#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:

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[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[baisemains]

Elements of Desire

Chapter 3: Dinner for Four

single mom!sevika x fem!reader

word count: 7.5k

contains: alcohol mention, weed mention, slight language, the slightest suggestive themes, really just fluff!

description: an unexpected invitation leads to an eye opening night.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sevika masterlist

Over the next few days, you and Sevika start emailing back and forth about the competition, eventually graduating to text when she finds the slip of paper you left your number on. 

That lasts for less than a day when one night, Sevika asks if you can call her because “she likes to talk on the phone like a normal person.”

You chuckle a bit at her age showing but you agree and a couple of minutes later, your phone starts vibrating.

Picking up the call, you hear a gentle hey. 

You immediately notice how much her voice changes over the phone, the rasp from the few times you've talked to her in person replaced by a much softer, lower tone.

She must be tired.

Sevika continues your earlier conversation about the science fair, and it makes you smile to hear just how invested she is in Powder succeeding.

A lot of parents you deal with couldn’t care less about their child's education and you’re glad that isn’t the case here. 

You speak cordially with each other, covering lots of possible topics that Powder could work on and the girl in question occasionally chimes in with her ideas, Sevika having put her phone on speaker as she cooks dinner. 

Eventually, she tells you it’s time for them to eat but she’ll call you back when they’re done, and you agree before hanging up and heading to the kitchen to have your own dinner. 

You’re heating up your leftovers in the microwave when you hear your roommate walk in and you turn around to greet her. 

She’s on her phone as she passes you, only raising her free hand in a quick greeting before she plops down on the couch, still texting.  

The microwave finally beeps so you grab your food and sit down next to her, grabbing the TV remote and putting on the reality show you watch together. 

You’re almost done with your meal and the episode when your phone starts to buzz on the coffee table in front of you. 

Leaning forward and seeing Sevika’s name, you look at your roommate apologetically. 

“I have to take this, it’s about the science fair.”

“Ooh, hot mom’s calling?”

Your friend laughs and you give her a playful elbow to the side before answering. 

“Stop, we have a lot of work to do before the first deadline.”

She smirks, not even looking at you as she changes the channel. 

“If you say so.”

You put the phone to your ear and get up to put your plate in the dishwasher, greeting Sevika as your roommate yells after you.

“Don’t take too long, we still have another episode and the reunion!”

Yelling back over your shoulder as you cover your phone with your hand, “I won’t!”

Putting your phone back to your ear, you can hear Sevika chuckling and the sound alone has you fighting back a smile. 

“Sorry about that, we’re a couple episodes behind on our show.”

You hear the gentle clinking of ice in a glass and a small gulp as you wait for Sevika’s reply. 

“We can finish this another time if you’re busy, I don’t wanna interrupt.”

Walking into your room and sitting on your bed, you start to shake your head before you remember she can’t see you and verbalize your answer. 

“No no, it’s fine, those housewives can wait.”

This time, you hear an inhale and subsequent exhale and wonder what it is she’s smoking. 

A cigarette? A cigar? A joint?

“Housewives, huh? Didn’t take you for a reality TV junkie.”

You slide a hand over your forehead, unsure of how to take Sevika’s tone. 

“Yeah…sometimes it’s nice to watch other people’s problems for once, you know? Just check out of my brain for a little.”

She hums in response. 

“I can understand that. I like to read biographies for the same reason. Makes me realize I’m not the only person in the world going through something.”

This is really the first time Sevika’s volunteered information about herself and your ears perk up instantly. 

“Oh really? What are you reading right now?”

Sevika realizes you’re not on the original topic of why she called but it’s getting late and it’s been a long week so her defenses aren’t as high as they usually are. 

Deciding that she feels comfortable telling you, she takes another sip of her drink and answers your question. 

“It’s about a man who applied to this big law firm over 20 times and was never accepted, but he met his wife when he came into their office and she was a secretary there. She ended up passing from cancer 10 or so years ago and her dying wish was for him to write the book he always talked about, so he did. But the entire thing is really just a love letter to her and how much he misses her.”

You don’t even realize how intently you’re listening to her talk until she’s done. 

“Wow, that’s…so sad.”

Sevika takes another drag and exhales deeply before answering. 

“In a way. But he talks about how lucky he feels to have had her in his life for so long and how he’d rather spend every day grieving her than live a life never having met her.”

You’re unsure how to respond to such a heavy statement, registering her almost longing tone.

Sevika continues when you don’t immediately say anything, not letting herself think about the fact that she’s rambling to her daughter’s teacher who she barely knows. 

She tells you more anecdotes from the book, about the man and his wife, and you listen to every word. 

So focused on the story and reminiscing, she doesn’t catch herself until she’s finished and you finally speak. 

“That sounds beautiful.”

Your response jolts her back to reality and she awkwardly clears her throat. 

“Sorry, that was a lot.”

“No, oh my gosh, it sounds like a really good book. I might have to check it out sometime.”

That gets a genuine smile from Sevika and she replies before she can think about it. 

“You can borrow my copy if you want, I’m almost done with it.”

Realizing what she said, she squeezes her eyes shut and leans back in her chair, hoping she didn’t sound eager. 

Or “thirsty”, as Vi and Powder would say. 

Little does she know, you’re on the other end of the line grinning like a fool, trying to keep it out of your voice. 

“That sounds great. I look forward to it.”

Choosing to ignore the fact that she basically explained the entire book, a small smile adorns Sevika’s face and she lets out a small sigh of relief. 

“I can send it with Powder on Monday if that works for you.”

Smile dropping slightly, you don’t know why you thought she’d hand deliver it when her daughter is literally in your class but you try not to let the disappointment seep into your reply. 

“Yeah! Monday, that works.”

Sevika is about to reply when you hear a door slide open and Powder’s voice in the background. 

“Are you coming in soon? You said we could watch a movie when you were off the phone and Isha’s starting to fall asleep.”

Sevika’s eyes widen, surprised at the amount of time that’s gone by since the beginning of the call and she looks at the clock on her phone. 

It’s been over an hour?

Her head drops, partly in embarrassment at being caught by her daughter and partly because she’s sad her conversation with you has come to an end. 

Huffing slightly, she rubs her face with her free hand and nods at Powder. 

“Alright, let me finish up here and I’ll be in in a couple minutes, baby.”

She turns her attention back to you, her normal stoic tone returning, and your heart skips against your chest without your permission, upset that it’s time for your goodbyes. 

���I uh…I gotta go. The girls are waiting on me for movie night.”

You have a sudden urge to try and keep her on the line but you quickly squash it. 

Knowing it’s ridiculous to think that just because Sevika is having a nice conversation with you, she’d want to stay on the phone over spending time with her daughters. 

You take a breath and give her a smile, even though she can’t see you. 

“Yeah, of course. Say hi to them for me.”

“I will. Good night.”

“Good night.”

You hang up the phone, leaning back against your pillows as you bring your hands up to your face and groan. 

That conversation did not help your situation. 

After you hang up, Sevika runs a hand through her hair, annoyed at herself for not even considering the amount of time that had passed while talking with you. 

Getting up and walking into the living room, she sees Powder sitting upside down on the couch and Isha in her usual spot, curled up on a pillow with the TV waiting to be played.

“Sorry, girls, I lost track of time.”

Sevika sits down on the couch, hitting play on the movie as Powder sits up and glances over at her. 

“Who were you talking to?”

Sevika looks over at her daughter and answers her honestly, never one to lie to her girls.

“Your chemistry teacher, we were going over some stuff for your project.”

Okay, maybe a half lie. 

Powder nods, accepting that response easily and turning to watch the movie. 

Sevika tries to pay attention but she keeps getting distracted by the memory of your voice through the phone, wondering if you always sounded so soft or if she was the exception to that.

That weekend passes quickly, neither of you reaching out as you were both extremely busy with your lives and Monday morning rolls around sooner than you expected. 

You’re at your desk, getting ready for the day when you hear footsteps walking in. 

Not bothering to look up, you greet your early bird like you do every class. 

“Good morning Ekko.”

“Um, it’s Powder actually.”

You pause your typing and turn your head to look at her, not anticipating her to be the first one to arrive. 

“Hey Powder, sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

She smiles softly at you and reaches into her bag, looking for something. 

“My mom wanted me to give you this?”

Pulling out the biography you were talking about a few days before, she hands it to you and you have to stop yourself from smiling. 

She remembered. 

“Oh yeah, she mentioned this was a good read and offered to let me borrow her copy. Thanks.”

You take the book and look back at your student, a hint of a smirk on your lips. 

“I heard she’s quite the bookworm.”

Powder laughs at your comment and nods her head, her hair bouncing adorably.

“Yeah, she has a library in her room. Just shelves and shelves of books.”

You tilt your head in thought, picturing Sevika surrounded by books everywhere. 

It’s not an unwelcome visual. 

Powder continues standing in front of your desk, telling you more random tidbits about her family; how they have movie nights every Friday, that she has an older sister in college, how Sevika loves to cook and the girls try to help but she always shoos them out of the kitchen. 

You soak it all up, pleasantly surprised that Powder feels comfortable telling you so much information.

She’s just getting to the topic of their favorite snacks when Ekko enters the room, interrupting Powder’s rant, and he says a quick hello before sitting down at his seat. 

You smile at him and wave as you turn back to Powder, who suddenly remembers where she is and stutters out a quick “I better get to my seat.”

Letting out a small laugh, you watch her walk over to her station and sit down next to Ekko. 

They’re not trying to tear each other’s heads off like they used to, but they’ve settled into this awkward agreement where they don’t speak unless it’s necessary. 

You’d be worried if they didn’t get their work done, but this silent partnership is working in their favor so you leave it alone for the moment.

The next few weeks are a blur, finals are approaching and so is the first submission deadline for the science fair. 

You and Sevika are back to communicating often, she lets Powder stay after school most days to work on her project, always picking her up with a homemade meal or dessert for you to take home. 

The first time she does it, you almost drop the Tupperware container, frozen at the realization that she cooked with you in mind. 

After she sees the grateful look on your face, and how you text her your thanks that night, she makes it a point to have something for you after every session. 

Another Friday rolls around and during class, you text Sevika and ask if it’s okay for Powder to take home her science project so she can work on it over break. 

“If you can’t, no worries, I can move some stuff around and take it home with me.”

She responds a few minutes later with a voice note – she says they’re faster than texting – and the message makes you swoon. 

“No she can bring it here, I have a couple projects in the garage but I’ll make room.”

Between what she says and the metallic noises in the background, the image of Sevika in her element springs into your mind. 

The way she would look bent over the hood of a car, her oil covered muscles flexing as she tightens a screw, her hand wiping sweat from her brow—

You jump back in your chair, phone still in hand and a couple students in your front row look at you in confusion. 

Giving them a tight smile, you quickly send her an “Ok” to Sevika and put your phone in your desk drawer.

Sevika quirks an eyebrow at your unusually blunt message, normally you reply with an exclamation point or an emoji or something. 

Once she gets off work, she heads home and sets up the garage for Powder’s project, moving her own stuff and setting up a mini workstation in a corner with a tarp down. 

The garage definitely looks like it belongs to a mechanic, she’ll say that. 

Getting a message from you that Powder’s project was ready to be picked up, she hops in her truck and heads over to the school, parking in the back by your classroom.

Sevika calls you when she arrives, and you quickly answer to let her know you’re on your way to open the back door for her. 

Hearing a creak, she looks over and sees your smiling face, a similar one blooming on hers. 

