

“I will.”

“Thank you.” You thanked the doctor and nurse before they left, then you turned and thanked River. 

“Let’s go home.”

River helped you down before grabbing your jacket and leading you out of the hospital towards his car. You fell asleep in the car beside him as the hum of his engine pulled you from your consciousness, however you woke when you felt the familiar shake of River’s car pulling up outside of his grandfather’s home. 

River helped you out of the passenger seat and walked you to the door before he led you up the stairs and down the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. I’ll get you some fresh towels.”

“River?”

He turned back at the top of the stairs. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your grandfather?”

River took a moment before answering. “He’s staying with Cathrine until tomorrow. It’s safer for him to be there right now.”

You nodded, already knowing it was tough for River. But he forced himself to bounce back. “I’ll get you some towels and leave some clothes on the bed for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

An hour or so later, you lifted yourself from the edge of the bed, dressed in what you gathered was one of River’s t-shirts and old pj bottoms of his, the drawstring pulled into a bow to keep them from sliding down. 

Folded on the back of the chair was the towel you’d used to wring out the excess water from your hair and in the mirror opposite you, you examined the fingerprint bruises in your arm. Just as you walked to the window to look outside, you heard River’s voice from the bathroom. 

“I’m making you some food. You need to eat.” River picked up your clothes from the floor. “I’m gonna load these into the washer. They might still be salvageable. See you downstairs?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I’ll be down soon.”

Soon following the sound of River’s footsteps down the stairs, you made your way through his familiar home and into the kitchen. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. You looked into the pan. Chicken’s burning.” You took time to look around as River swore once more. 

“Shit, not again.” He whispered to himself before flipping it in the pan with a fork. “It’s not burnt. It’s searing. Just how I like it.” 

“Has your grandad really read all of these books?” You picked one from the shelf and flipped through it before replacing it. 

“Uh, yeah. Probably. It was my grandmother, really. She was a big reader. She always made sure I read at least one book a week.”

You raised your brows and linked your hands behind your back as you continued to look at the shelves. “Wow. One a week.”

River chuckled, hearing your sarcasm. “I didn’t exactly have an interest in reading then. But I still read one a week.”

“Let me guess, spy novels? James Bond?”

“They’re good books.”

You chuckled softly, pulling your gaze from him and back to the shelves. “I should have known. Ah, From Russia, with Love.” You pulled it from the shelf and showed him the worn spine. “Clear favourite.”

River smiled, carrying two plates with him to the dining table at the back. “Come on. Food’s ready.”

You smiled briefly as you watched him duck his head beneath the wooden beam to get to the table, all the while you placed the book back on the shelf. 

Sitting across from River, he poured you a juice drink. “The sugar will help with the shaking.”

You looked at your hand for a moment, seeing what he meant. It was subtle, but you were still shaking. You asked a few more questions about his childhood, about his reading habits, where and how he learned to cook. 

All of which were answered. 

As River washed up, you started drying to plates. “Hey, no. I can do them. You should sit down.”

“River, we’ve both been through a lot these last few hours. We can both do something normal.”

River gave you a saddened but knowing smile before going back to washing dishes, handing you a new one to dry until they were all done and your tea towel was damp. 

As River pulled the plug to the sink, you folded up the tea towel and rested against the kitchen side. River wrung out the cloth before washing the rest of the suds down the drain and turning the tap off. 

Then you handed him the towel to dry his hands before he threw it into the hamper and grabbed a fresh towel to leave on the side. 

“I know it’s a stupid question but how are you feeling?”

“Tired.” You admitted. “Exhausted. You?”

“I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet.” River leaned against the sink with you. “I mean, I finally met my dad. But turns out he’s…evil. And…” River sighed. “I don’t know.”

“What about your grandad? What happens now?”

River swallowed, knowing the truth. “The service…they have connections to a home.”

“How far?”

“Twenty? Twenty-five minutes? All ex-service. Good care, nice staff. Safe.”

You looked back at River. “Want me to come with you?”

River shook his head. “No.” He cleared his throat and started to tidy things up that didn’t need tidying. “No. It’s something I’ve gotta do…”

You watched him for a moment. “River?”

Standing up straight, you laid a hand on his arm which stopped him and made him look at you, his gaze going from your hand, up your arm and eventually to your eyes. 

No words had to be exchanged. Enough was said in the look shared. 

Pulling him in, it was your turn to hug him and hold him tight. You didn’t say a word, just held him as the silent tears slipped from his eyes and you felt his lungs rattle in his chest as he tried his hardest to keep his fear and grief inside of him. 

You just held him tighter. 

At some point, you both walked to bed, a silent agreement being made to not leave each other. River got changed as you brushed your teeth and he swiftly joined you. He locked the place up before getting into bed beside you, the only light in the room flooding in under the curtains from the moon outside. 

River lay on his back, his arm stretched out to you. You lay with your head on his chest, his arms settling around you once you were both covered by the duvet. And in the darkness, his voice breaking slightly, he asked you a question. 

“I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”

You didn’t want to admit it yourself. But he needed you to. He needed to know the truth. And your voice broke with him.

“Yea. You’re doing the right thing.”

That night you held each other just a little tighter as you fell asleep. 

You didn’t know what time it was when you woke up, but you could definitely feel the leftover pain like a harsh hangover. River was no longer in bed with you. His side of the bed was cold, so he’d been awake for a while. And after a trip to the bathroom, you went in search of him. 

You found him in the kitchen, loading up another try of biscuit dough. 

“How long have you been awake?”

River looked at you as he closed the oven door with his foot and threw down the tea towel. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”

“Answer my question first.”

“About an hour. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You looked around for a clock. “What time is it anyway?”

“Little after nine.” River told you. “I wanted to make him something for when I take him…”

River couldn’t finish his sentence so you just nodded. You understood. “Want some tea?”

Clicking the kettle on, the water started to boil whilst you pulled two familiar mugs from the shelf and threw a tea bag into each before adding the sugar. 

The next hour passed quietly before you and River found yourselves sitting at the kitchen table once more. The tea was long gone, as was the toast you made for both you and River. 

“He’ll be okay, River.” You told him after he stared into space for five minutes, a finger running back and forth on his lip. He looked at you. “They’ll look after him and you’ll still be able to see him.”

“But he won’t be him.”

“No, he won’t.” You agreed. “That’s why you cherish the moments he is him.”

“He made me swear to him never to do this to him. If he ever lost who he was…” You reached across the table and held onto his hand. 

“He’ll be okay. He won’t be who you remember, or who he remembers. But he’ll be okay. He’ll be safe. He’s safer there than he is here, River. You can do a lot of things, River Cartwright but sometimes you have to let others help. They’ll know how to take care of him – in a better way than we have training for.”

With tears in his eyes, River nodded and squeezed your hand. 

“And I’ll be here when you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Still with his hand in yours, you stood and walked around the table to him before you found yourself sitting in his lap, his arms around you, his face buried into your neck. 

“You don’t have to be alone in this, River. I can’t make a lot of promises. Neither of us can. But I can promise you, you don’t have to be alone.”

River looked at you and you dried his tears. 

“You don’t have to be alone.”

In the silence that followed, River kissed you. It was soft, light and longing. It peppered out into smaller ones until your forehead was against his, your eyes closed along with him. The only noises that could be heard in the kitchen were the steady breathes from you and River. 

“I love you.” River whispered in the silence. 

“River, you don’t have to-”

He shook his head and then looked at you, your eyes meeting his. “I should have told you sooner, I know that much. Long before everything that’s happened this week. But I do love you. And…I just wanted you to know.”

You knew. You already knew. You’d always know, really. And so had he. It was just that neither of you had ever said it outloud before. 

Holding his face in your hands, you nodded with a small smile. “I love you, too.” You kissed him twice more when you saw the information had registered in his head. 

Life both in and outside of Slough House might not be easy, but loving each other had and always would be. And together, life in and out of Slough House felt a little less tough to deal with. 

[tiredsunrisesmeta]

These Jayvik and The Phantom of the Opera parallels are becoming serious business to me! After reading this analysis of Viktor and references to The Phantom of the Opera by @avelera , I've been thinking about other possible references and parallels to The Phantom of the Opera in Jayvik's story. These are some possible ones I've found.

Backstage after her triumphant debut, Christine confesses to her friend, Madame Giry's daughter Meg, that her singing has been inspired by an unseen tutor she knows only as the "Angel of Music" - Wikipedia

[CHRISTINE]

Somehow I know he's always with me

He, the unseen genius

[MEG] Christine, you must have been dreaming

Christine, you're talking in riddles

Stories like this can't come true

And it's not like you

[CHRISTINE]

Angel of Music, guide and guardian

Grant to me your glory (who is this angel?)

(This) angel of Music, hide no longer

Secret and strange angel

He's with me even now

In many ways, Viktor was Jayce's Angel of Music. Viktor was his guide and guardian because not only did he save Jayce from death (twice), he also inspired Jayce's dream to bring magic to the people since he was a child. His dream of hextech was inspired by the mage, who was Viktor all along. Even after Jayce meets present-day Viktor and becomes partners with him, Viktor's dream and insistence on focusing on helping disadvantaged people with hextech helps guide Jayce as well.

There are also multiple references to Viktor as a "voice" that "calls out" to Jayce, inside Jayce's mind. The crystal (given to him by Viktor) Jayce wears on a bracelet is described in extra canon material as "[calling] out [...] with an otherwordly hum, imperceptible to the ear, yet heard deep within the caverns on the brain." In season 2, episode 6, after Viktor watches Jayce kill Salo and comments that another will is at work inside of Jayce, he says the other will was "like a voice." The other will is Viktor. The very first time we see Jayce's memories of the mage who saves his life is when he's knocked out by the hex crystal explosion. The memory comes to him like a dream. These descriptions bring to mind the song "The Phantom of the Opera," specifically these lyrics:

In sleep he sang to me

In dreams he came

That voice which calls to me

And speaks my name

And do I dream again?

For now I find

The phantom of the opera

Is there inside my mind

In turn, Jayce was also Viktor's muse as well. Viktor saw promise in Jayce's theories & research. He was the first person to give Jayce a chance to pursue his dream, the first person to give Jayce a sliver of access to the power & influence he would later gain as the Man of Progress. Jayce becomes the face of hextech, the one who goes on stage while Viktor stays in the shadows, looking on proudly at Jayce & their shared work. This is much like Erik/The Phantom, who from the shadows is the first to nurture Christine's musical talents & orchestrates her rise in the ranks of the Opera house. This dynamic is described once again in the song "The Phantom of the Opera":

I am the mask you wear

It's me they hear

Your spirit and my voice (my spirit and your voice)

In one combined

But there's even more possible parallels and references!

During their fight in the council room in season 2, Viktor brings up Jayce benefiting from Viktor's limited influence & knowledge within Piltover's academic & political worlds when they first started their partnership. He tells Jayce, "You once benefitted from my knowledge of this place." This statement and the rest of the scene reminded me of these lyrics from "All I Ask of You (Reprise)":

I gave you my music

Made your song take wing

And now, how you've repaid me:

Denied me and betrayed me

This isn't the only detail about this scene that reminds me of the All I Ask of You and Reprise scene in The Phantom of the Opera. In this scene, Christine and Raoul sing to each other about their desire to share one love and lifetime together. The Phantom hides behind a statue, eavesdropping and spying on the lovers' exchange. Similarly, in the council room scene, Jayce and Mel talk as Viktor hides and eavesdrops behind a pillar.

A notable difference between these two scenes and an indicator of the ultimate difference between Jayce and Viktor's story to Christine and Erik's is that Jayce and Mel, unlike Christine and Raoul, are having an argument. They do, however, hold each other at the end of the scene after fighting Viktor, and Jayce apologizes to Mel for their argument later on. Nonetheless, they still go their separate ways, which is marked difference from Christine and Raoul's arcs.

In the musical, the Phantom brings Christine to his lair twice. Christine descending into the Phantom's subterranean lair has been described as a descent into the underworld. Similarly, Viktor also brings Jayce into his "lair," domain, or underworld twice. The first time is when Jayce's touches the anomoly and is transported into the apocalyptic future, where he spends most of his time stuck in a cave until he meets Mage Viktor. This first "descent into the underworld" parallels Christine's in that both Jayce and Christine descend to the underworld (into Viktor's apocalyptic future and into the Phantom's lair, respectively) and meet their Angel after looking at their own reflection in a "mirror." Christine sees her reflection in an actual mirror, then she sees the Phantom and reaches out to him. Jayce looks at multiple reflections after he touches the anomaly, which is something Viktor has made. These lyrics from the song "The Mirror" fit these two sequences:

Flattering child, you shall know me

See why in shadow I hide

Look at your face in the mirror

I am there inside

Jayce's and Christine's second descent into their respective "Angel's" lairs also share similarities. Both, for example, happen because of a trap/deception of some kind. In order to defeat the Phantom, Christine is used as bait to lure the Phantom out. At the same time, the Phantom also decieves and traps Christine by secretly killing Christine's male co-lead and replacing him on stage.

