#i will say as warnings the series opens with someone committing suicide & that’s brought up on occasion + action typical violence + death

[crazyw3irdo]

anyway has anyone else watched re:creators cause that fuckin ruled

you ever watch a show and are just like “holy shit that was so good, now that i’ve seen it all i can’t be spoiled i can’t wait to see what other people thought of it!” and search up its tag and then there’s like. 10 posts about it

[dailycharacteroption]

Deity Drop 8: Barbatos

(Content Warning: Suicide mention, body horror)

And we’re ending off this week with our second Archdevil! And it’s one of two of these fiends that isn’t technically a devil at all! I present Barbatos, Lord of the First!

Originally, Avernus, the uppermost level of Hell, was ruled by Typhon, one of Asmodeus’ original lieutenants. However, Typhon was slain by none other than Ragathiel, the son of Dispater, who still lived with his dad at the time. (The exact reason is unknown, though it’s possible that Asmodeus either ordered Ragathiel to do so or manipulated him into doing so in response for Typhon having had an affair with Lamashtu.)

Regardless of the reason, Avernus was without a leader, someone to not only manage rounding up new souls that arrive on the plane, but also serve as the front-line general should the plane ever be invaded.

And in walks Barbatos, hobbling on his cane with the souls of an entire world behind him as an offering to Asmodeus. What’s more, he demonstrated incredible power over Hell’s own processes to then turn the souls into the first barbazus, or bearded devils, turning them from mere fuel for Asmodeus’s designs into an army that would answer his call.

Delighted by such a gift, Asmodeus took this stranger into his counsel, and made him the ruler of Avernus, handily blessing him with archdevil-ness (which conveniently meant that Paizo didn’t have to design a separate subtype for whatever the heck Barbatos actually is.) and set him to work, much to the chagrin of the other archdevils.

Nothing is known about Barbatos’ history before this. Was he a native of the planet that the souls he brought with came from? A rogue hundun that chose law over chaos? Something not yet described? Who can say?

What is known is that Barbatos’ take on lawful evil is enforcing the “laws of nature” as he defines them. Might makes right, sentients are truly self-centered creatures and ultimately just clever animals, and all that nihilistic stuff. Sure, that may seem chaotic on the surface, but Barbatos uses it to control others, empowering and justifying those that seek power over others, and cowing the meek into obedience. This suits him just fine, because if mortals behave like animals, they become exceedingly predictable and easy to lead to the slaughter.

And lead mortals to the slaughter he does. Myth claims that Barbatos created the first perytons by tricking an Azlanti sage into having the gates to his home city opened, promising that his people would be saved from the coming calamity. And indeed they were, as monsters from the wild called by Barbatos slaughtered the people, whose souls became the first of those heart-eating beasts.

He also have a tendency to claim the souls of those that commit suicide. When such lawful evil souls (implying lawful evil people who committed suicide, not that all suicides are lawful evil) end up in Hell, he sometimes receives desperate visitors willing to barter to get them back so that their soul may be judged again. Unfortunately, Pharasma’s judgement is never changed, and so Barbatos ends up with two souls. Meanwhile, such suicides are left to roam the hellscape of Avernus, never collected for any other purpose, perhaps signifying the pointlessness of their self-termination.

Tying into his association with nature and the “Old Ways”, Barbatos seems to harness the power of old superstitions, and supposedly can hear the next twenty-one words spoken after his name, in addition to other occult powers, such as having his followers construct thrones of bones that can turn animals that sit upon them into his mouthpiece.

Though he is no true devil, Barbatos is every part the dark tyrant, cruel and scheming for his own purposes and for his master, Asmodeus.

Barbatos’ appearance has changed slightly between the original three-part Book of the Damned series and the hardcover, as did most of the archdevils. Sure, he’s still a hunched cloaked humanoid with a beard of tentacles like gnarled roots, but while he originally had three eyes (matching his holy symbol), his later art had him with six eyes, which is a weird choice.

The entirety of Avernus, a blasted literal hellscape of wasteland, sharp rocks, and fire raining from the sky, all belongs to Barbatos technically, but his personal home is somehow even worse. The Promised Land is a floating island that at a distance and on first glance seems like a paradise, as if a desperate soul, living or dead had found a gate to Heaven and providence escaping from the hellscape below, but any amount of focusing on one’s surroundings reveals the horrifying truth. The trees and plants writhe, the animals are disturbingly mutated, and the frolicking revelers are tortured souls whose mouths have been sewn shut with living worms to stifle their screams of agony and horror. Even the ground itself, which from the outside looks like puffy white cloud on which this false paradise sits, is in fact made of endless writhing worms, the cast-off excess of which rain down on the plane below as a foul precipitation. Barbatos himself dwells beneath a colossal bleeding willow tree from which hang the bodies and souls of infernal dukes who failed or betrayed him.

The Mistletoe Monk offers power to tyrants, false promises to the desperate mourners, and of course lessons to any who use their power to propose unfair and exploitative deals themselves. Many of his cults are also made up of druids that have been corrupted from true worship of nature. Any who seek power by making others act desperately, as well as those who are themselves desperate. His cults undergo many cruel rituals, such as the Shearing, in which a captive is stripped and shaven, and then caged and tormented until they stop speaking and give up all trappings of civilization, a process that takes years. Only then are they sacrificed in this exaggerated sick extrapolation of Barbatos’ teachings.

The Bearded Lord is deferential to Asmodeus in all things, and is cordial with the other archdevils, but they don’t share the same respect for him. Even Geryon, who himself is also not a true devil, holds this outsider at a distrustful arm’s length. Only Dispater regards him as a wise seer, but not an ally. Meanwhile, Mahathallah of the Queens of Night has perhaps the closest relationship with him, as her fear of the future causes her to seek out is counsel regularly. While Barbatos has only enemies among the goodly gods, he sometimes trucks with demon lords, the protean Speaker of the Depths, and even occasionally elysian titans, seeking wisdom from a chaotic perspective. (There was also once lore that Barbatos and Achaekek were neighbors that are quite happy to ignore each other, this was rendered non-canon since the Mantis God’s realm was rewritten to be in the Boneyard)

As the progenitor of the barbazu, they all partially owe their allegiance to him, even those that serve other archdevils on the other layers. Barbatos of course has retinues extending across the entirety of the diabolic forces, though in particular lesser and greater host devils, or gaavs and magaavs, as well as the hound-like edavagors are prominent for their uses in hunting souls wandering his realm. He does have the fewest infernal dukes of any archdevil, being Eaqueo, Furcas, Kalma, and Losakur.

Barbatos’ domains are Evil, Law, Magic, and Travel, with the subdomains of Arcane, Devil (by way of Law and Evil), Divine, Portal, and Trade. All of which reflects his role as a guardian of Avernus, a knowledge-seeking traveller, and a purveyor of disastrously-incomplete knowledge that brings about ruin.

Meanwhile, in Second Edition he has power over magic, nature, travel, and tyranny, bringing his association with nature more into the forefront. He also grants magic to enhance natural weapons, paralyze foes, and expand one’s senses beyond one’s body.

His obedience involves creating a tree-shaped shrine out of natural materials and splattering it with fresh blood while invoking a 21-word oath to the demigod. In exchange, the devotee gains preternatural knowledge of evil magics, faiths, and planes.

Of course, this also comes alongside greater power, and he has a proper split obedience as well. Evangelists in particular invoke the mystery of Barbatos’ true nature and the nightmare of his “Promised Land”. They gain spells of blighted luck, senses, and pain. Later on, they can inflict a horrific damaging transformation on foes for a few seconds, and overwhelm a foe’s senses with a thousand horrific possibilities of The Iron Hierophant’s true face.

The Exalted, on the other hand, invoke both his associations with nature at it’s worst and the brutal nature of Avernus itself. Their spells are those that bolster natural attacks, grant primal cunning, and inflict a curse upon foes that turn predators against them. Meanwhile, they can also fill the air with a deafening chacophany that is still the unmistakable sound of a thousand gnashing jaws to rattle the bones of foes, as well as the ability to turn into one of Barbatos’ many horrific battle-forms.

Sentinels instead invoke Barbatos in his role as the guardian of Avernus and by extension passage deeper into the Pit. The spells they gain cause misfortune, attack with sound, and create magical glyph traps. Later, they gain the ability to send outsiders back to their home plane while simultaneously warding themselves against similar threats, as well as the ability to open a gate to Avernus itself, either to travel, or to summon forth a loyal pit fiend to aid you.

Hell has barely been touched on in Starfinder, but I have to imagine that Barbatos is still around up to his old tricks, and there’s so many new ways to torment mortals, whether it be groups that devolve into a Lord of the Flies scenario when stuck on an alien planet or aboard a defunct station or vessel, or guiding mortals seeking desperate answers of science and magic, giving them just enough to destroy themselves.

And that does it for this week, and we ended off on a particularly nasty fiendish demideity, and those are always fun to write for with all those grisly details. Definitely going to need a slight content warning though. Anyway, look forward to next week with more character options!

[deepperplexity]

Black Clouds

Title: Black Clouds

Request: Hi! I just wanna start off by saying i love you’re writing ❤️ I was wondering if you could write a snape x fem reader where the reader is thinking about committing suicide because she feels like she's not worthy of living and she believes that he could have someone better and Sev notice that something is wrong and uses legilimency to find out the issue because she doesn't want to open up with anyone and he's shocked by what he sees and tries to help her. I'm sorry if that's too specific and if you don't feel like writing it, don't worry ❤️

A/N: First of all, before I say anything about this request, I want to tell EVERYONE who feels suicidal to find and ask for help. YOU ARE NOT UNWORTHY OF LIFE. This request hits home for me and I was deliberating if I should write this or not as it’s such a sensitive subject for me personally. But, that’s actually all the more reason to write it. Suicide is a hush-hush subject in society when it really should not be - this is something we ALL need to talk about and we ALL need to make sure that everyone feels safe enough to ask for help. And, as you all know by now, I am all for writing about sensitive/taboo subjects that need to be addressed more. 

Secondly, if you are suicidal or harm yourself in any way - THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE LESS WORTHY. You are worth all happiness, help, support and care in the world - you have a place in this world and it is ever-changing. What is today may be different tomorrow, what happened yesterday may impact what happens the day after tomorrow. There is always a new dawn to meet and a new sunset to cherish. If you are reading this, you are alive and fighting - go you! Like, seriously, it is fucking hard to be alive in this world but you are doing it! You are fighting, even on bad days, you are fighting and winning! Thank you for being here, thank you for staying with us, thank you for gracing the world with your presence and life! ❤️

As I mentioned this hits home and I will do my best to do this request justice as it is so damn important. I do want to mention this is fiction and I do not personally stand behind all the things that characters do even if I write it. Characters have their own will and sometimes that overrules my will as a writer (also, sometimes it’s just needed to get a good story). To intrude in one’s mind is not something I find to be a good thing - but as my loyal readers already know its a thing I use often because its fun to write and Severus just wants to bloody do it all the time; that man as no sense of privacy boundaries when it comes to others, let me tell you… So just keep this in mind whenever you read fiction - just because someone wrote it does not mean it is something they stand behind or condone. If that were the case the world would be way more bonkers - just think of all the murders and rape and war and devilry stuff authors write about O.O 

+A/N: I was writing with a female reader in mind but as I edited this I noticed nothing actually states that it is a female so the reader is GN - I hope Nonny doesn’t mind.

Pairing: Snape x Reader 

Setting: Post Second War, Spring 2003, Your home at Rosewood Hill 

Word count: 3540

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Angst, (Age Difference), Fluff, Mental Health, PTSD, Anxiety, Emotional Rollercoaster, Kissing...

Prologue:

You, like many others who had survived the horrible battle at Hogwarts in 1998, suffered from a series of illnesses. Survivors guilt, depression, anxiety, panic attacks and lately the thoughts had begun to overwhelm you. Collectively one could call it severe PTSD but to simply group all the different emotions and disorders like that simplified it a bit too much. Some parts were PTSD, of course, but some things had haunted you long before the battle. Like your struggle with self-worth, your anxiety and the intrusive thoughts that popped up more often than not. The fact that you had been mere 19 years old when you fought for life, justice and all things good probably made the experience even harder to handle. 

Fortunately for you, something good had come from the war. Love. Your previous professor, Severus Snape, had been severely injured - actually, he had been at death's doorstep - but pulled through after several months of care where you as a nurse partook in his recovery daily. He made a full recovery under yours and others care and once he was free to leave the hospital he had asked you out on a date. You had accepted happily and then everything just sort of happened. You fell in love, got married, moved to Rosewood Hill and renovated a rundown house together as money was tight - but it all turned out quite good in the end. Well, except the fact that things weren’t good. Not at all…

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

You had been unable to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Flashes of memories and the sound of screaming paired with falling bodies kept you company. It had gotten worse since Christmas four months ago. That was when it had snowballed out of control completely. You blinked and sighed before you carefully left the bed, and Severus, behind to get some coffee as you tried to keep the intruding thoughts at bay. 

Lately, despite all the love and happiness in your life, you had been feeling less and less worthy. Of life, of Severus, of everything. You did your best to hide how you felt. You smiled, you laughed, you baked and cleaned, did all of your hobbies and made sure Severus wouldn’t see how you were hurting inside. Made sure he wouldn’t notice how tormented you were by the mere fact you were alive. 

He had enough to deal with, he was so strong that it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He had been through pure hell. Had struggled and fought with all his might year after year while he was hurting, so deeply. You couldn’t fathom how he did it, how he survived and lived on. How he could stand it all. All the thoughts and emotions. Everything. What you felt simply couldn’t be anything to measure with against what he must have felt for so long. It pained you that your thoughts were so selfish, that you had such pain and hurt inside of you when he had a stronger right to claim such emotions. Weakling, worthless, unuseful piece of garbage...

The coffee burned its way down your throat and you winched slightly. “Careful, love,” the gruff voice of your husband echoed out. It startled you as he always slept late and the sun wasn’t even up yet. You smiled at him as you tried to arrange your face into a happy one. He arched a brow at you and you chirped out a ‘good morning, honey’ to him. He grumbled  at you, “no morning is good before nine.” You simply laughed at him as he grabbed a giant mug and poured it full with black coffee. 

“Why are you up so early?” He grumbled after a few sips, you shrugged and cradled your own cup of coffee in your hands. “I just couldn’t sleep, figured I’d get a headstart on the day,” you smiled out and he huffed. “You’re mad,” he grumbled and you shrugged again. “Why are you up?” “You left, the bed felt empty.” You smiled at him but couldn’t help the piercing thought that he would sleep better if you weren’t by his side at all. 

You snuggled up on the couch with a thick book, something to escape into. Something to cradle and lose yourself in for a few hours as Saturday passed by ever so slowly. You didn’t notice that Severus took up a place right beside you before he placed your legs over his own with gentle movements. He made sure the blanket covered your feet and then held a steady grip around your calves. You glanced up at him from the book with a smile etched to your lips. He arched a brow at you. 

“What?” you asked quizzically, his hands squeezed your leg for a moment before you felt his tender fingers stroke back and forth. “That is the question I would like to ask you, love.” You raised your brows ever so slightly before you closed the book. “What do you mean?” “What’s wrong, love?” he asked in a hushed tone and you smiled reassuringly at him. “Nothing’s wrong,” you said, “why would anything be wrong, darling?” 

Severus looked at you for a moment before he let out a small breath through his nose. His eyes left yours as he looked down at his hands placed on your legs. They were rough and pale, they were hands that you loved. “Do not lie to me, (y/n). Something is wrong. You are, not yourself anymore. Tell me,” he said gently yet firmly. You smiled wider before you placed your hand on his forearm. “Darling, nothing is wrong, I promise. I’m fine and happy, I have you.” 

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence and you felt as if your plastered smile might have failed you at any moment when he finally looked at you. “Love, do not lie, it does not suit you. Just, tell me.” You patted his arm as thoughts raced through your mind, wondering how you could reassure him he did not have to deal with your shit when he probably had so much to deal with from his own thoughts already. 

“Darling, come here,” you said and he leaned towards you. You stroked away one side of his black hair and hooked it behind his cute ear before you gently caressed his cheek and kissed his lips tenderly. I will not fail you, was the one thought that spun through your mind over and over as you tasted him. “Everything is great,” you whispered as you broke the kiss, “I’ll go make some tea for us. You seem a bit tense.” He nodded at you but there was sadness in his eyes that you could not ignore even if you stood and walked out to the kitchen.  

Your hands were shaking as you poured water into the kettle. The cups rattled as you placed them on saucers. Your breathing faltered over and over as you tried to calm your heart. Too close, too close, too close, you thought as you placed tea bags in the cups. I need to do better, he can’t see, I can’t worry him. He’s got too much of his own stuff to deal with, I can’t be a burden to him. I don’t want to burden him anymore… 

A small, glinting tear rolled down your cheek as you bit your lip to keep a sob at bay just as the kettle screamed. The water swirled as you poured it, stained by the tea in a gentle pattern before it all gained the same deep colour and you felt as if you yourself had been stained a deeper, darker colour throughout the depths of your heart.  

You had avoided him a tad after the tea. You busied yourself with laundry, cleaning, changing sheets on the bed and dusting. Not until evening came and Severus had set the table with a divinely smelling dinner were you forced to be still and in close proximity to him. Now, some might have thought this was just because you didn’t want him to notice it all, see it all, know it all. But no, no that was not the reason you had avoided him. At least not completely. 

You wanted to tell him, talk to him, get help. Or something along those lines. At the same time, you felt shame, pain and an array of doubt as to how he would react but also regarding your infliction of pain through verbally admitting what you felt to the one you loved so deeply. The storm inside you that was black clouds of endless dust that howled about your insignificant worth made you feel horrible in every way. Yet, the one thing you did not want was to hurt him. Drag him into the storm. Pain him with your selfish thoughts when you knew, knew what he had been through - for years . 

I have no right. No right to feel like this. I should be happy. Should be grateful. I’m alive, I have a home, a man who loves me and the world is safe again. I know I should feel all these things. Should be filled with love and joy. He survived, we found each other. Yet, he is just so damn much and I’m just, not worthy of any of it... 

“(Y/n), talk to me,” he said all of a sudden as he put down his cutlery. You lifted your head, allowed your eyes to meet his and tugged your lips up into a smile. “Darling, I don’t understand what you’re going on about. I’m fine, everything is good. I’m good.” “You are not good!” The sudden change of his tone startled you for a second. His gaze was intense and penetrating. As if he looked through you. You gasped as you felt his intrusion in your mind and you had no chance of blocking him out. 

He saw everything. Every little thing that you had desperately tried to hide from him. The hurt, the doubt, the horrors of your mind that filled your days with anxiety and sorrow. He slithered through your mind with such power and speed you barely had a chance at breathing as your mind raced with thoughts you had wanted to hide. But, it is as they say. If someone says ‘do not think of an elephant’, what do you think of? An elephant. And that elephant was all of your fears combined with all of the pain. 

His eyes watered and you stood with such speed that the chair toppled. “Severus-” you breathed out with a mixture of emotions that were nothing but bad. Your lip quivered as tears rolled down your cheeks before you dashed out of the kitchen and ran towards the bathroom. You closed and locked the door a mere second before he pulled at the handle. “(Y/n). Open the door,” he said with a slight shake to his voice. But you simply curled up in the tub and hugged your legs, your knees against your forehead as tears wet your clothes and skin. 

He banged at the door, twice, and you shivered. He saw it, he saw it, he’ll hate me, he’ll be furious with me. I have no right to feel this, I’m not worthy of, anything… The fear of him feeling such things towards you made you nauseous and afraid. “Please, love, open the door. Let me in,” he said through the wood that separated you. But you didn’t move. Then a click was heard and he had used the unlocking spell to let himself in. You hugged your knees tighter. Buried your head with more force as you tried to stop the sobbing that wanted to crawl its way out of your mouth from the depths of your chest. 

You felt his hand on your back as you heard the ruffling of fabric as he lowered himself beside the tub. “Love, please,” he whispered and pain was evident in his voice. You curled up further, as much as you could. I hurt him. I hurt him just like everyone else has done. You’d be better off without me, I know you would. I’m such a fucking coward, why haven’t I just- just- just ended it?! I’m not worthy of breathing the same air as you. I should have died. I should have died with the others. Someone else should have lived, I should have died in that war. “Love, don’t.” 

It was too late when you felt his presence in your mind as your dark thoughts buried you in such cold depths you barely registered that he lifted you out of the tub. His arms wrapped beneath and around you. His thin lips pressed themselves against your head and you let go of the clawing sob. It escaped through your quivering lips and Severus tensed. 

“Love, you are my everything. My whole world. You, are the very reason that I am living. You are-” “Unworthy of your love,” you breathed out in a hushed whisper. To say the words out loud felt as if someone drove a piping hot branding iron down your throat. “It is I who is unworthy of you ,” he whispered against the top of your head as he sunk to the floor and cradled you, “I should have seen, noticed, I should have been there for you like you have always been for me. I am so sorry, love.” 

Had this been one of those stupid romance novels I would have been all smiles and happy by now. To hear you say that. I would have been cured of these feelings. But apparently, life is not like that… The thoughts and feelings you had had for so long had not lessened in any way. Had not disappeared just because of his adoring words. They were as strong as ever. But now, now there was also the pain of having hurt him and made him feel unworthy or lesser. It was agony and you had no way to deal with it other than to cry. 

Darkness had fallen long before you finally stopped crying. Everything in your body ached and you knew Severus was stiff and sore from the odd position on the hard floor, with you in his lap. “I am so sorry, love,” he whispered for the umpteenth time. “I’m tired,” you whispered back as your mind kept spinning with all the things you had tried to bury. To hide. Things from before the war and after the war. Life, death, loss and gain. “Let’s get you to bed,” he simply said and the thunder in his voice felt subdued. A mere distant rumble and it made you feel strange.  

He rose with you in his arms, carefully cradled as if you would break with any hasty motion. You felt the stiffness in his movements, yet he didn’t say a word about it. He simply carried you through the hallway and placed you on the bed with gentleness. You turned and laid on your side as your mind echoed the words ‘insignificant, worthless, unbearable’ over and over and over as Severus pulled the cover up over you. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered before he kissed your head, “I will help you, in any way I can. Please don’t, don’t leave me...” 