“Hey.”

You wave her inside as you respond gently. 

“Hi.”

The two of you stand in front of each other for a couple seconds before Sevika coughs into her fist, breaking the trance that you were both in. 

“Lead the way, miss.”

Sevika holds the door open and gestures for you to walk in first, and you have to look down to hide your giggle from her. 

You notice how she always calls you that when you’re on school grounds, but you definitely don’t mind it, even finding it sweet. 

Walking into your classroom, you go over to Powder and help her grab the boxes that her project was divided into. 

You’re headed for the biggest ones when Sevika rests a hand on the small of your back and walks past you. 

“Let me grab those.”

All you can do is watch as Sevika grabs the heaviest two, throwing one on top of her shoulder and settling the other against her hip. 

She turns around to face you and Powder as she nods her head towards the door. 

“Gonna toss these in the truck, be right back.”

“Not toss! Gently place.”

Powder makes sure to clarify, and Sevika laughs as she kisses the top of her head on her way out. 

“My bad, gently place.”

You wistfully watch Sevika leave the room, seeing her easily lift those boxes and then be so gentle with her daughter in the span of 30 seconds makes you feel things you didn’t know were possible.

Shaking yourself from your daze, you grab one of the smaller boxes and Powder grabs the last as the two of you head out to the back door into the parking lot. 

You see Sevika walking towards you two when she looks up and stops in her tracks. 

“What are you guys doing? I said I could grab the last boxes.”

An answer slips out before you can think about it.

“We didn’t want you making two trips.”

Sevika’s mouth opens to reply when you gesture at your classroom with a nod. 

“It’s not that far, plus we’re just strong like that.”

You instantly regret your choice of words as she quickly looks you up and down with an assessing eye. 

“I guess you are.” 

A shiver threatens to run up your spine but you’re somehow able to contain yourself. Mostly. 

Thankfully Sevika doesn’t acknowledge your reaction as she reaches out to place her hand on Powder’s shoulder. 

“Look how strong my baby is.”

Powder rolls her eyes in embarrassment and shrugs her off. 

“Mommm!”

Sevika throws her hands up in surrender and laughs, very well aware of her teenager’s antics. 

“All right, I get it. You’re too cool for me now.”

She walks over to her truck and opens the back door, grabbing the box from Powder and sliding it in before turning to you.

You lift the box towards Sevika at the same time she reaches for it, and her hands basically engulf yours as she takes it from you. 

The feel of your hands together renders you speechless, your breath feeling a little short in your chest. 

You think you see a hitch in her face as well but before you can look any longer, she’s already facing the truck, her broad back blocking your view. 

Snapping yourself out of it, you watch her carefully load the last box in, moving it around until she’s satisfied that it’s as safe as possible.

The door is shut with finality, Sevika facing you again as she shoves her gloved hands in her pockets. 

Her trusty leather jacket covering her, the slight fall breeze blowing her short hair out of her face, it’s all too much and you have to look away before you start staring. 

She breaks the silence before you can say your goodbyes. 

“I didn’t bring you anything today, my apologies.”

You face her again to respond, but she narrows her eyes to let you know she’s not done and you close your mouth immediately. 

“But as a thank you for helping Powder these past few weeks, we’d love to invite you over for dinner tonight. My cooking tastes much better fresh, I promise.”

That’s not at all what you expected her to say, and Sevika takes your delayed response as rejection. 

“Only if you’re free of course, it’s short notice and a Friday night, so you probably have plans—“

“I’d love to!”

Interjecting before she can take back her invitation, you smile at her, and then Powder, who’s absolutely beaming at you.

Sevika’s relief is immediate and she clears her throat, doing everything in her power not to look too eager. 

“Great! We should be done in a little over an hour, I can send you the address and you can come over when you’re ready. Does that work for you?”

You nod your head gently, just enough time to go home and spruce up.

“That’s perfect. I’m gonna head back inside and grab my stuff and I’ll see you in a bit!”

Sevika gives you a small smile, and you could’ve sworn the look lingered slightly before she got in her truck and left, Powder waving from the window. 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out as you walked back to your classroom, a sudden anxiety ran through you. 

You were having dinner with Sevika. 

And her daughters. 

At her house. 

It was both exciting and terrifying. 

It was the first time you would see the inside of her home, which is such an intimate thing, inviting someone into your personal space.

Catching yourself starting to freak out, you take a deep breath to calm down, not wanting to get too ahead of yourself. 

You gather your things as quickly as you can and head home, silently hoping no one is there so you don’t have to explain where you’re going.

When you arrive, you’re met with an eerily silent house and you breathe out a sigh of relief. 

Kicking off your shoes, you bee-line for your room, checking yourself out in the full length mirror and deciding if you should change or not. 

You decide against it, you don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard but you do grab a thicker jacket, thinking of the chill coming later.

Your phone buzzes and you see the text preview from Sevika with an address listed. 

Suddenly, you remember something that makes you pause on your way out of your room. 

What the hell do I bring……

You start pacing back and forth, trying to think of something that says you’re grateful for the invitation but not overstepping your bounds.

Flowers? A bottle of wine? Some kind of dessert? 

Remembering a comment Powder made a couple of weeks ago, you quickly reapply your favorite body spray before grabbing your keys and setting off to the store.

After grabbing what you need, you arrive at Sevika’s house and give yourself one last look in your rearview mirror, checking for any imperfections. 

You realize how ridiculous you’re being and try to snap yourself out of it. 

“Relax. This isn’t a date, it’s a friendly dinner with your student’s family, nothing else. Just be calm.”

Shaking your head, you grab your items from the passenger seat and get out of the car, wrapping your coat a little tighter around yourself as you walk up the driveway. 

Your hand is just about to press the doorbell when the door swings open and a waving Isha reveals herself. 

Smiling at her, you ask her where Sevika is, and she points inside. 

Before you can say anything else, a voice rings out, and a figure emerges from around the corner right after. 

“Isha, I told you about— Oh.”

Sevika enters your line of sight as she approaches the front door and you have to stifle a giggle. 

She’s wearing a black apron that says “Kiss The Cook” in bold white letters with a red lipstick mark replacing the dot over the I, over a plain white tee that’s surprisingly spotless. 

As you take in the rest of her look, you see something you don’t remember noticing before. 

Her left arm is completely made of metal. A prosthetic. 

Realizing you’ve never seen her without a long sleeve or jacket and gloves, it clicks and you feel your mouth open slightly before shutting it, deciding that it’s none of your business.

Your gaze roams back up to her face, seeing her smile decorated with that adorable gap as she motions you inside. 

“Please, come in, it’s freezing out there.”

You cross the threshold, taking off your shoes, and Sevika reaches behind you to close the door and lock it. 

“Glad you could make it, I was starting to worry.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I had to stop on my way to grab these.”

You grab the items from under your arm and raise them for her to see. 

A bag of cherry sours and a bottle of whiskey. 

Laughing out loud, Sevika covers her mouth in recognition.  

She mentioned that those were the girls’ favorite candy but were hard to find and somehow you managed. 

“Where did you find those? I looked everywhere!”

Smiling back at her, you let her in on your secret location. 

“There’s this corner store by my place, it’s run by an older man and his daughter and they have a bunch of super hard to find candy, even ones that have been discontinued.”

Isha reminds you of her presence as she squeals next to you and looks up at Sevika with puppy eyes. 

Sevika laughs at her youngest’s antics and glances back at you. 

“What do you say, Isha?”

The little girl quickly signs thank you and you giggle, the look on her face completely worth it as you hand her the bag and she runs into the kitchen.  

“None ‘til after dinner, I’m serious!”

Sevika yells after her, turning back to you as you lift the bottle in her direction. 

“A little birdie told me this was your poison.”

Her eyes flicker up to yours, a glint of something you can’t quite place in them. 

She looks back down at the bottle as she takes it in both of her hands, her mouth slightly open. 

“Oh wow, thank you, you didn’t have to bring me anything…”

“Of course I did, I know better than to show up at someone’s house empty handed. Especially after all the food you’ve brought me, are you kidding? I’d never forgive myself.”

Sevika chuckles at that, looking down at your coat and gesturing towards it. 

“Let me take that from you, it’s a lot warmer in here than it is out there.”

You start to slip it off yourself when you feel a warm hand reach under your collar and pull it off the rest of the way, hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. 

Looking up at Sevika, she gives you a small smile and nods her head towards the kitchen. 

“Come on, dinner’s just about ready.”

You follow her inside and the wonderful aroma you smelled earlier gets stronger, your eyes closing on instinct. 

“It’s my mom’s recipe, hope you like Indian food.”

Opening your eyes, you smile at her, nodding your head. 

“Sounds amazing.”

Sevika stands at the stove, serving the food into bowls as she yells over her shoulder for the girls to sit down, nodding at you too. 

“Take a seat, I’ll bring the food right over.”

As you move towards the table, you hear a “Hi, teach!” and suddenly Powder is hugging your side. 

“Hi Powder.”

You smile at the girl and squeeze her back as she lets you go and takes her seat at the table, Isha appearing and following right after. 

You look at the two empty seats left and take the one that doesn’t face the kitchen, assuming that spot is Sevika’s. 

Glancing around the room, you take it in for the first time. 

It’s not huge, but it’s cozy. Pictures of their family adorn the walls here and there, you see Isha and Powder and another girl you don’t recognize, their various milestones growing up, and they look happy in every single one. 

Looking next to the pictures, you notice a few medals and trophies, some with Powder’s name on it, those are science related, and there’s a few sports ones in there with another name.

Violet.

Sevika comes over soon after and sets bowls in front of everyone, sitting down in her spot, smiling at you. 

“Alright guys, let me know how it tastes, I haven’t made this in a while.”

The girls immediately start eating, giving their comments and compliments about the food. 

Grabbing your spoon, you dig in too and the second the flavors hit your tongue, you hum in pleasure. 

“Sevika, this is delicious!”

She has the audacity to look bashful, lowering her eyes for a second before raising them to meet yours as a gentle smile graces her face. 

“You like it?”

“I love it, you were right about your cooking tasting better fresh.”

She laughs, and Powder starts telling you all about how her classes went that week. 

Eventually, Isha joins the conversation and starts telling you about her best friend at school and you smile, laughing at her stories.

You don’t see Sevika’s eye on you as you talk enthusiastically with her daughters, but you feel her gaze the entire time. 

Chiming in occasionally, she mostly just watches how easy the conversation flows, like you’ve known them for ages, and she starts to feel a warmth spread through her chest.

Once you’re all done eating, Powder starts clearing the table and you walk over to the sink with her and start pulling up your sleeves. 

Whispering to her so a certain someone can’t hear you, you ask her a question. 

“Where do you guys keep your dish soap?”

Before Powder can answer, a voice rings out behind you and the two of you spin around like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. 

“What are you guys– Are you doing the dishes?”

Sevika looks at you in shock and starts walking over, shooing Powder out of the kitchen and eventually standing in front of you, arms crossed. 

“Guests don’t do chores in my house.”

You look at her with a sheepish smile, nodding your head as you rub your neck. 

“Right, I just thought I’d try and help out, you cooked and the girls are handling the table so I felt like I should do something…”

Sevika cracks a smile and lets out a short laugh. 

“Don’t worry about it, that’s what the dishwasher is for.”

From the living room, you hear shocked gasps. 

“I thought you said it didn’t work! That we could only use it as a drying rack!”

Powder looks confused, and Isha is right next to her with a shocked expression. 