Similarly, Viktor, with the help of Ambessa, tricks the Piltover army into believing he is still in his protective cocoon. They put all their efforts into destroying the cocoon, to give Jayce time to power off the hexgates, only to find out Viktor is not inside of it but is instead already in the hexgates with Jayce! Just like the Phantom was already on stage with Christine! But just like Christine is also ticking and trapping the Phantom, Jayce, too, has most likely predicted this turn of events and understands his role as bait and a honeypot to lure Viktor out. Viktor is successfully lured partly because Viktor wants to "evolve" Jayce with his own physical touch, not using his robot puppets or his strings of light like he uses on other characters. In this plan, Jayce will be Viktor's undoing, like Christine will be the Phantom's undoing. It brings to mind these lyrics from "Notes.../Twisted Every Way":

We shall play his game Perform his work, but remember we hold the ace For, if Miss Daaé sings, he is certain to attend

[...]

[CARLOTTA] She's the one behind this! Christine! This is all her doing! [PIANGI] This is the truth! Christine Daaé!

[RAOUL] This is his undoing [ANDRE/FIRMIN] If you succeed, you free us all— This so-called "angel" has to fall!

Much like Christine, Jayce is once again taken into his angel's lair. This time, it isn't the apocalyptic future but instead Viktor's hivemind astral plane.

Another possible POTO reference can be seen when Ekko's Z-Drive partially unmasks Arcane Herald Viktor. Ekko's Z-Drive has Powder's monkeys who play cymbals inside of it. These monkeys resemble the music box in The Phantom of the Opera that plays a role in the scene where Christine unmasks the Phantom for the first time. Similarly, Ekko's Z-Drive cracks open part of Viktor's mask. It's after this that Jayce is able to embrace Viktor, and we see Jayce's memories of Mage Viktor, who, in so many words, "expresses his longing to be loved." After this, Viktor's mask shatters completely.

This is when Jayce, unlike Christine, does not leave the Phantom to be with Raoul, even when Viktor says Jayce must leave. He stays together with Viktor, ensuring that Viktor is not alone in death or wherever the rune takes them.

[PHANTOM]

Say you'll share with me

One love, one lifetime

Lead me, save me from my solitude

[CHRISTINE]

God, give me the courage to show you

You are not alone

Jayce was given the courage to show Viktor he is not alone. They will share one love & one lifetime (timeline). Jayce saved Viktor from his solitude.

[genericpuff]

Familiarity in the Unknown - The Book Written by Tiny Paws

So there's this story you may or may not be aware of. It's about a rat who, despite being a rat, expresses a deep love for creating and cooking, often through unorthodox means and yet - throughout the unorthodox - compels us to think about the virtue of art and our own place in the world.

I know, completely absurd concept, why would a rat be cooking? It's ridiculous - but absolutely beautiful in its execution and simplicity. Our main character exists within a world that is treacherous, endlessly massive, occupied by strange creatures that could hurt him - even kill him - where good food and joy is hard to come by and living for oneself is against the tenets of his society's herd-mentality - but he is able to persevere and break through the difficulties of this world through his joy for food, for cooking, for the fire and smells, for satisfying his curiosity of the unknown, for expressing himself through the creation of art and, subsequently, for the love of the community and friendship that only grows in response to his sincerity.

Who am I kidding though, you know who I'm talking about, I don't need to keep patronizing you with wordplay and flowery descriptions. I'm obviously talking about The Book Written by Tiny Paws-

The Book Written by Tiny Paws isn't really a comic that I found so much as it found me in my daily scroll through my feed of notifications, featured in a user-submitted post to the /r/webtoons subreddit, discussing their newest update. There are a lot of comics that get promo'd in these communities and for the most part, none of them really ever compel me to read them, usually due to elements outside of the creator's control - they aren't a genre I'm interested in, the art style isn't gripping me, I'm just not in the mood to pick up anything new, etc.

But every now and then, something breaks through my own mentally enclosed barrier and reaches the innermost parts of my brain. And strangely enough, this time around, it was this little guy:

I did not know his name. I did not know what species he was supposed to be. I mean, he looks like a rat at first glance, but he also has little webbed feet like a platypus. I didn't even really pay much attention to what he was saying at first - all I could look at was his sincere little face. And once I snapped out of the cuteness hypnosis and read his dialogue, I suddenly found myself already hooked even before I read a single page. I wasn't sure what to expect, just so long as I could see more of this cute little guy.

By the end of the 9 episodes it had available at the time, not only was I more in love with this tiny creature than I was when I started, but I had the realization that this was going to be one of those rare, magical occasions when a piece of work would grab me and refuse to let go.

The Book Written by Tiny Paws is, to put it simply, a story about a creature known as "Firemaker" trying to find his way back to his herd after being separated from them during a flood so devastating that it drowns the earth beneath its waters. We are shown immediately the nature of this world - barren, bleak, cruel - but Firemaker describes it with the curiosity and wonder of a child experiencing all of it for the first time.

We're also immediately introduced to another core character - a stranger named "Vagabond" who does not seem to belong to a herd.

From its first two pages alone, The Book Written by Tiny Paws exceeds in what many comics struggle to do - it not only introduces us to its main character through his personality alone, but presents us the creator's approach to storytelling and worldbuilding: familiarity in the unknown.

Throughout each episode, alongside Firemaker, Vagabond, and the others who come and go throughout the world, we learn about how this world operates, and how they have been surviving in it. We learn that the flooding is actually a regular enough occurrence that creatures like Firemaker count their ages by how many rains they've survived. We learn that there are other creatures described only by their physical traits, and are left only with our own assumptions based on their word choice and imagination as to what they're referring to. There isn't any sign of human life, but human-like intelligence is present as creatures like Firemaker and Vagabond are able to communicate, count, multiply, use tools, and, as we see above with Firemaker, make logical connections between cause and effect (even if they're initially wrong).

Many of these concepts are familiar to us, if not absolutely mundane and outdated, but through the eyes of Firemaker and Vagabond, we get to see those same concepts re-contextualized in a world that is unlike our own. In this way, The Book Written by Tiny Paws asks us to re-explore the mundane through the eyes of creatures that rely on our privileges for their survival.

And when it's not re-contextualizing, it's introducing us to new concepts entirely that make this story and its world feel wholly unique. One such unique concept is the way in which they count - a system of multiplication through simple geometry.

It should be mentioned, before I get in any further - the creator of this work, Nolinno, proclaims themselves as "more of a physicist than an artist", and while I do believe they're not giving themselves enough credit for the art (which I will get into soon), their passion for physics shows immensely, showcasing not only their love for learning, but their affinity for teaching as well. It takes someone who really knows their stuff to be able to explain it as simply as possible for the layman such as myself to understand - and even then, not everyone who is well-trained in their field of study can necessarily teach it well - and yet Nolinno has done an extraordinary job so far of explaining their story's concepts in ways that are both simple to grasp and rewarding to master. Specifically, they reward the readers' ability to retain information and engage with it through their own conclusions, largely by creating opportunities in the text for that information to become relevant.

One of the earliest examples of this is when Vagabond initially reveals his age to be what first-time readers will assume is the number '11', and from there we can assume that '11 rains' must be significant as Firemaker seems astounded by this.

But then, we immediately find out that Firemaker himself hasn't learned to count that high, prompting Vagabond to teach him how to count higher than 3, which is when we get to learn the actual details of that aforementioned counting system built on multiplication and geometry.

It's through this explanation that we learn that Vagabond isn't 11, but the text doesn't explicitly tell us - it asks us as readers to instead follow along with Vagabond's teachings and come to our own answer.

And so, I'm not going to tell you the answer here either! There's a top comment on this particular episode that's gotten it right (as confirmed by the creator like a very proud elementary school teacher, awww), but consider that more of an answer key if you want to know if you got the correct answer. And if you feel like Vagabond's explanation here is too limited or you want more examples, nothing to fear - Nolinno has given us a study guide!

What I adore about this is that as much as I'm intimidated by mathematical concepts like this, I genuinely appreciate when a creator puts in the effort to establish ground rules like this, and in such a natural, sincere way. It challenges you just enough to compel you to try, but not so much that it's completely alienating or overwhelming.

And thanks to Firemaker's characterization, we don't feel so alone in learning these concepts, either. Firemaker's own inexperience on account of being only "three times three" years old (he's 9!) he makes a perfect surrogate for the audience to learn about the world through him. This isn't an uncommon storytelling trick, but can often come at the expense of the character's own personality - after all, if a character is constantly having to be a surrogate for the audience, it can lead to them becoming more of a blank slate without any voice - but Nolinno has accomplished that balance perfectly through Firemaker's curiosity and vulnerability. Firemaker being 9 years old and still inexperienced doesn't rob him of his own skills - more so, it's clear that he's fulfilled a specific role for his pack, and now that he's been separated from them, he's now having to learn the skills that were likely reserved for other members of his pack.

This also makes him a perfect foil to Vagabond, a creature whose past is still shrouded in mystery but is clearly experienced and can act as the parental figure or "older brother" to Firemaker - but we're always left wondering why Firemaker has left his pack, and whether or not those survival tactics were taught to him through his pack or learned the hard way after leaving. It ultimately leaves us wondering what Vagabond's true motives are, and whether or not he can be trusted as a role model to Firemaker. Fortunately, nothing so far has made me or even Firemaker doubt his capabilities or motives, even earning himself a new name-

-but in a world so unpredictable, who's to say that Vagabond's own motives are entirely pure?

After all, as we soon learn, not all creatures are kind in this world.

Again, in case it needs reminding - Firemaker is nine. Though 9 years old for a rat-platypus creature may not be equivalent to 9 years old for a human, it is still very much communicated to us through the narrative that he is a child and, as such, is going to have his safety threatened in this world the same way a child often would in our own - through the cruel actions of untrustworthy adults.

But, as I mentioned already, Firemaker is never made to be the constant ball and chain of the pair. Though he may just now be learning how to count and multiply higher than 3, he's earned his name through his own particular skills that can be used to not only save himself from starvation, but save others from ambush through the use of smoke signals.

Of course, as much as I can gush about the narrative, I also wouldn't forgive myself if I neglected to mention its art style which, despite being created by one person who claims to not be much of an artist, wonderfully complements its theme and tone. I would go so far as to argue that this is one of those stories that just simply wouldn't work as effectively as it does if it had a full color art style. The contrast of black and white between the environment and its characters, as well as the simplicity of the character designs against the more detailed designs of the architecture and props, makes for a brilliant visual presentation that - like the worldbuilding - expresses itself clearly without overcomplicating anything. Through its art - just like through its writing - it asks us to try and find familiarity in the unknown.

And best of all, when things do get complicated-

-it harshly reminds us how quickly a simple and beautiful thing can turn ugly and cruel.

Even though it was initially Firemaker's cutesy little face that suckered me in, the worldbuilding that Nolinno has expertly crafted through their own knowledge and affinity for teaching others has stolen the show. And that's a quality that I find is quite rare in fantasy works nowadays, but just like the culinary arts of that other rat who's far more well-known, it came from a completely unexpected place.

Nolinno has accomplished what I find a lot of budding fantasy writers struggle with - they have successfully created a world that is full of its own unique qualities, and communicated it clearly to their audience in a way that is both engaging and rewarding. Unlike others who often put the lore before the story - usually by dumping every bit of exposition, conlang definition, map and political chart on their readers before they've had a chance to even read the first page or know the main character's name, often out of fear that all their prep work will have been "wasted" if they don't reveal all of it immediately - Nolinno simply shows us their world and its inhabitants as they are, without the need to justify itself, and invites you to join along at your own pace, with helpful little bits of knowledge communicated through the narrative to help you find your way. It's okay if you're not entirely certain of how this world works, because you're not travelling alone - so too are Firemaker and Knower finding their way.

As someone who was raised on the works of Jeff Smith (BONE) and Bill Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes), and even found their own passion for fantasy writing through both comics and video games like The Legend of Zelda, I have a lot of appreciation for stories like this that can be appreciated by all age demographics, and I've found myself almost disillusioned by the current landscape of conveyer-belt media today that often fails to live up to even a fraction of what we remember existing 20 years ago, existing only to pad a rich executive's bottom line. This has only been further exacerbated by the advent of generative AI that's now threatening the integrity and livelihood of artists both within the industry and outside of it.