The room was silent after those words and a moment later you heard him take a shuddering breath before he left. You were alone. In that moment, something desperate clawed in you. A fearful thought crossed your mind and pain travelled through your veins as if they were freezing with an ice-cold breath. He’ll leave me now, he’ll see that I’m not worth anything. That, that he is better off without me. Strangely enough, that scared you. Even if it had been the very epicentre of your dark thoughts and agonizing pain lately it was different now. He knew now. Perhaps it was the end and all you had feared was actually true? That you meant nothing, was worth nothing. Nothing at all.  

You shivered, turned to lay on your back and grabbed the cover to take it off but at that moment the door opened. You turned your head only to see a broken man in the doorway. His eyes glinted with unshed tears and his shoulders slumped. He looked nothing like your Severus. Nothing at all like the powerful and strong man you had fallen for.

“I will never leave you. I love you, (y/n).” You looked at him as the words vibrated through you in a low tone. “I would have been dead if it were not for you,” he continued and the words elicited a gasp from you. You could not even fathom the idea of a world without Severus. Such a place couldn’t even exist in your wildest fantasies. He was everything. “A world without you, would be worthless and empty. You are everything to me and I want to keep you forever, here, with me. No matter how selfish that may be, I need you with me. Or I shall perish.” 

Your heart fluttered with a need for his love as his words landed somewhere in the darkest parts of your mind. The parts where screams and falling bodies lingered. The part where dark clouds of dust swirled with sorrow and pain. The part where no dawning light had shined for years. There his words landed, settled. A small crack in the clouds allowed a single ray of sunshine to come through as gentle words of thankfulness for all who had survived could be heard, even if they were muffled by distant memory and buried beneath all the bad things. 

You removed the cover and sat up slowly. As your feet touched the carpet something jolted in you. You ran towards him, slammed your body into his so harshly that he took a staggering step back as his arms wrapped themselves around you with such haste you were nearly surprised. “Please, love, please. Stay and go through this with me. Together,” he breathed out and you nodded as new tears leaked from your eyes. “I will-, will try…” It was the only kind of thing you could say as you clung to that tiny sliver of light in the depths of the darkness. That tiny little ray of warmth that was your beloved and his love for you. 

 Epilogue: 

It had been nearly six months. For six months he had guarded you, tended to you, helped you through the pain and anxiety attacks too many times to count. He had cred, you had cried and several times it felt hopeless. As if nothing would ever change the darkness that clung to you on the inside, in the depths of your mind. 

But he had encouraged you, supported you, helped you in all ways possible. Even on days when you wanted to run away from it all and give up, he made sure you could see light and feel warmth. He had confided in you as well. His fear of losing you, his pain in seeing you turn into someone he did not know, the anguish of not knowing and not being able to help. The horror that had raked through him each time you had shut him out with lies of how great and good everything was. His fear that he was not enough for you, that he was not what you wanted. 

But now, after months of hard work, tears, open communication and desperate attempts at surviving through it all you felt lighter. The dark clouds of dust were nearly gone as light bathed most of your inner self; a warmth spread like the gentle breeze of a summer night. It was thanks to him, to your beloved, and your own hard work. Your own strength and determination to not yield and succumb to the darkness. Even on days when it was most tempting to escape it all swiftly. 

You had fought. Struggled. Won battle after battle. Some battles were lost but the war was being won, one fight at a time. You did that. You fought on and conquered the pain, the sorrow and despair. The abysmal voice that echoed horrendous words of unworthiness and shame had nearly been silenced and replaced with a growling noise of power and love. His voice, his sound, it saved you time and time again as you allowed love to actually unfold and be a part of your life. As you allowed yourself to be alive even if you were not always sure you should be. 

You did not give those thoughts more than a swift glance as they passed by in your mind. They were not worthy of your emotional investment. They were false and wrong. You would not succumb to them no matter what as you had finally found your will to live accompanied by a need to do so happily - despite everything your mind had whispered, you were worthy. You just needed help to break free of the darkness and see yourself for the worthy person that you would always be. No matter what, you would always be worthy of life.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

A/N: I want to say thank you to the Nonny who sent this request and I want to yet again remind everyone that you are worthy of all good things and being suicidal or harming yourself does not take that away! If you are harming yourself or have suicidal thoughts, find and ask for help! You are worth it, worthy of help and of life! Thank you for being here with us. ❤️

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[Feb:2021]

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 9

Day 9 of Whumptober, part 9 of the oof!au. And now we come to the turning of the tides. This one is SUPER long (6k) and is also the only part of the series to have a split POV. 

General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past torture and loss of a limb. Implications of non-con. Mistreatment of a prisoner. Fall-out of mind control. Mentions of/thoughts about suicide. Death (including a major character. For the sake of spoilers, I’m not going to say who dies, but if you need to know before you read shoot me a msg and I’ll tell you).

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? 

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue 

Victory left Vader feeling warm inside, pleased. For a time. He got what he wanted, what he deserved, Obi-Wan begging for his forgiveness, using his proper title, obeying. He got all the apologies he was owed, and it only cost a few bodies, slumped against a wall.

Obi-Wan’s agony and horror filled the entirety of the Force, ratcheting higher with each clone that died. He was such a weak fool. They were nothing, just things, and broken things at that, for all that Obi-Wan carried on, his pain so large it felt like a living creature, sucking up all the air in the room, filling every possible piece of Vader’s mind, battering at him from across their bond.

He’d never, actually, felt pain like that from Obi-Wan before. Never once. It brought back memories of their time on Zygerria, where similar emotions had swirled out of Obi-Wan’s head, but… Obi-Wan had more control, back then.

Under Vader’s command, he cracked and broke, shattering like glass each time Vader so much as threatened one of the clones. It was ridiculous. Every single one of them would happily put a blaster bolt in Obi-Wan’s head, and yet he fell to his knees and he groveled and he said, obediently, whichever words Vader wanted.

He did whatever Vader wanted, without protest, without hesitation, for all that his expression was some blank and empty thing. Sometimes, Vader had one of the clones shot, anyway, just to make sure Obi-Wan didn’t lose track of the stakes.

He did everything Vader wanted, so agreeable, the great General Kenobi brought so low. Finally put into his place. Agreeing, with the rasp that remained of his voice, that Vader was right to take his arm, stretching it out, head bowed, fair was fair, after all. Agreeing that he’d been wrong. Agreeing while his agony curled through the Force, staining everything.

Vader worked to hold onto the initial pleasure of his victory, fought for it, temper growing worse as Obi-Wan spoiled things, once more. He could barely breathe, around Obi-Wan’s cursed emotions, by the time it became obvious that Obi-Wan needed to go to the medbay, no longer shaking, no longer doing much of anything but breathing shallowly, gone pale all over, staring at the troopers, intently.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan was murmuring, barely audible, as a pair of troopers lifted him and carried him away - strange that they had not dragged him, Vader considered, but only briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, as they carried him through the door. He had been slurring the words for some hours.

Vader appreciated the apologies, but, truly, they were far too little too late.

He turned away as the door shut, moving to look out over the open viewport along the side of the room, staring out across the lava fields below. He curled his hands around the railing, breathing hard, and reassured himself that he had, in fact, gotten everything he wanted, finally.

He turned away from the view, eventually, and went to check the messages his Master had sent him, over the past days.

#

Cody warned Crys to watch his expression when they were out of the medbay. To control his emotions. Vader was one of the few Force sensitive people left in the galaxy, as far as Cody knew. That meant he could, technically, pick up emotions.

Cody worked to keep his feelings contained. To stay as blank as possible. But there was fury in him. Fury and rage and guilt and hurt and--

And Obi-Wan had taught him, back during the war, how to breathe slowly and deeply, how to settle himself when the noise in his head got to be too much. Cody remembered sitting beside him, quietly, meditating in a dimly lit room with the sweet smell of incense all around them, listening to Obi-Wan’s breath and falling into the same pattern, so they were breathing as one and, he had imagined, perhaps their heartbeats even changed to match--

Obi-Wan floated in a bacta tank as Cody walked back into the medbay, hours after he’d left, leaving Crys to continue on with their preparation. Obi-Wan’s remaining limbs curled close, like he was trying to make himself small, even while unconscious. 

Cody remembered everything his body had done. Remembered, so clearly, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down on Utapau, the cool slide of satisfaction in his mind as he’d watched his General plunge into the waste-water pit. He remembered moving out, remembered reassignment, remembered people begging, pleading with him--

He dug his nails up into his palms, when the memories got to be too much, and marched forward, back towards where he’d left Bones. Who was… bent over another trooper, when Cody entered the room, and who snapped, “Don’t say a word.”

And so Cody didn’t, because you listened to the medics when they gave you orders, even when you, technically, out-ranked them. He waited, patiently, moving a bit around the side of the bed to watch as Bones did… something to the side of their brother’s head.

It didn’t take very long before Bones shifted, pressed a bacta patch into place, and looked up at Cody, scowling, to snap, “Chips.”

“Excuse me?” Cody said, considering that the aneurysm may have caused more damage to Bones’ mind than they’d first assumed, adjusting his plan to work around that, and--

“There are chips in our brains,” Bones said. “Frontal lobe. I assume that’s what’s controlling us, because I’ve removed four of them so far, and the results have been favorable.”

Cody blinked at him, struck, abruptly, by how good it was to have his brothers back, to have help, to remember that Bones was every bit as competent as he was, if with the tools of the medical bay instead of combat planning. “Where are they?” he asked, “The ones you freed?”

“Waiting for you,” Bones said, mouth quirking, his eyes hard and flat as Cody’s felt. “I sent them to the barracks and told them not to draw attention to themselves. Guv is going to stay here, though. He’ll help me, we’ll move twice as quickly.”

Cody nodded, calculations streaming through his head. There wasn’t much of the 212th left. Their men had been thrown onto the front lines in the immediate aftermath of the war. He didn’t believe for a moment that hadn’t been intentional, another jab at Obi-Wan, even though everyone had thought him dead.

Palpatine and Skywalker had wanted them all dead, at first, just because they were Obi-Wan’s.

The survivors were mostly clustered on Mustafar, such as they were. “How long to free them all?” he asked, as Guv started to stir around. 

Bones shrugged. “A few days? Maybe less, if I can find another medic or two.”

Cody reached out and gripped his shoulder. He said, “Good work. Stay out of the way in here, you hear me? Just leave if Skywalker comes by.” To see Obi-wan, he did not add. He didn’t think he needed to. “But make sure I’m informed.”

“Will do,” Bones said, and Cody left him to his work, a piece of his plan that he’d dared only hope for slotting into place. He’d been prepared to bring this entire place down on his own, if necessary. It looked like he was going to have help. He could work with that.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, on his way out of the medbay, bile burning in the back of his throat, and then set his expression. He stared forward and worked to keep his expression cool and blank. Empty. Just like the faces of all of his brothers. 

Cody knew every face around him. His men, wiped clean. Emptied. Screaming inside their own heads, the way he’d been. Begging for someone to help, where no one could hear. Trying desperately to regain control of themselves long enough to - to make it stop.

Cody had spent three long years trapped inside the prison of his own mind, watching his body commit atrocities. All he’d wanted was the opportunity to put a blaster to the side of his head and pull the trigger. It had seemed, for so long, the only way to escape. 

He’d managed to fight his way to a different kind of freedom. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been strong enough to do it weeks ago, before--

Before Vader had gotten his hands on Obi-Wan. Before he’d made Cody--

Cody fought to keep his breathing steady and lost, but none of his brothers looked his way as he reached out, bracing a hand against the wall, back curling over as his heart lurched, off-rhythm and agonizing. 

He’d beaten Obi-Wan. With his own hands, he’d-- he’d thought about the best ways to cause pain and then he’d done it, methodical. Effective. And he’d - he’d - Force - Obi-Wan had begged him not to and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop, he’d--

Never again, he thought, straightening and continuing towards the door to move through all the expected motions and to check on his brothers, such as they were. The bunk room. That was where Bones had sent those he’d freed.

They were all packed in, barely enough room to walk between the beds. The space felt claustrophobic and empty at the same time, because even when the bunks were all full it was silent. No one talked. No one laughed. They just… moved about. Silent. Ghosts made flesh.

Cody walked between them, memories of the past dogging his steps, drawing to a stop by Swoop, who was… sitting like all the rest of them. They were supposed to be cleaning their blasters. It looked like he’d started the process and abandoned it.

He was sitting, staring straight forward, blaster in hand and shaking, badly, as he slowly raised his arm, his finger on the trigger. Cody’s heart lurched in his chest and he reached out, without even thinking, grabbing Swoop’s wrist with one hand, stripping the blaster away with the other.

He said, quietly, hoping Bones would understand, “Report to the medbay.”

Swoop stared forward, breathing shakily, his ear shiny with red blood, and Cody swallowed, wishing he could do more. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Just go to the medbay. That’s an order.” He’d been able to hear things, while he was trapped.

Swoop must have been listening, because he let out a shuddery breath, and stood, moving without a word towards the door. Cody checked on the rest of his men - his brothers - and found those Bones had freed clustered together, looking over to watch him with haunted, shadowed eyes. 

“Come with me,” he said, as he reached them, tilting his head towards the door. He had so much to do and intended to waste no time accomplishing it. He gave them instructions and sent them on their way, smiling grimly as they moved off. He turned on his heel; there was so much to do, and had a moment where he thought everything might go wrong, when he stepped out of the barracks and found Vader walking down the hall, ridiculous cloak flapping behind him.

He resisted the urge to go for his blaster. It wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, and instead drew to attention, the way he’d been forced to do for so long. Cody stared forward, face carefully blank, focusing on being...empty, inside. 

He hoped Vader wouldn’t glance towards him and his heart lurched, unpleasantly, when Vader drew to a stop before him. Cody saw his own reflection in the side of Vader’s helmet, the lines on his face deeper, a distortion of himself.

“2224,” Vader said, something pleased and thick in his tone. Gloating. Smug. “Obi-Wan asked if you were alright. Did you know that? So worried you were hurt. The things he did, to make sure I allowed the droids to tend to you. Can you imagine them?”

There was no reason to tell him. No reason at all, except to revel in the hurt he was causing Obi-Wan. Vader, as far as Cody knew, thought they were all… dead inside. Cody fought with himself; he’d been doing that without respite for three years. He’d gotten very, very good at it, apparently. His expression did not twitch as he said, blank, “No, Lord Vader.”

He expected Vader to notice how very badly Cody wanted to kill him. Instead, Vader just said, “You’ll report to my quarters when he’s recovered. I think it’s time we ended his fascination with you.”

And he turned away, resuming his march. Cody exhaled, harshly, as Vader exited through the doors at the end of the hall, heat from the volcanos beyond sweeping in, temporarily, before the doors closed. His hands itched, not with the urge to reach for a blaster. He’d rather beat Vader to death, he realized, with a dark, twisting slant of his emotions, beat him the way Vader had forced him to beat Obi-Wan, until he wasn’t moving anymore and--

But that would have to wait. He was not ruled by his emotions or the flat, cold fury inside of him. He had one possible opportunity to get Obi-Wan out of here. To rescue his brothers. He wasn’t going to waste it.

No one cared where he went around the base. Vader had, after all, left him in charge of so much, ever so confident in the power of his control, in his ability to make Cody do whatever Vader liked. Well, Cody considered, heading for the munitions bay to check on Crys, keeping his expression studiously blank, he was in the mood to do what he liked. 

He’d always favored explosions.

#

Vader wanted nothing more than to enjoy his crowning moment of victory for a little while. He didn’t see why, after all he’d done for the galaxy and his Master, that could not be allowed. But, apparently, he had been silent for too long after his successes.

His Master had sent Tarkin to check on him, as though he were a wayward child. Vader recalled being quite impressed with Tarkin, once. He’d seemed sure of purpose, during the war. Willing to do what needed done.

Currently, Tarkin only irritated him. Lectures appealed not at all to him, but he had his orders and, besides, Obi-Wan would be in the medbay for some time yet. Vader had been forced to punish him, to remind him of his place, to take a pound of flesh; it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t taken from him.

And when he recovered enough to be stable, Vader would take the rest of what he was owed.

Tarkin asked after his current projects and sneered at the base and was, generally, an irritant. Vader resisted the urge to lift a hand and strangle the man. His Master would be displeased, if he did.

His irritation built up behind his bones, restrained and held back. This was Obi-Wan’s fault, anyway. If he hadn’t distracted Vader so much, he’d have completed the tasks set before him and wouldn’t have to deal with Tarkin’s overbearing presence, for however long the man decided to stay.

Vader scowled behind his mask, and resigned himself to playing the unwilling host for nearly three days, before Tarkin finally left, apparently satisfied that he’d thrown his weight around enough.

It left Vader’s temper surging through his veins, burning hot and stinging. He sent an order to the medbay that Obi-Wan be dragged from the bacta, ignoring the droid’s complaints that he was not fully healed; apparently, there was some kind of internal damage. “He’ll live,” Vader snapped, “I want him brought to me.”

He needed to settle the pressure in his head, the rage in his blood.

It was, after all, all Obi-Wan’s fault.

#

Cody worked unceasingly for three days, getting everything moved into place. Exhaustion beat at the insides of his head, forcing him to get his head down for a few hours at a time. He wouldn’t risk ruining the mission because he was kriffing tired, so he made himself wedge into a bunk and shut his eyes, determined.

The nightmares woke him after what felt like moments, leaving him gasping and jerking to sit, vomit rising in his throat. In the nightmares, he saw Obi-Wan, every single time. Begging, bloody, held down and hurt and--

And Cody was the one hurting him, every time.

He swallowed, hard, panting and feeling sweat break out across his skin. His stomach hurt, terribly and his head throbbed. But a few nightmares were less of a punishment than he deserved, for what he’d done. He was going to get Obi-Wan out of here. He was going to drop the entire base into a volcano. He was going to kill Skywalker, with his bare hands, if possible.

And then he’d think of a way to pay for what he’d done, and pay the cost, gladly.

Until then, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood. He’d slept a few hours. More than long enough. It would have to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting his head on the pillow again, of shutting his eyes, of leaving his subconscious free to return to the monstrosities he’d committed.

He loved Obi-Wan. Had loved Obi-Wan for so kriffing long. And he’d still--

Cody pushed the thoughts away, rising from the bunk and meeting Reck’s eyes from the bunk across the aisle. Reck nodded, just a little, barely a sign of movement, but enough to show he was in there.

So many of them were free.

Soon everyone on the base would be themselves again. They’d gotten lucky in that regard, Cody knew. The visit of the Admiral had distracted Skywalker, something Cody hadn’t anticipated. Thus far, Obi-Wan had been the only thing that adequately kept Skywalker occupied and--

And Cody hadn’t been willing to use that distraction again. Skywalker was never going to raise a hand to Obi-Wan, ever. He was never going to get the chance.

Cody held onto that thought, moving out into the base, expression studiously blank, just in case. He threw himself into the last stages of his preparations; making sure the base was wired appropriately was important. Taking care of the ships in the hangar needed handled, as well. They needed one clean - free of any tracking devices - and the rest… well.

Cody wasn’t taking any chances. There’d be no way for Vader to get off of this rock, if somehow Cody failed to kill him directly. He didn’t plan to fail, but having contingencies never hurt anyone. 

He spent hours in the hangar, ensuring everything was just so, nodded grimly once finished, and moved back through the base, looking for something else to keep him busy. It was so vitally important that he stay busy. It kept the memories away, kept his thoughts from spiralling inward in a way that made him want to reach for his blaster. 

He didn’t think he could kill Skywalker with it. Yet. But lifting it, pressing it to the side of his own temple, was…

He swallowed, marching blank faced down the hall. Those were thoughts for another time. Save Obi-Wan. Kill Skywalker. Blow up the base. Get his brothers out of here. Those were the goals he needed to hold onto. And he gripped them, tight. Focused on nothing else and nothing more.

Cody went to the medbay. There was generally something to do there, and most of the rest of his preparations were complete. Bones almost always had a brother in recovery, someone who needed explanations and comfort, who needed to be told it was alright, now, that it was over, the long nightmare they’d all shared.

Cody went over all the completed preparations one more time, as he reached the medbay, making it two steps in before a jarring sense of wrongness swept over him. He froze, gaze jerked towards the bacta tank where Obi-Wan had been floating, last he checked, and--

“They took him,” Bones said, fast, coming forward and gripping Cody’s arms, his expression distraught, openly so. “Sir, they took him, the droids had orders and Crys and--”

“To Skywalker?” Cody asked, hoping that - maybe - the answer was no. That maybe they’d just dragged him to his cell. That would make everything so much easier. Cody planned to keep Obi-Wan away from Skywalker’s execution, if at all possible. 

Obi-Wan had loved the man Skywalker had been, once. He didn’t need to see what Cody was going to do to him.

“Yes,” Bones said, sounding gutted. “What are we going to--”

“How many of us are still chipped?” Cody asked, feeling something cold settle across him, ice itself moving through his veins. There was no more time to wait, then. He’d already failed his promise not to let Skywalker touch Obi-Wan again, but-- Running off immediately wasn’t going to serve any of them.

He needed to set everything into motion. Then he’d run off.

“Less than a dozen,” Bones said, “but it’ll take me hours--”

“Order them to board the ship,” Cody cut in. There wasn’t time to waste on explanations and fretting. “Tell them I’ve ordered general quarters. Lock them in. We’ll deal with them later. I want them out of here now, before anyone can start issuing orders. You’re to stay on the ship with them. Get the medbay made ready. We’re not getting out of this without injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones said, nodding, and turned, just like that, motions suddenly calm and controlled. They’d all been waiting for this such a long time, Cody knew. He certainly had.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room, ignoring the droids watching them curiously. A few droids were no longer a concern. They wouldn’t be able to get word to Skywalker, anyway. Not if he were - were distracting himself with Obi-Wan again.

Cold fire spread in Cody’s gut as he walked. He’d almost made it to the barracks when an order came over the comm in his ear. It seemed he was wanted, immediately, in Skywalker’s throne room.