“I don’t let you girls use it because the first time Vi tried, she added too much soap and flooded the kitchen. Plus, too much technology makes you lazy, a little elbow grease goes a long way.”

Chuckling, she turns back to the sink and loads the dishes into the dishwasher. 

The girls groan and go back to quietly complaining to each other while you face Sevika and glance up at the clock on her kitchen wall. 

“So…I should probably head out soon, I don’t wanna overstay my welcome. Dinner was wonderful though, thank you so much for inviting me.”

Sevika pauses as she closes the dishwasher and stands back up, leaning against the edge of the counter. 

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you could make it.”

She glances out into the living room, seeing that the girls are distracted with finding a movie to watch. 

Turning back to you, she chews on her lower lip, knowing that she’d rather you not leave, but isn’t going to ask you to stay. 

“The girls really enjoyed themselves, I haven’t seen them talk that much to someone who wasn’t family…maybe ever, actually.”

Not holding back the grin adorning your face, you nod and glance over at them. 

“It’s easy to get along with them, they’re amazing kids.”

You look back at Sevika, locking eyes with her and letting yourself get lost in them. 

“You’re doing a great job.”

Sevika’s heart skips a beat and she gives you a soft smile. 

“Thanks, I….yeah, I hope I am.”

The fact that you said that to her, something she’s insecure about, the thought of her failing at being a parent always floating in the back of her mind, means a lot. 

She’s snapped out of her thoughts when you begin pushing yourself off the counter, signaling that it really is time to go. 

A tiny frown appears on her face, but she tries to cover it as she moves to walk you to the door.

When you reach the doorway, Sevika passes you your coat as she yells over her shoulder. 

“Come say bye, girls!”

Powder immediately jumps up from her place in the living room and runs over, sliding the rest of the way in her socks when she reaches you. 

“Wait, you’re leaving already?”

Isha walks over with a curious look on her face, eyes bouncing between you and Sevika. 

They finally land on you and she signs, you’re not going to stay for movie night?

Your heart squeezes at the fact that she wants to include you in their family tradition, and you glance up at Sevika, mouth slightly open. 

“Um, I’m—“

Powder cuts you off before you can get anything else out.

“Please stay, we were gonna watch that movie you told me about in class yesterday!”

Sevika’s lips are pursed together, trying to hold back a smile as she looks at her girls. 

“Hey, if she needs to leave, don’t try to guilt her into staying, come on.”

Eyes bouncing between the three of them, you let out a small smile. 

“I don’t mind staying, if it’s okay with you, Sevika.”

She lets out the grin she was holding back and nods her head gently, silently thanking her daughters. 

“That’s fine with me.”

The girls cheer and Isha grabs your hand, leading you into the living room, to the couch and sitting next to you. 

Powder grabs their snacks, including the cherry sours you brought, and puts them in a bowl on the coffee table, taking a seat on the floor in front of the couch. 

You hear some shuffling in the kitchen and look over to see Sevika tidying up before walking over and sitting down on the other side of Isha. 

Realizing the little girl is the only barrier between you two, you clear your throat and shift in your seat, suddenly nervous.

Sevika’s eyes are immediately drawn to you, catching the movement and she realizes you’re trying to keep your distance. 

Her attention is quickly stolen though as Powder turns on the movie and Isha makes herself comfortable, crossing her legs and leaning into you. 

The opening credits start playing and Sevika relaxes in her spot, trying to keep her focus on the screen. It’s hard to though, knowing you’re this close.

Eventually, she feels the need to move and leans back into the couch as her right arm stretches along the top of it, flexing her fingers when they lightly bump into something. 

You snap your gaze in the direction of whatever just touched your head, seeing an embarrassed Sevika looking at you. 

She mouths a sorry and you giggle, responding with an it’s okay and turn your head back towards the TV, covering your mouth to hide your smile.

Sevika is relieved when you’re quick to reassure her, she was worried that you wouldn’t take the contact as the innocent mistake that it was. 

Hearing you giggle makes her heart flutter and it helps in calming her down, a smile appearing on her face. 

You end up making it through the rest of the movie without incident and it’s almost midnight when Sevika turns to the girls, ending credits rolling on the screen.  

“Okay guys, it’s time to head to bed.”

Groaning, Powder sits up and looks at her mom with puppy dog eyes. 

“Aww, but we wanted to watch another movie…”

Isha yawns and rubs her eyes, only proving her mom’s point.

Sevika tilts her head at her daughter, quirking an eyebrow. 

“That was the deal babe, we have plans tomorrow, remember?”

“Fiiiiine.”

Powder throws herself back onto the ground for dramatic effect, making her mom laugh. 

“You’ll live, come on.”

Sitting up again, Powder goes over and gives you a quick hug. 

“Good night, teach.”

Then she plods over to her sister and pats her leg. 

“C’mon Ish, you too.”

Isha stands up and signs goodnight to you, giving you a big hug that warms your heart. 

Sevika rubs her back and motions to their rooms with her head, telling them to go on. 

“I’ll be there in a bit to tuck you guys in.”

The girls round the corner and disappear down the hallway, leaving you to turn back to Sevika, leaning your head on your propped up fist. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you. 

Sevika’s head is tilted back against the wall, eyes closed and hands rubbing her face, eventually interlocking and settling on top of her head.

Short hair framing her chiseled features, a soft expression replacing her usual stoic one. 

Your eyes wander to the white tee stretching over her broad shoulders, her bicep lightly flexing.

Lowering your gaze, you see that her shirt has slightly ridden up and a hint of her lower stomach has exposed itself to you.

Doing a double take, you notice a trail of hair from her belly button that disappears into her waistband. 

You quickly look back up to her face, afraid you’ve been caught. 

Thankfully, Sevika is blissfully unaware, her eyes still shut as she mentally prepares herself to get the girls settled for bed. 

You let out an internal sigh of relief and start thinking about how tonight went, how easy it felt talking to the girls and laughing with them.

Sevika opens her eyes once again and drops her hands into her lap, turning to find you already looking at her. 

She suddenly feels self conscious, thinking that you’ve been studying her without her noticing, and her body stiffens. 

Were you looking at her arm? Did it freak you out? She should’ve casually mentioned it before, or put a jacket on when she came to the door—

She clears her throat and looks down at her sleeve, picking at the cuff of her shirt. 

Realizing that she’s uncomfortable, you let her know what you were thinking to ease her mind. 

“Tonight was really fun, I’m glad I stayed. I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

Relaxing a bit, Sevika meets your eyes again.

“I’m happy to hear that, I’m sure the girls are too. They really like having you around.”

Looking at her sitting there, you’re once again struck by how beautiful she is, but also by how vulnerable she seems right now.  A complete switch from the tough front she normally puts up. 

She shifts to face you, bending one leg onto the couch as she lays her hands in her lap. 

Your knees are now a hair away from touching, and you can feel the tension in the air. 

Gazing into each other’s eyes for a couple more seconds, you open your mouth to say something when a buzzing in your pocket announces itself. 

The bubble you two were in now broken, you mumble out an apology as you fish your phone out and see a text from your roommate. 

Are you coming home tonight so I can put the top lock on?

Sighing, you shoot her a quick reply letting her know you’re on your way and look back up at Sevika, her gaze flicking from your phone to your face.

“Time to go?”

You nod and send a sad smile her way, standing up from the couch and stretching, having been sitting for a couple of hours straight. 

Sevika stands up as well and follows you to the front door, watching as you grab your coat and move to put it on. 

Suddenly, you feel her standing behind you, moving into your space to help slide it the rest of the way. 

Her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, the contact making your breath hitch for a second as her warmth seeps through the fabric.

Clearing her throat, she takes a step back and puts her hands in her back pockets.

“Let me know when you get home.”

Looking up at her, you see a faint hint of worry in her eyes. 

You smile warmly at that, knowing it’s the mom in her but also at how cute her expression is. 

“I will.”

Sevika lets out a breath that she was unconsciously holding, a small smile appearing on her face as she opens the door for you.

“Drive safe.” 

“Will do.”

You take a step over the threshold and pause, unsure if you should hug her or just leave. 

She seems to sense your hesitation and closes the distance between you, pulling you into a brief but firm hug. 

Her scent envelopes you, bringing an inexplicable sense of comfort, and you start to lean into her before she gently pulls away.

She pats your arm before shoving her hands back in her pockets and clearing her throat. 

“Night.”

You want to laugh at her sudden awkwardness but walk out instead, looking over your shoulder and lightly waving as she watches you the entire way to your car. 

Not until you finish warming it up and drive off a couple minutes later does she finally close the door.

Slumping against it, Sevika takes a deep breath, groaning as she realizes how she reacted to the hug. 

Shaking her head, she moves away from the door and walks towards the girls’ rooms, wanting to tuck them in so she can head to bed.

She knocks on Isha’s door and steps in, seeing her curled up on her side, already asleep. 

Kissing her forehead, she closes the door to her room and walks into Powder’s, who’s on her phone watching a video. 

“Time for bed.”

Powder looks up at her and nods, locking her phone and putting it on her nightstand. 

“We should have her over again, that was fun.”

Sevika laughs softly and sits down on the edge of the bed, smoothing out any wrinkles in Powder’s comforter. 

“Ok, kid.”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, she switches off the bedside lamp and walks to the door, grabbing the handle. 

“Night, babe.”

“Night, mom.”

Sevika closes the door gently and heads to her room, yawning on the way. 

Pieces of the evening flash through her mind as she goes through her nightly routine and she catches herself, suddenly getting worried. 

What am I doing? It was just a friendly dinner.

Shaking her head, she tries to clear her thoughts of you as she climbs into bed, hoping she has a dreamless sleep. 

When you arrive home, you make sure to fully lock the door as you kick off your shoes, the exhaustion finally creeping in. 

You whip out your phone to let Sevika know you made it safely and she hearts the message immediately, causing you to smile.

Hearing noise coming from the living room, you walk in and see your roommates all there watching TV. 

“There you are! We didn’t think you were gonna be out this late.”

You wave at them and walk over to the couch, plopping onto it as they look you up and down. 

“Had a good night?”

Giggling, you nod and lean back into the couch, debating on how much to tell them. 

“I had fun, yeah.”

One of your roommates raises an eyebrow at you, poking your leg. 

“We need a little more than that. Spill, were you on a date or something?”

You smile at their prying and let out a short laugh. 

“No, no, it was just a dinner thing.”

They share a look at your denial, not buying it. 

“Mhm, sure it was. Just a dinner thing that lasted for…” one of them looks at the clock, “how many hours?”

You roll your eyes at her and poke her shoulder. 

“It’s really not a big deal, we just watched a movie and hung out. The kids wanted me to stay longer.”

The room suddenly turns silent and you realize what you’ve said when everyone turns to look at you. 

“What do you mean, ‘kids’? Where were you?”

Not able to lie your way out of this, you decide to just tell them where you were but omit any other details, knowing they’ll blow it out of proportion. 

“Sevika’s…”

The second her name leaves your mouth, your roommates start squealing and cheering. 

“Hello?! How the hell did that happen?!”

You try to hide your smile at their reactions, feeling heat creep up your neck. 

“It wasn’t like that, she invited me over for dinner as a thank you for helping Powder with her project, and then her girls wanted me to stay for their movie night, so I did. No biggie.”

“What do you mean ‘no biggie’, you had a whole domestic ass night with them!”

At her words, you suddenly freeze, realizing that’s exactly what happened. 

You spent the entire night practically as a member of Sevika’s family.

Seeing your reaction, your roommates try to diffuse the situation as gently as possible. 