Suffice to say, just like the world that Firemaker inhabits in The Book Written by Tiny Paws, our world is very bleak right now. Even still, its characters still find their moments for joy, for rest, and for play, and the comic in and of itself reminds me through its existence that there are still wonderful works being made that are capable of making me feel as curious and excited as I did when I was reading BONE cover-to-cover at the age of 12.

Those moments and those stories feel harder to come by than ever, but I'm happy to say that The Book Written by Tiny Paws is one of them, new memories that I'm happy to have made and am eager to continue to make - familiarity in the unknown.

[entamesubs]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Go Rush!! Episode 138-139 Sub Release

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Please make sure to read the FAQ if you have any questions.

We went on vacation for the holidays and are still in the midst of it. No ETA for the new arc episodes.

There are translation notes below, so spoilers ahead.

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時空 / jikuu "Space-Time"

This seems like a very late place to bring it up, but since Kuaidul finally expanded on this concept this episode, it's worth mentioning!

I've seen a few people try to "correct" our translation of 'space-time' to 'dimension' because, in the context of that arc, it's basically what it was. A little Kuaidul pocket dimension.

However, if they really wanted to say dimension, they would've just called it ディメンション or 次元 (jiken).

I have written in many other notes before that I believe that all of Go Rush's vocabulary, speech, and word choices are extremely deliberate. They didn't call it Kuaidul's Dimension for a reason, and with his monologue of how things worked in this episode, it was finally explained to us why it was named that way.

It's his "space-time" because he was experimenting with space and time and their relation to each other in order to harness their powers. That "space-time" was his experiment, just like how the relic travelling to the future in the Ryugu brothers arc was also an experiment.

Hope that clears things up.

Empty Space vs Empty Canvas

This was one that I turned over in my head for a long while. While "empty space" is the most direct and literal translation of what Kuaidul uses to address Yuudias' special quality, I don't believe it's the best one.

A long time ago, while I was still very new to subbing in general and was working on SEVENS, I used "empty space" to refer to the hole in the Rush Duel code that Yuuga left that Neil later exploited.

I believe that was the best description of it because that is what it was, a blank space in the code. I bring this up because Kuaidul talking about Yuudias' "blank space" is an expansion of that same concept in SEVENS.

However, Yuudias is a person, and Rush Duel is a program. While "empty space" can be used to refer to code, it feels strange to also use the same thing to refer to Yuudias when it's in reference to his personality and special trait specific to him. Especially when that thing is something that allows him to grow and develop, aka allows that canvas to be filled.

It was with that thought that I decided to translate it as "empty canvas", implying that it's meant to be expanded/painted on.

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

Anyway, Kuaidul's monologue once again caused some delays as I wanted both proofreaders to check on it before I hit post. The team had already scattered for the holidays when these episodes aired, so it was simply waiting for people to be free and available again.

We are still scattered right now, so please be patient. Once again, there is no ETA on the newer episodes.

Also, I got into Alien Stage. 👾

[whoopsies-daisies]

I can't stop thinking about it so... Here's an analysis of why i believe David Bowie's "space oddity" may have been taken as inspiration for the game Mouthwashing.

So, i feel like even though it could fit the game as a whole as well, this song best describes Curly, and his mental state throughout the game. If you've never listened to the song before, I'd suggest doing so before reading this. Not necessarily because you wouldn't understand it otherwise, but because it fucking slaps. The lyrics are in order, but the game events might not be chronological because of that. Some of the lyrics will have much more in-depth descriptions than others.

The song starts off by repeating the lyric "Ground control to major Tom... Ground control to major Tom..." In this scenario, i picture Curly as major Tom and, unsurprisingly, Anya as ground control. I do think other characters fit the role of "ground control" at points, but it's mostly Anya. Anya is warning Curly about Jimmy, and the lyric repeating relates to how her pleads for help remain unheard pre-crash.

"this it ground control to major Tom, you've really made the grade, and the papers want to know who's shirts you wear." This lyric feels very connected to Curly's success as a pilot. In this lyric i picture ground control as either Pony Express, communicating through the letter from corporate stating his promotion, or Jimmy and his envy/inferiority complex towards curly. Depending on the perspective, it could be taken as either sincere or sarcastic.

"now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare" I don't have a perfect connection for this one as it is just an extension of the previous lyric, but it could relate to the idea of Jimmy feeling like he's being abandoned by Curly, the capsule in this scenario being Jimmy and the crew. Sort of like he's saying "fine, leave me, i dare you."

"this is major Tom to ground control, I'm stepping through the door, and I'm floating in the most peculiar way. And the stars look very different today" was a bit of a tricky one but I'm thinking it has to do with the hallucinations/psychotic episode he experienced right before Jimmy's psych eval. Sort of like how the minute he stepped out of the door, he started seeing things.

"for here, am i sitting in a tin can, far above the world" seems indicative of how curly feels trapped (like being in a tin can,) both on the ship and in his job/life. The lyric is repeated multiple times throughout the song, and although the meaning changes each time, the overarching theme of feeling trapped seems present in each of them.

"planet earth is blue, and there's nothing i can do." is definitely connected to Curly's helplessness through it all. His inability to help anya, or to stop the crash, or to do much of anything after the crash due to his injuries. There's nothing he can do about what's happening, no matter how badly he wants to fix it.

"though I'm past one hundred thousand miles, I'm feeling very still." this could be another example of Curly feeling trapped in his position. He's exceeded or met his goals, yet still feels empty about it. It took him so long to get here, yet he's gained very little from it, and just wants to escape.

"and i think my spaceship knows which way to go." i think this represents Curly's misplaced trust in Jimmy before the crash and how Jimmy was supposed to be steering the ship.

"tell my wife i love her very much, she knows." in this scenario i picture anya as the "wife" and him saying "i love her" as him apologizing. It represents how he sees his mistakes and wants to apologize.

"ground control to major tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong, can you hear me major Tom? Can you hear me major Tom?" Ok this is my absolute favorite one, because it's literally the dead pixel metaphor rephrased. Once again, ground control is Anya and major Tom is curly. Anya is trying to tell Curly about the "circuit" or the dead pixel, referring to Jimmy, and the lyrics after, asking "can you hear me major tom" is sort of like how she wasn't able to get through to him either about Jimmy or the pixel.

and the final lyric. "Here am i floating round my tin can, far above the moon. Planet earth is blue, and there's nothing i can do." This is a representation of Curly's acceptance. The tin can could be either the ship as a whole or the cryopod. "Planet earth is blue and there's nothing i can do" is no longer regret, it is now a statement of mourning, for his crew and likely for himself as well.

I tried my best with this, guys. I'm not an analysis person so again, this could be really terrible and I'd have no clue! But if you made it this far, i hope you see my vision at least a little bit.

(@verdantwyrm come get yr juice 😋)

[interactivefictionramblings]

[Spoilers for Heaven’s Secret: Requiem.]

Regarding how Cain & Lane knew each other before. I don’t remember if I’ve shared this already; I do know there are similar theories, though, ftr. We’ve been informed that at least some of those working at Siberia Base couldn’t leave, including Lane, because of the projects they were involved in. I’ve been wondering, due to the reaction Cain has when he gets onto the medical (read: torture) chair, in the sealed room at Siberia, if Lane was forced into working on the immortal-dissection project - the “Adam project,” iirc. Once Dimitry had unlocked the service door in General Lloyd’s office, we get the description that there’s many floors down.

I’ll come back to why that matters.

In the beginning of the story and later, like with the reveal of Boris’ betrayal, Lane references how she used to be. She used to be the Lane with Compassion (thus, when you unlock it, you get the banner you’ve reawakened your compassion). She used to care about others.

From what I recall, below is the first time we get the option to pick Voice of God or Whisper of the Devil, and Lane thinks about how she’s protecting an ember of her old-self on VoG:

Later, Lane talks about the darkness in her as being like she’s ill, and - since I was on Voice of God - she’s forcing it out like she’s got a cold.

Although I can’t say for certain if this is only on VoG or not. My point is, VoG+Compassion is, from what I can tell, canonically who Lane was before. When she first met Cain. Other theories about her being a part of the Adam project are about her lack of Humanity, actively harming Cain because she wanted to study him. But I don’t think this is something past-Lane would do. However, I do think it’s possible she was taken onto the project; with little information, most-likely. Past-Lane was just as calculating as any other Lane, so it’s difficult to say exactly what she would’ve done, but if she had the same level of compassion as when you regain it, I don’t think she would’ve been willing to let Cain or anyone else remain trapped. She’d be too horrified. So, I believe she went along with the project, then freed Cain, later framing it as Cain escaping on his own, which is how she’s still at Siberia in her last memory - when the base is collapsing, and Lloyd is seemingly shot.

I don’t think she could leave the base, they’d likely threatened her family if she ever tried.

Now, as I said, I’m coming back to why the multiple floors matter. First, some screenshots:

I already explained, but I think she helped him to escape. And this is when she first saw him lose control. The torture chamber is too small a place for Cain to go berserk and Lane to have survived, but we know the room exits right into an underground, tower-like space, with many landings for each floor. Presumably, on the last floor, Lane confronted Cain. She would’ve only gotten there after he’d killed everyone else. In the most recent episodes, we also learned that her memories with Cain connect to some time when they were seemingly surrounded by fire. In the present, he protects her as he flies them up and away from it. I’m guessing, like multiple times throughout their present relationship, it’s going to prove to be a parallel to their past one.

We also learned this update that immortals can read the minds of those they look into the eyes off. I think Cain read her mind when she tried to get through to him in the past, which brought him back to himself; because she only wanted to help. She had freed him - she wanted him to escape, before it was too late. We don’t know how much an immortal can read, exactly, from just one use of this power on someone, but his words when Lane was recovering from falling into icy water (and finding the torture chamber) were: “I once met a woman whose thoughts were much aligned with mine. They weren’t rosy, sometimes quite nauseating actually. But she amazed me; that someone could share such feelings. I remembered her. So, I took a closer look. I wanted to get to know her better, but, to be honest, I shouldn’t have. Then she disappeared.”

These are very interesting. He specifically says her thoughts aligned with his, and that their feelings were similarly shared. He also says he remembered her, and I wonder if this has any special significance, because we don’t know what he remembers when he loses control of himself - we don’t have confirmation he knew what he was doing, for instance, when he went to Lane after she called out to him, while Cain had been destroying the monks. Maybe when he read her mind, in the past, it was the first ever time he had been in that state yet actually remembered something from it. That he didn’t just remember the moments after he woke up because of her, and her thoughts, but as soon as he looked into her eyes and started using his mind-reading, which never happened before.

It sounds like he used his ability on her again, after coming back to ‘take a closer look.’ Then he started getting attached, or maybe he got the base’s attention again, or both, and so he considered it a mistake (“I shouldn’t have”).

Likely not long after, the base collapsed. But I doubt that meant he simply moved on from her. Rather, I actually think losing her - having this certainty that he no longer had the chance to see her again, even if he wasn’t planning on ever going back, after visiting her once before - is what drove Cain to join the squad. He was alone for so long, and suddenly, he had Lane, and she amazed him by making him feel as if he wasn’t alone on Earth. Then she was gone.

In the latest episode, he indicates that Lane wouldn’t want to remember how they knew each other before. If she had been forced to be complicit in his torture, and he can tell she’s repressing those memories, it makes sense.

Btw, when we see the hall of Lane’s memories, there’s three closed doors, each with an image marking it. The one farthest away has a clear symbol for Baal, imo: a skull with large spiral horns like a goat’s. One has a gun. For the last, to the left, the carving is difficult to make out. But it can be interpreted as a like a chair. Like the one in the torture chamber. A seat, a wide back, and a stand. Of course, it could also be a lamp, or a wine glass. It’s really ambiguous rn. We don’t see the chair from the front during the only scene it’s in, so it’s almost impossible to connect that the marking might be referring to it. However, if it was, it would make sense in hindsight; the symbols only make sense with context. Without the context of Lloyd being fired at, the locked door with a gun carving on it wouldn’t be guessed to hold that memory.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 14 thoughts

(after having seen this episode, i can confidently announce that it is making the top 15!!! god it was just!! so incredible!!! the undying devotion to each other!! i want to frame the way he cups her cheeks!!! i'm crying! you're crying! everyone cried!!!!!!!!)

ah, this episode. i have seen this one mentioned before. i’m interested to see if it was for good reasons or for bad reasons. i can tell that it will be angsty and hurt my feelings, but whether that is written in a way i approve of or not is hard to predict after my intense fight with last episode! and how mean mulder was!

so. reading this description. he’s going to look for answers for her. oh my god. AGAIN. not a mere coworker thing. but i digress. i have a feeling i’ll need to forget that part about their whole power dynamic from the last episode in order to move forward. 

also a little confused as to what the title is going to mean... i know it refers to a reminder of mortality, but in my art history course we looked at a bunch of memento mori art where skeletons just. burst into rooms. and interrupted dances. and i don't really want to see that today.

entering my forgetting mode…. okay. okay. i think i’m here. memory is blank. i am neutral. let us begin.