He could guess at why, and grinned, small and tight. Skywalker would invite him in, would not even be startled when Cody showed up, because Skywalker had called him. Made it easy, over confident and sure he was in utter control. The throne room was more of a problem than his private chambers. There were automated defenses in there. But Cody had prepared for this eventuality. His knuckles itched.

Cody continued to the barracks and gestured, silently, when he stepped inside. The few of his brothers still under the control of the thing in their heads never even looked up, never saw the signs Cody sketched through the air.

The rest of them, those freed, those ready to fight, stood with grim, determined looks, checking their blasters and straightening their armor. Cody looked over all of them, heart beating steady and sure in his chest, and nodded. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. And he was so tired of waiting. He marched through the halls, men falling in at his back, without a word or hesitation.

He gestured again as they reached Skywalker’s throne room. His brothers nodded, spreading out, pressed to the walls, blasters drawn, ready and waiting, as he blanked his expression and waved the door open, stepping in to get a look at the exact situation they were dealing with before he called in all his back-up. 

The throne room smelled like blood and the poisoned, volcanic air from outside, in a way that dropped the bottom out of Cody’s stomach. The room was brightly lit, not even the brief mercy of shadows there to hide the sights that awaited.

Obi-Wan was there, and Cody’s heart ached to see him. He was kneeling on the floor, head down, beside Skywalker, who was sitting on that throne of his, the ugly, brutal shape of it looming through the smoke that had been allowed to billow into the room. Cody resisted looking towards the open window, an itching sense of anticipation in his bones.

Skywalker had his legs crossed, a chain wound around one hand, connected to the collar at Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan’s right arm hung limp by his side, unbond. Cody swallowed bile, the abbreviated end of Obi-Wan’s left arm a condemnation, another way he’d failed, and he’d--

“Come here,” Skywalker ordered, voice a boom, and Cody remembered when he’d sounded like a boy, those first few months of the war. That boy had grown into a monster. Cody wished, absently, that he’d killed Skywalker long ago. Years ago. If only he’d known.

He walked forward, assessing the situation. Some of his brothers were already in the room. But that wasn’t a surprise. Skywalker liked to keep guards around, and perhaps he intended to force Cody to kill them. Or, Cody considered, eyeing the blasters they already held, perhaps they were to be his executioners.

They were all but two of them awake.

He hoped Skywalker enjoyed the surprise he was about to get. It had been far too long in coming.

Cody came to a stop in front of the throne, staring forward, waiting for the perfect moment, and Obi-Wan hitched in a breath, rasping - his voice was still barely a whisper, strained and hoarse, “Please, please, don’t--”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Vader snapped, jerking on the chain, and Cody’s hands tightened into fists. He fought to keep his emotions calm and still. “I told you,” Skywalker continued, after a moment, “that 2224 has been experiencing defects. I think it’s time we resolved that.”

Cody watched Obi-Wan go still, strangely and totally. Centering himself, Cody realized. Preparing for something. 

“I know how I’d prefer to handle the execution. We could see how long it would take, if you like,” Skywalker continued, voice thrumming with implications. “But you could, perhaps, convince me to make it painless.” He tugged on the chain, again, jerking Obi-Wan forward against his legs, even as he uncrossed them, and Cody was going to--

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, before Cody could signal the other troopers, sliding his hand up Vader’s leg, and there was no more time to wait because Cody wasn’t letting this happen again. Never again. Never--

He made a sign, sharp and short, by his hip, and everything went mad, all at once.

Vader made a harsh, furious sound, standing and throwing Obi-Wan back, viciously. Cody blinked, because there was a flash of red, and for a moment, Cody thought that Vader had drawn his lightsaber and killed Obi-Wan and--

The red went with Obi-Wan, who hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, glowing lightsaber in hand and blood streaking down his chin as he rasped, “You’re not going to hurt them, ever again, Anakin.”

That was when the first explosions started going off, right on schedule.

It was when Vader roared an order to kill him. 

And it was when his two chipped brothers opened fire.

#

Vader told Obi-Wan, when he was dragged in and dumped across the ground, that he had a special treat planned. He enjoyed the way Obi-Wan shuddered at the words, the way his emotions tangled and warped, dread and even still some scraps of determination threading through him.

Obi-Wan still thought he had a chance, even after everything. Even after Anakin had taken his arm - and he thought, perhaps, after he handled 2224, he’d take a leg, make Obi-Wan see exactly what he’d done, make him live it. He was going to undo Obi-Wan, utterly. It simply might take longer than he’d first hoped.

In any case, wrapping Obi-Wan’s chain around his hand and dragging him closer had settled some of the anger left behind by Tarkin’s visit. Obi-Wan still moved like he was hurt inside, carefully, a soft sound punching out of him as Vader dragged him into place.

He considered, for a moment, that something should be done about Obi-Wan’s right arm. There was no easy way to restrain it, though, and anyway, what was he going to do? The collar around his neck prevented him from acting against Vader’s will. And, if that failed, well…

There were troopers in the room. They’d proven so effective at getting Obi-Wan to listen. Just the threat of their deaths was more than enough to have Obi-Wan begging for mercy he wasn’t going to receive. A few executions were a good way to remind Obi-Wan of who was in control.

Still, Vader planned only one such execution for the evening. He’d grown tired of seeing 2224’s face around the base. He had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan was thinking about the defective damn thing, that, even when he was with Vader, his thoughts were elsewhere. Another betrayal.

Besides, 2224 deserved to die for everything it had done during the war, for taking Obi-Wan’s focus away, distracting him.

Vader called it in, sitting back on his throne and relaxing. Tarkin had gone. He had Obi-Wan. He’d soon be rid of 2224. He’d gotten what he wanted and shuddered, just for a moment, at the way the realization left him feeling strange and hollow. 

He focused on the twist and ache of Obi-Wan’s emotions as 2224 marched in to face its execution. Obi-Wan’s agony was so rich, so complex. He hadn’t hurt nearly so much when Vader took his arm. That had just been… pain. Physical. Fleeting. The way he split open as Vader told him exactly what was going to happen to 2224 was so much thicker. Choking. Spilling into the Force.

Vader’s mouth twitched behind his helmet - it was wrong that Obi-Wan cared so much about some thing, a clone, anything that wasn’t him - and he jerked on the chain, only slightly mollified when Obi-Wan slid a hand up his leg.

How many times had he thought about Obi-Wan touching him like this? Obi-Wan kneeling between his spread legs, head bent forward, focused on making him feel good? They should have had this before, Padmé would have understood, Vader could have made her understand.

His respiration quickened with anticipation. He knew exactly when he planned to order 2224 executed. He’d order it to kill itself, he decided, after making it watch. After he had Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, after--

His sweet musings were interrupted when Obi-Wan’s emotions shifted, all at once, agony and grief peeling away to reveal something cool and calm and flat. He jerked at the same instant he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his lightsaber, and--

Vader shoved him back, immediately, with the Force, the saber activating even as he tossed Obi-Wan across the room. A second later and it would have carved up through his gut. Obi-Wan had activated it while it was pressed close to his skin, had intended to kill him and--

Fury and betrayal swirled through Vader’s mind as he lurched to his feet, drawing the Force around him, watching Obi-Wan grip his lightsaber, the red blade glowing across his skin, his eyes fierce and blue, sharp all of a sudden, all the misery he’d worn just pulled away, like a mask, like they’d been put-on, which was impossible.

Vader snarled, reaching for the controls for the collar, and the ground shook under him. Around the room the troopers were moving, suddenly, opening fire on 2224, who jerked away, impossibly, he should have stayed where he was, unmoving, not fired back at them, grunting when a blaster shot caught him in his side before some of the other troopers opened fire, taking out each other, not--

Vader didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t matter. He moved to activate the controls, to bring Obi-Wan to heel, and 2224 said, “Skywalker.”

Vader blinked, surprise making him look over, sure he’d misheard and--

“For Trip,” 2224 said, calm and flat, as he shot the controls on Vader’s arm, sparks jumping out of the suit even as the rest of the troopers not on the ground opened fire on him. Vader roared in fury, unsure how Obi-Wan had managed this, how he’d managed to corrupt the clones’ programming, but none of that mattered.

Vader could figure that out later. After they were all dead. He lashed out with the Force, throwing them back, lifting three of them into the air at once, grip choking around their throats. He would kill them, oh yes. All of them, one after another, the entire 212th, ending with Obi-Wan. He’d make Obi-Wan watch each of them die, make sure he couldn’t look away, make sure--

He tightened his grip in the Force and made a hoarse, surprised sound when the troopers fell, anyway, his power pulled apart. The Force shifted in the room, swelling up, sweet and sharp, and he looked over, confusion coursing through him, to find Obi-Wan on his feet, saber shaking, breathing hard, what remained of his left arm stretched out.

“I won’t let you hurt them. Ever again,” Obi-Wan panted, eyes blazing, power coursing out of him, holding Vader back, which was impossible. Obi-Wan had ever been able to match him, but Vader had taken care of that, restrained him-- 

And the collar lay on the floor, twisted, the edges still smoking faintly from the blade of his saber. Vader snarled, moving towards Obi-Wan, fury building in his bones, all his focus on his old master. Blaster bolts hit across his shoulders and back, his chest, deflected by all the shielding in his suit, and then there was another explosion, closer, rocking the room.

Sparks jumped inside his systems, when it hit, a few warnings going off and silencing at once. His respiratory system stopped responding; as did his cardiac. The next blaster bolt hit true, and he stumbled back a step, and then another, as more bolts hit him. 

He needed to get out, get away from this madness. Institute repairs. His chest split with agony as his heart struggled to keep beating without mechanical support. He wheezed, gasping for breath inside his helmet, driven back further, until he hit the wall, gripping at the edge of the window.

“No!” he panted, raising one hand, rage and sharp fear echoing through him, allowing him to pull hard on the Force. He lashed out at Obi-Wan, the source of all of this trouble, and heard him cry out, sharply, as half the room came down in the grip of Vader’s power.

Stone and rock spilled across the floor, choking dust swirling through the air, giving Vader a moment to sway, his access to the Force no longer so restrained. Everything hurt. He didn’t - it was impossible. There were alarms going off, everywhere, and no one had come to help him. He hurt. He’d--this was all wrong. Impossible and wrong. 

He looked around, as the air currents rising off of the lava moved through the room, clearing some of the smoke. He found cold, furious faces everywhere, and Obi-Wan, up on one knee, somehow, looking up at him with his shining blue eyes, saber dropped so he could extend his right hand, shaking with the effort of restraining Vader’s use of the Force. 

The troopers opened fire on him, all at once and it - his suit wasn’t working properly. He felt each impact, terrible.

“Master!” he wailed, unable to breathe, heart stuttering, tripping, because Obi-Wan had so many weak spots and he knew he was one of them. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them actually kill him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, after all.

A blaster shot caught him dead center in his helmet, shoving him back, almost over-balancing him. “For Dart,” 2224 said, flat, as Vader gripped at the edge of the open window. 2224 stared at him, his eyes dark and terrible even as he bled from the blaster wound in his side, even as he made a sharp sign with his hand and the blaster fire stopped. “For all our brothers.”

Vader gasped, choking, planning to take advantage of their foolish mercy. He started, “Obi-Wan--”

And 2224 said, “Yes,” grimly. “For Obi-Wan.” And he pulled the trigger once more, stepped forward while Vader was reeling, and kicked him, impossible force behind the blow. Vader made a sound, heard it echo in his helmet, as he overbalanced, grabbing for the edge of the window and missing and--

#

Cody leaned out over the side of the window, listening to further explosions go off, exactly as they should have. The EMP had worked well, he thought. A nice touch. It would have been enough to take Skywalker out, even without Obi-Wan’s help.

But Obi-Wan’s help meant they hadn’t lost more men, and--and that split something open, inside Cody’s chest. Obi-Wan had still fought for them. After everything, he’d tried to put himself between them and Skywalker.

And so Cody stared down into the lava, so far below, watching as it closed over Vader’s head, his one outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in his side, hot and cold at the same time, and the feel of blood sliding across his skin. The shot had gone clean through and he knew he was losing blood, lots of it.

It didn’t feel terribly important, at the moment. “Sir?” Crys asked, stepping up beside him, blaster still in hand. “Did you get visual confirmation?”

Cody spat over the edge, turned away, and said, “Yes. He’s dead. Let’s go.”

They weren’t done.

Not yet.

He’d killed Skywalker. He’d freed most of his brothers and the rest were going to be sorted. All that was left, he considered, turning away from the fire, was getting Obi-Wan out of here. Making him safe and never letting anyone hurt him, ever again.

[emmelineparker308]

Father Dearest Part 7

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Summary: Your third year at Hogwarts is about to start and with it come a lot of new changes. Harry, your best friend, and crush is in trouble from some man named Sirius Black. You try desperately to keep Harry safe but what happens when you find out some heartbreaking, mind-shattering information about your father?

Warnings: Angst, and suicidal ideations 

A/N: I want to thank everyone for the support and the love you have shown this series. I started it on a whim and didn’t realize that you all would like it this much. Thank you to everyone who’s been asking to get tagged, commenting, reblogging, liking, and sending me private messages. You guys are honestly my biggest motivation and inspiration to keep writing! Thank You genuinely from the bottom of my heart!

Previously on Father Dearest:  That night you decided that it was better to stop all the pain, all at once. You climbed up the Astronomy tower stairs, having to stop every two steps to catch your breath. Finally, you made it to the top and walked over to the balcony. Upon looking down you were terrified; it was a long way down. However, you knew you had to do it; you couldn’t go on like this. Everyone you loved either hated you or thought that you hated them. There was no going back, you closed your eyes tightly and threw yourself off the balcony.

Before you could jump two strong arms grabbed you and spun you away from the balcony. You fought to get the hands away from you but the more you fought the tighter the grasp held you. “Let me go Moony,” you cried.

“Not in a million years,” he answered. “I did not raise you, your mother did not die for you, your father did not fight for you, in order for you to throw yourself off a balcony.” You wailed although you had no tears left due to dehydration, you still let out a painful cry and before you knew it you passed out.

When you came to, you were laying in a nice warm bed. “You’re awake,” Moony exclaimed as he brought in a tray of all your favorite foods. “Eat,” he commanded but you only wrinkled your nose, your appetite still nonexistent. Moony took the spoon and force fed you a couple of things, and  as he cleaned you up, he chuckled.

“What’s so  funny?”

“You just reminded me of the times I had to feed you as a child. Once you stuffed everything I gave into your mouth and then sprayed it back at my face,” he laughed fondly at the memory.  

“Moony”

“Hmm”

“My dad didn’t kill Harry’s parents.”

Remus turned to face you, the facial expression that held joy a second ago was replaced by seriousness. “I am so sorry, my love.” You had opened your mouth to explain once again that your father was not capable of killing his best friend, but Moony placed a finger to your lips. “I am sorry because for thirteen years I’ve accused your father of a crime that he was incapable of committing. He loved me like his own brother and would have laid his life down for any of ours. I should have known better than to suspect him of this crime. He loved James more than anyone in the world. The evidence was just piled up against him that it blinded my eyes. However now I know who really betrayed Harry’s parents. I’m also sorry because I let you believe for years that your parents didn’t want you. The day I took you in, your mother, she walked up to my apartment in tears and gave me you. She made me promise to let you know that you were loved. She made me promise to raise you with all the luxuries that your parents would have provided for you. I was to love you as a mother and a father. I let her down, she made me promise all these as she breathed her last and I let her down.” Moony finished his monologue and faced you. Your eyes were filled with tears of joy and of sadness, you were so relieved that at least one person believed that your father was innocent. But upon hearing how guilty Moony felt you grabbed his arm and brought him into a soft, warm hug.

Once your sniffling went down, Moony forced you to drink some of his dreamless sleep potion. He claimed that for at least one night, you needed to rest without being haunted by nightmares. After you had taken the potion you laid awake for a while thinking about the events that took place this year. The year that started off on a sort of good news ended up with the man you were hopelessly in love with hating you, the people that you grew to hate for thirteen years being innocent of the crimes you accused them off, and you almost ending your life. Tears stung your eyes as you remembered all these things but before you could wallow in your lonesome Moony was by your side.

“Please don’t cry sweet child. You have cried enough for one lifetime. I promised your mother that I would never let you cry. Please don’t,” he whispered as he held you close to him.

“Can you tell me about them?” you drowsily state.

You heard Moony’s chuckle as he started telling you about your parents. “They were a troublesome duo. Your parents met during our first ride to Hogwarts. They were mischievous even then. Although back then they weren’t romantically involved. Your mother was such a great woman, kind, compassionate, as well as funny and brave. She stood for what she believed in and never once let anyone bully her into changing her view on anything. It was her third year when she found out about me being a werewolf. She held that secret close to heart, she would brew me all sorts of healing potions around the time of the full moon. Did I mention she was brilliant and beautiful? It was our fourth year that your father realized his true feelings for her. But like most teenagers they walked around their feelings for years. It was heartbreaking and nauseating at the same time. Your father was very handsome himself so you can imagine the effect he had on the girls at school. It used to drive your mum mad,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, “She once went after a girl who slipped a love potion into sirius’s cup with a bat. We caught her before she was able to hurt the girl, by the way. Then, our sixth year rolled around and it was as if everything changed. Sirius and your mother finally confessed their feelings for one another, Lily and James decided to give it a try. The darkness around us was brewing and perhaps because of that we all grew up fast. By the end of the seventh year James proposed to Lilly and Sirius proposed to your mum. We had a double wedding within weeks of graduation. And then a year or so later we were blessed with a god daughter, and god son.  

Hearing the happy stories of your parents and their friends, for the first time in months, you went to sleep with a smile on your face.

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

“I told him,” Hermione said casually.

“You did what?” you almost screamed making Hermione jump a bit.

“I had to”

“’Mione the whole reason I told you was so that you’d stop bothering me, and you promised to keep it a secret,” you whisper yelled at her. You both were talking behind a hidden passageway, one that you were sure the boys knew nothing off. You started to notice that every time Hermione was cordial with you in public, the boys (mainly Harry) would be cold towards her. This, of course, lead to you insisting that you meet away from prying eyes. Hermione had laughed at the idea, saying that we are not lovers to meet in secret but at your insistence she caved.

“He needed to realize the impact his actions had on you,” she firmly said, and then took your hands in hers. “For Godric’s sake (Y/N/N), his words and actions made you want to end your life.” A tear had fallen from her eyes as she said this, it terrified her to even think about that night. To think about what would have happened if Lupin hadn’t gotten there on time.

“What did he say?” you asked letting curiosity get the better of you.

Hermione let out a deep breath, you almost told her to not say anything to you, not wanting to hear the cruel words you were sure Harry had said. “Honestly, he didn’t say anything. He stayed silent for a long time, so long that I thought someone had cast a Body Binding curse on him. Then, he just got up and left for his dormitory. Ron told me the next day that he hadn’t slept the whole night. Ron was sure he was crying, said he heard him sniffle all night. In the morning Harry said he wanted to find you and apologize. But since you don’t seem to ever be in the common room, and you appear and disappear so quickly during class times, he hasn’t gotten the chance.”

Hermione eyed your expressions; you were taken aback that Harry wanted to apologize. You were also kind of ashamed that you thought so lowly of him. “Well ‘Mione, if he really wanted to apologize, he would have found a way to get to me,” you responded.

“(Y/N/N) he stayed up all night two days ago hoping to see you sneak into the common room after everyone left. He didn’t believe me when I said that you haven’t slept in our dorm in weeks,” Hermione stated with a bit of curiosity hidden in her tone. Much to her disappointment you refused to answer the question that was hanging in the air, and reluctantly Hermione left to go to the Gryffindor Tower.

After the incident at the tower Moony didn’t want you out of his sight. And frankly speaking you didn’t want to be near the students either. Moony had someone (house elves) fetch your essentials from the girls dormitory and you moved into his quarters. You ate, slept and studied in there. You would go outside of that sanctuary only for classes and your daily visits to Hagrid and Blackie.

Ah, yes, poor Blackie. You felt bad because now that you moved into Remus’s room, your nightly cuddles with the beautiful dog stopped. Not only that, Blackie was subjected to listening to all of your feelings. You had tearfully mentioned to him about your field trip to the Astronomy Tower balcony, and he was crying in pain as well. That entire day he followed you around, granted you were walking around the edge of the forest, but still he refused to leave your side until it was time for you to eat dinner.  

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

The visits to Hagrid’s hut were quiet depressing. He tried to be in good spirits but with Buckbeak’s sentencing and his professor job not going as greatly as he had hoped his mood was flat almost all the time now.

“Hagrid, why don’t you sit?” you asked the friendly giant of a man. He was bustling around his hut, trying to seem busy so that you weren’t able to see his tears.

“Nah (Y/N/N), I got to make ‘ou a cuppa tea,” he muttered out, trying to speak in a low voice so you wouldn’t detect his voice breaking due to pain.

“No, Rubeus Hagrid, I am commanding you to sit down,” you forcefully state as you pull at him. Your force was no match to the half- giant, you knew that but Hagrid obliged anyways. “Now you sit, and I’m going to make you a cuppa tea.” You got to work on the tea, and at first it was a bit hard, Hagrid’s pots and pans were made for him, it was quite heavy for a normal human to pick up. But soon you had a nice cup of tea poured out for him, and as he was enjoying that you whisked your wand and cleaned around his hut.

“Ya know I coudda done ‘hat,” Hagrid protested.

“Ah, you see Hagrid that’s the beauty of having people care for you,” you sass “they do things for you, even though you are very well capable of doing them yourself, because they like you.”

Hagrid smiled and looked at you for a minute. “You’r so much like your mother.”

His eyes and yours widened at this statement. “I shouldn’t said ‘hat. I should not have said ‘hat,” he fussed.

“It’s okay Hagrid,” you reassured him. “I know about my parents.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I found out that day at Hogsmeade. And just so you know, no matter what you believe, my father did not betray the Potters. He could never,” you tearfully state and before Hagrid could say anything you ran out of his hut.