“I mean, um, it wasn’t really that domestic, like you said, it was just dinner and a movie, super casual.”

You nod your head, barely listening to what they’re saying, suddenly deciding that you need to be alone. 

“Yeah…I’m gonna head to bed, I’m pretty tired from the day, see you guys tomorrow.”

As you get up from the couch, your roommates all quietly tell you good night, and you vaguely hear a light slap and an ow behind you. 

Reaching your room, you close the door and stand there, thinking about your roommate’s words. 

Did Sevika also think about tonight that way?

Sighing, you change into your pajamas and brush your teeth, ready for this day to be over. 

You drag yourself into bed and climb under your covers, hoping sleep will overtake you as soon as possible, but one thought bounces around your head unrelentingly. 

You have a crush.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 17: Something To Talk About

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4.7k

Chapter 17/20

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: the slightest bit of angst

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Having the house to yourself meant one thing: self-pampering.

You’d spent the night soaking in a bubble bath, legs stretched out, a glass of cabernet in one hand and a half-read novel in the other. You could finally unwind with Isabella at her dad’s for the next few days. No school runs. No deadlines. No texts from Natasha asking where you stashed her favorite hoodie. Just silence, wine, and an overpriced lavender candle burning quietly in the corner. You ignored your inbox entirely, letting the notifications pile up while you binged three episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find. Something with too many extensions, bad decisions, and too much lip gloss. Pure serotonin.

The house was quiet. Your skin was soft. Your phone had been blissfully undisturbed for hours.

Until it wasn’t.

That morning, you woke up and you missed your fiancée. She was on your mind in more ways than one. You would be seeing her in a couple of days, and you couldn't wait to have her in your arms again. You opened your phone to see what she was up to. The dozens of messages and Google alerts you received while sleeping were a surprise. There were more pressing matters. You tried to fight the blurriness to get a hold of what you thought was your mind tricking you.

Velvet Rebellion’s Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman at Private Party

Your eyes scanned the line, finding all this a bit unbelievable. There was no way in hell you'd believe these were true. And yet, the images and description told a different story.

Multiple partygoers captured footage of Natasha with a brunette guest later identified as LA socialite Mia Crow. The two were seen sharing drinks and whispering closely at a Velvet Rebellion afterparty hosted by Tony Stark.

The photos you saw next were interesting, to say the least. Under different circumstances, you wouldn't have panicked. You'd have brushed these off as Natasha being friendly. Then you thought back to the night before when she hadn't answered your calls or texts. It was easy for the mind to spiral.

The next thing you saw was an incoming text from Monica. You loved your best friend, but you didn't need her to talk you off the ledge at a time like this.

Monica: Girl… get up. Have you seen what’s going around?

Check your Google Alerts. It’s all over IG stories, too.

I know the girl. Her name’s Mia. She’s thirsty. Don’t panic yet, but… this is not a great look.

Do NOT call her until you’re calm. You know how you get. I’m ten minutes away if you want backup.

You hit call on Natasha’s contact, fingers tight around your phone. It rang once before someone picked up.

But it wasn’t Natasha.

“Hello?” a voice purred. “This is Natasha’s phone.”

You blinked. “Sorry. Who the hell is this?”

A soft chuckle. “Mia. Natasha’s… friend.”

Oh. Friend.

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing even though no one could see you.

You could feel the anger boiling up in your chest. You needed answers, and you needed them now.

"Mia,” you repeated, slow and flat. “Cute. So… is Natasha too busy to answer, or is she just passed out from being such a good hostess?”

“She’s… resting,” Mia replied, faux-sweet. “We had a long night. The house was packed. You know how these things go.”

You clenched your jaw, lips curling into a tight smile.

“Totally,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Wild nights. Stray girls. Drunk texts. Very rockstar girlfriend, core of you.”

Mia laughed again, lighter this time. “Don’t worry. I’ll let her know you called. Maybe she’ll hit you back when she wakes up.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure she will. But just a heads up, sweetheart, next time you answer someone else’s phone, make sure it’s not the fiancée calling.”

The silence was golden.

Mia cleared her throat, stammering.

Before she could even open her mouth, you cut her off.

You didn't wait for a reply. You ended the call and tossed your phone on the other side of the bed, burying your face in your hands.

What the actual fuck?

You didn't even bother getting dressed. You were still in Natasha's oversized tee when you stormed down the hall, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. You weren’t the jealous type. Really, you weren’t. But you were also not stupid. You knew what these kinds of moments could turn into if you didn’t get ahead of them. Did you need to get ahead of them? Natasha wouldn't cheat. Of course, she wouldn't. You couldn't jump to conclusions.

You first went for that bottle of wine you cracked open last night. It was too early to do such a thing, and your mother would probably scold you for drinking at nine in the morning, but it was five o'clock somewhere, and you were beyond caring.

You needed the drink. Desperately. Pacing the kitchen, you ran a hand down your face, trying to breathe through it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it looked worse than it was.

Still, you didn’t like being embarrassed, especially not like this.

Not publicly. Not loudly. Not when it could’ve been avoided.

You had connections. You didn’t throw them around lightly, but if you wanted to find out everything about a girl like Mia, you could. All it would take was a few texts—one call. You weren’t going to spiral.

You weren’t going to start a fight.

But you also weren’t going to pretend you were fine.

When Natasha called you back, and she would, she would have to explain.

And this time, sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

******

“Hello, hello? Natasha? Wake up! Are you in there?”

The pounding on her bedroom door sounded like a drumline. Natasha groaned from under the blankets, legs kicking uselessly at the sheets as if that alone could send Wanda away.

“Go away,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Another round of fists on the wood made her wince. She dragged a pillow over her head, trying to block out the sunlight bleeding through the curtains and Wanda’s voice cutting through it.

“If I leave, you’re dead meat,” Wanda snapped. “Open the door or I swear I’m breaking it down.”

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered, pushing herself upright slowly, her head pounding from the drinks and noise. She rubbed her eyes, heart still steady, because whatever Wanda was yelling about couldn’t be that serious. She shuffled toward the door, unlocking it with a sigh. “You’re dramatic as hell, you know that?”

Wanda didn’t step in. She just stood there, phone in hand, mouth tight.

“You need to check your phone.”

"Why? Did someone die?"

Wanda just glared. "Check. Your. Phone."

Natasha blinked. Her brain felt foggy and slow, like she couldn't catch up. The only thing on her mind was getting back to bed. She wasn’t hungover enough for Wanda to stand in her doorway, demanding things. She turned to go back toward the room, standing at the nightstand, and realized her phone wasn't there. She tried to retrace her steps and uncover the sheets but found nothing.

Wanda followed her, watching.

"I can't find it," Natasha shook her head. "Shit. Just tell me what's going on?"

"You're in the press, dude." Wanda pulled up the article. "It's not looking good."

Natasha stared blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Wanda sighed.

"Look, we all had a lot to drink last night," Wanda started, carefully. "I wasn't going to say anything until I knew what happened. But... you guys were seen together. And people are talking. They're making assumptions."

"Assumptions?" Natasha grabbed the phone from Wanda's hand.

The headline alone was enough to make Natasha’s stomach sink:

“Rockstar Romp? Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy With Party Guest at Velvet Rebellion Bash”

Below was a grainy photo of her. Laughing. Leaning in close to that girl, Mia, at the kitchen counter. Another slightly blurred photo of Mia’s hand brushing Natasha’s lower back as they danced. Nothing damning. Nothing explicit. But enough to look exactly how the internet wanted it to.

And the comments? A circus.

Natasha’s mouth went dry. She scrolled again, and her chest tightened.

Wanda was quiet, her arms crossed.

“I didn’t…” Natasha’s voice was low, like she was talking to herself. “Nothing happened. I went to bed. She tried something, and I shut it down.”

“I believe you,” Wanda said gently. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe.”

Natasha sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the phone clutched in her hand like it might burn a hole in her skin.

"Does she have my phone? Where's my phone?"

"I don't know, but that's not the point."

"That's exactly the point, Wanda," Natasha said, throwing her hands up. "I didn't do shit. If y/n sees this she's going to flip her shit."

"She hasn't called any of us yet," Wanda explained. "Maybe she knows this is out of your control. Maybe she trusts you."

"I hope so," Natasha groaned. "Can you see my phone's location?"

"Last location says here," Wanda flipped through the Find My Phone app. "Looks like it's in the living room. Maybe the girl left it there when she went home?"

"I'll look. " Natasha sighed.

Suddenly, Wanda was notified that something had been sent to her Instagram inbox. One of her friends who knew her and Natasha well enough had sent her something from Mia Crow's official Instagram account. She clicked on it out of curiosity.

It was a simple post—a carousel of photos.

The first was a dimly lit selfie — Mia pouting at the camera, the faint background unmistakably the house they were standing in now. You could even see Tony’s drumsticks in the back if you squinted. The second was her sipping from a red cup, surrounded by blurry figures. The third? A photo of her legs draped lazily over a coffee table, a velvet throw from the couch tossed across her lap.

The caption?

“Was just a wild night and nothing more 🎸✨ #RockstarEnergy #VelvetDreams”

The killer was in the next photo.

A screenshot of a DM exchange with blurred names, but it didn’t matter. The usernames were cropped enough to invite speculation without revealing anything directly.

mia_crow: appreciate you showing up tonight. the movie wasn’t much, but it meant a lot.

mysterioususer: Wouldn’t miss it. You were great!

The final photo?

A black screen with white text:

“Caught in the midst and can't lie / Every touch, you make it harder for me, baby.”

Lyrics from your hit single Obvious.

Wanda nearly dropped her phone. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

"I'm going to kill her," Natasha stared at the screen, her chest tightening. “That premiere was eight months ago. I went for five minutes. Took a picture, said congrats, and left. It was for a friend from the production crew. I barely remembered who she was last night. ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wanda said grimly. “She’s painting a whole story and letting the internet fill in the blanks.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. “I need to talk to Y/n. Now.” She had to find her phone first. She couldn't fathom why Mia was doing what she was doing. Why her? Why now?

"I'm going to call her." Natasha sighed, running a hand down her face.

Wanda patted her on the shoulder.

"Good luck. I'll get coffee. We're going to need a lot of it today."

"Thanks, Wan."

When Wanda left the room, Natasha scurried down the stairs for her phone. She ignored the mess of the house, half-eaten pizza, beer bottles, and red solo cups everywhere, to look under the couch cushions and behind the curtains. She checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the balcony outside the main bedroom.

Nothing.

Her mind was racing. She felt like she was missing a piece.

"Where is it?" she muttered.

She was about to give up when she spotted a simple black phone sitting underneath a magazine on the coffee table. Mia had been here less than two hours ago. This was all going so fast that Natasha couldn't even wrap her head around it.

Her phone had a few missed calls and a horde of notifications. Surprisingly, none of them were from you. Was that a good sign?

Her hands started to tremble. She had to explain. She had to get hold of you. Fuck the press and the fans. The only person who mattered was you.

Without thinking, she called your cell phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri-

"Hi, this is y/n. I can't take your call right now, so please leave a message after the tone. Thank you."

Fuck. Voicemail. She hated that moment entirely too much.

"Hey, it's me. I don't know what you saw, but I can explain. It's not what it looks like, I promise. Please call me back when you get the chance. Love you."

It would have to do. She was going to try again later. She wasn't sure where you were or what you were doing. She could only hope that you'd call her back soon.