OH MY GOD SCULLY OPENING MONOLOGUE. okay hold it together. HOLD IT TOGETHER.

wait she’s writing something. who is she writing to? damn, she is very poetic when she puts her mind to it.

“hope you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you” wait. wait hold on. wait hold on….. wait. (insert that sobbing cat image here)

she thinks she is going to DIE?????????

is she writing a letter to go with her will or something?!?!?? wah…. WAHHHHH 

she holds an x ray of her brain (i think that’s what it is, sorry to the stem girlies if it’s some sort of other genre of scan) that clearly shows a tumor………..

:( :( :(

mulder has flowers!!! he is asking where to go in the hospital instead of just looking for the sign directly in front of him. this shows that he is very worried.

he sees her through a window and stares a bit…… before he comes in the room

“i, uh, i stole these from some guy with a broken leg down the hall. he won’t be able to catch me” <- you absolute liar saying ANYTHING to make her smile. oh my god and it WORKED and she’s smiling and he’s smiling and i’m gonna cry already 

look at how he’s looking at her…….. i cannot reconcile this with the last episode at all. i’m sorry, i cannot. and for this reason i once again toss it out of my mind.

HE’S THE ONLY ONE SHE’S CALLED!!?!!?!?? their relationship. it's just. so.

oh my god, she says she has cancer, and he immediately assumes it has to be treatable. she has to tell him it doesn’t seem to be. his unwavering faith...

“i refuse to believe that” <- oh my GOD. oh my GOD. his face his eyes oh my god. he cannot lose her.

“for all the times that i have said that to you, i am as certain about this as you have ever been” SCULLY NOOoOoOOoo

(it must be so horrific to be a doctor and know exactly how you’re dying and that there is nothing you can do…)

he looks so utterly lost and she is trying to hold it together to tell him that if it progresses, she will have no chance of survival. 

“i don’t accept that”, he says, stuttering in disbelief; “there must be some people who’ve received treatment for this. we can….” he fails to finish that thought

(his unwavering belief for even a second that they could find a way needs to be studied in a lab. this man is so intrinsically loyal to the 3 people he holds close it actually makes my heart hurt. i feel aching in my chest)

oh my god he is the DEFINITION of “everything i let go of is covered in claw marks”. he cannot BEAR to lose anything else. he is grasping so firmly to the idea that there HAS to be a way. and she is trying to be resigned to her fate. how strong she is, i think, as she puts on her bravest face, telling him she is going to die.

oh my god, she has to tell SKINNER???? what the fuck. i never even CONSIDERED that. he says he is so sorry while mulder is twisting around in the background because he cannot stay still in moments of stress; i’m recalling how he bounced his basketball up and down, up and down when she was in her coma

they’re going to try and track down the women from allentown they met last year who they talked to about the abductions and the neck implants before she begins any treatment. skinner is reminding them both that they have access to the best treatments in the country. but scully must know that the best isn't enough.

scully says she wants to pursue this through the justice department whilst mulder nods enthusiastically. skinner seems confused but he acquiesces. what else can you do?

so they go to allentown, where they are informed that betsy (the main woman that scully had spoken with regarding the abduction experience) just passed away. and the realtor doesn’t want to let them in before her garage sale, but mulder POINTEDLY pulls out his badge AGAIN, and you know his ass is going in whether she likes it or not. 

(the angry way he pulled out that badge did something to my heart)

scully is having terrible flashbacks from the last time she was here. poor girl...

the realtor is watching mulder pick up the phone and scully points out someone is sending a fax! realtor is just standing there. with hate in her heart.

they go down to the basement and find…. a computer. that someone is copying all of the files from remotely!! some guy named kurt is allegedly copying all that information down. off to kurt’s place. who are, you kurt? a force for evil, i assume?

he is not answering the door and mulder is going to to check the back instead of just wait there because again, he cannot sit still for a minute. and bam! they find kurt. woah. mulder takes him down QUICK. 

NO NO NO. she’s bleeding from her nose….. she says she’s fine. “quit staring at me, i’m fine” <- oh she is so not fine. those are not the words said by someone who is fine.

(after having seen this episode, i still can't stop thinking about this interaction. how angry she seemed to be seen as someone worth pitying or worrying over. how she must have known that would keep happening in the future, how she wanted to hold onto her agency for however long she had left in this world. there was fury in there to cover up the terrible insecurity that comes from fate being out of your hands and the perceived, if not intended, condescension of needing to be cared for. because she is the one that does the caring, and not the other way around. and how she tried so hard to keep working despite knowing the time was ticking, to tell mulder to stop worrying about her, keep his eyes on the mission and off of her... there's so much to be said)

more blood is dripping into the sink in the bathroom. mulder is knocking on the door, asking if she is okay.

(oh my gooood, i’m not sure which angle of angst is worse here: mulder watching scully suffer, blaming himself for if he cannot find a cure OR scully having to carry on through her sickness and see how terrible it is for people around her to grieve her while she’s still living)

this kurt fellow claims he was in the same UFO network, and was copying the files as betsy had told him to. he ran because he thinks the government is trying to suppress that information. hmm. mulder seems to believe him. but they can’t cross check him….

she asks why not, and mulder won’t answer. 

kurt says that all of the women scully met last year died from brain cancer, except for one who is in the hospital named penny, and it doesn’t look good for her.

kurt is insisting that this is in fact a conspiracy, but mulder says he needs to talk to scully. and he walks her out of his view.

oh my GOD i need to copy this whole exchange down hold on….

“i want you to listen to me” “about what?” “about what you won’t admit to yourself- what you’re denying” “what am i denying?” “where your cancer came from” “mulder, it doesn’t matter” “it does matter. if what you have is a result of your abduction and that abduction is something the government knows about, then those are facts that should be brought to light” “i don’t know what happened to me. i have no clear recollection. and i don’t think these abductions are even abductions”

(and when she said that line, she was so furious, thinking the distinction didn't matter in the face of impossible odds, but he insists that it does, because justice ought to be brought to light- and it's not him circling back to UFOs like he always does out of his own self-interest, it's him trying every so gently to break to her that this could be something much bigger than them, a way that she was wronged that ought to happen to no one else- but she still cannot even begin to process it)

“all these women are dead” “no, they are not. one woman isn’t- this penny northern”

(and the desperation in that line as well; there was anger there, a need to pull on any and all threads, so needed that it blew her cool cover about how detached she seemed to her own mortality- she wants to live)

“mm-hmm. if you won’t listen to me, then i think you should go talk to her”

(the gentleness here, how he is trying to softly nudge her, how carefully he keeps his voice even despite the audience KNOWING that he just wants to shake her, beg her to do anything at all that could help her)

“about what? what it feels like to be dying of cancer? what it’s like to know that there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it?”

(oh my god the FURY in her voice here… how she was trying to fight back her voice cracking)

“if that’s too hard for you, then i think you should go as an investigator. you have one remaining witness, agent scully. i’d think you’d want to know what her story is”

oh my god the subtle “agent” in there… the way he’s trying to remind her that she is capable and can maybe find a way out of this, just maybe. the way he kept his voice so even the entire time like he was putting every effort he had into it.

i think that conversation will haunt me forever. 

(god those two were ACTING. i just KNOW that when they got that script they were excited as fuck)

scully goes to visit penny, who remembers her, saying she held and comforted scully “in the place”

scully carefully tells her that she doesn’t remember this, but penny assures her that’s okay. penny thinks she’s here to ask about dr. scanlon, who is treating the cancer, and treated betsy’s too. my money is bet on the fact that he is actually making them worse….

apparently dr. scanlon thinks he figured it out what causes this kind of cancer. and scully has tears in her eyes. oh my god. is she believing the scanlon propaganda...?

mulder is going through a bunch of files with kurt, then he's on the phone with her. “now call me an early bird, but i think i found something” <- oh my god he’s such a nerd, even when he’s fighting for scully’s life….

he thinks this whole thing is connected to a local fertility clinic, but she doesn't want to hear his theories- she’s asking him to please bring the overnight bag from the car, and call her mom to ask for some things so she can be admitted for treatment.

his breathless “is there anything i should know?” and her answer: “mulder, whatever you found, or whatever you might find, i think that we both know that right now the truth is in me… and that’s where i need to pursue it. as soon possible” 

AND HE SAYS HE WILL BE RIGHT THERE 😭😭

see, this is what i love about them. how they can say so much with so few words, how they would do anything for each other; if one of them needed the moon, the other would start researching how to tear it from the sky. this bond that is so… it’s back to the old question, are soulmates natural or are they formed? with them, they just seem to have that connection. and even when their differences might lead them to fight, it is just a underlying current, that togetherness. and it seems so natural.

(but i just know that the minute he leaves the place, all the files he’s going through are going to somehow get destroyed! i have seen too much of this show to expect otherwise)

mulder slams the file cabinet shut before he leaves and kurt is looking around. what is he planning, this devious kurt fellow?

someone else drives forward as he pulls away. girl is it gonna be CSM?!?!

someone is approaching. okay, it is not CSM. whoever it is has the needle you use to kill the aliens!!! is it the alien bounty hunter? i cannot tell… these white men blend together and also he can shape shift so who tf knows.

but kurt is DOWN and he is BLEEDING THE FIZZY GREEN BLOOD!! kurt was an alien?!?!?! why didn’t he heal those women??! is he involved with making them sick???! i have questions. many many questions.

the fizzy stuff is like dissolving him. not sure we have time to unpack that.

scully is laying in the hospital bed…. dr. scanlon is watching. okay, creepy, but maybe doctors have to do that sometimes. 

she says she doesn’t feel sick, and i typed sock at first, which would be far more lighthearted, wouldn’t it, if she didn’t feel like a sock? 

i don’t trust this guy. 

he straight up says that the radiation and chemo is going to make her feel like she is dying. and at that moment, mrs. scully walks in. she is… very unsettled. and the doctor says they want to start treatment this afternoon. 

despite telling mulder she knows she is going to die, she is trying to reassure her mother that everything is fine. that’s very interesting to me. that she feels she can be honest with him about the lack of hope, but needs to lie to her mother.

mrs. mulder is furious that scully didn’t tell her right away, but she says she wanted to get the answers first. she’s shaking as she says she doesn’t want to be kept in the dark. damn. she really has suffered so much.

oh my GOD... she kisses her cheek and hugs her, saying that she has always been the strong one… but she is her only daughter now. and they hold each other. pain. pain. and suffering.

they’re putting her in some stuff for radiation as scully narrates the evil of cancer, how it becomes one with the person it targets. she says it’s science's answer to an exorcism.

WAIT SHE’S ADDRESSING MULDER?? she must be continuing her letter from earlier……

“and if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done” STOP. the way she KNOWS he will always, always blame himself, and is trying to say something to stop him from doing so just this once.

he’s breaking into a place because he wants to find anything at all… hmm where is he doing some good old b&e today?

“and though we’ve traveled far together, this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone” no…. no :( no :( 

she knows that he will never stop searching for an answer… to the point where he won’t be able to lead his own life… and so she thinks she should go ahead alone… oh my god. oh my god. is she referring to the treatment process? or the inevitability of death?

he’s breaking into the fertility clinic that he mentioned before. gonna do some typing in the dark. but someone is here with him!!! who???

a guy in a sweater. “i’ve got a gun pointed at your head, turn around very slowly” mulder announces with PERFECT calm.

god i love him. have i mentioned that i love him? how he is willing to die and kill for the ones he loves? and how he is NOT just some bully or mean boss? yes. i’m bitter. 

IT’S KURT!! but we know it is NOT REALLY KURT. because we saw that kurt is dead. so it must be the alien bounty hunter in a new skin? WHAT DOES "KURT" WANT? 