“ (Y/N/N), wait,” you heard a voice call from behind you. Though the owner of that voice hasn’t spoken to you in months, it was still one that you would recognize anywhere. Hearing his voice only made your steps increase in speed, you were upset and crying, you were vulnerable, and this was not a form you wanted him to see you in. “(Y/N/N) please,” you heard the desperation in his voice as he was closing in on you. You felt silly, running away from him like this, when you spent weeks and months hoping this would happen.

“Please,” Harry stated as his hand grabbed hold of your wrist and brought you to his chest. He held you there for a minute, tears coming from his eyes, and yours. The scent of vanilla and pine cones filled your senses, once again filling you with the calmness you desperately needed. But the calmness left you as the events of the past months flooded your vision. You ripped yourself out of his grasp. Tears of anger and hurt flowed freely.

“What do you want Harry? What do you want now? You think that an apology is going to make everything better? You cut me out of your life, isolated me and made me feel like I was nothing to you. You were hurt, I get that, Merlin’s beard do I get that. I know you better than I know myself, and for a second I let myself think that you knew me better than anyone else. But that’s not true, I hurt for months, for months, I was crying out in excruciating pain and you did nothing. In fact, you did a little more than nothing, you added to the pain. I’m not blaming you for my decision to end my life, that was a spur of the moment, dumb decision that I made. But Harry, hearing you say that I would kill you, sent me over the edge. You know that I would gladly take the killing curse for you, jump in front of anything harming you, but then you still said those words. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to feel?”

You fell to the ground as your monologue left you exhausted, and you sobbed into your hands. Harry, who was dumbfounded at your outburst, fell next to you. He cautiously held you, thinking that maybe you’d not want him to touch you. But when you didn’t move away, he held onto you tighter as he sobbed alongside you. After what seemed to be eons, he cupped your face with his hands and made you face him. “I’m so so sorry. I was hurt and instead of facing my sadness and reality I decided to punish you for something you had no control over. I am so sorry. I never meant any of the words I said and now more than ever I feel like an idiot. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if Lupin hadn’t been there that night. And to think it was from what I said, from the way I’ve been treating you. You tried so hard to talk to me, to reach out. You’ve always been there for me and  the one time you needed me I just left you, added to your pain. I’m sorry (Y/N/N) and I know that my words can never make up for how I made you feel. If you want to never speak to me again or hit me or jinx me I understand.”

You sobbed into his chest. You both knew that Harry Potter could do the worst things imaginable and still have the place in your heart reserved for him intact. His apology is all you needed. It was all you were craving, his attention, his touch, his support, and reassurance. It’s all you needed to feel like yourself again.

“If you ever hurt me again Harry Potter, I will jinx you into another dimension,” you sniffle out.

“Never again,” he promised in tears. He brought your face closer to his and without waiting brought your lips to  connect with his. You imagined your first kiss to be firework filled, but it was a different feeling. You were filled with warmth but also safety. You felt safe even though you were standing by the forbidden forest in the middle of the night. With Harry’s arms wrapped around you and his lips on yours, you felt the safest you’ve ever felt in your life.

Taglist: @missmulti​​ @may-machin​ @magicalaquarian​ @junkersandroadies-son​ @prongsyy​ @cute-but-weirdo​ @lozzybowe​ @minecraftlover444​ @selmeuuh @play-morezeppelin​ @ilovespideyyy​ @wecouldbreakthedistance @whothefuckstolemykeds​ @short-potato​ @lovestomanyfandoms @loser-lover​ @must-be-a-weasley-92​pepelachanel    @lozzybowe​ @writingmi @lovestomanyfandoms​ @amanda-rotigliano​ @sir-lili​

[pappydaddy]

Ghost of You (f.w.)

A/N: So, I was just listening to music while writing my Steve series “I Wanna Be Yours” and Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer came on and I instantly started crying so I got a sudden urge to write a sad imagine so, sorry in advance..  

Ironically enough, it’s usually me going to write something with the intent for Steve, but end up writing for Billy, but this time it’s a whole different fandom. It actually went from Billy to Steve, then it went to Fred. 

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Based off the song Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer

Part One - You’re here! | Part Two

Trigger Warning: Mention of death, really sad, angst, heartbreak, depression, PTSD, mention of witnessing death, mention of drinking, slight mention of suicide.

PSA: I DO NOT agree with JK Rowling’s recent comments about the trans community, but I WILL NOT let her and her bigoted and transphobic ways ruin Harry Potter for me. Harry Potter has given me so much, I have connected to characters unlike ever before. REMEMBER, TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. Also, my DMs are always open

Another PSA: I do know the recent drama around 5 Seconds of Summer with the claims that had been made about them, but I also know that they have been proven to be false, one of them having been committed by someone else other than a member of their band or team. I would never EVER support someone who has been accused and found guilty of claims such as the ones that 5sos had been accused off because they are horrible acts committed by sick people. And, I would never outright say someone was falsely accusing, but again, the claims made against 5sos were found to be false or to be committed by other people. If you are not aware of that, I recommend checking reputable stan twitter accounts because (a) they know more than me, (b) they explain it better, and (c) they have proof. If you are a victim, I am so so sorry that that happened to you and I want you to know that you’re insanely strong and just keep your head up! Don’t hesitate to get help if you’re suffering, there are so many resources to help cope, report and all kinds of thing! Also, my DMs are always open

Another PSA: I struggle from depression, anxiety and have lasting effects of a traumatic event so if you are struggling with anything, please seek help. These are horrible things to battle with alone and therapy, psychologist, or a psychiatrist can help you gain the tools to cope healthily and any other tools you may need. Also, my DMs are always open.

This is my first Harry Potter imagine, idk what possessed me to write for a different fandom since my focus has been Stranger Things, but I guess I was going to have to write for the other fandoms eventually, right?

Sorry this is so long, there’s a lot of disclaimers I had to put on this to make myself feel like I am making my blog a safe space for everyone. I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

  The war had taken so much from everyone. Taken innocence, taken parents, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives; it seemed that nobody was safe from the path of destruction. Even a year after the war, many were still plagued with mourning people ripped away from them by the clutches of war. Fred Weasley was one of them. They had just started their lives together, finally going through with everything they had talked and planned about during those nights wrapped in each other’s arms as they hid from the Professors and Prefects. Those hopes and dreams for the future were now just empty memories and proof of their love. The book that held every little detail of their planned future laid on your desk in your bedroom - untouched since the last time you had touched it before the war. Everything of yours remained in the place you had set them the last time you had touched them. They were frozen in a happier time filled with love and light, not filled with loneliness and darkness. 

  Fred stirred awake, the familiar feeling of his body being weighted down rushing over him as he blinked his eyes open. His void gaze instantly met the empty side of the bed. It was neatly made, the pillow just faintly smelling of you now. Even a year later, he couldn’t bring himself to lay on that side of the bed - your side of the bed. He had a hard enough time sleeping in the bed at all, not being able to forget the feeling of you wrapped in his arms. Tears burned his eyes as he gazed upon the spot, your laughter echoing in his mind as he remembered all of those mornings he woke up to you just waking up yourself. He’d lean in, nabbing his first kiss of the day and you’d pull away with red cheeks claiming that you hadn’t brushed your teeth yet and he’d claim not to care (which he didn’t) and lean in to pepper kisses all over your face - your laughter bouncing off the walls. He threw the covers off him, trying to fight against the weight trying to keep him down in the bed. Pushing against the invisible force he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

  With ever step he took, every room he entered, came the memory of you. The tune you hummed as you danced from the bedroom to the bathroom, the smell of your shampoo, the smell of your sweet perfume. They lingered through the house like a ghost - a hazy mist trailing behind him everywhere he went. The ball in his throat stung as he tried to swallow it down, blinking away from the tears that welled in his eyes. No matter how many times he experienced them a day since you died, he would never get used to the sting. He’d never get used to the shaking of his hands, the tightness growing in his chest, the racing of his heart, the constricting of his lungs or the vivid image of holding you in his arms, watching the life slip from your body as you took your last breath whenever he heard something that brought him back to that day. 

  He could smell the fresh coffee that his brother had brewed as he drifted into the hall, a shell of the old Fred. George was used to seeing his brother dancing down the hallway with you, large smiled on both your faces and laughter surrounding the entire apartment. Now, since you were gone, Fred didn’t dance, his feet were heavy against the floors, weighing him down. He didn’t joke around with his brother anymore, his brother missed the sound of his laughter and the humorous tone to his voice instead of the broken and heavy one he had now. The second Fred entered the small kitchen, his eyes instantly landed on the yellow mug with the faint lipstick stain still on the rim, the faded red still a slight contrast from the yellow of the mug. You had never been able to get the stain gone, it had driven you crazy that your lip stick had tainted the beautiful mug Fred had gotten you after you guys ran away from Hogwarts as a homage to your house, Hufflepuff. The plants that you had been growing thanks to your love for Herbology were barely alive, George having been trying his best to take care of them since he knew you’d want them to thrive. 

  “Morning, Freddie,” George’s voice was soft as he brought his own mug to his lips, sipping the warm coffee. “Made you some eggs,” He told his brother as he pushed a plate of scrambled eggs towards his moping brother before setting a full cup of coffee in front of him. “How’d you sleep?” He asked him. Fred, not lifting his head from his plate of eggs as he pushed them around with the fork George had laid on the plate. 

  “Fine.” It was a simple word, but it was most of what Fred spoke these days. George hummed, taking another large gulp of his coffee as he let Fred soak in his silence, knowing that if he pushed too hard, he’d revert back and lose all the progress they had made. 

  “Are you feeling ready for your appointment today? Do you want me to come with you? Or mum, maybe Ginny? I can get Lee to cover the shop if you want me to come.” George asked him, setting his coffee cup on the counter, his hands wrapped around the warm mug.

  “I’m fine going on my own.” He muttered, thinking back to his night. He knew that his therapist would ask him about it. It was just like any other night. Sleepless since whenever he closed his eyes, you were all he saw. He knew that if he’d sleep long enough, he could dream of you and it’d be like you never left, but he’d also know that you’d tell him that he’ll be fine without you and he definitely knew he’d never be. You were his. 

  “Please don’t skip out on this one to sit at the bar and drink, Fred,” George pleaded with his brother. Last two appointments, Fred and went on his own and ended up not even showing up. When his therapist George (them having to have gotten a muggle landline for communication) to inform him that Fred had not shown up, he had search everywhere for him. George remembered the blinding fear he had coursing through his blood that day, not knowing where his brother was or if he was okay. His mind had jumped to every possible conclusion, the nagging thought of the worst hanging in the back of his mind. “You need these appointments, they are good for you,” George pleaded. Fred only nodded, not saying anything while he ate. George watched him take a few more bites before his fork clanged against the plate about still half full of eggs. Fred pushed it away, taking one final sip of his coffee. “Right, so your appointment’s at twelve, so why don’t you get an outfit picked out while I head down to the shop - Mum will be here in a few minutes, I reckon.” George suggested. 

  Fred hummed, walking back into his room. Molly had been coming over to monitor when Fred left for his appointments and got back, also to watch the phone incase he skipped over his appointment. She also came daily when George was manning the shop to watch over Fred and take care of him. Sometimes, Fred went down to the shop and sorted products, but that was rare. George popped his head into Fred’s room to see him sitting on the bed. In his hands, he held your favourite shirt of his. He stared down at it while a mismatched outfit laid on the bed beside him. “I’m heading down to the shop, love you.” George announced. 

  “Love you, George.” The sound broke George’s heart. The fear in his brother’s voice every time George left the apartment destroyed him. Fred was terrified of losing someone else and not getting to be there for them, that he can never let them leave his presence without him saying that he loves them. His biggest fear was that you had died not knowing that he still loved you. Everyone says that you knew because you could feel his love for you and he doesn’t want anyone to question if he loved them if he wasn’t there. 

  The second he heard the door close behind George, he let himself crash down on the bed, laying on his side in a fetal position as he held the shirt to his nose. His jaw was sore as he let the tears fall from his eyes, the lump in his throat twisting itself into a bigger lump. His body shook with silent sobs. He couldn’t help but envision you moving through the apartment with this shirt tucked into your pants or tied up. He hadn’t felt himself slip into sleep as he let himself imagine your arms wrapping around him, encasing him in a loving warmth. He was unaware of his mother walking into the apartment as he finally slept with his imagination configuring you there with him. Molly instantly went to his room to check on him when he wasn’t on the couch, she stopped in her tracks as she laid eyes on her sleeping son, curled up. She only saw Fred sleeping in a fetal position clutching a t-shirt, but Fred felt the ghost of you wrapped around him.  

[skullrock]

the partners, chapter three - Steve x Reader

chapter three: panic

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff]

chapter summary: You and Steve start an investigation; you stand up for Steve. 

warnings: swearing, death, mentions of suicide, talks of blood, Reader channels their inner April Ludgate, Tommy H.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. enjoy!

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You race home to grab your uniform and promise Steve that you’ll meet him at the scene. His anxiety is so spiked about a dead body in Hawkins that he doesn’t even worry about driving in the dark. He just wants to get to the scene.

Steve grips the steering wheel of his car so tightly that his hands go numb. His face is paler than usual, and his throat feels dry. His head spins and there’s a black edge to his vision. But still, he drives.

Steve doesn’t know the details, but he has a gut feeling that this is a murder. The last murder in Hawkins – if you can call it murder – happened that night at Starcourt. Things had gotten back to normal since then. The town was quiet, dull, almost serene. Who the hell is murdering someone? What if it’s the Russians? The lab? A Demogorgon? Steve feels like he’s been punched in the gut. How can he make sure everyone is safe?

He wishes you drove with him.

Steve pulls in and hardly remembers to shut the car off before springing out. He jogs over to the scene, already brightly lit by floodlights and taped off. He notices police that aren’t from Hawkins – the government must be here. Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the realization. If the government is here, it has to be bad, right?

He approaches where the Chief is standing with a few well-dressed men. The Chief hears him and allows him into the circle. Chief Edwards knew about the events at Starcourt – hence why he was brought to Hawkins in the first place. Steve shared an odd bond with him, despite the growing feeling in his gut that something just wasn’t right about him. He had his theories, which he kept to himself. The apprehension probably had something to do with how the American government acted the last time they were stationed here. That resulted in Will, the Upside Down, and Eleven.

Was he really so wrong not to trust them?

The body is of a man, middle aged. He’s got a gun in his hand and a shot through the middle of his forehead. Dark red blood pools around his head like a halo. Steve’s desensitized to gore, not even flinching at the macabre scene. He shakes his head solemnly before looking at the Chief and the men.

“Do you think it’s the Russians?” Steve asks anxiously. “Or a left-over Demogorgon, or something?”

Chief Edwards purses his lips. “If it were one of those creatures, the body wouldn’t be here, it would be there. And there’s been no signs of Russians here in Hawkins.” He shakes his head. “Looks like your everyday suicide to me.”

“Suicide?” Steve scoffs. “Like how Benny Hammond ‘committed suicide’?”

“Watch,” Chief Edwards says. The men beside him are quiet – Steve thinks they look like aliens. Edwards looks at the men and waves them off, and they head over to another group of men who look the same.

Edwards turns to Steve, face soft. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me, kid?”

“Not work for the government would be a start,” he spat, turning to look at the older man with his arms crossed.

“Those people are gone,” Chief Edwards stressed, throwing his hands out. “They’re dead. They sent Sam Owens and his team to take care of what they did. Even Jim Hopper trusted Owens!”

Steve hates hearing Hopper’s name thrown out like that, and winces. “That doesn’t mean I do.”

“Kid, you’re an apprentice. You’re here to learn, not teach. Either you get some faith in me and your government, or you can leave.”

Steve bristles, glaring tensely at the man’s blue eyes, before he feels a soft hand on his arm. He spins and finds you, eyes wide with worry.

“Y/L/N,” Chief says. “Here’s your first dead body.”

You inch closer, heart panging with empathy as you look at the man. Your eyes well up with tears. “Suicide, huh?”

Steve wants to call you an idiot, but refrains.

“Looks like it,” the Chief responds pointedly, glancing over at Steve.

“But why here?” you ask.

“Yeah, great question,” Steve interjects. “Why here?”

Steve knows damn well that these government men know what happened here last year. He knows they know it was the Source. Why would a random man kill himself here? Of all places? It just doesn’t add up.

“Maybe he used to work here. Maybe he knew no one comes here and he would have some peace before he does it. Who’s to say?” Chief Edwards answers. There’s a sharpness to his voice that has your eyebrows running together.

Steve sighs heavily, quite frankly pissed off. “Guess it’s something we can look into, huh, Chief?”

You straighten, excited by the idea. “Could we?” you gasp. “Could we investigate?”

“Absolutely not!” The Chief seems irate now, much to your confusion. “You two are interns for Christ’s sake. Not detectives. You can sit in on the briefings, but this isn’t up to you. You’re not ready.”

Dejected, your shoulders slump, and Steve reaches out instinctively to comfort you, rubbing your shoulders.

“We brought you here to get a feel for how these things go. Go ahead and walk around, take some notes. We’ll meet back at the office.” Chief Edwards shoos you both away, but grabs Steve before he gets too far.

“I’ll look into it, kid,” he says, squeezing his shoulder. Steve wants to slink out of his grip but knows he’s already on thin ice. “Worry about something else.”

____________

“Well,” you say. “All nighters fucking suck.”

It’s nearing closing time for you both, after nearly having a 12-hour shift. Steve has been quiet for the past few hours. He looks like that famous sculpture, The Thinker. His brows are pulled together, forehead creased in response. He chews his lip thoughtfully, eyes roaming the room. He doesn’t respond to you, just nods, lost in something you can’t decipher. You wonder if he’s upset that he didn’t get a danish and milk-coffee this morning amidst the chaos.

“Steve,” you say, and he looks up at you. “What are you thinking about, buddy?”

He chews on his lips again, then gets up and walks to your desk. He sits on the edge of it. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s hesitating to tell you his thoughts – he has to word them just right, so he doesn’t give anything away.

Finally, he says, “I think something isn’t right.”

“About?”

“The body,” he sighs, a hand running through his hair. “Why would someone kill themselves there? At the S- at an abandoned warehouse?”

You shrug. “Maybe he really did have some connection to it.”

He shakes his head. “It just doesn’t add up.” He looks down at you softly. “Don’t you think something weird is going on?”

“You tell me,” you start, standing up, and Steve groans. He runs a hand over his face as you begin. “You were part of whatever the hell happened at Starcourt. I know that. You can’t lie about that. And yeah, I think something weird is going on, but I can’t know what it is unless you tell me.” You laugh mirthlessly. “If something weird is going on, it’s how you never want to open up to me about, I don’t know, anything?”

Steve shakes his head again, face scrunched up. He pauses for a long while, then says, “I can’t tell you.”

“So there is something!” you shout. “I knew it!”

“O-kay, don’t cream your pants,” he mumbles. “I just – I can’t. I can’t. All I can say is that some really… fucked up stuff has happened around here, and I think that stuff is back.”

Truthfully, you’re elated at his confession. It feels like a new level of friendship was unlocked. You feel like he trusts you now – at least enough to admit a bit.

“What can we do?” you ask. “I’m ready to help.”

“I’m thinking of doing some… undercover investigative work.” He places a strict emphasis on the “I”. “And that doesn’t involve you.”

“Steve,” you plea. “Come on. I won’t mess this up. Hell, I won’t ask any questions, either. But I can help. And I want to help.” The corners of your mouth quirk up. “And you can’t even drive at night, so you’ll need some assistance on that front.”

He shakes his head but can’t help the smile that forms. It fades quickly, though. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, Y/N. If what I think is happening is true… it isn’t merciful. And if we get caught, Chief is going to have us skinned alive. We’ll never be cops. And – and it might not even yield any results.”

“Steve,” you say gently, lacing your arm in his, leaning back against your desk beside him. “I don’t care. We’re partners, remember? I’m in this with you.” You sway into him. “And I love drama.”

He rolls his eyes and mulls it over. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have some help. And you’re right – he really hates being out at night and would appreciate another person with him. The kids shouldn’t get caught up in this – they need protected. As long as he’s safe with what information he gives you, it should be fine, right?

“Fine,” he says. “But I have conditions.”

“Lay it on me,” you reply.

“Rule one: no questions. You will take the information that I give you and not ask any further.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule two: you don’t talk about this to anyone. Not a single person. Not to your best buddy Callahan, and definitely not to Veronica.”

“Callahan is funny and you’re just jealo—”

“Rule three: we are not listening to the Smiths when we are in my car.”

“Wh—”

“And rule four: we devote ourselves to discovering the truth and stop at nothing until we have answers.”

“Where do I sign?” you smile.

Steve reaches his hand out and you take it, firmly shaking.

“You better not mess this up,” he says, eyes bright.

_______________

Patrolling with Steve was fun.

You switched off cars so that it wouldn’t be too suspicious, and you finally took the Walter Mondale bumper sticker off yours. You both would meet up and leave around 10 pm, hiding out in the cover of night. You usually had some snacks with you and would basically shoot the shit while driving around. Around 1, you’d drive to a spot near Rimborn, sitting with your lights off and waiting for any strange activity.

Steve would usually start the nights out being tense, but relaxed after talking with you for a while. He genuinely enjoyed the company and the talks.

About a week into your undercover sleuthing, your talks with Steve start to become a bit more sentimental.

“You know,” you say, chewing on a Twizzler as you both sit in the idle car. “You’re way cooler now than you ever were in high school.”

He sighs deeply. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I mean it. You hung out with some real assholes.”

“Yeah,” he responds, leaning back in his seat. “If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

“Why did you hang out with them?” you ask after a moment.

Steve reflects on the question for a while. “I don’t know. Tommy Hagan was close in the alphabet to me, so we usually had to sit next to each other. I think we just became friends out of necessity. You know, like, ‘we might as well’.” He starts to pick at his fingers. “I hate who I used to be. I think about it every day. I think about how fucked up they were to me.” He laughs. “When Jonathan Byers beat the shit out of me, Tommy went to get me pain killers and a soda. And he asked me to pay him back!” He shakes his head and looks out the windshield. “I gave him my lunch for years, and all he cares about is two dollars?”

You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I’m in better company now.” He smiles gratefully over at you, and that same stomach-flipping feeling comes back. Again, you push it down.