********

You moved the watering can from pot to pot slowly and deliberately. The sun was hot on your skin as you crouched down to check the rosemary that had been stubborn all summer. You weren’t angry, at least not outwardly. But your jaw ached from clenching, and the quiet in your backyard kept you from combusting.

You’d silenced your phone two hours ago. Monica had called. Twice. Stacy had texted something vague and loaded: “You good? Need backup?” You hadn’t responded.

The sound of the sliding glass door creaking open barely made you flinch. You knew the rhythm of Monica’s steps before she even said anything.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Watering my plants,” you replied, voice flat, not bothering to look up. "I gave you that key for emergencies." You rolled your eyes.

Monica leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Girl, this is an emergency. And you know it. I've been calling you. You didn't answer."

"I'm busy," you said pointedly.

"Right." Monica shook her head. "Like a woman who hasn’t been on every gossip site and Instagram feed since seven this morning?” Stacy stepped out beside her with iced coffee and sunglasses pushed into her hair.

You sighed. Leave it to your friends not to leave you alone with your thoughts. You didn't know whether to thank them or ask them to leave.

You stood and adjusted the flow of the watering can, aiming for the pot near the lemon tree. “They were looking thirsty.”

“So are the internet sleuths,” Monica muttered.

You arched a brow at that but stayed quiet.

“You saw it?” Monica asked.

"Mia's latest Instagram post? Yeah, I did." You shrugged.

"And you're still watering plants?" Stacy said. She shared a look with Monica. "This is growth from you. I don't know if I like growth from you." Stacy crossed her arms. “Has she called?”

“I don't know,” you replied. “I did, though. Mia answered Natasha’s phone like it belonged to her.”

“Ooh,” Monica winced. “That’s... bold.”

“Right?” You scoffed, wiping your damp palms on the front of your shorts. “She hit me with the fake sweet voice, too. ‘Oh, we had a long night.’ Like I won’t find out where she lives and repo her damn lips.”

That earned a laugh from both of them, but Monica stepped forward, her expression softening.

“Seriously. You okay?”

"No," you muttered. "I'm not. This is humiliating, Monica. It's bullshit. I want to scream, I'm so mad. But it's not just the press thing. I mean, that's part of it, sure. It's..."

"Natasha," Stacy finished for you.

"Exactly." You sighed. "I know Natasha. I know how this probably looks, but I also know she wouldn’t cheat on me.” You trailed off, setting the watering can down with more force than necessary. “It’s the public part. The optics. The fact that we’ve worked so hard to be private, and now some thirsty starlet is trying to turn us into messy headlines.”

“You’re allowed to be pissed,” Stacy said gently.

You looked out at the yard, toward the fence line Isabella had helped paint pink last summer. “I just don’t want to yell. Not right now. I don’t want to fight her. I want her to fix it.”

"Well, she can't fix it if you don't call or answer her calls again," Stacy said, handing you an iced coffee.

You sighed and took a sip.

"Yeah, I know." You took the cold coffee. "Thanks, Stace."

"Don't mention it."

"Okay," Monica clapped her hands together. "You go and call your girlfriend. We will be waiting right here if you need us.'

"Fiancée," You supplied.

"What?" Monica raised a brow.

"Fiancée," you corrected. "Natasha and I got engaged last week."

"Wait a minute. You what?!"

Monica and Stacy were stunned. Their faces were priceless. They couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Monica blinked first, then slowly put her iced coffee on the table like it might explode. “You got engaged last week and didn’t say anything?!”

Stacy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, were you gonna just casually drop that while watering your basil?”

You tried not to smile, shrugging. “We weren’t ready to tell people yet. We wanted to keep it just ours… for a little while.”

Monica pointed a dramatic finger at you. “Okay, that’s beautiful and romantic, and I love you. But I’m also offended on a spiritual level.”

“It’s giving betrayal,” Stacy added, placing a hand over her heart. “But also it’s giving congratulations, because holy shit, finally.”

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “We didn’t want the press to get wind of it. And now with everything going on—”

Monica raised her hands. “Say no more. Seriously. That makes sense.”

“Still,” Stacy said, stepping forward to squeeze your arm. “I hope you know it’s a big deal. And no matter what happens with this PR mess, you’re not in it alone.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know.”

Monica picked her coffee back up and pointed toward the house. “Go call your fiancée. Fix this. We’ll be here if you need a soundboard… or someone to write a very professional and legally vague Instagram caption.”

“And maybe after that,” Stacy added, “we plan a little engagement celebration that doesn't involve headlines or shady D-listers.”

You smiled. A real one, this time. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

You left them to their devices to grab your phone, sitting face down on the counter. You picked it up after seeing the voicemails and texts from Natasha. You needed to call her. Truly, all of this shouldn't be a big deal. So why did you feel so stupid and angry?

"Baby?" Natasha breathed on the phone the moment she picked up. "You have to let me explain."

You stayed quiet for a beat too long.

"Go ahead," you said finally, the words clipped. Controlled.

"Nothing happened. I swear. Mia showed up with a friend of a friend. I didn’t invite her. She was being flirty all night, but I shut it down. I went upstairs alone."

You said nothing.

"I didn’t know she had my phone until Wanda showed me the article. I didn’t sleep with her. I barely talked to her.”

"Right," you replied, voice still even. “And the posts? The pictures? The fact that she answered your phone, Natasha?”

"I didn’t know she had it," she said quickly. “She must’ve taken it when I left it downstairs. I found it on the coffee table under a stack of shit.”

"And that DM she posted?” you asked, pacing now. “That looked pretty friendly for someone you barely talked to.”

Natasha hesitated. Too long.

“It was from months ago,” she said. “We met at some screening. I forgot we even exchanged messages. It was just… surface stuff.”

You stopped pacing. “You forgot.”

“Yeah, baby, you know how these events are. You meet people. You’re polite. That doesn’t mean anything.”

You pressed your lips together. “You’re telling me you forgot messaging a girl who now just happened to be all over your party and your press?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you know how stupid I look right now?” you snapped. “There are pictures of our daughter on stage with you, and now this shit is what people see when they Google your name.”

Natasha exhaled. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem, Natasha,” you cut in. “You didn’t think.”

Silence. Natasha was gathering her thoughts before she blew up. You would almost smile at knowing her so well if it weren't for you getting angry.

"I don't know what else to say," Natasha's tone is annoyed now. "I told you nothing happened. I'm answering all of your questions. What exactly do you want me to say here other than I'm sorry?"

You took a deep breath. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?” Natasha echoed, her voice taut. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’ve already decided I did something wrong.”

You ran a hand over your face. “You’re not listening. I’m not accusing you of cheating. I’m saying this looks bad. It looks messy. And I don’t have the luxury of pretending it doesn’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to pretend,” she shot back. “I asked you to believe me.”

“I do,” you said, louder than intended. “But believing you doesn’t erase that my phone blew up at 2 a.m. with headlines and DMs. That's my friend texting me asking if we’re still together. I had to sit there and explain to Monica and Stacy why some girl answered your phone.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “So what, you’re embarrassed?”

You blinked. “I’m humiliated. There’s a difference.”

That shut her up.

For a moment, the only thing you could hear was both of your breathing, heavy with frustration, too many things left unsaid sitting between you like a wall.

Then she sighed, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “I know.”

Another beat.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” you said, your voice soft, tired. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt.”

“Okay,” she said, and this time there was no fight in her voice. Just acceptance. “Okay.”

You didn’t know what else to say after that. So neither of you did.

The line stayed open, neither of you hanging up.

"I want to see you," She said in that voice that always made you swoon.

"I want to see you too," You said. You could see Monica and Stacy looking at you through the glass. You swiveled in your chair to turn away from them.

"What should we do about her?" Natasha asked. "This party was only supposed to be for friends. She showed up. I shut her down. I-"

"I'm not angry about the party. Not really. I'm mad that this got out of hand. That the media is using us for their gossip and entertainment." You leaned forward and put your head in your hands.

“I’ll book a flight tomorrow,” you said after a long silence, your tone shifting. You were calmer then, focused, the edge softening but not gone. “Early. I’ll be there by noon.”

Natasha exhaled in relief, and you could almost picture how her shoulders dropped. “I’ll pick you up.”

“And don’t say anything online,” you continued, slipping into your publicist voice. “No posts. No likes. No cryptic tweets. If anyone asks, we don’t comment.”

“Got it,” she nodded.

“I’ll be wearing my ring,” you added. “So should you.”

“Always planned to,” Natasha said softly.

You rubbed your forehead and closed your eyes for a beat. “We’ll walk into this together. Calm. United. If the press wants to turn us into a circus, we don’t give them the show.”

There was a pause. “That’s why I love you,” Natasha murmured. “You’re always three steps ahead.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, I’m one emotionally drained step behind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised. "You're not going to do anything to that girl, right?"

You snorted, amused. "You say it like I'm in the mafia or something."

"Well, you're scary when you're angry."

"I'll keep that in mind," You chuckled. "But no, I won't do anything. I don't have to."

"Good," She breathed. "I love you. See you soon."

"Love you, too."

The call ended, and you returned to your friends, who had patiently waited for you. You waved them inside. You gave them the rundown of your plan.

"That's it?" Monica raised a brow. "You're going to play it safe?"

"Oh, no, it's not safe," You smiled. "Natasha and Velvet Rebellion have a huge fan base. My father and Uncle have huge fan bases that have trickled down to me and sometimes Harley by extension. They see that we're engaged, and the narrative changes. She’s an attempted thirsty homewrecker. Stans can be rabid."

Monica blinked, then slowly grinned. “Oh. You’re planning to let the internet do your dirty work.”

Stacy let out a low whistle. “Brilliant.”

“I’m not lifting a damn finger,” you confirmed, sipping what was now lukewarm coffee. “But the ring’s going to be on full display. Natasha picks me up at the airport. We walk in together. I wave. She smiles. End of story.”

“And Mia?” Monica asked, eyebrow arched.

“She won’t get the satisfaction of seeing either of us spiral,” you said, your voice cool. “But she’ll feel it. The way people turn when they realize you tried to play a role you weren’t cast for.”

“You’re scary when you’re calm,” Stacy muttered, half in awe.

“Good,” you said simply. “I want her to hear the silence. Let her scroll through her own comments, let her PR scramble. She’ll get her fifteen minutes and they’ll be hell.”

Monica raised her cup in mock salute. “To passive destruction.”

You clinked your cup to hers, eyes sharp. “To protecting what’s mine.”

*********

Natasha was a little nervous about picking you up from the airport the next morning. She’d parked her rental car in one of the short-term garages and waited patiently, hoping the paparazzi would at least give her peace in the parking structure. So far, they had. That gave her enough time to sip water, collect her thoughts, and brace herself for whatever version of you would be walking out those airport doors.

As soon as she got notified that your flight had landed, she knew it was go time. She stepped out of the car, walking quickly to the terminal entrance. You were already inside, standing near the baggage claim, looking around for your suitcase. Natasha’s eyes swept over you: crop top and sweatpants, hair tied up effortlessly, sunglasses perched low on your nose. You looked good. Really good. Like something out of a music video. And ironically, it matched her look perfectly: ripped jeans, a white tank, and her signature boots. Unplanned, but you looked like a unit. Like a duo.

Cameras were everywhere—clicking, flashing, humming as paparazzi pretended to give space while doing the opposite. But Natasha didn’t look at them. She only looked at you.

And with that, she crossed the floor toward you, nerves tucked behind her ribcage.

You looked up at her with that guarded expression she knew all too well, but your lips twitched at the corner. That was enough.

She didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close, hand brushing yours first, testing the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. It was small. Intimate. Calculated.

The cameras went wild.

“You look good,” Natasha murmured low against your ear, her voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through her. “Missed you.”

You let the tension hang for a moment before you spoke, voice calm but clear. “Did you park close?”

Natasha nodded, lips twitching. “Five-minute walk. Tops.”

You grabbed your bag and turned, adjusting your sunglasses as you slid your hand into hers. “Let’s give them something worth talking about, then.”

And just like that, you and Natasha walked side by side, rings flashing, heads held high, as the frenzy followed. No shouting. No statements. Just the calm, commanding kind of silence that only power couples could. 

----> next part

yall think natasha is off the hook?

[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. 

[manicpixiedreamlestats]

GINGERWREN'S PAYNELAND RECS 2024!

I can't believe we have had Charles and Edwin for less than a year. Even still, we've had a lot of fun! I wanted to share some fics, art, and gifs that made this year worth it for me personally. I was talking to a friend recently, and we noticed recent rec lists seem to be short, tag based lists with no real input from the list writer. Many of them also seem to rec the same few fics. Sometimes I feel left out as a smaller writer, and I know my favorite fics also don't always make it onto these lists either.

So, gentle reader, I will not be making a list of tags and summaries. You can read the tags on the fics and the art work, should you choose to view. I will be telling you why I love the works themselves. This is the best way I can think to recommend work to you.

Without further ado: the list is below.

WRITING

sweeter than honey from the rock - @dearheartdont

This lives rent free in my head. Literally in my mind this is like a lost episode or something. I do not want to spoil it or anything, but some of my favorite things in it are the world building (there are delightfully sympathetic clients, and witty antagonists), Charles does... exactly what one would expect Charles to do in order to help the client and protect everyone, and he makes things temporarily worse for himself. Rest assured though, there is a very, very satisfying resolution. Really, this is such a wonderful fic.

Winter Bloom - @skinnybritishdudes

PINK!!! EDWIN!!!! NOW!!!! This was my request for our server's Christmas exchange and it blew me out of the water. Genuinely, the magical mischief PLUS the subtle horror PLUS the absolute tenderness at the end?? Was everything I wanted, and more than I expected. Friendship ended with my own pink Edwin origin story. THIS is Pink Edwin now. Run don't walk for this one (as you can see, I still have not calmed down I am so excited about this one).

Nothing Left to Hide - @roseganymede95

I know I need to say more than "spider jar" but there's a point where I just start crying softly and going "spider jar" while I am reading. Honestly I'm sure if I said that to you, you would probably know which fic I'm referring to. It's this one. It's brilliant. It rewired my brain early on and I haven't been the same since. I found a spider jar pin because it may as well be canon in my mind. They call each other mine in the fic what more do I need to tell you to get you to read this? Join the spider jar cult with me.

right. never finished it.- taableclofh

A classic. Charles tries to save Edwin from Hell. He figures some things out in the process. (This is canon divergent in the best possible way and was a real balm on the soul, somehow).

molliculi (soft little things)- @williamvapespeare

This was made in a lab to make me cry specifically. The first time I finished reading it, it was two in the morning. I stared at my bedroom wall for like twenty minutes, bleary eyed, and then finally managed to type something to @williamvapespeare (who was really gracious about whatever mess I sent, lol). God fuck. It's a character study on Edwin. It's a history of living and dying in 1916. It's wondering what it means to continue on existing, but never have lived on with your peers. It's an outsider's perspective on Charles' trying to figure things out. Go. Go now. Suffer with me.

All Rights Reserved- @phoenix-soar

Do you like possessive Charles? (There's one right answer and it's yes). This fic is the fic. This also lives rent free in my brain. I wish I could say something more coherent but honestly I do not know how much I can say- well there is this lovely description where Charles compares Edwin's eyes to the sea on a stormy day (ao3 is sadly down, I cannot pull the full quote, but it was gorgeous). The rest... 🌶️🌶️🌶️

The Case of the Omegaverse Portal - miraworos

Omegaverse, as specified in the title. Also a very well written casefic, and some really satisfying feelings revelations. Once again: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

ART

Kiss (Blue) - @ent-is-indecisive

Genuinely A I am just amazed by how lovely all the kisses you draw are. Like they come out stunningly, over and over. I have no idea how you pull off this wizardry but it is amazing. Anyway I picked the first picture we ever talked about but I am also genuinely blown away whenever you drop something in LOMA

Collab Gifset For Payneland Week- @mellxncollie

I know you have all seen Olly's gifs. If you haven't, what are you even doing? (Maybe you're new here. That's okay). It's something special when Olly makes a gifset for your fic. Genuinely, sometimes I just go back and stare at this one because WOW THOSE ARE MY WORDS. BUT ON A GIF. Genuinely thanks for making my first year in the fandom special Olly.

Pink Slip- @arisprite

Ari was super great during the flash sketch commissions and we had a blast. Now this reminds me of ongoing convos that @majorlb @deadboyslullaby and I have (and perhaps one day we will do something more with those) but the point here is Ari is great. You all should go and appreciate the wide range of payneland she has made. Her fem!payneland is dazzling, and so is her sad boy Charles (which I think is the first piece I ever fell in love with).

RITUALS - @deadboyslullaby

THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE. This was a collaboration with @likemmmcookies . @deadboyslullaby worked really hard on the inscription around the edges for this one and I am forever in awe of all the little details here. I want more of them doing strange, arcane stuff together always.

ORBWIN IN CHARLES’ RIBS- @jube-art

This is absolutely what I think is going on when one of them is orbing and the other isn't. No I am not taking feedback. Once more, this was a piece of art that re-wired my brain early on. Ribs are for lovers.

BONUS:

Feathers and Fur - merle_p

Super secret rare pair that rewired how my brain works forever. I love you catcrow. I love you Monty that's a little bit depressed a little bit of a masochist. I love you Thomas who can't help but take in strays but still has teeth and hasn't been declawed in this fic. This fic is just... so... gorgeous*chef's kiss*. I won't spoil it for you, but I implore you to read it so I have more people to talk about this pairing with.

These were all my recs for now. Thank you Dead Boy Detective fandom 2024! We may have had some bumps in the road, but here's to a strong and healthy 2025!

[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

[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.

[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!

[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.

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

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. 👾

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s7 episode 2 "the sixth extinction: amor fati" thoughts

oh god. i just read the episode description. CSM takes him???! WHERE? good lord!!! can’t they have a break??? and scully has to find him!! fuck!! abduction arc parallels!!!

not even going to ponder what might happen or make any predictions… we need to jump into this. STAT.

(post-episode thoughts: bro... they said the lines.......

so much happened. i ended up having to walk around in silence for 10 minutes or so after the episode ended. to see that alternate dream reality... scully and albert and her heart... cupping each other's cheeks...

there were really, incredibly profound moments in this one, and then also alien mytharc moments that made me go "wtf" a bunch of times. i feel like i have way more questions than i started with and they will probably never be answered. so my overall feelings on this episode are complex and confused, and i will probably need time to sort them out. this confused nature may be visible in my notes- but you have to understand! y'all have had years, even decades, to wrap your heads around these episodes! i just got here, so lend me some grace, bahaha.

oh. i once again really want a post-episode fluff fic. i'm gonna have to just suck it up and write it myself, huh? SIGH.

okay, take it away, me from about 18 hours ago!)

(previously on the x-files)

yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, recap time. scully begging him at his hospital bed to hold on. mmm. good stuff. so much is happening, though. i’m ready for a bit of a break. a chill episode would be cool.

mulder’s on a beach!!!! watching someone play with a child. and smiling. is that his child? or just some random baby? the lighting implies that this is some dreamland.

OH SHIT!!! his mom is here!!! and the doctor is explaining to him that he is dying!!

“enough! there’s only so much bluntness that a mother can take” <- oh, she is not having this…. she says they’re turning him into a zombie. 

ahhh!! he can hear her thoughts!!! and he’s thinking back!! but she can’t hear him!! and she’s walking away!!! noooo!!! he’s screaming for her in his head!!!!! but obviously she doesn't know :( 

WHY IS. CSM HERE. looking down at him. thinking about what it means to have a father. 

WAIT, THEY’RE TALKING??? psychically. “how does anything i do surprise you now?” <- okay, i feel called out with that line, but forgive me for not knowing that he could READ MINDS??? i thought his whole thing was being an ordinary guy who can do awful things through the power of knowing people and fear!

CSM loads up a syringe…. and pushes it into mulder's head. he gasps. and says he is giving him a choice. life or death. he says mulder’s suffered enough. he isn’t christ. 

and he tells him to arise. and he moves his hand??? and is controlling him??? what.

he says to take his hand. “you have to take the first step” (more visions of a baby)

“i am your father” HUH. 

well. uh. let’s just see what canon actually says. because that was implied before. but. didn’t go anywhere. also, why would someone being your father allow them to read your mind? sorry. i don’t think it works like that. 

mulder looks gagged to hear this. 

spender and mulder half brothers…. omfg. juicy. but AGAIN. let’s see what actually happens. i can’t analyze anything too soon. they love a red herring.

hey guys, what’s going on though. CSM psychic reveal??

OOOO, new words after the intro!!! “amor fati” <- see, if i look those words up, i’ll get spoiled, so i must sit tight and wonder what they mean, i guess

where’s scully. i need scully at this time. ah! here she is!!! she fell asleep at the desk!!! translating more words!! but kritschgau opens the door and wakes her up, saying they don’t have time for sleep!! wtf are you doing here???? 

he says she has to use her time with mulder wisely. “like you?” injecting him with mysterious medications? <- OHHHH get him!!! he insists that overdosing him was what mulder wanted. yeah. suuuuure.

he claims mulder was infected with an alien virus. and now he is proof of their existence. so i guess he has started believing since we last saw him.

“well, whatever it is, it’s killing him. and we have to get it out of him” “you destroy this, and i’ll destroy you” <- bro, she WILL shoot you. it’s not even a question. and frankly at this point in time, i want to see it happen.

the phone rings… and he walks away, having contributed nothing to the conversation.

nooo!! it’s skinner saying mulder disappeared!!! oh, she’s gonna kill someone.

there were GUARDS here. but the nurse claims his mother checked him out??

OHHHH, skinner does NOT want to be involved!!! she clocks that he is not saying something and he admits to being in a compromised position- the less he knows the better.

bro is still chilling on the beach in his head. oh shit, he wrote this episode with chris carter. well. i don’t know what to expect. i know that man can write an ep, but chris carter is hit or miss.

is that his child self walking up to him? his imagined future baby? who is this... AUGH. the baby talks in CSM’s voice... NOOO.

he wakes up in handcuffs while CSM drives him…. somewhere…. in the rain. CSM says his doctors worked on him. “at some point, i realized that if the syndicate didn’t kill you, the FBI would. if the FBI didn’t kill you, your own misguided heroism would. there’s really no way out for you” <- ohhh… my heart is racing. i’m lowkey forgetting to breath. cannot tell if this episode will be a masterpiece or a train wreck.

he says mulder needs to just disappear. become a man without a name, like him. but he’ll learn how to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures.

he’s gonna set him up with some fake life and diana, huh. i see what’s going on here. and i DON’T LIKE IT.

he wants to tell scully. but CSM says he cannot. because he is entering a witness protection program. and he offers him a cigarette. “i don’t smoke” “maybe now you do”

poor scully….. poor, poor scully…. at her apartment…. but someone approaches!

she gets her gun. i feel like she looks different, but i can’t explain why. like, her face. am i tripping? is her makeup different this season?

she finds someone and holds him at gunpoint. OMG!!! IT’S ALBERT!!!!!! the best guy to see in this situation, tbh!! he has bandages on his head. is there hope for mulder?? because albert had the same illness he did, right? did they find a cure?

he says she must find him before something happens. for the sake of us all.

hmm. the alien colonization plan must be close. they must be trying to take him away so he can't somehow stop it.