“he” (whoever it is in the flesh suit that was once kurt’s) claims he is also trying to hack into the clinic's system, but can’t get the password right. i guess that he is going to hack and delete everything???

mulder picks up a snowglobe and guesses the password!!!!! yeahhh snowglobes.

woah. cutscene to something being drilled into scully’s head…. must be a flashback from the abduction.

penny is by scully’s side, telling her she’ll be okay as she wakes up from the nightmare. they grasp hands, scully says she feels sick, and that she had a dream where “someone was doing something bad to me”. apparently penny was allowed to tend to her during the procedures. but scully says she can’t hear this right now. 

penny says if she can make sense of it, it’ll help her through the pain, to understand why it is happening to her.

okay, cutscene to skinner’s office. where mulder is sitting before he even gets in there. “i need you to set up a meeting for me”. skinner says “hold all my calls” in that gruff voice of his. i like his serious voice. and i am tense, expecting a fight to go down, or tears to be shed, or something.

oh tea…. mulder found a file from the fertility clinic with scully’s name on it… but he says he’s sure, “pretty damn sure” that she’s never undergone treatment for infertility. this could be very awkward if he is wrong. he seems confident, though.... have they had further discussion about families like they did in home? but even if she WAS undergoing treatment, why would she do it in a random town in pennsylvania? so i guess that his confusion makes sense. 

so he wants a meeting with…. CIGARETTE MAN. “you’ve come to me like this before”, skinner points out, but mulder says he’s willing to DEAL NOW. he knows he’s behind all this. “you offer this man anything, and he will own you forever”, warns skinner. a real deal with the devil…

hold on. i just remembered that in canon CSM killed JFK and MLK jr and writes bad fiction. a wild fellow. and i’m also remembering how mulder broke into his house and asked “why her” with his gun pointing right to his head. i am remembering a lot of things.

mulder is yelling that CSM must have known what they did to agent scully. “but you can’t ask the truth of a man who trades in lies- i won’t let you” says skinner. oh damn…. oh damn. skinner just wants him to be safe but this isn’t going to go over well

they are staring at each other. and he insists that mulder find another way. damn, those two have been through a lot. all those times mulder should have been fired… skinner showing up covered in blood to track him down to some arctic alien base… that time mulder was experiencing psychosis and punched skinner in the face… skinner’s murder accusations… these two have such a fascinating dynamic. i love it. i really need to dive into that someday. i need fic of whatever the fuck it is that is going on between them.

so, what other way can mulder find? the lone gunmen, of course!!

they hack into her file from the clinic and see a gene code… it’s a DNA mutation.

“you guys ever been to the lombard research facility?” (everyone turns to frohike, who shakes his head) “well, pick out something black and sexy and prepare to do some funky poaching” <- LMAO i was surprised to get a genuine giggle during such a dark episode

(neeeeed to know how these dweebs met. all four of them. i know there’s a spin-off series so maybe someday i’ll learn the answers, but until then i’m concocting theories)

skinner is entering mulder’s office. but who is there…. NONE OTHER THAN CSM. “it’s funny,” he says, “i always thought of you as fox mulder’s patron” hey what does that mean. hey what does that mean. is skinner hiding something….?

ohhhh, skinner just accused him of being the devil. 

skinner says he needs a miracle… “what’ll it take?” he asks. OHHHH my god…. skinner loves those two so bad………. a deal with the devil for them….

CSM says that “he’ll have to get back to him on that” when it comes to what it will take for scully’s life…………. skinner what can you offer??????

lone gunmen are breaking into a storm drain. do you think the redhead and the long haired one with glasses are lovers? i think it might be more fun to imagine that they are. i never learned their names. perhaps i am a bad fan. 

mulder and the redhead set out!!! time to break into the facility!!!

okay i think the redhead is named byers? or else frohike’s making a reference i don’t understand. 50/50 odds on that.

they’re going in!!! they’re running!!! mulder has his leather jacket!!! byers (?) sees a keypad to enter a code.

(yes yes, his name is truly byers. we all learned something today. or at least i did)

OHHH, okay, the glasses one is langly. that name is familiar, actually. i appreciate how they are purposefully announcing the names for people like me. langly declares that this a toughie, and will take a moment to hack into. 

OMG!! the doctor treating scully’s cancer works at this research facility they're breaking into!!! I KNEW WE COULDN’T TRUST THAT MFER. i am innately suspicious of doctors. and langly gets them into the building. 

mulder tasks byers to GO TELL SCULLY TO STOP TREATMENT NOW because this scanlon fellow is a LIAR!!!!

(imagine how that went down...)

scully is writing to him again….. penny has taken downturn. “mulder, i feel you close, though i know you are now pursuing your own path” <-GIRL HE’S BREAKING AND ENTERING FOR YOU!!! THE PATHS YOU WALK ARE NOT SO FAR APART!!

“i need to know you’re out there if i am ever to see through this” oh my god….. he gives her hope to keep going…. something to fight for…

mulder is getting lost on the video feed while byers tries to make an escape…. but the cops are approaching!!!!!

he finds a door and slams on it… and who is inside but MULTIPLE KURT DUPES!!! the damn aliens!!!!!!

they welcome mulder in by name. he puts together that they are hybirds, and they beckon him in so they can explain in further detail.

there’s a creature in a tank i don’t much care for. okay. actually many many creatures in tanks. 

the kurts are saying they are trying to subvert the project that created “us”. OH! mulder sees into the tank and it’s the same shape of the boy he saw up in canada with his fake sister!!! so they are the end results… and they want the same thing he does??? i guess. 

he takes them to a room filled with “human ova”. including one from betsy. oh no… oh god… yes, they took it during her abduction, and from all the women they abducted, including scully. i don’t want to think about what “super ovulation” means. but mulder is shocked. imagine him having to explain to scully that he held her ova in his hands. and the procedure that leaves them barren (!!!) also gives them the cancer.

(frantically opens the wikipedia article for human ovaries before realizing i can figure out the details later)

this clearly has implications for their family planning chats. god, is he gonna be the one to tell her that she can't have children....?

but the kurts are trying to save them!!! because these women are their mothers!!!!

so, do we believe the kurts?? i'm not sure. if we know there are a bunch, does that mean the hacker kurt from earlier could actually be a good guy? or was he really the bounty hunter working on further nefarious actions?

bro straight up pocketed her ova. he’s a real one for that. do they have to be cold or something?? luckily, i have never had to ask these questions.

byers is currently dodging the cops, and the guy that killed OG kurt is now looking for some violence. 

NO…. mystery man is shooting at mulder!!!! the glass is bulletproof but it stopped being so after like 3 clips.

luckily the boys provide him an escape JUST IN TIME. shoutout to the lone gunmen fr.

he runs back to allentown and doesn’t find scully in her bed!!! but he finds her journal with the letters she had been writing to mulder. oh, he reads them....

where is scully?????? she’s with penny. penny is dying. she tells her that dr. scanlon isn’t coming back. and penny says that she’s been such a comfort, and to not give up hope. scully begins to cry.

mulder is sitting in a hospital chair at 5 am, falling asleep outside the room. finally, scully leaves penny’s room, crying. 

he confesses to reading some of what she wrote…. but she says he didn’t want her to read that. and that she has decided she’s not going to let this thing beat her. she looks so tired…. so sick…. 

was scalon killing these women in the name of the secret alien project? “that will be proven if we find him” “when we find him” OUGHHH 

she says she has things to finish, to prove to herself and her family. and he’s smiling at her. a real smile. telling her to come on back. 

ohhhh and they’re hugging. he’s tucking her head under his chin and rubbing her shoulder.

“the truth will save you, scully. i think it’ll save both of us” <-OHHHHHHHH MY GOD I AM GOING TO RIP AND TEAR AND YELL AND SCREAM AND HOLLER!!!

WAIT OH MY GOD I WAS SCREAMING BEFORE BUT THEN HE SO GENTLY TURNS HER AND KISSES HER FOREHEAD……. shut up. it’s so tender it’s so terribly tender. 

(a day later and i am still fixated on this. how terribly terribly gentle he is with her. it reminds me of how he held her face during beyond the sea, which, prior to this, was one of my favorite moments ever, and now i have TWO of them. he loves her so deeply in every sense of the word. and she loves him, deciding to keep fighting, to draw strength from him but also to honor herself, to achieve the things she has always meant to do, because she knows that she is worth fighting for)

finally they let go, and as she walks down the hall, he pulls out her ova from his pocket…. i’m so torn because my heart is still absolutely torn in half from how gentle that moment just was, but i’m also sitting here thinking… dude, do we need to get that into a freezer or something??

skinner answers the phone- at 5:30 AM! mulder says he was going to leave a voicemail and is shocked to hear him. mulder thanks him for his advice, and says it was wise to steer clear of CSM. they have to find out what he knows, but they need another way. skinner says there’s always another way, but as the camera moves, we see the room filled with smoke and a hand holding a cigarette…

he says “yes i believe there is, if you’re willing to pay the price” SKINNER BE CAREFUL I’M SCARED

do you think the writers purposefully associated cigarettes with the sleaziest and most awful character in order to get the children to stop smoking….?

end episode.

okay. i have so many thoughts. let’s start: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWAAAAAAAHHHHGGGGGGGGGGWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH

okay. that could have gone on for longer, but i’m going to compose myself. 

scully… my poor sweet scully, writing about her own death to mulder……… how helpless and resigned and furious she felt, yet still tried to be strong for her mother and for him…. how she decided to come back to work despite what she is going through…. the grief of mourning yourself and those around you mourning you… she looked so sick and exhausted, her terrible nightmares, being unable to accept what happened to her, holding penny close only to lose her too…. the incredible strength it takes her to decide to get back to work and keep fighting when everything hurts and the odds are so slim… god scully you really have suffered so terribly…. turning back from narrating her life in the past tense to the present tense…. it was very very very powerful

and mulder never for a single second ever stopping. how he completely refused to believe that anything was impossible. his smile when he brought the flowers to her in the hospital, the way his face fell when he realized what was going on, but refused to believe that anything could take her from him. the way he kept his voice even in the conversation in the hall. how he brought her the things from the car, how he barreled into her room when she wasn’t there, reading her journal in terror, how he smiled and held her, ran his fingers through her hair, gently kissed her forehead. how he took her ova, which sounds so crazy out of context, but in context it’s soul-crushing. he grabbed it for her. kept them in his pocket as she decided to keep fighting. a conversation for another day.

and skinner making deals with the devil, but only by himself, never even thinking to let mulder do it….

so where do we go from here?

if the treatment from dr. scanlon was making the patients worse, that immediate obstacle has now been removed. but that doesn’t fix the cancer itself. is skinner going to have to bargain with CSM? whatever CSM wants, it clearly isn’t money- so what could skinner even give him? my guess would be deactivating the x files in exchange for what will save scully, or maybe firing mulder entirely to keep him off of the trail of his nefarious alien deeds. or perhaps something even more evil, like access to one of those mars rocks with the oil aliens in them, or maybe someone important assassinated, maybe a coup in the syndicate (is that what their little UN alien groupchat is called? i saw it when i looked something up once).

man, skinner’s role in this was brief but substantial. what is he going to do? what sort of deal is he willing to make? i really really need to get into exploring the dynamic between the three of them more. it’s fascinating. how he won’t let mulder make the deal, but he’ll do it himself… he must really care for them a lot more than he lets on. 

oh my god. scully is gonna keep fighting…. <3

i really, really loved this episode. in fact, i’m positive that it will dethrone the blessing way and take that episode’s place in the top 15. this is an IMMENSE compliment. i still laughed a little despite the soul crushing sorrow, which i think is a sign of masterful writing.

i think this episode really really understood mulder and scully as characters. mulder with his need to chase to the ends of the earth to find the Truth, his need to put a smile on her face, his tenderness when it comes down to it, and scully with her bravery, attempting to keep herself strong for others while grappling with the metaphysical implications of dying, rejecting that conclusion after her own soul searching, and despite being busy with wrapping her head around this devastating news, she was still taking the time to bring comfort to penny. the complimentary needs to Protect and to Heal between them. it’s always going to get me.

you know that post i made about either jumping up and down or throwing my laptop in a river over their dynamic? THIS is jump up and down territory, baby.

i have a feeling that what comes next will not be easy, but i hope it brings great truth, and a delicate balance of love and angst. 

i’m curious to know what people think of how scully’s diagnosis is depicted. i’m sure we’re going to get more into it so i don’t want to jump the gun yet, but i’d be interested to know if her depiction gave a sense of visibility to people dealing with cancer, or if they think the episode/arc as a whole missed the mark. is it empowering to see someone make the conscious effort to keep fighting? is it offensive to think of cancer as something given to you by secret government plot? or was it such a relief to see someone going through the same thing as you no matter if it’s origins were more exotic than in life? where will they go from here in terms of how she handles it? 

i’d be really interested to read how people with cancer view her story. i’m sure someone out there has written on it; i’ll have to take a look someday when i’m not dodging spoilers.

the other thing i'm wondering about is the reaction to the alien breeding program reveal. it definitely speaks to the concerns over bodily autonomy and reproductive injustice that are increasingly relevant issues. i don't think it is supposed to make me feel comfortable, but it definitely succeeded at making me feel uncomfortable, if you catch my drift. something about those women being violated and losing all agency over themselves as a plot point rubs me the wrong way. and i think it is supposed to, but i'm not sure to what extent. idk, you just wouldn't see that happening to mulder's character, you know? it wouldn't be his bodily autonomy violated. it's as if we're so used to it happening to women in real life that it can easily become a plot point in science fiction, as if that just comes with the gendered baggage of being alive when you have ovaries-sometimes the aliens will harvest them. how does that speak on the way these writers see women as a whole? i'm unsure. but we have time to think it over.

my heart is a bit battered and bruised to see scully suffering so, but it is healing in knowing that they will have each other, and a renewed commitment to keep chasing the truth. and i am gonna go like idk claw at a pillow now to cope.

and then they all lived happily ever after. amen.