He reaches out for your hand and grabs it, taking it in his, and you blush furiously. You’re happy that it’s dark out. “I’m sorry we didn’t hang out before.”

“Steve, it’s—”

“It’s not,” he interjects, knowing exactly what you’re about to say. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have let my stupid… mind get in the way of a good friendship. We’ll hang out as friends again soon, okay? Not sitting in my shitty BMW while we try to catch some bad guys.”

You nod. He squeezes your hand and lets go, and you look over at him. You take in his boyish features – the softness of his skin, the glimmer in his eyes, how strong of a nose he has. His broad shoulders, his toned arms. You force yourself to look away.

“We should go get more snacks,” you declare. “Drive us to the nearest 7-11 at once.”

“As you wish,” he smiles, putting the car in drive again.

You happened to choose the worst time to go.

Going inside was fine – you get a slushie and some more Twizzlers, a bag of chips. Steve gets a soda and some candy bars. You pay, he’s grateful, it’s fine. But when you walk outside, you literally walk into the devil himself – Tommy Hagan.

He’s surrounded by four friends, one of which is Carol. Everyone pauses for a moment, eyes wide, before Tommy breaks out into a devious grin. “Well, look who it is.”

Steve is stiff as a board. “Hi, Tommy.”

“Look at you,” Carol croons, reaching up to yank on a lock of hair. “Hair’s gotten longer.”

Steve shrugs out of her grip, scoffing. “I see you’re still as annoying as ever.”

Tommy steps in between them, toe to toe with Steve, and you don’t even think before you grab him and shove him away. The typical high school ooooo rises out of his friends, and Steve grabs your arm.

“Stop,” he hisses, but you can only hear your heartbeat in your ears, feeling red-hot anger coursing through you.

“Got a new slut, huh, Harrington?” Tommy asks, sneering.

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve growls. But that’s not what sets you off.  

“Got other people fighting for you again, Steve? You still hanging out with fucking twelve-year olds? You still disappointing your parents? I knew you’d never amount to anything. You’re the same dumb kid I remember—”

“What did you just say?” you ask through clenched teeth.

Tommy bares his teeth. “I said your boyfriend is a fuck-up.”

That’s what sets you off.

You lunge forward, taking the lid off your slushie, and dumping it over his head. He gasps loudly and before he has time to truly process it, you twist his arm behind his back, spinning him around, bending him over. He cries out in pain. You never had to use your subduing training techniques before this point, but you’re elated that this is what you use it on.

“Say it again, dickhead, I dare you,” you spit.

“What the fuck, man?!” Tommy cries out.

“Leave Steve Harrington’s name out of your mouth, you fucking caveman.” You twist his arm back harder and he cries out again. Everyone is staring at you with their mouths open, Steve’s hanging a little lower than everyone else’s. He wants to reach forward and stop you, but he’s in too much shock to move.

You shove Tommy and he lands on his back, and you grab him by the collar, pulling him close to your face. His eyes are wide and the sticky cherry slushie runs down his face. “If I ever hear you talking about him, if you even so much as look his way, I’ll ruin you. No one will even remember you, Tommy Hagan. I’ll obliterate you. Understand?”

Tommy’s brows are knitted together, and he’s terrified.

“Understand?!” you shout.

“Yes,” he says quietly. You lean down and peck his nose, then let him go, and he falls onto his back again.

“Let’s get out of here,” you mutter to Steve, and after a moment he kicks into gear, running after you.

Steve sits in a shocked silence, mind on autopilot. He ends up driving back to his place, done for the night. He has to sit and think about what just happened for a while.

You’re silent, too. You’d never done anything even remotely like that before. It just felt like someone, or something, had possessed you. You feel guilty and ashamed, which only gets worse the longer Steve is silent.

He pulls into the driveway and shuts the car off. He stares out for a while, then slowly starts to shake his head. He looks at you, a twisted look of amusement on his face. You’re worried, forehead creased.

“Where did you learn that?” he asks.

You pause. “Training?”

“Holy shit,” he breathes, leaning back. “That was awesome.”

Relief runs through you. “You’re not pissed?”

“Are you joking?!” he asks happily. “Y/N, no one has ever stood up for me like that. Not a single person. Tommy would only stand up for me because he liked getting in fights.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Holy shit.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. “I just… did what was right.”

Steve gets out of his side and runs to yours, opening your door. He gives you his hands to pull you out and wraps you in a tight hug. You pause before wrapping your arms around him, returning the hug, squeezing him tightly.

“You’re not a fuckup,” you say into his shoulder. “Not even a little bit.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you.”

You laugh. “If he goes to the police, I’m fucked.”

“He won’t go to the police,” he says, smiling widely, taking a step back. “He’s too scared to admit a girl scared him like that. And anyway, did you see his face?!”

“He looked so stupid,” you laugh.

“What an understatement,” he quips, and recreates Tommy’s expression, making you both double over in laughter.

As you calm down, he pulls you towards him, holding you to him tightly. “Thank you,” he repeats. “I mean it.”

You smile softly, squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around him. “What are friends for?”

_______________

taglist - @comedy-witch​ @wolfish-willow​ @harrington-ofhawkins​ @sassisaluxury​ @m-blasterrr​ @gothackedalready​

[sierraraeck]

Why Do You Struggle In Silence?

Hotch x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(This is my gif so please give credit if used)

Summary: For some reason, the case they just finished is getting to her. Hotch decides to talk to her about it on the jet. Story three.

Category: Some angst, I guess.

Warnings: Cussing. Quick mention of normal CM stuff and sexual abuse.

Word Count: 2.1k

I had always had a talent for shutting people up. Whether that was a threat, a look, or some other uncomfortable comment I made, usually regarding myself, I found I could always get people to shut the hell up. Ever since I announced to the whole team that I’d killed people, that’s the reaction I received, which was fantastic considering they all already didn’t like me. Except for Emily who was the only one willing to even talk to me, but that information just reverted her back to thinking like everyone else, as it should for any normal person.

We boarded the jet, and I took my usual spot in the back, everyone else sitting or sleeping together in the front. Everyone had something they could do on the plane. Morgan and his music, Reid and his books, Prentiss and Jareau sleeping together, Aaron and Rossi talking to each other. I would listen to music but they refused to give me a phone (which was fair enough) and I would read but I guess they’re worried that I’d be inclined to give others papercuts? It was ridiculous. I had to sit there with my thoughts (something I’d grown way too accustomed to) or look through another case file. I opted for the latter.

Usually what other people did or said to me didn’t bother me. What other people did or said to other people didn’t particularly bother me either. But for some reason, this last case bothered me. These young women, who were the same age as me and looked a lot like me, were found exsanguinated in a ditch. They were all perfect students with perfect families and perfect friends. They were going places.

And then they weren’t.

Which especially pissed me off. Then I was pissed off that I was especially pissed off. So I decided that I needed to keep my mind occupied. That’s the funny thing about this job, looking at a new serial killer case is actually better than contemplating other disturbing thoughts.

I had just opened the next case file when someone sat down in the seat across from me.

“Aundreya,” Aaron said.

“Aaron,” I replied. “Uh I mean, Hotchner.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Correct yourself like that, calling me Hotchner?” I could see the sincerity in his eyes. He always looked so stone cold, but in that moment I could see something different. It worried me.

“I don’t know. I guess I realized the people you consider family aren’t even on a first name basis with you, so why should I be?”

“You don’t even use nicknames. I’m Hotchner, JJ is Jareau, Spencer is Dr. Reid …”

Because I haven’t earned them yet. I haven’t gotten to the point where they’d be okay with me calling them anything else. I’d be impeding on your guys’ territory. Any of these explanations would fit, but I didn’t feel like admitting any of them.

“Look, Hotchner-”

“You can call me Aaron,” he cut me off. My mouth hung open midsentece, the words evaporating from my tongue. My confusion must have been painted on my face because he quickly followed with, “You’ve always called me Aaron. It’s weird to hear you call me something different. Plus, sometimes I need someone other than Dave to remind me what my first name is.”

Was that … a joke? From Aaron Hotchner? I really must be losing it.

“Okay … Aaron,” I emphasized, “Why are you really here? I’m fairly certain you didn’t make the treacherous trip all the way over to the opposite end of the plane just to ask me about nicknames.”

“True. I actually wanted to ask how you were doing.”

“So are you going to?” I asked. Even when he was trying to be nice I couldn’t override my instinct to be an ass.

“Going to what?”

“Ask how I’m doing?” There were those unamused, dagger eyes I know and love.

“You’re stalling.”

“In fact I am, sir,” I responded. There were plenty of things in the world I disliked, but the thing I hated above all else, was talking about myself and those things called emotions. It all just felt so foreign.

Aaron looked at me for a while before speaking. It’s like I could physically see the ice melting around his eyes, softening them back up. And profiling. Always profiling.

Finally, he came out with it. “Why do you struggle in silence?”

Those six words hit me like a brick from a skyscraper. No one had ever cared enough to ask, not even Deen or Sydney. It sent an entire shock wave through my system.

Struggling in silence was the only real way I’d learned how to cope with everything over the years. No one on the streets wanted to hear about what was going wrong in your life and why it sucked because theirs’ always sucked more. Better yet, you brought it upon yourself and it was somehow your fault. Oh your mom and sister died in a fire? My dad killed my mom then committed suicide. Oh you’re out here on the streets at 14? Try 12. Oh you’re being sexually abused in a gang? You joined it.

Once I got thrown in prison, there was no time for feelings. Adapt or die. Either you shoved it all down, proved your worth, and reacted on instinct, or you went soft and got eaten alive. Not like anyone going to prison is necessarily ‘soft’ to begin with.

The only thing I could think to do was deflect. “What do you mean?”

“You insist on sitting here alone with your thoughts and they’re tearing you apart. Instead of talking about them, you compress them and turn them into rage that comes out in random bursts. Usually you can keep it in check, but I saw something different this week, especially today. So how are you doing?” The concern was swimming in his eyes. There was something soothing about the way he could keep his voice calm and quiet when relaying any sort of information. He could convince me the year was 1872 and unicorns existed.

“I’m doing a whole hell of a lot better than those girls, I’ll tell you that. I’m not bleeding out in a ditch, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well,” I said more harshly than I intended.

“Is that what this is about? The case we just worked?”

I sighed and looked down. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Of course it matters. The work we do matters and each team member matters,” he replied. We sat there in silence for a while before he spoke again. “If you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on, which I figured you wouldn’t, at least tell me why you choose to struggle in silence.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s what I’ve always done, and it’s not like I have any other options.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that no one wants to hear my problems. I don’t even want to hear my problems. There’s not a single person on the planet that wants to listen to a street rat gang criminal complain about what’s bothering her,” I answered. It’s true. I bet the nicest shrink out there would roll their eyes at the idea of me complaining. “Anything that’s an issue for me I’ve probably brought upon myself anyway and if I haven’t, I’m sure I deserve it.”

“You know that’s not true. Each person deserves to-”

“Not me, Aaron, not me. I’m not deserving of whatever it was you were about to say. I’m much more deserving to swap places with those girls because they definitely didn’t deserve to die like that,” I said. I wanted to hit myself for saying anything at all. He didn’t actually want to hear what I had to say, he probably just asked so that he still seemed like a good unit chief. Aaron just looked at me, realization forming on his face. “And I don’t deserve to be complaining. Especially not to you.”

“Especially not to me?”

“Especially not to any of you. Every single person on this plane has their fair share of issues and is doing just fine. You don’t need my problems being spread around on top of that. So yeah, I choose to struggle in silence.”

“So you think that just because you have a troubled past, you don’t deserve to have a weight lifted off your shoulders?” he prompted.

“You could say that,” I responded. His eyes were still questioning and he let the air hang between us, waiting for me to fill the void. “It just doesn’t make sense to me, you know? Like why were those smart, pure women who had good things going for them cut short at 23 while I’ve made just about every bad decision in the book and I’m still kicking?”

Hotch was incredible at giving intense eye contact and not breaking it. Yet right when I finished talking, I saw his eyes flick to the side in the direction where I assumed everyone else was sitting. It was only for a millisecond, but it was just enough to alert me that not everyone was preoccupied or sleeping like I’d initially thought when I first sat down, turning my back to the rest of the team. I tried not to let on that I’d seen it.

“Trust me, everyone who has ever worked for the FBI has asked that same question. My best answer is that we still have work to do,” he offered. It was a valid enough answer, but I was still irritated. Irritated that I’d let on I was bothered, irritated that I’d just admitted it out loud, irritated that he was so level headed about it. I was determined not to share any more about myself and my feelings. It made me feel gross.

Apparently among Hotch’s many talents was also mind reading, because he followed with, “Just so you know, in case you ever decide to stop struggling in silence, the team and I are here for you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head at him. “No. They’re not. But I appreciate you saying that and I appreciate you being here. Even though I know you still don’t fully trust or respect me.” He looked at me with a combination of shock, betrayal, and wonder. He immediately reverted back to stone, which he did whenever he felt like he was being read too easily, like a defense mechanism. Like I’d seen something I shouldn’t have.

“Oh, come on, Aaron. I know it’s taking every fiber in your body not to just slap handcuffs on me right here right now and keep it that way. Don’t worry, I’m not offended by it. It makes sense considering you’ve spent over twelve years dedicated to putting handcuffs on people like me. That’s why I especially appreciate your efforts to fight that very same instinct you’ve been fine-tuning all these years.” I didn’t think it was possible, but I had rendered the great Aaron Hotchner speechless. He looked at me with that blank expression, but his eyes spoke volumes. They told me that I was right, that he never intended for me to know that, and that he was not used to being on the receiving end of being profiled.

I gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “But don’t worry. If I ever get tired of it, or decide my method of coping is no longer working for me, you will be the first to know.”

Still not knowing exactly what to do, Aaron nodded, got up from his place across from me, and started walking back to where he was sitting before. I caught him just before he got out of arm's reach.

“Oh and Aaron,” I stopped him with a slight smirk, “I think it’d do you some good to remind your children that eavesdropping is supposedly rude.”

I received a single nod and the beginnings of a smirk as he turned to walk away.

From behind me I heard Rossi whisper, “Supposedly rude, huh?”

“I guess because she’s the master at it,” Morgan whispered.

“I knew she’d know we were listening,” Prentiss joined.

“Your children?” Reid asked. I allowed myself a slight smile when he said that.

“She’s not completely wrong, though,” Aaron answered. I could basically feel the teasing and silent laughs radiating from behind me.

I shook my head, slightly amused at how on-edge I could make six FBI profilers. I directed my attention back to the case file in front of me, grateful to finally let the irritated feeling looming over me dissipate.

[champagnecall]

OKAY I was encouraged to post this so I’m gonna <3 

This is just a pretty in detail character study of my portrayal of Hifumi following the latest drama track nobody has to read it or anything! It’s going under a read more due to content warnings for abuse mentions, depression, panic attacks, and suicidal ideation so please be careful when reading !!!

So in the latest drama track we got to see Hifumi’s abuser - who we met in a previous limited edition drama track, though wasn’t 100% confirmed to be his abuser - up close and personal. I’m going to focus mostly on the Hifumi aspects of this track - but I’ll be mentioning the other two members of Matenrō as well due to the relation they have to how Honobono got to Hifumi.

Before this track released we knew very little about how Hifumi functioned with his trauma. We know that he developed his gynophobia in high school - at the very least eleven years before the canon point in the series - and that at twenty years old he became a host to try and get over his phobia.

Becoming a host is what pushed him into creating his host persona via auto-suggestion, as it has been canonically stated that he does not have Dissociative Identity Disorder. The manga artist has drawn a panel with Hifumi’s personalities and their titles - being “Host” ( also commonly called GIGOLO off his MC Name ), “Hifumin”, and “Open Up”. But prior to this drawing, the three personalities were often just split into “Host” “Hifumin” “Phobia”.

So Hifumi has a strong motif of thirds being played into his character. His name is composed of the kanji for 1-2-3 and GIGOLO is actually a pun on that, being “Shi-gi-ro” or more simply...4-5-6. 

This is a sort of both clever and self deprecating play on Hifumi’s part. He has a lot of issues that were very subtly hinted at throughout canon up until this drama track, being that he dislikes who he is without his jacket because he views himself as weak because of his phobia. He doesn’t want to be afraid of women - he wants to interact with them freely - but he doesn’t have control over the events that traumatized him nor does he fully understand why what happened to him happened.

In this track, though, and both of the new songs on this album Hifumi is in, he outright says these things.

“When in despair there is always a desire to be saved / Black darkness and iron bars, a shortage of adrenaline / The world I see is different than what everyone else sees”

“D-Doppo.. I-It’s hopeless... I’m a weak human being.., I... I couldn’t do anything...!”

“I have a phobia that makes my mentality like that of tofu / But when I put on my suit, that of course changes it all”

“Standing aloof, dropping down to sit, even when I’m emotionally unstable / Don’t turn away, get the evidence with your words / But even though the day might be cold and I can’t lend it to you yet, / One day I’d like to gently place this suit jacket over you”

Not to mention, previous lyrics of his combined with what we have now...

“Are you going to stay by my side / Even after knowing my past? / Drunkeness arriving on champagne / Stopping your mouth / Our eyes meeting at length by chance / Can you see the real me?”

“If my spell comes undone / I won't be able to see you again”

“Sorry for being born with all this / With nervousness and panic / My heart won't stop beating fast, my kitten / It'll be fine, come here I'll be all yours until morning”

“Now, sexy girl / Smash my sense of values to pieces / 10,000,000 yen /  100,000,000 yen / 1,000,000,000 yen / 10,000,000,000 yen / I'll give you something that you can't buy with money”

“A spirit that's different from the others / Drawing eyes from all around town / But I don't do relationships / Somewhere, sometime, I want to meet you I want to take off my jacket / So we could love each other mutually / A battle with my past self / I'll end it with a victory... my sorrow”

“With my magic, I'll make your pain disappear / Don't stop the party / I'll stay like this, I won't leave you”

“No pain, no suffering, no worries / I'll make them all disappear, come closer / From heart to body to pores / I'll let you do as you like, so come here / It'll be fine, come closer / I'll envelop everything / And one day, I want to be enveloped too”

Hifumi is a character who tends to objectify himself due to his career. He speaks about people smashing away his sense of values, listing off prices people can purchase his attention for, saying that he’ll let people do whatever they want to him. He sees his host personality as someone who is better than who he is on his own - someone of a greater value, which leads into that pun with 123 being his actual name and 456 being his MC Name and the name people tend to use for his host persona.

When facing Honobono again for the first time since she initially traumatized him - he crumbles out of this persona. The personality he learned to shift into through extreme auto-suggestion as a protective mechanism breaks.

At first, Hifumi is able to hold himself together, despite being on the verge of a panic attack. It’s mentioned that he looks pale, the listener can hear his labored breathing and his hesitation, but his defensive mechanism is working...

Until the following exchange:

Honobono: I came here to see a friend, do I need a reason?

Hifumi: Were friends, if you’re mistaken. All those things you did... 

Honobono: “Those things”? What were they? They were so long ago that I can’t remember~ Ah! Now I sort of remember! But there’s so many things that I can’t grasp too well. Was it about your mother? Or about your sister’s case? Ah right, right! Or maybe even about your case at school!

It’s here Hifumi’s breathing becomes extremely labored until he actually starts screaming. It’s implied he falls over, as the sound of shattering glass alongside a thud follows his screaming all behind the sound of Honobono’s laughter.

Hifumi’s voice changes depending on the personality he’s fronting - going from “Boku” for “Host” and “Orecchi” for “Hifumin” ( more recently we discovered he very rarely uses “Ore” when he lets just his true personality “Open Up” front )

So it’s here that was a shock where Hifumi says “Boku wa...” and then immediately shifts the tone of his voice to his natural one and cries out “Orecchi wa...” signaling that for the first time we’ve ever witnessed it in canon...Hifumi’s suit failed to protect him from his phobia and his protective personality melted away, despite the suit jacket he wears in order to shift personalities still being worn by him.

Whatever Honobono did to him, his mother, and his sister - it was enough to give him a panic attack so bad that the defensive mechanism he developed and has been routinely using nine years prior to this point was broken away from him. Hifumi spends nearly the rest of the drama track - which is around 9~11 minutes - in a screaming, crying panic attack where he sounds like he’s in genuine physical pain, even as all of his pain is just psychological here.

We don’t know what she did to him in high school - and this mention of his mother and his older sister was the first time Hifumi’s family had ever been brought up. But whatever these events were, it was enough to drive him into the most severe panic attack we have ever seen him have - making it all the more extreme that it’s happening in the personality he developed in order to protect himself from his phobia and his anxiety.

It’s here that Doppo is able to enter - which Honobono had purposely tried to keep him occupied by pulling some strings to get him fired - and says the following:

WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM?! He went through SO much hell during that time! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH HE HAD TO DO TO OVERCOME THESE PROBLEMS? LIKE YOU WOULD KNOW ANYTHING!!

Hifumi has all too casually dropped a few comments that lead to one assuming that he had mentally hit rock bottom with his depression and anxiety that came out of his phobia developing. He has a line about how even if living is the harder answer in the end, it’s the option you have to chose. Lines about “sinking into the sea of despair”, never really showing fear about the prospect of dying / being killed ( he always puts himself in harms way for other people - pushing away a stalker that was charging Doppo with a knife even if it meant he could get stabbed again ( he had already been stabbed by her on his arm because he moved just enough out of the way when she tried to kill him ), catching the same stalker when she tried to commit suicide and falling out of the window in her attempt with her and turning them over midair so he’d be the one to hit the ground instead, and putting himself in front of Honobono and Doppo when she was threatening him ).

Hifumi also has a lot of lines, however, about valuing his life. He sees his life as something that’s important, he stands up for other people; he pushes people to see the value in their own lives as well.

All of these things combined have led a lot of people, including myself, to believe that in that period between the event that triggered his gynophobia and when he developed his host personality that he did go through a period where he was suicidal - and canonically we know that at the very least, he was severely depressed during this period. 

I still don’t have any head canons or theories on what I think happened to him and his family - but I have a lot of things relating to that that I’m going to continue on with below because it plays heavily into my portrayal of Hifumi.