CSM gives mulder keys to a house. he says this is his new life. “you can drive away right now. drive back to scully and your x files and your imminent death. i wouldn’t be surprised if you did. but i think you should take a look around” <- ohhh…. my heart is RACING…. everything is so tense

and CSM walks away. 

it’s a nice little house. i'll give him that.

scully is looking at surveillance footage… the cameras from the hospital were covered up when he went missing!!! they can see his mom talking to someone!!! someone with a cigarette!!! WHICH ONLY MEANS ONE THING IN THIS SHOW!!! what does she know?!

mulder opens the door to the house. it seems empty. he calls out asking if anyone is home…. poor guy is still in his hospital gown. and the fridge is filled with sunflower seeds. this makes him laugh.

HUH??? is that DEEP THROAT??? he’s gagged. he can’t believe it. scully saw him get shot!!! but deep throat says he’s just very relaxed. 

so they faked his death??? for 6 seasons????????? 

or is mulder tripping? he can’t believe it. he felt responsible for his death. “yes, along with scully’s sister and the man you thought was your father and duane barry and even scully’s mysterious illness, and on and on and on. you can let go of all that guilt” <- oh yeah. this was very clearly a trick of some kind before, but now it is even more evidently a trick. but fuck, if the angst of it all isn’t tasty. the concept of that ancient guilt of his being washed away. MMMM!

deep throat explains that they’re puppets in a master plan. and that he’s suffered enough- he should enjoy his life. 

deep throat has a wife and daughters, and he hopes that mulder will visit them for dinner. which is a lot to unpack.

bro gets lots of sunflower seeds and passes out. and dreams of that child again. his sandcastle is knocked down, and he tells the boy it’s okay; he can build it again.

now he’s in bed. and the door opens. he’s still cuffed!!! AW FUCK, and it’s DIANA. in a sultry dress. she unlocks his handcuffs. and strokes his chest. and he kisses her. FADE TO BLACK. the FUCK is going on??????

scully calls his mother. and leaves a message. because she did not pick up. what is she doing...

she gets a package from someone at the FBI…. it’s a book of native american legends. and the writing she was trying to translate!! it matches what is on the book’s cover!!

AH! the anasazi!!! “an entire indian culture vanishes without a trace” <- LIKE CSM SAID!! 

she calls skinner…. and asks if he sent the book. “it explains everything that i saw in africa… using the same symbols that i found on the ship” but my queen! he can’t tell you about it even if he did send it!!!

but i don’t think he did… and she goes on about a mass extinction. they think mulder's illness is a gift. that protects them against a coming plague. skinner hangs tf up. which did kind of make me laugh.

she goes to figure out wtf is going down in skinner's office, and even though his secretary tries very bravely to stop him, she hears him moan and barges in…. WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM??

AHHHHH!!! she sees hairy krycek leave with his weird medical device!! and he pulls the fire alarm to get everyone out before she can catch him!!!! the rat bastard!!

mulder is at his new house, getting the mail. diana comes out. he says everything is perfect- too perfect. what about his commitments, he asks? she says his commitments are CHILDISH. WTF???

WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK???? she says he needs to BECOME A FATHER??????????

what is going on. guys. i’m serious... WHAT is going on. i don’t like it. mom, i’m scared. please come pick me up.

he says that they only slept together one time, it's pretty sudden to decide they need to have kids…. and he’s obviously freaked tf out, because it’s CSM who is arranging all of this!! the devil himself!! but she says oh, we'll go visit him after breakfast :)

girl, i’m scared.

scully knocks on kritschgau’s door. she knows he told someone about mulder… but he promises he didn’t. she sees his computer… and he’s hacked into her files!!!! he was having the NIH analyze all of the genome data they found!!! 

he says it proves he’s become biologically alien. and she deletes them all. what is this guy doing!!!!!!!

diana and mulder go to visit CSM……. he says he has three grandkids and mulder's sister. who has been living here all along. 

they lock eyes. she runs up and hugs him. 

AH, FUCK!! it seems that he’s been imagining this the whole time!!! because now we see his naked body is laying on some sort of panel with probes attached to it!!! i guess that's a relief, though. i didn't want to have to deal with diana/mulder children in canon.

but CSM claims he had such high hopes for his son… he never imagined “the depth of his capacity for suffering”

hey. guys what the FUCK is going on? i almost don’t want to take notes. i just want to watch it all and see what happens. because i’m still not very pleased…..

and fucking diana is watching him on the table!!!!!! she wonders what he dreams of. and CSM says it must be of simpler things. “dreams are all he has now”

FUCKING DIANA, GET OUT OF THE FBI. “bum a cigarette, agent fowley?” <- GET HER ASS, SCULLY!!!! 

they’re gonna fight it out. “maybe before you go around blaming everyone you can find for what’s happened to mulder, you could think about what you could’ve done to prevent it” <- WOAH. JESUS CHRIST. what an absolutely horrible thing to say. scully, we need to kill her. 

scully doesn’t move. she says to think of mulder's promise back when they met at the academy. and think of how he would bust his ass to save you. and diana walks away.

the doctors with CSM are talking about how mulder has become immune to the viral apocalypse…. but he might not survive the procedure. then he will suffer a hero’s fate, says CSM.

FUCK! he dreams of getting married to diana. of going to the hospital for her delivery. of their kids and growing gray. of her death. crying at her coffin. CSM grabbing his shoulder.

but in reality, he's still laying on that table. diana is stroking his face, while CSM says she shouldn’t think of the man, but the sacrifice he will give to the world. CSM thinks he would have chosen to become alien. and she strokes his face again.

(fuuuuck.... CSM as god.... mulder as his son... the sacrifice to the world... your motifs... i'm picking up on them. chris carter saw a bible and he said "this needs to be in my show")

elderly dream mulder is talking to CSM. with the very silly makeup. he knows about the boy on the beach. “i’ve seen him thousands of times”- but he’s never figured out what the child wants him to see. 

the kid builds a UFO out of sand…… and he rips it up. saying it was mulder's. he was supposed to help him.

scully goes to her apartment, and albert is there again. he says she is running out of time. and he suggests looking for mulder in her heart.

“are you asking me to pray?” he kneels down with her. “there are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand” <- GODDDD.

okay. scully and albert are praying together. it’s very touching. but somewhere else, they’re also stripping down CSM as he is to get infused with mulder’s alien DNA or something. it’s not a pretty sight. “i hope you see the poetry in this, diana” and she says he might kill his son!! so she truly believes his claim, huh?

aughhhhhh…… i can’t watch this……. 

mulder wakes up. he won’t stay under. he’s looking at diana. she walks away. where is she going……..

in his mind palace dreamscape thing, he’s old as hell with CSM sitting nearby. who hasn’t aged. he says samantha died five years ago. “what about deep throat?” “we’ve been over this. he’s dead” <-what a cruel thing, to remind him of everyone he has lost in his old age as he forgets...

CSM says that scully is dead, and he starts to cry. it is not lost on me that it is her being gone that makes him weep. “it’s time for you to let go. they’re waiting for you. if you let go” but he won’t close his eyes………. until he does. 

i’m so sad. wtf.

CSM opens the blinds to look into the outside world of this dreamscape, and the world is surrounded by an apocalypse. CGI war everywhere. it’s aged poorly and makes me laugh as it snaps me out of what is going on. the UFOs…… they fly over……. girl…..

maybe I need a smoke break. thought about that???

but in the real world, someone is burning files!!! so many files!!! they shot kritschgau!!!!! it’s krycek!!!!!

and an envelope is tossed under scully’s door- poor scully, who fell asleep on the floor, she must have been praying... and albert isn't with her

the card!!! is it diana’s card?!!! to get into that lab where they're testing on him? she runs out……

they’re taking all kinds of things from mulder in surgery, and i simply cannot look. but scully scans the card…… and he imagines her coming to his dreamscape bedside!!!! in his very old age!!! 

she’s mad at him!!! she calls him a traitor!! a coward!!! “you’re not supposed to die mulder- not here. not in a comfortable bed with the devil outside” 

he says there was no mission; no aliens. she tells him to get up and fight. he’s so confused. he’s crying. asking where scully is. calling out for her.

she finds him, in real life, laying on the table after the surgery….. she whispers to him. tells him to wake up. his eyes open up. he’s breaking through the years of lies!!!!! her tears fall on his face!!!

“you…. help me” 

OH. SHE HOLDS HIM CLOSE….

let's just sit with that for a minute.

one week later…… she goes to his apartment. oh! he was going to see her in the office!!!! she scolds him for this. "no work". his head is covered in bandages and he has a yankees cap on top.

he says he was coming to work to tell her that albert is dead. he’d been in a coma for 2 weeks. “there was…. no way he could have been in your apartment” “he was there. w-we prayed together.” (mulder purses his lips and nods) “mulder, i don’t believe that. it’s impossible” “is it any more impossible than what you saw in africa, or what you saw in me?” “i don’t know what to believe anymore. mulder, i was so determined to find a cure to save you that i could deny what it was that i saw, and now i don’t even know… i don’t know. i don’t know what the truth is, i don’t know who to listen to. i don’t know who to trust” (she’s crying) (and i might be crying, too, mind your business)

DIANA FOWLEY WAS FOUND MURDERED THIS MORNING??

“i never trusted her… but she helped save your life just as much as i did. she gave me that book. it was her key that led me to you. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i know she was your friend” (they hug)

god.... i'm torn between being so sad that scully thinks so little of herself that she actually claims diana helped save him as much as he did, and how kind she is to tell him she is deeply sorry even after how much suffering diana caused

“scully, i was like you once. i didn’t know who to trust. then i… i chose another path… another life, another fate, where i found my sister. the end of my world was unrecognizable and upside down. there was one thing that remained the same.”

so it's as if he considers the alternate dreamscape life to have actually happened. like he saw what would happen if he did make that choice. that's very interesting that he takes the responsibility, saying he chose another path when it never really happened.

OH. HE HAS HER FACE IN HIS HANDS…. 

“you… you were my friend, and you told me the truth. even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant… my touchstone”

OHHHHHH, HE SAID THE LINE THAT EVERYONE SAYS IN THEIR TAGS WHEN THEY REBLOG AN MSR GIF!!!!!!!!!!!