[mepuppy]

Let It Ride - Supernatural rewrite

A.N.: I do not own the characters, nor the storylines. I'm simply adding a twist to the episodes. Please feel free to help me out with constructive criticism on the story or the writing. Sorry for the mistakes, not proofread and english is not my first language. Coming back like I didn't disappear for over 2 months...

1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06

Word Count: 6.9k

1x07 - Hook Man

“Yeah, don’t worry! We’re all fine.” Y/n reassured Bobby once again over the phone. They had stopped at an outdoor café they passed through to eat something. The two brothers headed to a table but she stayed back, leaning against her bike to call the older man. “It was weird and all, but we walked out without major problems.”

“I know the lot of you can take care of yourselves. But ‘still worry.” He told her and she smiled warmly. The man was as much of a father figure to her as John Winchester was. “Any leads on John?” 

She sighs, her smile faltering, and looks over to the table Sam and Dean were. “No. After we found his journal, back in Jericho, the only sort of news we got was that he had re-activated his voice message, redirecting his calls to Dean.” She explains seeing a waitress approach the two other hunters and getting their order.

“We’ll, shit.” Dean looks over at her and she just nods, knowing he wanted to ask if she was going to eat. “Imma try calling him and see if I can pick anything up, ‘lright?” Y/n gets up from her bike and starts walking slowly to the other two.

“Okay. Let me know if you figure anything out.” She says as Sam passes her and she frowns at the youngest.  YYU88

“I will. Take care of each other out there.” She gets to the table and sits down. “Say hi to the boys f’me.” He hangs up and she looks up at Dean. 

“Bobby says hi.” He looks from the computer screen at her and gives a small smile. She motions her head to Sam who is on a payphone. “What’s up over there?”

“He’s trying to find dad.” Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to her. The waitress came back and laid on the table, three cups of coffee, a piece of pie, an omelet and 2 chocolate chip cookies. “They had cookies.” He grins at her and she smiles back. “And pie.” He eyes the plate pulling it closer to him.

Dean takes a bite, looking to his computer and then back at Sam who just hang the phone and is walking back to them. “Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis.” He teases and y/n takes a bite of one of her cookies chuckling. 

“Bite me.” Sam retorts sitting down.

“So, anything?” Dean asks while Sam takes a sip of his coffee, he shakes his head.

“I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe’s fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.” Sam sighs defeated, leaning back on his chair. 

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think John wants to be found right now.” Y/n says as her forehead creases and Sam looks disappointed.

“‘lright. Check this out.” Dean says turning the computer screen so the other two can see. In it there’s an article about a young man’s death. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.” Dean raises his eyebrows at them. 

“The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.” Sam reads the beginning out loud looking at Dean skeptically.

“Keep reading.” Dean said looking bored at Sam. 

“Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.” Y/n finishes the paragraph and raises an eyebrow at Dean. It was a good thing he developed the hobby of reading these types of article, it was so much easier to find cases with him.

“Could be something interesting.” He said to her and then looked at Sam. 

“Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.” Sam turns to eat his omelet.

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out.” Dean taunts him, making y/n roll her eyes, taking the last bite on her cookie.

They finish eating the breakfast and Dean pays it with the credit card as the other two head back to the vehicles. Sam gets in the passenger seat of the Impala, with a frown on his face. Y/n stops by the side and waits for him to roll the window down, and when he does she leans over resting her arms on it.

“Do you wanna explain why the pout?” She asks him with a slight tilt to her head.

Sam sighs and turns to her. “I just wanted to find Dad, get some answers. I hate that he’s playing with us like that.” His tone gets harsher as he explains his feelings. “And Dean doesn’t seem interested in finding him anymore. So I guess we’re just gonna hunt until dad decides it’s time for him to show up again…”

Dean finishes paying and turns to head back to the car, only to see y/n’s ass in his direction, with her elbows on Sam’s window. He liked the view, but saw a man who did too. ‘Men are gross’, he understands why you say that everytime the two of you go to a bar or something. Doesn’t matter he was looking too, it’s not as gross when it’s him, because he’s your… you’re his… Okay, so he couldn’t pin point exactly what you were for each other, still, the stranger sitting 2 feet away from him was grosser than he was. 

He started walking back to the car, hitting the man’s chair in fake accident and mumbling an ‘m sorry’.Walking way slower than what was considered normal, he took in the view for a few more seconds. When he was close enough to the other two, Sam was looking to the street in front of him and y/n with her forehead on her arms sighed. “I know it’s frustrating, but…” she started but Dean cut her off and started to walk at normal speed.

“Put that butt down and let’s go.” Dean passed them to go to his side of the car. Y/n raises her head and looks at Sam again, annoyed.

“Yeah. We’ll talk later.” He chuckles knowing what she was about to say. Y/n goes back to her bike and pulls it to Dean’s window. 

“I’m guiding!” She winks at the oldest hunter, with a smirk, and starts driving, knowing he will follow.

Arriving at the city, y/n lets Dean pass her to lead the way until they stop at a big house. A couple of guys are outside with their heads together over a hood of a car. She gets down the bike and goes to the Impala.

“Victim lived here.” Dean says as he gets out of the car and the three of them head to the guys. “Nice wheels.” He says faking an innocent smile and the boys look at him strangely. “We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.” Grinning he points to Sam. Y/n looks at him mentally tanking for the warning and trying to form a plan, knowing she won’t be able to stay in a fraternity. 

“Uhm. Sure.” One of the boys replies and goes back to the car. 

“And who is she?” Another asks, smiling at her and taking a step closer. 

“A cousin of ours. She got lost to her house.” Dean also takes a step forward blocking the other guy. 

Frowning at Dean, y/n sidesteps him and smiles back at the fraternity guy. “Yeah… Do you happen to know the address to the sorority?” She asks him, with a smile in his direction. 

After Marc, the fraternity boy, gave her the directions and she thanked him, she got back on her bike and headed to the corner, stopping out of sight of the house. She didn’t see a reason to actually go to the sorority house, when she could get a motel room just for her. 

Y/n: Let me know if you guys gather any info. I’m heading to a motel. 

She send the message to Dean and returned her phone to her jacket pocket, repositioning herself on top of her bike and heading to the end of the street. She took a few turns and found a motel. It wasn’t really good, but she was used, at this point, to all the shitty rooms they grew up in. Heading to the office, she fixed her hair and jacket. 

“Good morning.” She smiled at the man in the front desk, who was looking down at a magazine with a bored expression. “Do you have any vacancies?” Using her flirty voice, she learned a long time ago it helped her get things easier, and she wasn’t ashamed of doing so. 

The man raised his head and readjusted his posture when his eyes landed on her. “Oh. Good morning.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “Yeah. Sure. How many nights do you need?”

She talked to the front desk man for a little longer and, after paying for two nights with the card, some random bank had sent her last, she headed to the room. Getting inside she looked around, locking the door behind her, and let out a sight going to the closest bed and collapsing on it with throwing arm over her eyes. Her knuckles brushed the cut on her upper cheek, from their last hunt, and she flinched. The wound was basically healed already, but the flesh was still tender to the touch. 

Y/n stood up and headed to the bathroom. After using it, she was coming back to the room when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. Pulling  it out she answers Dean's call. 

“Hey, pretty blonde.” She grins and heads back to the bed “Missing me already?”

“Sure, if you say so.” He chuckled on the other side of the line “where are you? We got the witness information.”

She told him the address of the motel. Sam took the phone from Dean and explained Rich, the victim, was with the reverend’s daughter when he got killed. She waited in her bed until hearing the Impala’s engine, and headed out to meet the brothers. 

“Okay. So what's the plan?”  she asked, getin in the back seats of the car and looking at the two.

“How you feel about a little prayer?” Dean asked her looking over his shoulder for a couple of seconds, befre turning tback to he road.

“We're heading to the church reverend Sorensen preaches. His daughter was on the girl with Rich.” Sam explained further “So, taling to her is our best shot to figuring out what is this thing.”

She agreed, nodding. “You missed one of the funniest experiences of my life.” Dean grinned still lookng at th road. “Our roommate, from the fraternity, is going to a gamee today, so Sam helped him get his back purple for the spirit.”

“What?” she chuckled lightly with Dean and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well. When you throw me under the bus the way you did is hard to say no to the guy. Especially when we need information from him.” he youngest mumbled annoyed, which just agravaded th chuckling fro the other too.

Dean parks the car in front of a church and they all get off, heading inside. The service had already started, so they entered quietly, however the door slams behind Dean, making everyone going silent and looking at the trio. They sat on the back when the reverend continues “as a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.” Y/n skims the room and see a girl looking back at them,more specifizlly at Sam, who smiles weakly at her. “So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.” Everyone lowers their head, in prayer, except Dean. Y/n elbows him, ad he then notices everyone else, repeatting the gesture. 

The service ended shortly after and everyone headed out. The three hunters spot Lori, the reverend's daughter, as Dean and Sam explained to y/n, talking to another girl. After they hug and the oher leaves, the three approach them.

“Are you Lori?” Sam asks when they get closer to her.

“Yeah.” the girl nods.

“My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean.” Sam points at him and Dean waves. “And this is Y/n, our cousin.” He points at her, using the same cover story Dean did earlier. Y/n smiles at her.

“Hi.” The two hunters say in unison to the girl.

“We just transferred here to the university.” he tells Lori.

“I saw you inside.” she gives Sam a small smile.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…” Sam continues.

“We wanted to say how sorry we were.” Dean cuts him off and the girl and she tightens her lips into a thin line.

“I kind of know what you’re going through.” Sam looks back from his brother to the girl in front of them. “I-I saw someone… get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.” Lori nods slightly and reverend Sorensen walks up to them, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean and Y/n. They’re new students.” The reverend takes the outstretched hand and shakes it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” he says while the rev. shakes y/n hands as well.

“I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.” y/n tells him and Dean exchange a look with Sam.

“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” he smiles at the hunter and Dean chuckles.

“Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually.” They lead rev. Sorensen away from Sam and Lori. “And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.” they walk to the other side of the parking lot.  

“Do you happen to have a nice one in here?” Y/n ask, looking at the reverend.

“Well, yes actually. We do.” The man tells them when they stop. “What days were you two thinking about participating?”

“Well, we're not entirely sure yet.” Dean starts to explain “We just got to town and haven't received our classes table yet. So we don't know exactly how our free time will be laid out.” he finishes and the older man buys the lie.

“Oh. That's okay. We can schedule a day next week, once the three of you have already settled in and talk more.” The hunters nod and smile at him. “Are you staying in Lori's sorority house?” he turns to y/n.

“What? Oh, I think so. Yes.” she stumbled over her words “I just have to organize a few last documents.”

“That's nice. I really think those sororities need more people like you.” His gaze going from her to Dean and someone calls him. He looks over his shoulder and back to the two hunters. “I have to go. But let me know if you need anything else.” They all smile and the reverend leaves.

“If he dreamed of what you would be like in a sorority house, I think he'd send you to an ordination.” Y/n turns to Dean, chuckling.

“Probably, yeah. But I do doubt you would be too innocent.” His eyes narrowing at her and she feigned outrage. Sam approached the two.

The Impala was parked in front of the library building and the three hunters were heading inside. Sam explained what Lori told him and they decided to do some research. “So you believe her?” Dean asked as they passed through the doors.

“I do.” Sam tells him.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean grins at his younger brother and y/n rolls her eyes mumbling a very low ‘gross’.

“No, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.” Sam recalled what Lori had told him and y/n frowned at him.

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the…” She starts and Sam cuts her off.

“Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” He nods at the her.

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.” Dean counters the two.

“Well. Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began.” she says, stopping and  looking between the two.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?” Dean, stopping too, tilted his head at her.

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” Sam tries looking at Dean.

“I think we should see some records.” Y/n states and they head to the librarian behind a counter.

They sat at a table in the library while the librarian placed a few big, old, dusted boxes in front of them. “Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851.” She gives the three a small mile while Dean blows some dust off a box and coughs.

“Thanks.” he tells her and she nods walking away. “So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?” he looks at Sam with a frown.

“Welcome to higher education.” Sam smiles at his older brother and y/n chuckles. They start reading through the files. Y/n skimming through the names, and cause of arrest of each file, dividing it between possible, probably not and definitely not suspects for 3 hours.