I think that he was extremely close with his mother and his older sister, and likely had an absent father. I feel like his sister was probably a few years older than him and helped to raise him in part, since his mother would have needed to work to take care of both of her children. I think he probably learned a lot of the things he still enjoys today - sewing, cooking, knitting, etc... - from his mother and his sister both due to an interest in it and a desire to help out around the house.

Whatever happened to his mother and his sister I feel like had to have such a massive impact on him, for the mention of them alongside whatever Honobono did to him in high school being enough to trigger the most severe panic attack he’s had to date, as well as feeding into the roots of his gynophobia. Thus, I really do think he was incredibly close with them.

Hifumi is also someone who seems to struggle a lot with his identity. He’s split his personality into thirds and rarely lets people in to see the real him - someone he isn’t really sure who they are anymore - being that the only time we see that real version of him is in the privacy of his own home around Jakurai and Doppo.

A lot of people agree with me on the fact that he seems to radiate some kind of Gender energy which is nice to see! I do genuinely think Hifumi is a character who struggles with his gender identity. I’m not sure what identity I think fits him, but I’m not sure he really knows either since I feel like his phobia is kind of drawing him back from exploring that properly. Same with his sexuality - given that he has been seen freely flirting with men but vocalizing his desire to freely do the same with women.

Hifumi is a character with a lot of layers but in the end I think he just really struggles with that sense of “self”. He doesn’t know who he is anymore because in all of his struggles to get over his hurt - he left himself behind and walked out as a stranger to his own mind. He’s great at hiding the fact that he struggles with this - that he struggles at all - but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hurt. I think he’s very much a “if I ignore my problems they won’t bother me” kind of person but he can’t...hide that from the people that really and truly know him either.

He can’t hide it from himself, either, even if he doesn’t know who he’s looking for inside himself anymore.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes, Chapter 29

Heeey, it’s not Friday and it’s a week late but, chapter 29 for you! I’m starting to write again, the routine and habits are still lost but we’re getting there. Please continue to be patient with me while I work on getting us back to biweekly updates. 

Chapter warnings: Non-graphic mentions of death, gore and dead babies. 

Series warnings: everything? 

Series rating: M for Mature. 

Clint Barton x OFC 

As a reminder, this runs the length of Endgame, filling in the 5 year time jump, shedding light on the environmental, economic, political and societal ramifications of removing 50% of the living population down to the bacterial level. In this series, we deal with topics such as suicide, mental health issues, depression, civil unrest, trauma, miscarriage and death. Not every character’s reactions will be logical however people don’t react logical to trauma. People make good and bad choices regardless of if they are a good or bad person. Every person has shades of gray and moral compasses can be swayed.

Masterlist

Chapter 29: Story Time

Clint nestled down on the ground. His back was propped against the wall and he was slouched over. Long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Dee watched in silence as he seemed to settle into sleep within seconds.

She could never fall asleep that fast. She’d always been a light sleeper but it’d gotten better since she’d joined up with him and they made it to the farmhouse. The firelight from the small propane burner danced over their faces as they sat.

Rachel seemed afraid to look at her or Clint, instead keeping her head down and her eyes on Elsa. No, her name is Elizabeth. Lizzy. That was her name and she no business holding onto the idea of Elsa the baby.

She knew better. She didn’t want the baby. She couldn’t stomach the idea of taking care of her. As much as she wanted to believe it was better that they found her, part of her mind still cried that Lizzy’s life would have been better if it had been cut short. She didn't deserve to live in this new world. It would have been better if she had died before they found her. Rachel didn’t have much milk and there wasn’t a lot of formula to be had. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair that her kids were not a part of the 50% that turned to dust in the decimation and yet, they were still gone. It wasn’t right that they had to experience the pain of burning to death. It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have comforted them in their last moments. It wasn’t right that the sounds of their screams still haunted her nightmares.

“Are you okay?” Rachel’s voice snapped Dee out of her thoughts. Relaxing her fingers, she felt the joints creak. She couldn’t remember grabbing her pack but she had curled herself in on it and was clinging to it. The corners of her eyes were damp.

“I just want to go home.” Dee whispered.

“You will, soon. You two will abandon us and go safe behind the fence while we die outside. While everyone dies outside.”Dee was silent for a moment. She’d not been kind to Rachel and even now, she felt the annoyance prickle at her.

“It’s not that home I’m crying for.” Rachel hummed, for once minding her tongue or she was too tired to keep up the attitude. “I didn’t always live there.”

“Why are you there then? How did you convince him to take you in?”

“You can’t.”

“Help me. Woman to woman. If you had a child- maybe you’d understand.”

“You think I’m not a mother? You want to ‘mother to mother’ have a talk?” Deanna’s whisper was harsh.

“I mean- if you were you’d”

“I had two. In this bag-” Dee ripped open the zipper and reached in, under the bottles and cans to the bottom. Her fingers curled around the worn fabric. A small part of her relaxed as she pulled out the small tired blanket and stuffed fox. “A girl and a boy.”

“So you understand. So convince him to let us in. He trusts you, right? You can-”

“No.”

“But we could die? She’ll die.”

“Maybe that’s better?” Dee snapped, checking her voice as she glanced at Clint. His foot twitched but he seemed to still be asleep.

“Do you know what I’ve seen in the last what, six months?”

“Did you not see what you just saved me from?”

“I’ll go from most recent to the start for you. I killed people to save you. Living people who had friends, families who may still be alive to miss them and who may have not had much of a choice in what they were doing.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I was attacked in front of a store, in a parking lot. I sprained my ankle and killed a man trying to protect myself. Trust killed another protecting me. Clint- He saved me. I didn’t trust him at first. He brought me to the farmhouse.”

“So, why won’t he-” Deanna kept talking, not caring that Rachel had spoke. Somehow, it felt good to say it. To tell her story to someone. How much she was going to tell, she hadn’t decided.

“Before that, I had stopped in Utah. I killed a man there, too. He scared me and seemed insane. I shot him and when I searched his backpack- there was cans of formula. Some were busted open. His ID showed a local address. God, I felt so guilty. I hadn’t seen formula when I’d go into stores for supplies.”

“You killed a man trying to feed his baby.” Rachel accused.

“That’s what I thought.” Deanna still wouldn’t look at her. “I went to the address. I don’t know, I expected the wife or mom to be there. Maybe I was going to beg for forgiveness or for her to kill me. I don’t know. When I got there, no one was there. I looked and looked. Then I found her.”

“What happened to her? Did you give her away?”

“She was already dead.”

“You should have been faster.”

“She’d been dead for days, maybe weeks. Before I killed her dad. I think- I think the grief drove him mad. She was in clean clothes in the middle of the bed. I don’t think he was willing to admit she wasn’t alive anymore.

That was a few months ago, closer to the beginning. Before that, I met up with a young man who helped me figure out how to survive. I don’t know if he was a doomsday guy or what, but he had a plan that seemed like a solid one. He helped me figure out how to start moving forward.

We stopped to get supplies before leaving our hometown in California. We were loading everything up in the motor homes we were planning to live in. His family had owned a dealership. He- we had a run in with a teacher from my daughter’s school. The teacher- he shot him. I was lucky to get away.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel whispered. Dee wondered what Rachel thought the lives of people in other places were like.

“It’s a blur before that. There was a dead body in a gas station. The news TV station was taken over by someone calling themselves a king.”

“Another one?”

“There’s probably more than a few.” Dee glanced to Clint again. He still was sleeping, snoring lightly. “Before that, a news anchor’s sister committed suicide. Mr. Rick and Mr. Taft, teachers from my daughter’s school- the same ones who attacked us while loading the RVs- broke into my house to steal food and supplies.

That brings me to the start of it all. The moment the new world began and the old world ended. The sounds- god I can’t get them out of my head. The crunch of metal hitting metal. The squeal of tires. The smell- smoke thick. The sound of screams- god so much screaming and waiting for sirens that never came.”

“What happened?” Rachel’s face was pale as Deanna shook like a leaf while tears streamed down her face. In that moment, Dee was gone and all that was left was the woman she had been, Deanna morning the loss of the life she had once had. The strength she had learned was nowhere to be found.

“They went to a year around school- I was a single mother so it was easier and they were getting a good education. No summer slidebacks in their knowledge. Did you know that kids forget up to 20% of what they learned the prior year during summer break?

I put them on the school bus. It was sunny, a beautiful day. I should have kept them home and taken them to the beach or something. But I didn’t. I needed to go pick up her birthday cake and set everything up for the party. The bus turned and the fuel truck barreled through the red light. I’m pretty sure the driver had turned to dust.

I don’t know how many on that bus also were in the half that were decimated. But I saw their faces in the window as the fire spread. I couldn’t- people tried but the emergency exits were pinned. They couldn’t get out of the windows and the fire was hot- god it was so hot. The roar was deafening but I could still hear them. I could hear their screams. I could hear them yelling for me. I could see them and they could see me. I close my eyes and I see their faces.

I should have gone to them. I should have gotten closer. I should have tried to get them out. I should have done more than sit there, watching while others tried. I should have died trying.

But I didn’t.”

Rachel sat and picked at the blanket wrapped around Elizabeth as Deanna stopped and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. They should have survived. No one deserves to go through that.”

“I’m not sure.” Deanna whispered as she prepared to give voice to her greatest secret. “Maybe it was better that they died. I don’t know if I would have wanted them to live in this world. Maybe it’s better for all the kids that turned to dust to not have to know what came next. Maybe the next best thing for them is to die early, quickly and painlessly if possible and not watch their parents become murderers and thieves.”

“You don’t mean that.” Rachel said, holding Elizabeth tighter. A part of her wanted to believe that Dee hadn’t met what she had said but a larger part of her feared that she did. It occurred to her that this woman, who had been taking care of her baby, that she had been counting on for refuge and safety, was deeply broken.

“Maybe.” Deanna answered. “We’ve all lost things. It’s a dangerous idea to count on anyone.”

“You count on him.”

“And it could someday get me killed. Or I could get him killed. We cannot- will not be solely responsible for you. We can’t.”

“But-”

“I need him and he needs me. That is the only reason we are together. That’s the only reason you should band together and trust anyone right now. Without that need, there is nothing to stop them from turning on you. Nothing stopped teachers from turning on their values, their morals. Anyone can turn.”

“How do you know the nurse won’t turn on me? I don’t have anything to offer her. I don’t have anything to offer anyone. Should I just give up, kill Lizzy then myself? Is that what you think would be the solution, the best course of action for me? Just end it because I’m too useless to be helpful?” Rachel’s voice was climbing some but the withering look Deanna gave her brought it down again.  

“When did I say that?” Dee snapped. “We saved your life. It’s not that we want you dead, it's that you are your own responsibility. We gave you a second chance, a second start at this new crappy world.

As for Sasha- You should be safe enough with her. She didn’t want to let us keep Lizzy at first. What she seems to need is someone to take care of. I get that, I needed that too. It’s how I ended up with Trust. What you need is someone to help support you and band together with you. You both have needs the other can meet and she’s helped us before.”

“So you trust her?” Rachel’s fire was dying and Dee was thankful for it.

“Well enough, I think. She needs food too. We’re supplementing her supplies so she’s got reason to keep us happy. She saved Lizzy, she had formula for her, checked her out and helped us warm her up. I still can’t believe she was still alive when we found her.”

“And that is good enough?” Rachel looked timid, scared in the darkness. She lacked to fire that seemed to hold back fear.Tears welled in her eyes.

Dee reminded herself that the woman had been through a lot of trauma. They all had been and each reacted differently. Some semblance of normal would do her good and hopefully Sasha could offer that.

“You should get some sleep. It’s a long walk back to the truck but once we get to it, it’ll be easy going.”

For once, Rachel didn’t argue. She nodded and curled herself around Lizzy on the ground with her back to the fire. She was cold but there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. Dee was cold too but that would only serve to help keep her awake.

Silence stretched on around her. Her heart ached and felt raw. Part of her wished she had never told her story to Rachel. Another part of her felt a weight off her shoulders to have finally said it, all of it.

“You should sleep.” Clint mumbled as he reached out for her. “It’s my turn.”

Deanna almost jumped out of her skin. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, watching the fire and lost in her thoughts. Tears had long dried on her face and she had repacked her bag.

"I'm fine." She whispered.

"Fine is good. But you won't be in the morning and it's a long walk. Come here."

She didn't argue. She didn't want to argue. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to be held by him. He was her sanctuary. As much as she wanted to be safe behind the gate at the farmhouse, what she needed to feel safe, to be safe, was him. Just him.

Curling herself around him, her fingers dug into the layers of coats that covered his body. He shifted and unzipped his coat and slipped it from his shoulders.

“You’ll get cold.”

“Take yours off too.” He answered with a sly smile.

With a sigh, she did. The bitter cold bit at her arms as she handed over her coat.  She watched as he spread it out on the ground and settled himself on it. When he again reached out for her, she went willingly enough. Her coat was still warm from her under them. She could feel the warmth of him as he spread his coat out over them.

“It’s not blankets but it’s better than nothing. We’ll be warmer this way.” He mumbled into the top of her head as he held her tightly to him.

“What if you fall asleep?” She mumbled, already dozing off.

“I won’t.” Clint promised as he watched her slip into sleep. Her protests were half hearted at best.

She felt so good pressed against him, warm and solid. He drank in the feeling. Even if he had nothing else, he had her. It wasn’t something he planned on giving up any time soon. It wasn’t something he’d be willing to give up, ever.

It was early when Clint nudged her awake. He didn’t want to, waking her meant facing the day. There was a deep ache in his back and shoulders, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. It’d been a few years since he’d been on a mission where he’d had to rough it this much.

“Come on.” He whispered when Dee’s groggy eyes blinked open. “Eat what we can and set out a share for her-” his eyes flicked over to Rachel, still sleeping and curled around Lizzy. “Get a bottle ready too and pack everything else up. We’ll let her sleep until we’re almost ready.”

“Will we make it back to the house tonight?”

“If we’re lucky.” Clint sighed. “Careful not to wake her- I’m not ready to listen to her yet.”

Dee laughed softly before leaning up and placing a soft kiss to his lips. Clint’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer somehow. His breath washed over her. “If we’re not, I don’t wanna get up.” She mumbled against his lips.

“I know Babe, but we have to.”

She whined dramatically and he chuckled. He was right, she knew it but in that moment it was like they were in a little bubble. The bubble that seemed to surround the farmhouse was somewhere there, with them, in that abandoned office building. If the bubble could find them there, she decided it could find them anywhere. The bubble of happiness and safety wasn’t the farmhouse, it was him.

“I love you.” She whispered as if it was some great secret.