“and you are mine”

AND THEY KISS???

wait. not for real. she kisses his forehead. the angle made it look like a real kiss on the lips for a second, but she was kissing him on his forehead bandages…. for a solid ten seconds. and he smiles. she puts his baseball cap back on. and cups his face. runs her fingers over his lips. 

he closes his eyes. like he’s realizing something.

he sees that little boy…. and they’re building the spaceship together.

the end.

hey guys. i need to go scream for a minute to decompress.

wait. i need to set my phone down and go leave the room. 

i had to go walk around for ten minutes. i had to brush my teeth and do my skincare before bed in total silence. i had to drink straight from the sink and let the coolness of the water surprise me. and then the mouthwash burned a bit. i had to to rub the nice lotion on my hands and put myself back into my body after that.

fuck me.

okay. so, first thoughts: i’m not buying that he’s CSM’s kid. i think it’s too heavy-handed, plot wise. the bad guy is secretly the good guy’s father! it’s been done before. we've all seen star wars. it’s not super satisfying. it’s a fun thought to bounce around in your head and imagine what would happen if it WERE true, but i just… don’t think they’re telling the truth. maybe CSM and his mom had an affair, but i don’t think he’s the result of that. i think it’s a convenient lie to lull him into complacency. and even if he hold diana that it’s true, that doesn’t mean it is. this is CSM. lying is his career. and he went pro. to the major leagues. he also lied about being samantha's father before. i see no reason to believe him.

he's gotta hang on until 23andme is invented so they can discover the truth.... cause god knows CSM could manipulate a traditional paternity test.

okay. so. the alien stuff. he was infected with the virus two years ago (in the gulag, correct?) and he gained some sort of immunity to it as a result, which may or may not be because his brain was going sicko mode. i guess i have some questions on the logistics of that, but none that i think can actually be answered by canon. so the dormant virus went haywire when he saw the rubbings on the letters? that makes no sense, but okay. and then somehow he became alien and then CSM took the alien parts out of him and put them into himself. so now CSM has the immunity. then how did he read his mind at the start? was it a trick? i'm guessing that mulder is no longer psychic, though, since they took the alien part out of him, but maybe now CSM is- which would be very dangerous. or maybe he already was? because he already was doing the mind reading? didn't he undergo the DNA splicing procedure when they thought they were going to have the whole alien colonizing thing last season? so what is the sense in doing it again?

sighs. i just don’t know.

let’s talk about scully, i say, and this is something i could have said any day for the last ten months and it would be true. this was a major turning point for her. being so desperate that she abandoned her own ideals. but, at the same time she began to discard the strict notion of science because she felt so entirely lost, she did also turn into herself and what she knew- praying with albert. turning to the belief she’s had in her all along that has never ran contradictory in her mind. but albert might not have even been there. a messenger from the divine, perhaps? a hallucination from lack of sleep? an angel? i guess we’ll never really know. 

but… man. i need some time to sink my teeth into that. 

her faith in science has been tested before, and to have everything explained by an alien civilization isn’t necessary in contradiction with science, just something not understood by it yet. she’s mentioned that point before. but also… she’s had shades of belief in the past. shoving the doll in the microwave in chinga. gibson telling her he knows she believes, she just doesn’t want to. that same exchange happened like, 3 other times in s6. so no, she’s not a full convert to the extraterrestrial. but she’s seen things she can’t understand and doesn’t know if it came from her own desperation to believe or if that is the Truth, and what is the Truth, anyway, and how can it be known?

what makes me really sad is how she kept repeating she was a failure for being unable to save him, and then at the end, her saying that diana saved him as much as she did broke my heart. diana put him into that situation. deciding at the last minute that she’s too cowardly to go through with it or has some change of heart that could almost be seen as mercy can’t be called saving him. she put him on that table and helped carve him up. we can’t give her equal credit for saving his life when his life wouldn't have been in danger without her meddling.

and for scully to think that makes me feel so sad. it’s as if she thinks that all she has is her science, and if she can’t understand that, what does she have? but the answer is she has her instincts, her kindness, her talent, her brains, her courage… for her to say that diana saved him as much as she did- god, i just think she must feel so guilty, so terrible, and not see her own worth. i will choose to interpret this line as a momentary exhale, a brief showing of her wounds which she normally keeps so tightly wrapped up. a moment of weakness. an indication of her lack of direction and her sheer desperation. because something i love about this show is that scully knows her value. i love that she knows she deserves to take up space at the table and never questions that. but maybe, when you’re questioning god and the universe and what it means to be alive and other unshakable truths, your own self-worth can get caught in the mix. maybe that can get shaken up, too.

mulder…. being lulled into complacency with the idea of forgiveness, starting fresh. a baptismal cleanings of sins via the suburbs. to know that he wasn’t responsible for everything he blames himself for; a reality where his family was whole. his fantasy of a normal life. damn. if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about his character… what he wants, what motivates him. but what tells you even more is the fact that he isn't satisfied- not really. he feels like that little boy watching the sandcastle get destroyed. and he almost goes through with it and never wakes up. until dream scully calls him to action. he cannot look away when she calls. he knows that she is reasonable and truthful. and that no matter how lovely this fake life is, it isn’t real. he can’t turn away from his commitments. no matter what fantasies fill his head. 

also. i knew he wanted kids so bad. but to see it in the dreamscape........ man. (gazes into the distance)

FUCK. i’m so mad about the whole diana thing. that she went along with it all… claiming to love him, and that they could be together. and having to see him dream a domestic future with me obviously pissed me tf off. like. shaking like a chihuahua levels of rage. did he really trust her that whole time? is that why he dreamed about it? is that the future he really saw for them in real life- even though he said he loved scully- or was the dreamscape carved up by CSM somehow? but sometimes, dreams are not wish fulfillment. sometimes random stuff happens in your dreams. everything else seemed so purposeful as his ideal reality, though, i can't help but wonder if that is truly how he felt- that he saw a marriage and kids and growing old with her. and why would that be?

she was touching his face, saying she loved him as she worked to kill him. and how nasty she was to scully……… and i'm not off-base in the implication that she assaulted him in the last episode, right? taking off her shirt and going into his room while he was violently ill and could barely speak? the writing was pretty clear on the wall there. i have been known to miss undertones, but that was clear to me.

usually, i love the female characters that everyone hates. if other people are writing dissertations on how much a fictional woman sucks, i am usually picking up a pitchfork and defending her honor. but i can’t do this here. i don’t even find her worth writing a dissertation about because her character was so flat. i will say that they at least gave her some dimension this episode. so shoutout to the writing team for that, i guess.

hmm. and CSM. driving him away. saying he was proud of him as a son. it just…. mmm. i don’t know if it’s not believable or if it’s not personally satisfying to me. what was his mother doing with him in that waiting room? does CSM believe what he claims? does mulder? does his mother? was he really reading his mind at the start? is his character able to kill thanos or something? 

i am very worried about mrs. mulder, however. she might be in very serious danger. she didn't pick up scully's calls, and she was there with CSM when they kidnapped him... it is not looking good for her.

i don’t really care for the alien plot stuff, so CSM getting mulder’s alien DNA removed and put into him was just kinda weird to me. same with all of the other alien stuff. the writings, the biblical imagery, the apocalypse. the appropriation of anasazi and other Indigenous legends, which feels in poor taste in the modern light. it just doesn’t really interest me that much. in this show, i like the vague spookiness and the interpersonal relationships and the search for the Truth and the old, old guilt in these characters, but the aliens themselves do not appeal to me very much. so. yeah. i guess i just feel (shrugs shoulders) about it, you know?

it feels like there is still an untapped wellspring of things i need to say within me.

how about we discuss skinner? telling scully that he is compromised and that he cannot help her. but she still calls him and explains about the book, because it's him- and this is why kritschgau is killed- because someone hears what she says. and she bursts in to find him when she has been expressly told not to, and he is slumped over in pain, krycek having used his remote controller to hurt him. so he was just blaming himself for mulder’s accidental overdose at the hands of kritschgau, saying it was his responsibility. and then things get worse… but they get better.

i want to explore that space of the getting better. of him hearing that they made it out despite it all. does it fill him with hope? but also, is it tinged with dread? because he knows there is more ahead? but mulder knows about him and krycek and the illness now- can they somehow find a cure? is that the next big project to embark upon? will he forgive himself?

kritschgau… idk what his deal was. he hacked into scully’s files and sent them to the NIH because he claimed he wanted to crack into the human genome, but it seems all he really wanted was to backup his claims as whistleblower. why did mulder pick him to ask for help, beyond him knowing the drug that helped him out? why did he threaten scully and break into the FBI? it felt like a really weird unresolved plot point.

what about barnes? what about the dude that came back to life and killed him? what about amina? i liked her!!! a lot!!! what about the ship? is it still there? is any of it still there? can any of it be explained? was it all a fake somehow? or was it real, and the aliens just have really weird priorities?

gah! it makes my head hurt to think about for longer than 5 seconds. and i know that we will never really know, which is frustrating. we are slowly dripped these little plot points that never add up to a whole picture, and it drives me CRAZY. 

but how beautiful it is to know someone so fully that you can know them when you know nothing else. when your whole world is turned upside down, you can see them clearly. that sort of soul bond. to kiss someone’s bandages. to be a touchstone. to cradle their face in your hands and hold the whole world in them. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK me. 

good angst here. incredible MSR. but i’m not sure what i would rank my overall satisfaction with this arc. it is an upheaval of everything we have known so far when it comes to our characters. scully, a believer? mulder, an alien (formerly?) and a bastard? skinner, someone who cannot be trusted? i will need some time to process all of these changes. there was a sense of finality and not going back, of every moment being incredibly important and life-altering moving forward. of no return. which happens in some episodes. and they always leave me with a strange feeling. sadness, perhaps? of the loss of what once was? of simplicity?

i think that the grand alien plot can take me out of the simple human connections that make the show so good. it can elevate them to a point that is hard to wrap your brain around and fathom. can make it so complicated for us mere mortals to understand. when dealing with the end of the world in a story, you must zero in on the mundane, the human, so we don’t get loss in an endless series of nearly avoided apocalypses without having a reason to feel a relief, as the audience, that the world didn’t blow up this time. and while there certainly are the essential human elements at play that ground such a fantastical story- when it veers away from focusing solely on that, it can make me aware of the fact that i am watching TV from a specific genre with a specific set of tropes rather than being immersed in the experience so wholly like i am when the plots are more character-driven and down to earth. i think that’s just how the nature of sci-fi/action stuff goes, at least for me. i’m not moved by the idea that aliens are god and left us messages. i’m moved by the humans who discovered that grappling with losing each other and comprehending their reunion. i’m moved by their tears and their blood and their lips touching foreheads, hands touching backs. you get what i’m saying?

fuuuuck. where do you go from here? there has to be some fic that takes place after this episode. 

i’m waxing poetic. because my heart yearns for a softness! and maybe i’m expecting something that the genre doesn’t deliver, but fuck. you need relief after endless punches to the gut and to the gut again and to the head and then to the gut once more. you drive these characters through horrible thing after horrible thing and i, the viewer, need to come up for air- which is why s4 was so tough for me. i felt like there was no air to breath. mytharc episodes will also plunge you underwater. and then, of course, the show is written pretty inconsistently, so whether or not you’ll get the relief in the form of lightheartedness and banter and teasing and fluffy stuff afterward is never guaranteed.

so. thus ought to conclude the diana saga- but who knows? it’s hard to say. maybe she didn’t actually die. like dream deep throat. and it was a shock to see deep throat again. a nice little treat for the viewers. with his wife and kids. 

hmm. despite typing all of that up, i still feel like i have so much more to say. but what is it? it’s a yearning for an epilogue i will never be provided. 

i will say, this episode made me lowkey want to proceed with my plan to not watch beyond s7. i know that i probably will end up going through with all of it… but. my heart was racing!! my feelings were feeling things!!! gaaaah! i need to be sedated. 

"my constant" fuck.

i just realize i wrote all of those words about an alien show. which is fine. i don’t ever half ass anything. 

need the fic where scully goes to his apartment after work and she makes blueberry pancakes in his kitchen and she catches him up on the office gossip since he went on leave and they catch each other's eyes for a liiiiiittle too long.

[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

[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.