A groan escaped her as she closed yet another ‘definitely not’ file. Dean rubbed his eyes the moment Sam, who was now standing behind the two, using a bookshelf as support, spoke. “Hey, check this out.” Dean and y/n get up and go to the shelf Sam is “1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.” Dean pulls a piece of paper from inside the folder.

“Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” Dean shows the page he has with a draw of the hook to the others.

Sam chuckles humoressly and points to a page he has. “Look where all this happened.”

“9 Mile Road.” Y/n reads where he is pointing and looks at Sam. “Same place where the frat boy was killed.”

“Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.” Dean tells Sam, with a impressed smile on his face, turning around back to the table. Sam gathers all the research and they leave.

They  handed the rest of the files to the librarian and headed to the car, driving to the 9 Mile Road. Dean stops the car and they get out of it. Dean opens the trunk and hands Sam a rifle. 

“Here you go.” He goes turns back to the trunk and Y/n grabs something from it too.

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good.” Sam chuckles and looks through the neck of the gun.

“Yeah, rock salt.” Y/n says handing some projectiles to Sam. 

“Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent.” Sam nods as Dean takes out a coil of rope and shuts the trunk.

“Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” They start walking towards the trees.

That’s pretty good. You two think of this?” Sam questions walking behind them with the gun ready. 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.” Dean grins at his younger brother, Y/n puts an arm out stopping the two as she hears some noises among the trees. Sam raises his gun and looks around.

“Over there. Over there.” Dean whispers nudging Sam. He aims aims the gun and cocks it. A figure comes out from behind the trees.

“Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head.” It's a sheriff with a gun aimed their way. Y/n mumbles a ‘fuck’ so low only Dean hears. 

“W-w-wait, okay, okay!” Dean tries as Sam puts the gun on the floor. They all do as they're told.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!” They get down. “Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!”

“ He had the gun!” Dean says as they lay down.

The sheriff calls reinforcement with the gun still aimed at the three on the floor.

“C'mon man. Let us explain.” Dean tries to reason with the sheriff but the man ignores him.

After waiting for a few minutes with their faces pressed against the dirt, other officers arrived. The one that busted them gave a brief explanation and three of them came to get the three up. The sheriff got closer to Dean.

“Keys?” He said and Dean looked exasperated at him. “Unless you want to leave your car here…” the man shrugged as Dean sighed. 

“Fine.” He said with an infuriated look on his face and turned his pocket to the officer, since another one was holding his hands. The older man grabbed the keys and they took the hunters away. 

Sam and y/n were sitting inside a cell. The woman had her head against the wall and her eyes closed. Sam, sitting beside her, was holding his head in his hands. How could they’ve been so dumb? “Y/n y/l/n. Sam Winchester. C’mon.” An officer called them and the two got up. Dean was being questioned, so maybe now it was their time. The officer led them to the table at the entrance of the station where Dean was flashing a grin at them. 

“Here is your stuff.” The officer behind the desk handed them two bags with cell phones, wallets and personal stuff. Sam and y/n exchanged a glance and grabbed their stuff. They left the station. 

“Saved your asses! Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock.” Dean started bragging as soon as they stepped out of the station. 

“But how?” Sam asked amazed. 

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you.” He answered Sam, motioning between him and y/n. 

“What about the shotgun?” Sam continued to question as they headed to Baby. 

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.” Dean explained with a proud smile on his face. 

“And he believed you?” Sam’s face turned exasperated. 

“Well, you do look like a pledge.” Y/n told Sam with a grin. As they got to the car several sheriffs ran out of the building and sped away in police cars. The three exchanged looks and got in the car. Dean followed the police cars from a distance. 

They get to a sorority house, and as they drive by Dean points at Lori seating on the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around her. 

Dean parks on another street and they get out walking around to the back of the house. “Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road.” Sam questions, a confusing glance on his face. 

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else.” Y/n states as two sorority girls come out the side entrance of the building, luckily they don't see the three who lean against the side of the house next to some bushes to hide themselves. 

“Dude, sorority girls! Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?” Dean says turning to look at Sam, but sees y/n trying to climb onto the balcony instead. He helps her and climbs after, with Sam following them. Once they are up there, she sees a window and sneak inside with the two brother doing the same. Dean falls on top of y/n’s legs “Oh, sorry!”

“Be quiet.” She shushes him with a whisper getting to her feet. 

“Me be quiet? You be quiet!” He retorts, doing the same.

“Both of you be quiet!” Sam complains, turning to close the window behind him. 

They look around to realize they are inside a walk in closet. Sam opens the door slightly and sees another sheriff leaving the bedroom, waiting until the sheriff went downstairs and then opening the closet door. He checks to see if they are alone and steps out of it, followed by the other two. Once in the bedroom they see a bed covered in blood with some police markings. Y/n sees the wall and nudges the other two to do the same.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’” Sam reads the words written on the wall “That’s right out of the legend.” He looks to the other two. 

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean replies.

“And it’s definitely a spirit.” Y/n tapped her nose indicating the strong scent in the air, while heading to the other bed in the room, Lori’s bed. She knew because of the picture of a younger Lori, the reverend and a woman on the bedside table.

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before.” Sam said as Dean moved over to the window. “Hey, come here.” He motioned to the other two, who joined him. Pointing at a cross symbol beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

“Holy shit.” Y/n says and they hear a noise downstairs. Moving quickly and silently they go out the same way they got in and head to the car. Sam grabbed the folder they took from the library and opened it, stopping by a picture of the cross symbol they’d seen on the wall. 

“It’s the same symbol. Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.” Sam states handing y/n the folder. 

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down.” 

“After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.” She reads the next page on the folder and looks at Dean, both of them looking annoyed.

“Super.” Dean mutters leaning against the car next to y/n. 

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why.” Sam says going to his door of the car. 

“I’ll take a wild guess about why.” Dean moves to the driver's side and picks up a fine left on the windshield. “I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.” The two enter the car and y/n moves to go in too. 

After an afternoon with some research at y/n’s motel room, Sam and Y/n go meet Dean at the boy’s frat house where there’s a party going on. 

“Hey.” Y/n says when they find the oldest brother. 

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!” Dean says checking out a girl who passes them and y/n smacks him on the head.

“This wasn’t really my experience.” Sam states looking around with a face. 

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?” Y/n teases him and he nods.

“What a geek.” Dean rolls his eyes as Sam unravels a piece of paper. Dean asks, eyeing the paper.. “Alright, done with your homework?” 

Sam nods. “Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” He shows the printed pages to Dean. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder.” Y/n reads aloud showing Dean the different pages. “1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage” she reads the second page. Dean looks back at them confused. 

“There’s a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out… get this… with a sharp instrument.” Sam explained his train of thought and y/n questions.

“What’s the connection to Lori?” 

“A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?” Y/n states as it’s obvious and Dean suddenly understands. “Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter.”

“Reverend Sorensen. You think he’s summoning the spirit?” Dean asks as someone bumped into them. 

“Maybe.” Sam says, shrugging.

“Or… You know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?” Y/n looks up at Dean and he nods. 

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.” Dean agrees thoughtful. 

“Exactly. Without the reverend ever even knowing it.” She continues

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight.” Dean says and looks around the party, while Sam nods. 

“What about you?” He asks the other two. Dean looks at an attractive blonde smiling at him by the pool table and makes a face. 

“I’m gonna go see if I can find that unmarked grave.” He mumbles, reluctantly. 

Y/n looks between the two brothers, trying to see who was in greater danger. “Come on.” She tells Sam and goes with the youngest to Lori’s house. 

Sam and Y/n are looking through the kitchen window of the Reverend’s house. They can see Lori and her father arguing. They look at each other and then back to the house. Lori complains and leaves the room. Her father sighs and turns out the light, leaving the room. Lori comes outside and finds Sam and y/n outside.

“I saw you from upstairs. What are you doing here?” She asks, looking between the two hunters. 

“I’m keeping an eye on the place.” The girl makes a face when Sam answers and he continues. “I was worried.”

“About me?” Lori asks and y/n takes a few steps away, looking around the house and giving them space.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sam scratches the back of his neck. 

Y/n calls Dean to see if he managed to dig and burn the Jaco Karns remains but it goes rings until it falls on voicemail. She huffs looking down at her phone when, suddenly she hears reverend Sorensen scream followed by Loei’s. She runs to where Sam and Lori were when the door slams shut and Sam runs to it with his gun in hand.

“Are you okay?” she asks Lori when she reaches the girl pulling her back into the garden. She nods quickly and tries to run inside again. “We need you to be here, okay?”

“But…” She starts but reverend Sorensen screams again. A gunshot is heard and the window on the second floor shatters. Y/n is still holding Lori ck while she pulls her phone to call 911. Lori manages to escape the hunter’s grasp and runs inside.

“Dad! Dad!” The girl enters the bedroom and kneels down next to her dad. “Okay. It’s ok, Dad, it’s ok. It’s ok.” Sam is watching when y/n approaches and end the 911 call.

“Ambulance is on the way.” She simply states and Sam nods.

In the hospital Sam and y/n are talking to the sheriff while Lori is standing by her father’s bedside in a room.

“We were just talking. Then Lori’s dad came out. And then he appeared.” Sam explains looking convincingly confused.

“A big man? Carrying a weapon, some kind of hook?” the sheriff narrows his eyes at the two.

“Yes, sir.” the hunters nod.

“Ever seen him before?” The man asks and both shake their heads.

“No, sir.”

“Kids, it seems every time I turn around, I’m seeing you. I suggest you try to stay out of trouble…” y/n takes a shaky breath and the two nod at the sheriff.

“Yes, sir.” They say in unison as Dean approaches down the hall.

“No, it’s alright, I’m with them. He’s my brother.” Dean says at two officers who try to stop him. “Hey! Brother!” Sam, y/n and the sheriff turn to see Dean, who’s smiling and waving.

“Let him through.” The sheriff says and the other two make way for Dean to approach.

They go towards Dean as he’s walking their way too. “You ok?” He looks worried from Sam to y/n.

“Yeah.” they answer the oldest hunter.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks, making a face.

“Hook Man.” Sam says with a sight.

“You saw him?” Dean wide eyes look back at Sam.

“Damn right.”

“Why didn’t you torch the bones?” y/n asks in a hushed tone.

“What are you talking about, I did. You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?” He answers looking at the woman as she opens her mouth confused.

“It sure as hell looked like him. And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.” Sam says quickly.

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself.” Dean says in a mocking tone.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” Sam continues ignoring his brother’s comment.

“So what?” Dean frowns.

“So she’s upset about it. She’s upset about the immorality of it.” y/n explains to Dean.

“She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.” Sam whispers.

“Ok, so she’s conflicted. And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?” Dean gets to the conclusion the other two had.

“Right. Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.” y/n brings out all the deaths and correlates to Lori.

“Remind me not to piss this girl off.” Dean murmurs. “But I burned those bones, I buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?” he asks the two younger hunters.

“You must have missed something.” Sam tries and Dean shakes his head at him.

“No. I burned everything in that coffin.” y/n is chewing on her lip when it hits her.

“Did you get the hook?”

“The hook?” Dean asks with a frown.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him.” She explains her point of view.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.” Dean whispers and exhales, shaking hi head.

“So if we find the hook…” Sam starts.

“We stop the Hook Man.” They smile at each other.

The three are back into the library with more papers. “Here’s something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary.” Dean says and start reading. “Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof.”

“Does it mention the hook?” y/n asks looking up from her files.

“Yeah, maybe… Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church.” Dean reads the next line.

“Isn’t that where Lori’s father preaches?” y/n asks Sam, who nods

“Yeah.”

“Where Lori lives?” she asks again.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past 200 years.” Dean tilts his head and looks between the two.

“Yeah, but if the hook were at the church or Lori’s house, don’t you think someone might’ve seen it? I mean, a bloodstained, silver-handled hook?” Sam asks his brother.

“Check the church records.” Dean says and motions to the piles of paper in front of them. They go back into reading.

“St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.” y/n reads aloud when she stumbles into something and with a sigh looks up at the two brothers. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“So… I guess back to the church we go…” Dean gets up. The other two follow him.

“What’s the plan once we get there?” Sam asks confused as they head to the car.

“We can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire.” Dean says as he gets in the car, followed by the two.

“We’ll have to break in, Lori’s still at the hospital.” y/n looks between the two.

“And we have to check both the house and the church.” Sam says.

“Alright. Take your pick.” Dean looks at Sam as he parks the car.

“I’ll take the house.” They get out and Dean and y/n look between the two buildings.

“Church’s bigger.” y/n says going in that direction to help Dean out. Dean nods and look back at Sam with a grin.