“I love you too.” He answered. “But up, now. I really need to piss.”

~~~~~<3

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Tag list is always open. 

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

20 Seconds of Courage -Part 19

The Elementalists au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 1835

Warnings: This is a very dark chapter. Assault, rape, murder, blood splatter, and suicide are all here, as well as gun violence and arson. Read at your own risk. (Please don't hate me, I don't even know how this got so far, but it's fairly fitting for a Halloween posting lol)

Series Master List

Complete Master List

  “Oh my god.” Oriana groaned, immediately trying to grasp the back of her head, but finding herself restrained, her wrists and feet tied. “What the hell was that…” She looked around the unfamiliar setting, her head throbbing. “Where….?

The room she was in was luxurious. She was lying in a four-poster queen size bed. She was laying on top of white satin sheets and wearing a white satin slip. She had nothing on underneath and was barefoot. “How in the world….?”

“I wouldn’t think about it too much. You won’t be here long. Loose ends don’t stay loose for long at all. And you, my dear, are a huge loose end.”

She froze, hearing the voice coming from across the room. She knew that voice. Her eyes immediately shifted, finding Jason’s immediately. “Jason, what are you doing? Haven’t you done enough to me already? What more could you possibly want?”

“It was never supposed to go this far. You were never going to be anything other than a decoy as we hit the real target. You really fucked up those plans, and you will pay the price. Since our big payday is no longer coming, we could try to hold ransom from Beckett for you, but….this is much sweeter isn’t it? Finding his true love, devoid of life, wrapped in white satin soaked in crimson blood? I know I’m looking forward to that view. Just like I was his sister’s. Of course, that had to be hurried, and it became rushed and sloppy. But this…you…will not be rushed. It will not be sloppy. You will be beautiful even as you die.”

Jason stood up, sauntering towards her as though a predator. The glint of a knife drew her attention. He noticed.

“Oh this? This knife and I go a long way back. It’s my...sacrificial one, if you will. You aren’t the first person we’ve had to put down for getting in our way. For the rich ones, the real targets, I have another. But for you…”

He arrived at her bedside, smiling down on her. “This knife is for little bitches like you, who don’t get out of the way fast enough.” He pressed the tip into her neck, drawing a drop of blood. He grinned as she winced.

“I’m not normally one for drawing things out. It’s such a rush, such a high, taking someone’s life. But I want your lover to know how greatly you suffered. I want him to know it’s his fault that you did not go peacefully. He’s going to wish you died the way his sister did. Instant. Didn’t feel a thing. Here one minute, and the next…gone from the earth.” He sliced her arm, a trickle of blood coming out.

“You might wonder why you’re dressed like that. A tiny slip, naked underneath, surrounded by white. Your arms and legs tied up so you’re spread open for anyone to see that perfect little pussy of yours. There’s going to be alooooot of fun happening here. Maybe not so much for you. But you’ll be bleeding out anyway, growing weaker and weaker, but still feeling every sensation brought to you. I bet I can even make you cum as I slit your throat. Dying during an orgasm…now that is a good way to go. I guess I’m feeling generous right now. Or maybe I just want to see you shudder in ecstasy at the same time you choke on your own blood.”

“Why?” She whispered. “What did I ever do to you? What did Beckett ever do to you?”

Jason sneered. “That bracelet…I loved seeing you wear it. Completely oblivious it belonged to someone else, someone important. It took me a few years to wear you down and get you to date me…honestly you are such a tease. So, it’s been years since I’ve fed my innermost desires. And this is pure poetry.”

“How?” She cried.

“You haven’t figured it out, yet? You made my relationship with Lisa public. She could no longer be used to satisfy my bloodlust. So it was fucking perfect that Beckett Harrington, brother of the last person to meet their untimely demise by my hand, picked you to start a relationship with. He caused quite the trouble for us, leading the search for Katrina’s killer. But there were no leads to go on. Everything was a dead end. Absolutely no trace of me was left behind. So, I forgot all about him. Until a few months ago when he applied for a position. At first I was nervous, but then I realized, what a beautiful thing it would be, to work with him, mentor him, become his friend. I never had the chance to make it happen. It would have been one of my finest moments, having him open up about his tragic past to me, letting me relive it through his eyes.”

“You’re despicable.” Oriana spat.

“I prefer the term, God. I alone have held lives in my hands. Just like right now, I have full control over you living and dying. If that’s not God, I don’t know what is.” He was practically singing his triumph. “I just want you to die. But not until after I’ve had you again.”

Jason climbed on top of her, unbuckling his pants as he went. “It’s a pity things went this way. I enjoyed you so much. The things you can do with that tongue of yours….” He eyes turned black with desire.

Oriana opened her mouth to scream, but Jason’s knife was immediately on her throat, breaking through her skin. “I don’t want to kill you until I make you cum, Oriana. But don’t think I won’t.”

Jason lined his cock with her center, and just as he was about to enter her, the door to the room slammed open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A voice boomed out.

Jason jumped off of her, yanking his pants back up.

“Are you a fucking idiot? You want your DNA all over her, inside her? I told you to leave her alone. Why are you even in here?” Michael strode into the room, not sparing a single glance at Oriana. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

“M…Michael? What…how…why…?” She gasped.

He turned his cold gaze to her. It was so cold she actually shivered. “You don’t actually think this one is smart enough to pull shit off by himself, do you?”

Oriana gaped at him, and he chuckled with a sneer. “God, I thought you were smarter than that. But then again, you wore a bracelet an ex-boyfriend gave you around a new boyfriend. That was pretty stupid. I didn’t think girls actually did things like that.”

He turned back to Jason, leveling him with his gaze. “Although, it’s not as stupid as giving someone a trophy to wear anytime they like. So here I am, getting my hands dirty so we don’t spend the rest of our lives in prison because of his complete and utter idiocy. And, as you can see, he has a flair for the dramatic.”

Michael shook his head in disappointment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Oriana. You’re a beautiful and bright girl. But unfortunately, I’m left with no choice. Jason, get over here.”

Jason went up to Michael, smiling widely. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“It is. Go to the bed and take your pants off again.”

“But you said…”

“I changed my mind. I want to watch you destroy her. I haven’t actually seen you do this before. I want to experience the thrill of it.”

Grinning wickedly, Jason went to the bed, sliding his pants and boxers down, kicking them away. He climbed on top of her again, and Oriana finally started crying. She couldn’t help it. This was it. This was how her life would end. Before she could even register what was happening, there was a loud BANG! Jason fell heavily on top of her, motionless, blood everywhere.

Oriana screamed as his blood splattered on the white satin and her skin. Michael looked at her, his face blank. “Welcome to your murder suicide, Oriana. I was actually going to wait a bit longer, but I just can’t stand listening to that man speak anymore. And although I’m not opposed to killing you, I have no desire for him to rape you. I’m no monster. Jason’s messed this up so bad, and I don’t have room for more mistakes. Getting close enough to do it is good enough and all I need.”

Oriana was hyperventilating, seeing the gun in Michael’s hand, and the hole in Jason’s head, his lifeless eyes looking into hers. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs to scream.

“But…I…he…”

Michael bellowed a laugh. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. SPEAK.” He cocked the gun, aiming it for her.

“…How…?” She croaked.

“Oh, how is it a murder-suicide? Well, I’m going to untie you. Then I’m going to anonymously tip off your dear Beckett Harrington about your location. People already know you’re missing, and they’ll suspect Jason of being with you. Beckett is already mad with worry, and he’s been publicly jealous and angry in the past. He’ll come in, see you and Jason about to fuck since you’ve missed him so much, and he’ll be so blind with rage that he kills you both. And then I’ll reappear to put a bullet in his own head, and make sure his fingerprints are everywhere they need to be, especially on the gun. Absolutely no loose ends. But just in case there’s any doubt whatsoever…”

Michael left the room for just a moment, returning with a few candles, placing them by the curtains and the bed, lighting each one ceremoniously. “There was so much commotion, a couple candles fell over, and since there was no one left alive to correct that…everything will be consumed in flames. I would use gasoline to speed things along, but who shows up and commits a crime of passion armed with a can of gasoline? Besides, you and Jason definitely would have had romantic lighting as you restarted your affair.”

“Where are we?” She whispered. “Someone will see or hear something. Those gunshots.”

“We are miles away from anyone. This house is long abandoned. Some very fancy furniture though.”

“Please don’t do this.” She begged. “I’ll leave the city, I’ll take Beckett with me. We’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone. Not even each other.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “That’s the best you can come up with? That’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her whole body was trembling, feeling crushed by Jason’s dead weight, his blood dripping on her. She looked Michael square in the eye as he rose his gun back up and put his finger on the trigger.

“Goodbye Oriana.”

She let out a scream as the gunshot rang out, the house falling still as a candle fell over and lit the curtains on fire.

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[aquaticalay]

For Something Greater .Chapter Twenty Two.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever be a SEAL. When two American spies are captured during a reconnaissance mission at a Hydra base in Transia, (Y/n) and her team are forced to team up with The Winter Soldier to rescue the captives. Being wary of the avenger, she agrees to do one mission with Barnes, and one mission only. But after an unexpected turn of events, her team and Barnes must work together to finish what they started, while (Y/n) and Bucky try to sort out their complicated feelings. (Start: set six months after Endgame. Now: nine months after endgame.)

Words: 2000+

Warning/s for this chapter: Endgame spoilers, cursing, violence

Warning/s for the series: Endgame spoilers, cursing, war violence, eventual smut

Note: I'M POSTING CHAPTER 23 TOMORROW INSTEAD OF THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. (I'm going to Brussels and Prague tomorrow for the next two weeks, and I have finished writing this series, so I'm going to post this series everyday starting from this chapter until 25, which is the last chapter :)

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS THE LINK TO ALL PARTS OF 'FOR SOMETHING GREATER' PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO MESSEGE ME

Enjoy!

You can hear your heart thump as ran up the distant staircase, desperate not to get caught.

Your pistol gripped tightly in your hand, you rise up the stairs. As you were going up the last staircase, you heard the door open from upstairs.

As a Hydra agent descended the zig zaging staircase. You assesed the situation calmly. In times like these you remembered your training. Clear your head.

You decided to point your gun at his legs and shoot. He shouted in pain, and you ran up the stairs before he could make any more noise and sliced his neck with your dagger, a quick kill.

No one heard you, since the storm was still raging outside.

You didn't bother discarding the body.

You pushed the door open, greeted by the thundering rain. The fog was getting thicker and thicker by the moment. You can barely see anything. It was in the middle of the night. The only apurce of lights were lamps on the outside of the ship.

You tried to focus.

You had to get to the bomb. No, you had to go to Bucky.

Fuck.

Your mind darted here and there. You wanted to get to Bucky, but the bomb was supposed to be the mission's priority. You can't choose.

It was like those figurative questions people ask you in school just to annoy you. 'Save twenty strangers or your mom?'

You always refused to answer those kinds of questions. The chances of that happening were slim to none. But here you were.

This time, it was real. Save millions of people you don't know or the man you love?

Having to bear the thought of it was simply cruel. So you just ran to the direction of both the bridge and the launchers. Running through the deck, you recognized Miller's voice shout, "(Y/n), look out!"

You realized, Miller was up there in in the communication antenna. He must've seen something you don't.

Suddenly, you could hear a loud gun being fired, and Miller shouted in pain.

"Diego!" You shouted Miller's first name out of reflex, looking up.

From in front of you, a shadow approached. You pointed your gun at the shadow, but before you can pull the trigger, the figure shot first, a bullet loudly exiting the chamber.

You jerked to the side in attempt to get out of the line of fire, but the bullet grazed your right arm, leaving a scorching red mark across your skin. The hurt made you fall to the ground in response.

But you were wearing a kevlar suit. Kevlar was supposed to be bulletproof.

It was becoming clear that the gun was not a normal gun.

The pouring rain made your wound worse. The heavy waterdrops hit your wound, sending searing pain through your body. You scrambled to cover it with your left hand, but the figure came closer and kicked you in the gut, your back hitting the floor. Your grasp on your gun faltered and it slid across the floor.

You saw his face. Raphael King-Carver.

He still wore a suit, this time, it was purple. He didn't seem to care that the clothing was drenched in the rain.

He knew about you, expecting you. Zara must've told him.

"Look at what you've done," he said it sarcastically. His face was sweet, but his gaze was terrifying. His grey eyes matched the fog and the clouds of the storm. He stepped on your throat, and you could barely breathe. The rain was coming in your eyes, and some of the water even in your lungs.

You grasped for air, but there wasn't any. "When you stepped into this ship, you've commited suicide and guaranteed death to all of your friends." He said it like a promise. Like an oath, and that terrified you.

He let you breathe as his foot stepped away from your neck only to kick your side. You tried to get up and reached for the rifle that was strapped to your back, but he kicked you where the bullet hit and you screamed in pain.

"Not so tough, are you, commander?" He hissed the words as an insult. He kicked your gut again, and instead of coughing blood, the red bodily fluid seeped out of your mouth slowly like drool.

You prepare yourself for another hit, but he did not kick you again. Instead, he spat, "get up."

You got to your knees weakly, blood leaking out of the grazed bullet wound. You reached for your rifle but before you could. A hand from behind pulled your hair harshly until your neck felt vaguely attached from your body.

You realized the hand pulling your hair was Zara.

"Fuck... you..." you managed to say tiredly between breaths.

Zara brought out the same gun Raphael had, but instead of shooting you, she placed the weapon right next to your ear and shot the floor.

The gun fire sound was deafening and had a devastating effect to your ear.

The gun was louder that a normal pistol, and it gave out a loud burst of sound. You could feel your ear drum rattling, in the brink of exploding.

You tried to shake your head off the grip Zara had on your hair, but your senses were too disorganized. There was too much to handle. The grazed and bleeding bullet wound. The thunder and rain. The blood in your gut from where Raphael kicked you. And now, the sound of the gun you are being forced to hear.

You shout in pain and your ears rang. Zara shot two more before she forcefully tilted your head to the other side and shoot three more times at your other ear.

You tried to stay calm and logical, but the loud ringing pain hurt you.

Right now, you couldn't hear anything but constant painful ringing, but you knew you were a supersoldier. The effects wont be permanent but that doesn't make the hurt you feel now any less real.

The ringing might start to go away in half an hour, and there was no telling how long it will last. You only had a little more than an hour to stop the bomb before it was going to launch.

You could hear muttering from Zara and Raphael, but couldn't make out the words, high pitched ringing still in your ear.

Before you knew it, Zara pushed you forward and your head hit the ground. The impact would be enough to give a normal person a deadly concussion, but it gave you blurry double vision. You couldn't see anything clearly. You felt a trickled of blood on your forehead.

A hand harshly ripped your rifle off of you, and grabbed your collar, dragging you to across the deck. You were drenched in sweat and rain as you struggled, trying to get out of Raphael King-Carver's grip.

You twisted yourself and clawed at his hand, but you were simply hurt. Even you super soldier strength failed you.

How pathetic, you thought to yourself, trying to find strength but failing.

Your vision was still blurry and your hearing still ringing like a milliom little bells. All you can see is lights, but you couldn't make out the shapes.

You saw the light brightened and the rain stopped.

You came to a conclusion that you were dragged into a room, but your senses were still so dull, you didn't know what was around you.

The room Raphael dragged you in was the bridge, where they had already tied up and kept an exhausted Bucky.

He had put up one hell of a fight, but as soon as Raphael tased him with a dangerously high voltage that would instantly kill the average human, the fight was over, and Bucky was drained of his strength. Every muscle in his body reacted to the shock and tensed. His metal arm, a natural conductor of electricity, reacted even worse. Now his hands, both metal and flesh were tied in a vibranium handcuff, around a vibranium pole. Most of the things in the room was made of vibranium, but not Wakandan. Antarctican. Raphael had found a way to stabilize it enough to make mundane objects with it.

When he heard the door open and saw Raphael drag someone in, he forced himself to look up. Then he saw you.

With whatever energy pumping left in his veins, he shouted your name and struggled from his restraints, but he could not escape.

He saw you, but then he realized something was wrong. Your eyes were open, but dazed and confused. As if you were trying to figure out where you were. He shouted, but you didn't respond. It even looked like you didn't even hear him. And the sounds you make.

Oh, the sounds you make were wincing in pain and guttural shouts, a sound worse than every nightmare or torture he has ever been through.

You writhed and cowered, trying to get out of Raphael's grip.

(Y/n). His (Y/n).

You were hurt and he could do nothing but watch and shout for you.

"What have you done to her?!" Bucky demanded breathlessly.

"Be grateful," Raphael said in a sing song voice, "I haven't killed her."

He tried to pull his handcuffs one more time, but it did not come off.

Then Bucky heard you form slightly audible words.

"Make it stop," you cried, "Please, make it stop!" Your hands went from clawing Raphael's grip to covering your ears as the ringing became louder. The ringing and blurry vision were becoming an unbearable constant.

"No!" He shouted demandingly, "Hands off her!"

You could hear someone shouting, but you can't make out the words, still. Whoever was shouting made the ringing worse.

But Bucky did not realize that, and continued to scream.

Raphael ignored him tied you up with the same vibranium handcuff, then dragged you to the pole right next to Bucky and tied you up the way he did to him.

When you felt someone beside you, you tried to scramble away, but you couldn't because of the metal circling your wrists. You could only see a shadow, and you don't know who it was. You were terrified. For all you know, it could be a Hydra agent.

"Get away the fuck from me!" You hissed at the shadow.

Bucky tried to gently nudge you with his shoulders, then tried to lull you.

"Doll, it's me," he said gently "It's okay."

But you didn't know that.

"Leave me alone!" You shouted when you felt the shadow touch you.

You curled into a ball, constantly telling the shadow to leave you alone and begging for the ringing to stop.

Bucky felt the tears stinging in his eyes as he turned to Raphael, "What have you done to her?!"

Raphael smiled at him like he was a waiter taking a complaint from a customer at a restaurant. "I don't think she can hear or see you clearly."

Raphael turned to walk out the door. Bucky cursed at him and shouted for him to go to hell as loud as he could, but the noise sent the high pitch ringing in your ears even louder.

You screamed, and Bucky still tried to tell you that was him, but you spat at him, telling him to go away. Bucky choked at his own tears when the door opened again.

It broke his heart to seen you like this.

And he could do absolutely nothing to help, to ease you out of your pain, like you did when he had a nightmare.

Minutes after King walked out, someone else walked in.

Miller was dragged in by Zara. He was weak, losing blood. His leg was bleeding, maybe shot, and his pants were soaking red.

She tied him to a pole opposite to Bucky and you.

Bucky called him, and he tilted his head up weakly in acknowledgement. He tried to say something, but the words came out jumbled and incoherent.

Bucky spat at Zara's shoes, but she didn't even bother to look back as she walked out of the room.

"Find the others," Zara barked an order from the outside. Bucky could hear her only faintly.

"Barnes?" said Miller in a desperate whisper before his eyes rolled back and he was unconscious.

Not awake, but he could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing, alive. But if the wound goes untreated, he would not be for long.

He turned to your curled up form and tried to whisper your name as gently as possible, coming a little closer to you in one last attempt, but all you could see was a dark figure, and you cursed at him, telling him to fuck off.

It hurt Bucky more than anything to see you like this.

What is he going to do now?

-

@greatwerewolfdragon @ciochesono @keepyourdreamsalive @valentynecalum @bandito-s @sebbabey @ka-x-in @marvel-is-my-life-blog @ljthewinterllama @thefirst-galaxy @meraki-loki @wolfiea03 @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash @teageowen @illi-vanilli @nicholasbich @heyitsarial @infinityexe @natashasnight @talk-geek-to-me @divinediego @rebbie444 @teenageguitarist @superlockedtimelord @marv-ells @malum-af-cth @outofstyles13 @igotkatiepowers @hennessy0274-blog @blue-cat-1989 @whothehellisspideypool @mylifeissucky123 @yyutalktoomuch @38leticia @staplerrrr @kam731055 @goldtsunami @mizzezm @keepcalmandsosayweall @geekysimmerthings @darlingtholland @laurxn-robinson @hotheadbarnes @swoonhui @joe-mazzello-is-my-dad @warmvanillafeels @andy497 @asgardians-of-wakanda

[enchantedbride]

The First Meeting, In a Cafe  (Leon/Joey Shorts 1/???)

Tagging: @lovely-selfships, @foreveryours-mouse, @charliedoyleloves

(Let me know if you wish to be tagged in this series or any other self-ship writing of mine! I’m more than happy to do it so the people who want to see my stuff can find it more easily.)

Fandom: Pokemon SwSh

Rating: SFW

Warnings: None (But later stories will includes depictions of struggling with depression and mentions of past self-harm, suicidal ideation, and childhood emotional abuse and will be tagged when said topics come up)

There was an unsteady rhythm to the rapping of her fingers against the table as her eyes anxiously flitted back to her phone. The side patio of the Cafe had less of the chatter from other patrons as inside, but that was simply replaced by the patter of footsteps against the sidewalks and the occasional dull whir of an engine as a vehicle sped by. The smell of coffee drifted outside from the side door, causing a small sigh to escape her.

Lee was getting close to being half an hour late. She was already sweating bullets about this situation before, but the fact he was late made it worse. 

Joey wasn’t sure to begin with that coming all the way to the Galar region to crash with a friend she only knew online was a good idea. Luckily he seemed more than happy to meet up with her in a public place so they could meet each other in person before she committed to this. 

And should he turn out to be a creep, she had a friend of hers keeping a watchful eye. Not that she thought Lee was likely to be a creep, but on the off chance, it was better to be prepared.

That might not be necessary though if he didn’t even show up.

“Blas?” Claudia, her Blastoise, shifted impatiently in her spot next to her at the table. The two had been together practically since Joey’s infancy, so it took little effort for Joey to understand her partner Pokemon’s state.

“I know. It’s really getting to be late. He sent me a text saying he was running late, but still.”

“Blastoise...”

“I’m starting to wonder if this was worth it,” Joey thought aloud. “On the other hand, I guess I am glad for the change of scenery. Even if it winds up being for only a couple of days instead of a few weeks.”

Motostoke had a charm to it, with it’s steam-powered moving platforms and the the little shops that lined the streets. Some buildings were newer, styled much like the modern towering skyscrapers of Castelia City back in Unova from where she came. But many were older and not imposing in the same way, with brick and stone exteriors. 

It would be dishonest of her if she didn’t admit she wanted to explore the place more.

I shouldn’t even really be on this trip, though, she scolded herself. If it weren’t for the fact I literally can’t go back to work for the next few weeks, that’s where I would be. Where I should be. 

Joey turned her gaze back to her coffee, starting to get lost in her own thoughts again. She would wait a little while longer. But only a little while.

A few moments passed, and the relative quiet was interrupted by the sound of a stomach gurgling. 

“Blas...Blastoise?” Joey looked up to see Claudia’s expression shift to something that appeared more pained as she briefly patted her belly.

“Oh dear,” Joey remarked, “Are you hungry, Claudia? It is past lunchtime now.”

The Blastoise nodded in agreement. “Blas.” 

“I know Lemon treats are your favorite, there were some in the case back inside. I could get some if you like?”

Claudia nodded with more enthusiasm at the suggestion. 

“Okay. I’ll be right back. Can you mind the table while I’m gone?”

“Blastoise!” 

“Thanks, Claudia. I’m really sorry about all of this.” Joey got up from the table and pushed in her seat, taking her phone with her but leaving Claudia behind. She only planned to be gone for a few minutes. Unfortunately, the line inside told her that it might be longer then that. 

Joey sighed, briefly looking back before she glanced down to her phone.

No new DMs, she observed. The last message displayed was from fifteen minutes ago.

Sorry Helix, I’m running late! I’m having trouble finding the Cafe. I promise I’ll try to be there as soon as possible.

Joey got in line and began a second waiting game in addition to the one she was already playing. If Lee does show up, it’s going to be a bit strange to start calling each other by our real names, she thought. Up until now, we’ve only known each other by our internet nicknames. 

They also didn’t know what the other looked or sounded like. It might very well be quite the surprise for both of them. Although if Joey were being honest, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. 

Lee had been a kind, goofy and excitable sort in the several months the two corresponded. But what stood out with him was his ability to support and encourage others and to take difficult situations with grace. His friendship had been invaluable to her. 

Perhaps this was a major part of what made her nervous. He’d come to be an important fixture in her life. If things didn’t turn out well or he wasn’t as he appeared, it would hurt. 

Joey continued to wait as the line slowly dwindled and she moved closer to the counter little by little. Occasionally she would look at her phone for new messages, but there was nothing. Otherwise she kept her focus on the lemon treats as they sat at the front of the display case by the service counter. 

They look delicious, she thought. Claudia’s going to love them!

She was nearing the service counter, and eventually it was her turn to order. She asked for a pair of lemon treats and paid for them before they were taken from the case and handed to her. Joey stepped to the side to let the next person approach, and turned to make her way back to the patio. But then, she heard a voice from near the front door of the cafe.

“Excuse me. I didn’t see you there, please forgive me.”

“Oh, Champion! Don’t worry about it. Please, go ahead. I was actually about to go sit down.”

Joey turned her head. Champion? Her eyes briefly went wide. Recognition flared up as she saw a tall man perhaps a little bit younger than her with long violet hair close the door behind him and make his way further in. 