“Hey.” Dean calls and Sam turns around. “Stay out of her underwear drawer.” Y/n snorts and they both walk away.

They are some time inside, Dean is already throwing everything the two found in the fire when Sam approaches with a bag. “I got everything that even looked silver.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Y/n shrugs and hands the bag to Dean. They throw everything into the fire when suddenly, they hear footsteps above them.

“Move, move.” Dean takes his gun and they go upstairs. They find Lori sitting in a pew alone, crying. Dean lowers his gun and goes back downstairs with y/n. 

“Man, that girl is in serious need of a therapy session.” y/n says sighing as they reach the fire again. When neither of them could see anything else besides the fire they relaxed a little, but then they hear Sam yelling.

“GO!”

Both of them get up as fast as humanly possible and run upstairs again. They hear Sam screaming and force their legs to go even faster. Y/n raises the gun she grabbed from the floor.

“Sam, drop!” Dean yells and the young hunter crouches down as y/n shoots the Hook Man once and he disappears into dust.

“I thought we got all the silver.” Sam looks at the two as they get closer.

“So did I.” Dean agrees.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam asks.

“Well, maybe we missed something!” Y/n says as it was obvious. They look around.

“Lori, where did you get that chain?” Sam asks pointing at the necklace of a cross on her.

“My father gave it to me.” She answers holding it as the three hunters eye ii

“Where’d your dad get it?” 

“He said it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school.” she explains with a frown.

“Is it silver?!” Y/n asks her.

“Yes!” As she’s still answering Sam rips the chain off from around her neck and starts running to the hallway. The Hook Man, who is now invisible, is making a long scratch on the wall. Y/n turns around to look at it.

“Sam!” She throws the rifle and the rock salt to him and Sam tosses Dean the necklace, he runs back downstairs. Sam aims the gun at the scratch that is being made and shoots. He quickly reloads the gun with rock salt.

Y/n runs to them crouched down and pulls Lori back. Afterwards she goes to Sam and takes the gun from his injured hand, but the Hook Man appears and knocks the rifle out of their hands. They all crawl into the corner and watch the Hook Man tower over them. The Hook Man raises his hook in the air and stops. The hook melts and the rest of his body burns into nothing. Dean appears on the door looking at them. He walks over to the three on the floor and gives them a knowing look.

Outside the church the Sheriffs are walking around and there is an ambulance parked.

“And you saw him, too? The man with the hook?” The sheriff asks Dean and y/n rolls her eyes from the side.

“Yes, I told you, we all saw him. We fought him off and then he ran.” Dean explains.

“And that’s all?” He narrows his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s all.” Dean says and the sheriff sighs.

“Listen. The three of you…-” The sheriff starts but Dean cuts him off with a raised hand and a head shake.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.” The sheriff nods and walks to his car. Y/n approaches Dean back. They head back to the Impala and get in. Y/n sighs and rests her head on the headrest. Looking through the mirror they see Sam approaching the car after giving Lori a small, sad smile. 

“We could stay.” Y/n says as Sam gets in, but he shakes his head. The two older hunters look outside the car and see Lori looking at the car. Y/n looks at Dean with a worried expression and Dean shakes his head in disappointment and drives away.

Taglist: let me knowif you want to be added or removed.

@stillhere197

@lmhf1

@un-expectedly

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🔦Rewind AU: The Lost Seasons of X-Men: The Animated Series, Episode 19?, "The Room Where It Happened", the song and description, written down by Reader (and Kevin!) :

Opens up with the theme song; once done, the team is in their meeting room, with Morph presenting what they've discovered about the disappearance of (Genet? Cheetah? Lynx? Bobcat? the missing character)... They start to present it in song/poem form (it's really creative, isn't it, kit-cat!) :

Morph: Ah, team!

The X-Men: Morph, yes?

Morph: Didja hear what I found out about dear (missing character)?

Jean: No

Morph: You know Clement Street?

Storm: Yes

Morph: I've found an old clinic; that's where I believe they last were

The X-Men: Oh

Morph: All I did was sneak inside

Wolverine: That was dangerous work

Morph: Naw, not when I give it a try~

Morph: Now, how are we gonna find them, crew?

Cyclops: Well, first, let's review

Beast: (missing character). 5'4" They were quick, sharp, and had claws I know for sure

Morph: Now no one knew where they were going; there was a downpour!

Cyclops: We'll find them soon, before Winter

Morph: But-

Cyclops: Sorry, Morph, we've gotta move-

Gambit: They'd also been late for dinner

***************************************************

The team is discussing what they know of the night the missing character left, laying out different notes, a corkboard with strings and circled pages attached, and a few notebooks (those are Really Really REALLY important, kit-cat! you'll see more of those throughout the next season~!)

The group: One mutant on their own goes outside into a storm; going somewhere no one knows; close

Morph: They don't return that night. The doors were closed, wherever they went, it was through the snow; shows-

Morph: What comes from this is an abandoned clinic, on the other side of town; what's gone now is (missing character), with no trace- and here's the pièce of resistance-

Morph: No one was there in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened... No one was in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened...

Morph: No one really knows how this plan was played; who else stood to gain; how it all was laid; we just know that it happened... but there had to be someone in the room where it happened!

***************************************************

The characters are talking amongst each other now, asking if anyone noticed odd behavior or if Reader had mentioned going somewhere; they all seem upset and seem to be growing anxious and agitated (they were... but they'd lost their friend! it must have been really hard to think straight after losing them)

Wolverine: (missing character) had been off lately, in distress and disarray

Wolverine: Their notes said they had nowhere else to turn, but had found a place to help, so they caved

Wolverine: I gathered all the notes, read, yet they didn't seem to make sense, but a few seemed to say-

Wolverine: No one else can be in the room when it happens, the room when it happens, the room where it happens. Why didn't they want anyone in the room where it happened? The room where it happened? The room where it happened?

Morph: No one really knows how (missing character) just left; it wasn't like them, even when they were bereft! But somehow it happened... That no one else was in the room when it happened...

***************************************************

A few villains have entered now, and the room is getting crowded; a few of the villains include Magneto and Sabretooth; tensions seem to be rising, and the room starts devolving into angry shouting (the volume was REALLY loud!! it seemed like everyone was trying to let out all their emotions about everything) (That's sad, Kevin) (i know, kiddo, but it's okay! it gets better, i swear!

Morph: Xavier is grappling with the fact that not everyone can stand to be in the same vicinity

Morph: Everyone is fighting over why (missing character) left-

Everyone: screaming, yelling, and using their mutations

Morph: It isn't pretty

Morph: Magneto approaches with Xavier's invite, Xavier reacts with hidden delight

Xavier: Perhaps we can solve this problem by another, deal with two birds, in other words-

Magneto: Oh?

Xavier: Quid pro quo

Magneto: I suppose

Xavier: Wouldn't you want them back, as well as get rid of a foe?

Magneto: Yes, I would

Xavier: I propose we find Sinister

Magneto: And you won't let him slip away?

Xavier: Well, we shall see how it goes

Everyone: Let's go!

Morph: Wait-!

(It cuts back to the present)

Morph: No one else had found the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened ... We still don't know if it's the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened!

Morph: MY God! My team, I trust! But we don't really know what (missing character) discussed! Just boom-! Then it happened! They weren't in the room where it happened!

Morph: (missing character)! What did they tell you to make you leave without a warning? Did anyone know about your problems, did they blackmail you to come hither? Or did you even know it didn't matter if you went or not?

Beast: Because they'd already took them; they had what they wanted

Morph: They took (missing character)!

Rogue: And they hid them where we're not

Morph: If we got skin in the game, we stay in the game; but we can't win unless we keep playing the game; we get love for it, we get hate for it, we can't get (missing character) if we wait for it (wait for it)!

Morph: Gods, help and forgive us! We just want (missing character) back even if it costs us!

Morph: What do we want, team? What do we do,, team? If we don't start now, there won't be a (missing character)!

***************************************************

The group is now by an old building, looking to be in shambles. They enter, having tonuse their mutations and a few flashlights to look through the dusty and cracked halls and rooms. It looks really... creepy... (it looked like someone tried to destroy it, to hide any evidence of any wrong-doing...)

Cyclops: We've got to be in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened... We've got to be in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened-

Morph: We've got to go to the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened! We've got to be in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, that big old room!

Everyone: This is the art of our compromise

Morph: Hold your nose and close your eyes

Everyone: We need to explore this place to save the day

Morph: But we don't even know if there's someone left to save...

Everyone: We keep seeing broken parts

Morph: But we need to find the hidden heart! It's as dark as a tomb, where it happened...

Morph: But we've found the room where it happened-

CLICK! BOOM!

(Something had fallen, the door, I think?)

Then they're in the room, dark and filled with wires and a strange machine... They fiddle with it a little, but then one of the team finds a file- (important file!)

And in the file are papers about the missing character, and everyone seems to draw in closer, looking pale and shocked-

And then they're staring at the screen, as though surprised to sew whatever is there...

Then the episode ends with them taking their findings back to the mansion, and starting a plan to decode where the missing character is... (Good episode, right, kit-cat? Aren't you glad they finally found a clue?)

( @thewickedweiner Surprise~! Thank you for the idea! It's a little rough around the edges, but here is a parody/episode for your idea! What do you think? Also, @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danni1323 what do y'all think, too? Again, @thewickedweiner Cube Anon, this was SO fun!!!)

[averys-nightmare-zone]

since landing is closing down soon, i decided to take a quick break from SUPERSTRUCTURE (although i will be back don't you worry two fans) and made some fashion moodboards for the 14 fears from the magnus archives to accompany this post there will be some notes and insight on each collage under the cut.

the buried: the buried was really underutilized in the podcast imo. some of my favorite episodes revolved around the buried like lost john's cave and we all ignore the pit. i really hope this did it justice since jonny sims did not.

the corruption: oh my god this one was so hard to make. my google search history is full of terms like "bug infested dress", "moldy clothing" and "yucky fashion" the corruption girlies really seemed to like my last post so i felt obligated to get it right. i think i did okay.

the dark: making a black on black collage look decent is really hard 😭 I was originally going to go victorian for this one but ended up doing nu goth instead since I thought victorian fit a lot better with the end.

the desolation: this is one of my favorites. there's somthing so satisfying about combining ashy greys and black with orange it just tickles my brain. other than that, i don't really have any notes

the end: as mentioned earlier, i went with victorian mourning wear for the end. i mean queen victoria herself was in mourning and only wore black for forty years. that era is so synonymous with death it only felt fair to work its customs and fashion into my end board.

the eye: eye avatars are legally required to wear academic fashion. it just comes with the job description. i don't make the rules. have fun being jonathan sims

the flesh: this one really took me down a rabbit hole. first:, i could only find those anti-vegan shirts that your unemployed uncle wears to the family barbecue and then i came across this fashion designer and spent like an hour on her shop trying to figure out how she got her clothes to look like that. after that it took me another two hours to find all of the accessories. pinterest has been both my best friend and worst enemy over the course of this project.

the hunt: i am so sorry the supernatural gas leakage returned to my home when i made this and I age regressed into being 15 again. when i was making this i pictured it more as the trevor and julia flavor of the hunt instead of say, daisy. god breast america.

the lonely: this one was pretty easy to make once i got a handle on the color scheme. the aesthetic of the lonely has always striken me as a romanticization of the melancholy. think wanderer above the sea of fog. So i gave this one all the things i would romantasize about my life at my loneliest, which is why there's a teacup and a heart locket. the book was also a part of that, but it also doubles as a recreation of a leitner by theponderingalpaca on reddit.

the slaughter: yeah yeah i know the slaughter is supposed to be about war as well as murder, but forgive me for not making a fashion collage about military uniforms. that's really boring. i had just watched woodstock '99 before i made this though and decided to go more for that angry punk/metalhead fashion that korn was wearing in that concert. them and limp biskit are the closest we'll ever get to irl grifters bone.

the spiral: i made this moodboard twice. i know its crazy that the fear meant to represent insanity is hard to pin down, but i think i did it better the second time around. the first one read too much as regular kidcore/decora for my taste.

the stranger: i had to do this one last. i could not for the life of me figure out how to make a circus/uncanny fashion board without just doing clown fashion. i'm still not entirely sure how i feel about how it turned out, but at least the masks are cool.

the vast: vast avatars rise up!! this is a mike crew fan blog and i only wanted to base the fashion around him. he's in the top three list of guys i'm autistic about with elliott stardew valley and daniel powell from archive 81.

the web: not much to say here except if you are a web avatar you have to wear a cunty dress. it is simply non negotiable

thank you to @artmadval for giving me the idea to do this with your amazing fashion archives art, along with everyone else who went through all my yapping to get here. love yall!