Oh! That’s the champion of the Galar Pokemon league, Leon! Joey found a big grin pulling at her face. Lee’s such a big fan of his and collects all sorts of merch. I bet he’d be so stoked if he knew Leon was here. 

Joey observed him for a moment, noticing that he started to walk off to the side and pull out his phone. Catching herself a moment, she chided herself mentally a bit for being nosy and tried to redirect herself to go back to her table on the patio. She began her stride, but found herself stopped as she felt her phone begin to vibrate in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Joey pulled out her phone to see a notification lighting up the screen.

It’s Lee! Talk about timing...

She opened up her phone too see the text in detail. 

I’m finally here! Again, I’m so sorry for being late. Where are you sitting? I’ll come find you. 

He’s here? She looked over but saw nobody had come in since Leon. Maybe he came in just before? There were a few other people who came in while I was waiting in line. 

I’m actually just got a snack for Claudia and was about to head back to the table on the patio, she typed back in reply. Why don’t you wave and I’ll come find you? If you see a  gremlin in an Umbreon hoodie coming towards you, that’s me. 

Joey kept her phone in hand, while holding the bag of lemon treats in the other. She began to look around the cafe for someone waving there hand. It was a moment or two, but eventually her eyes caught sight of someone waving their hand, and a pair of amber eyes looking back at her.

A startled response briefly overtook her and she blurted out in response to seeing who was waving back at her.

“WHAT-” she stopped as she spotted multiple gazes now pointed in her direction, almost crumbling inward in embarrassment.  She began to approach, clutching her phone and treats tightly as her feet briskly brought her forward.

The person waving at her was Leon. And she couldn’t brush it off as a coincidence when he was the only one waving and he was looking right at her. Joey excused herself as walked past someone in the line. This can’t be right, she argued with herself. Lee can’t be Leon. It doesn’t make sense!

She finally stopped in front of him, attempting to compose herself. Her reaction probably didn’t come as that much of a surprise. But he probably thought it was because she didn’t expect the friend she’d been corresponding with all these months was a celebrity. But it had more to do with the fact she didn’t expect someone to collect their own merchandise. 

And perhaps the fact she had more assumptions about him than she thought.

“Are you Helix?” he asked. She wasn’t very good at reading people, but she could at least gather that he was anticipating her response.

“Yeah,” she replied, “In the flesh. Although I generally go by Joey in real life.” She began to put her phone back in her pocket as she tried to meet his eyes as closely as she could without causing herself discomfort. Eye contact was always hard for her, but she especially didn’t want to obviously be avoiding it for the moment. “Are you Lee?”

“Joey,” he repeated her name with noticeable enthusiasm and a smile before his expression shifted to a more apologetic one. “It’s nice to meet you in person. I want to apologize again for keeping you so long. If it weren’t for Charizard I probably wouldn’t have gotten here.” He blinked in realization before he cleared his throat, almost as if he was nervous. “I’m Lee. Or Leon, as you’ve probably figured out.”

“You know it fits in a lot of ways,” Joey admitted as the reality of the situation began to sink in, “But, certain things don’t add up. Namely, I wouldn’t have thought you would be an avid collector of your own merch!”

Leon chuckled.

“I wasn’t at first. I started getting it for my little brother, Hop in the beginning. But I was so impressed with all the things my fans created that I guess I started wanting some for myself as well.”

Joey nodded. “I see. So ChampionHour was a way for you to quietly look for things you thought Hop would like and then it became a way for you to quietly interact with your own fandom and various Pokemon centric groups online.”

“I guess it did. I mean, I have a more public account that I use in a more official capacity but... yes.” Leon answered as his eyes wandered towards the side door. “So you said your table was out on the patio?”

“Yeah. Guarded by my three thousand pound Blastoise. Can’t miss it.”

“I see,” he laughed. “You mentioned Claudia would be with you for security. I understand why. All the same, I’m glad to meet both you and your partner Pokemon. Did you bring any of your other Pokemon with you?”

“Corti’s in her Pokeball but everyone else is back at the hotel or in the box system,” Joey replied as she gestured to her pockets. Cortana, or Corti for short, was Joey’s Raichu, and her other closest partner besides Claudia. “And I’m glad to meet you too. Although to be honest I was worried you weren’t going to show up, and well... as is obvious, I didn’t put two and two together.”

“Honestly I’m not surprised and I don’t think you should fault yourself. I think a lot of people wouldn’t have thought to consider it,” he answered as he followed her outside. “Especially with a nickname as blatant as Lee. Actually I chose it because it’s the nickname Hop calls me.”

“I see. That makes sense considering you originally made your account to look for stuff for him,” Joey considered.

“And again, I really am sorry,” he repeated, “I’ve never been great at finding my way around, even in places I’ve been to a million times. But I shouldn’t have kept you waiting. I understand if you’re miffed.”

“I am a little, I won’t lie,” she confessed. “But you’re here now and I accept your apology. So don’t worry too much about it, alright?”

“I’ll try not to.” He smiled. “Also I’m glad you didn’t wait to get something for yourself.”

“Oh this?” Joey held up the bag. “Oh I mainly got this for Claudia. But... I should probably eat too.” At that moment Joey felt her stomach softly burbling. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” he replied with a small chuckle. he looked up and his smile widened. “Ah! I see my partner has found yours just fine.”

“Hm?” Joey looked over to see that next to Claudia was another Pokemon. Specifically, a Charizard. “Oh! Right, you mentioned your Charizard helped you find your way here.”

My friend Lee is Leon, she processed. And that’s his Charizard talking to Claudia. Whatever I might have expected deep down, it wasn’t this. 

Charizard and Claudia appeared to be having a lively conversation, although both quickly looked up when Joey and Leon came to the table. Claudia huffed at Leon before she tilted her head sighed softly towards Joey. Charizard snorted looking quite amused.

“I know Claudia. He did say he was sorry though,” Joey answered her Blastoise. “It looks like you and Charizard are both mutually annoyed from the looks of it. Can I take that as a sign the two of you are getting along?”

Charizard let out a low rumble of agreement. 

“Thanks for getting us here, Charizard,” Leon said to his friend before addressing Claudia, “ I should say sorry to you too, though.”

“Blas.” Claudia nodded in acceptance before her eyes caught the paper bag with treats. “Blastoise! Blas?”

“Yeah! I got us both one. Here-” Joey pulled out a treat from the bag and handed it to Claudia. “Thanks for being so patient, friend. Hope it’s good!”

“I haven’t exactly made a good first impression, have I? I know you’re already nervous about the prospect of staying with my in my loft over your leave.”

Joey frown, finally visibly averting her gaze. “To be honest, I think I’d be nervous whether you were late or not.”

“Because we never met in real life until now. Although I imagine knowing who I am now probably doesn’t help things.”

“Well...” Joey began to rub the back of her neck. “Maybe a little.”

“You don’t need to downplay it,” he assured her, “But I know you well enough to know you won’t treat me differently because I’m a public figure and a celebrity, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I guess there’s no sweeping that under the rug, huh?” she sighed. “I guess there’s a bit more to talk about than where I’d be sleeping and what’s off limits in your fridge if I agree to this.” 

At this Leon laughed. “You can take anything in my fridge you like,” he replied, “There are more things to talk about yes. But what I said before we agreed to meet here still holds true. You’re my friend and I want to help. But I also want you to be comfortable. If for any reason you decide your not comfortable, I want you to assert yourself, okay?” He was gentle but firm. “That includes asserting you’d rather return to Unova.”

A moment of clarity cut through the haze of unreality she was feeling at the situation. He was talking just like her did in their DMs with each other. Only the difference now was he was physically here and she could hear his voice. 

That was perhaps unreal in its own way. 

He really was her friend, Lee. 

“I appreciate it,” she replied. “So, then, I guess we should figure out what to talk about first then.”

[drsilverfish]

Old Timey SPN - A Fresh (Queer) Look at 4x06 Yellow Fever

Dean in Yellow Fever (comedic terror overlays heart-stopping anxiety).

Whilst we’re on S14 mid-season hiatus, I wanted to write this meta, because sometimes, when writing or reading about the queer subtext in 2018/19 SPN it’s perhaps too easy to forget why queer subtext came into being in the first place, not just as codes in literature, film and television, but as codes in the everyday lives of LGBTQ people. Such codes were (and still are in many places) built around being able to safely signal to, and identify, one another, without being outed more generally, therefore being at risk of often life-threatening violence, backlash, repression etc. 

The world Sam and Dean grew up in, on the road in dive motels and truck-stops, working cases in the “boondocks”, on the fringes of a seriously macho hunter culture, with an ex-marine and Vietnam Vet for a father? A father who sometimes drank too much, and who (in subtext) was, most likely, sometimes physically violent towards his eldest son? A world where Dean got him and Sam fed by stealing food when their Dad forgot to leave them enough? A world where, when they were a bit older, they got by on hustling pool and credit card fraud and (Jensen’s headcanon, but also see below) Dean probably turned tricks on occasion too? That was not a world where you could be “out” safely, by any stretch of the imagination. Of course that doesn’t mean it was a world where sex between men didn’t exist. But it was far, far more likely to be a world populated by MSM (men who have sex with men, but who do not identify as gay or bisexual) than by anyone sporting an “out” LGBTQ identity of any kind. 

It’s not until ten years later, in 2016, in 11x19 The Chitters, that we meet any clearly identified LGBTQ male hunters, and when we do (Jesse and Cesar) we learn that Jesse’s childhood, in small-town Colorado, was full of fear and the need (which his older brother warned him about) to stay in the closet for his own safety.

SPN really hints at all that, early on, in the scene from 1x08 Bugs when Dean comes out of a pool hall with a wad of cash in his hand, and Sam ribs him about hustling pool and Dean says it’s “fun and easy” and there’s a “Billiards” sign flashing behind him which is partially broken, so instead it reads “Billiar” (Bi-liar = bisexual liar) hinting (in subtext) that maybe, what Dean was hustling wasn’t just pool, but dudes:

Original gif-set here: http://canonspngifs.tumblr.com/post/182845022861 

So, content warning for this piece of meta - under the cut I discuss “queer-bashing” and link to an upsetting (but important) real-world piece of reporting in Vanity Fair from the 1990s on a series of brutal homophobic and often ultimately murderous incidents in Texas, as an example of the kind of climate Dean and Sam would have been aware of, growing up.

If you’re feeling OK to follow this thread through, the first thing you should do, is read this earlier, great piece of collaborative meta on Yellow Fever and its Dean/ Ash subtext by @f-ckyeahfutbol and @sandraugiga  and @aslightsgoflashing (the last blog now deleted):

https://f-ckyeahfutbol.tumblr.com/post/147912926731/aslightsgoflashing-f-ckyeahfutbol 

I want to write something adjacent to that meta, by talking about how both Dean’s heightened anxiety (brought on, ostensibly, by the “ghost sickness” in the episode) and the form of violence meted out to Luther/ the ghost in Yellow Fever, can be read as, subtextually, signalling towards Dean’s “gay panic” and (the extremely understandable cause of said panic) - homophobic violence. 

More under the cut...

Firstly, let’s understand something of the history of violence towards gay/ bisexual men, particularly in the small town and rural United States where SPN is set. SPN began screening in 2005. Just a decade earlier, Vanity Fair ran this important piece of investigative journalism on a series of deadly and violent “queer-bashing” incidents in Texas carried out mostly by teenage boys, who felt supported by their churches and communities in carrying out these attacks (many of them resulting in murder):

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/1995/02/texas-murder-199502 

Sam and Dean are aware, in the SPN story-world, of this kind of community-supported homophobic violence. Remember the out gay teacher who was murdered by a homophobic preacher’s wife controlling a Reaper in 1x12 Faith? Meta on that here: 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/115161057824/bisexual-in-the-subtext-since-s1 

The SPN story-world also established, early on (see below 2x11 Playthings) that Dean is anxious about being perceived as queer, in a way that Sam is not: 

SAM: “They probably think you’re over-compensating”

DEAN: .................................

Original gif here: http://nimbus2ooo.tumblr.com/post/5585782984 

Dean has been queer-coded as bisexual since S1, and, as this Dean/ Ash meta master-post makes clear, specifically, in the early seasons, in relation to Jo Harvelle and Ash, whom he meets at the same time:

https://sandraugiga.tumblr.com/post/124850209617/a-detailed-look-into-dean-and-ash-masterpost 

Ash, of course, dies in 2x21 All Hell Breaks Loose, which is why the Yellow Fever @f-ckyeahfutbol  and @sandraugiga meta linked to, above the cut, discusses mourning and the Dean/Ash subtext as one of the threads running through the episode. As “ghost-sickness” in some Native American cultures, is a form of mourning, that reading is definitely relevant:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_sickness . 

Bearing that in mind, I’m going to leave Dean/ Ash to one side, and talk specifically about reading the “ghost-sickness” in Yellow Fever as closted “gay panic”.

The episode opens with Dean, terrified, running down a dark street at night. 

On one level, we later understand, his terror is all about what he experienced in Hell and his fear of returning there. He is being chased by a little dog, which, it is eventually revealed, he is hallucinating is a Hell-hound.  

However, on another level, we can also read this as Dean being chased by his “Gay Thoughts TM”. The little dog is wearing a pink bow. Pink is often used in symbolic visual TV/ cinema code for “gay” a) because it is understood as a “feminine” colour (and there is that old stereotypical association of gayness with femininity) and b) because the colour was reclaimed and used with pride by the LGBT community itself, particularly in the 1970s and ‘80s, from the pink triangle that homosexuals were forced to wear as an identifying mark in the Nazi concentration camps. 

After this opener (also strongly played for comedic effect, so the queer reading is definitely in the closet) we flash to 43 hours earlier, and the first vic, Frank O’Brien, on the autopsy table. Posing as FBI agents, the Winchesters show up to investigate. They have taken the aliases Joe Perry and Steve Tyler (from Aerosmith). Tyler has been quite open about having had sex with men as well as women. 

Dean notices (and we should note it’s Dean, not Sam) that there is a mark on Frank’s ring finger where a wedding ring should be, but it’s missing. Then the coroner hands Dean Frank’s heart. 

A dude with a wedding ring missing and then his heart is passed to Dean? That looks like symbolism for queer-on-the-side infidelity to me.

We learn all the other vics were also men, and they all died of heart failure (aka, in subtext, we are talking about queer closeted men). 

We also learn that Frank’s wife Jessie committed suicide many years ago, and that Frank was a bully in school, but he “got better” after his wife died. Both of these factoids can be read as subtextual signals pointing towards Frank’s queerness (possibly his self-loathing turned outwards and his unhappiness in his marriage). 

Then we meet the germaphobe (a mirror for Dean) Sheriff in town.  The Sheriff is really cut up about Frank’s death, and seems to be hiding something.

SHERIFF BRITTON: "Me and Frank, we were friends. Hell, we were Game-cocks.” 

(Dean snickers) 

SHERIFF BRITTON: “That's our softball team's name. They're majestic animals.”

In other words, Dean heard the word “Game-cocks” and his mind immediately went to “fuck buddies,” which says a lot about Dean, but also Dean’s gaydar may have been on-point. 

Were the Sheriff and Frank, in fact, (closeted) lovers? 

Textually, we find out the Sheriff knew Frank had murdered someone, and covered for him. Subtextually....?

The Sheriff, we realise later, like Dean, has also been “infected” and is beginning to suffer from the ghost sickness. This “infection” as a metaphor for queerness might seem as if it is alluding to HIV/AIDS, but, if we read the queer subtext of the ghost sickness in Yellow Fever as about closeted “gay panic” in the kind of environment where it’s not safe to be out, then this isn’t a “gay/ bi men are infectious” homophobic metaphor, it’s more about closeted men’s fear, in a homophobic environment, that they are somehow “infected” by queerness and will not be able to keep it secret. 

And how are the men who have died, “infected”? It seems to be (metaphorically) “through the heart”, as Dean was shown literally holding Frank’s heart, and the Sheriff was suffering from grief-of-the-heart at Frank’s death.  

As soon as Dean is drunk, and therefore disinhibited, the element he is is repressing emerges, and Dean flirts with the Sheriff’s cute young assistant. And let’s side-eye the Dean-mirror Sheriff’s choice of deputy eye-candy here. The deputy is framed by a painting of stallions in the Sheriff’s office. Stallions, like game-cocks, being a symbol of hyper-masculine virility - the Sheriff’s choices being both a cover for, and a coded signal of, homoeroticism.  

 And here’s that much giffed flirting scene:

(Couldn’t find the gif credit for this one)

At Frank’s neighbour’s house, Dean (not Sam) gets crawled over by a huge yellow-white python (read - penis metaphor) and Dean (infected by the ghost-sickness, aka “gay panic”) freaks out. As frequently throughout the episode, this subtextual meaning is covered by comedic effect. 

(Couldn’t find the gif credit for this one either - sorry - older gifs tend to appear on platforms like “giphy” that strips out the OP)

Finally, the boys find out that a dude named Luther is the ghostly source of the “ghost-sickness”. Luther, who had learning disabilities, was murdered by Frank, who ostensibly (and wrongly) believed Luther murdered Frank’s wife, Jessie (who had been kind to Luther, and who, Luther’s brother tells the Winchesters, he had a “crush” on).

Is that the actual story, however? That’s the heterosexual, surface-available textual story. 

But subtextually? The Winchesters find Frank’s wedding ring in the lumber yard which the ghost of Luther is haunting. What if that disused “lumber yard” was a known cruising ground, and Frank had had sex with men there (symbolised by the loss of his wedding ring) perhaps with Luther himself, or with the Sheriff (and Luther witnessed it) then he felt guilty about it (maybe because Jessie found out about his habit of having closeted sex with men on the side and that contributed to her suicide)? And so, Frank went after Luther.

Why this subtextual reading? 

Let’s look at the way Frank killed Luther. He wrapped a chain around his neck and “road-hauled” him to death behind his truck.

Have you heard of a “fag-drag”? Unfortunately, I don’t mean drag performance, but the “queer-bashing” version. You may have heard of a “fag-drag” used in this sense because of this Southpark clip (typically faux-ironic in tone) in which Mr. Garrison yells, “Come on everybody, let’s get us some queers, and some trucks, and have us a good old fashioned fag drag.” Mr. Garrison was depicted as a closted gay man who hid his homosexuality by making homophobic statements in the first three seasons of Southpark (he eventually came out as trans).

Or, you may have heard of the “fag-drag” (a particular form of homophobic violence) thanks to Brokeback Mountain. It was such a (murderous) “queer bashing” that young Ennis was forced to witness (the aftermath of) by his father -  in which an old gay rancher had been roped to the back of a truck and dragged, “...until his dick came off,” and he died.  

Sorry for the graphic imagery - none of this is OK and I am using “fag-drag” in quote marks throughout, because it’s obviously a violently homophobic term in and of itself. 

So, in subtext, we can read Luther as having been “fag-dragged” to death by a, self-hating, closeted Frank. 

As Dean gets pulled further and further into the hallucinations that accompany the ghost sickness, Sam calls Bobby for help. 

Bobby realises that the ghost responsible for the “ghost-sickness” is a Buruburu, a ghost born of a person’s fear after dying in a terrifying way. Bobby tells Sam a salt-and-burn won’t work - they have to scare the ghost to death. I mean, logically, that makes no sense, right? A ghost born of terror would surely feed on terror?

But, subtextually, it does make sense, because Sam and Bobby love Dean dearly, but they both, at this stage in the SPN narrative, do not fully understand just how much Dean’s surface macho bravado is a performance, covering much that he hides from them (including his queerness).  

So, although they both express distress about it, Bobby and Sam recreate Luther’s original death (in subtext, his homophobic “fag drag”) by wrapping an iron chain round ghost-Luther’s neck and hauling him over the ground, attached to Baby.

Shots of ghost-Luther’s death - Sam calls it a “truck haul” (in subtext, a ”fag-drag”):

are intercut with shots of Dean, in the motel room hallucinating the creepy little girl version of Lilith. He asks her, “Why me? Why’d I get infected?” She tells him, “Silly goose, you know why - listen to your heart.” In subtext - that’s Dean’s queer heart (and see my meta linked above on Dean’s queer heart in 1x12 Faith). 

As Luther’s ghost gets “fag-dragged” by Dean’s soul (Baby) Dean’s heart starts to give out (again, the shots of the two events are intercut). In our queer subtext reading, we can understand this as a metaphor for the trauma Dean’s own closeted self (his “gay panic”) is inflicting on his queer heart: 

Once Luther’s ghost has been destroyed, the ghost sickness leaves Dean.

Or (metaphorically speaking) does it?

The final scene between Dean, Sam and Bobby is really heartbreaking, in a subtextual sense. Because Bobby and Sam tease Dean about how anxious he was under the spell of the ghost sickness, and he pushes back, full once again of his performance bravado:

BOBBY: “You sure, Dean? 'Cause this line of work can get awful scary.”

DEAN: “I'm fine. You want to go hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything.”

BOBBY: “Awwww, he's adorable. I got to get out of here. You boys drive safe.”

So, yes, the more textual layers of the narrative tell us that Dean got infected by the ghost sickness not because, as Sam says in the episode, Dean is a “dick” but because Dean’s terror of being dragged back to Hell (and to the things we eventually find out he did there) made him susceptible to fear-infection. 

The more textual layers tell us, that the things Dean keeps from Sam in their talk at the hood of the Impala at the end of the episode, are his hallucinations of Hell-hounds, of Lilith, and of Sam himself with yellow eyes.

But in the queer subtext (should we choose to adopt this reading)? 

Dean’s “gay panic”, Dean’s fear of homophobic, or homophobic but homo-erotically charged, violence (like that which was visited on Luther by Frank) was what attracted the ghost-sickness to him (and not to Sam) just as it was attracted to the town’s other (closeted) men, like the Sheriff, who, guiltily (and in fear) nevertheless cruised for sex in the abandoned lumber yard, or took part in nights away with their fellow “Game-cocks”. 

And so, in this subtextual reading, one of the things Dean is choosing to hide from Sam, is his queerness.

This particular reading of Yellow Fever makes additional sense once we get to 4x16 On the Head of a Pin and discover that Dean’s time in Hell included a, hideous and twisted, but nevertheless homoerotic, charge between himself and his torturer and “mentor” in Hell, the demon Alastair. That’s an additional trauma, an additional psychic wound, for Dean’s queer heart to bear.

Finally, we should also note, that an element that significantly supports this queer reading is the fact that Yellow Fever is set in the fictional town of Rock Ridge, Colorado. That is also the setting for the spoof Western Blazing Saddles  (1974). That movie contains the famous “French mistake” sequence (which later gave Edlund the title and concept for 6x15 The French Mistake).

This sequence is where the movie finally breaks the fourth wall (revealing itself to be artifice) and the Western set of Blazing Saddles breaks through into a cabaret chorus show, where an all male troupe are performing a top and tails number called “The French Mistake” (an allusion to men having sex with men). They are called “faggots” and “sissy marys” by the cowboys, but they also “queer” themselves by using feminine pronouns; “Come on girls!” The cowboys and the chorus dancers get involved in a free-for-all punch-up, but we also see some of them making friends with one another, emerging from the melee with their arms around each other. 

This is, of course, a meta-commentary on the queer subtext of the Western genre (and the closeted queerness of classic Hollywood itself). So, it’s a pretty interesting setting to have chosen for Yellow Fever (as it points, by allusion, to the queer subtext of Supernatural i.e. it’s a big sign, for those chosing to follow the trail, that looking out for queer subtext in Yellow Fever might bear narrative fruit). Here is the “French Mistake” clip from Blazing Saddles:

The book Intersecting Film, Music and Queerness by Jack Curtis Dubowsky (Palgrave, 2016) contains a chapter specifically devoted to reading the queerness in Blazing Saddles.

My own reading of Yellow Fever has been brought to you by me, courtesy of Andrew Dabb and Daniel Loflin, who wrote the episode, inspired by some of the questions left hanging in @f-ckyeahfutbol. and @sandraugiga ‘s meta on the episode.

As ever, here is my usual disclaimer -  Dean’s bisexuality and his attraction to men continue to be told in the SPN subtext (14 years and counting now). My queer readings of Supernatural do not “promise” that this element of the narrative will emerge into undeniable main-text for the general audience.

However, subtext IS a part of narrative. 

[ellewritesfiction]

Wouldn’t it be Nice (5 times Tony mentions kids + 1 time Bruce does) for @sciencebrosweek

Day Seven: Anything

There were a lot of bad days.

Peter was not at all what they were expecting. They had decided to go through the foster system, help a kid who was here, who needed someone who really understood the nature of abuse. Still, Bruce knew there was a little part of Tony that wanted a baby or at least a toddler, not an eight year old kid who was too smart for his own good and too depressed to handle any kind of change to his routine.

But as soon as Bruce heard his story – his father dying in a car accident, his mother committing suicide less than a year later while he was at school, forcing him to discover her body – he couldn’t say no and Tony understood. If it hadn’t been for his aunt, well... Bruce had no idea where he would be now.

The case worker warned them Peter was difficult. That maybe he wouldn’t be the best fit for two guys who’d never been parents before. He’d already gone through two foster families. He was destructive and he lashed out. Bruce just wanted to give the kid in the picture with the sad blue eyes a hug and a place to vent. Access to the therapy he clearly needed. A safe space to exist where he wouldn’t be judged for his anger. He wanted to help.

But helping wasn’t as easy as it sounded, even when you understood.

Peter hated his new school and was sent home nearly every day the first week he attended. He scared Bailey because he liked to yell at her whenever she got close. Bruce knew he was just afraid to form a bond with her but Tony took it hard, locking himself and her up his office for an hour or so, giving her extra treats every time. Peter fought going to therapy and though the therapist said it would get better, he also said Peter just sat there and refused to even look at him right now. That Tony sympathized with a bit more.  

And yeah, he was destructive. The case worker didn’t really define what that meant but the first week Peter put a series of holes in the drywall of his room and when asked about it he just shrugged. Bruce sat on the bed with him as Tony went to the store and brought back drywall patch and spackle and he asked if Peter wanted to help fix it. Peter glared and kicked at the floor and refused. Bruce counted to ten in his head, hating to see the wounded look on Tony’s face he quickly tried to cover up, but he made Peter watch Tony the whole time anyway, so that he knew what affect his actions had.

They were afraid to introduce Peter to Ari and the new baby and it hurt Rhodey and Pepper not to be involved even though both Tony and Bruce assured them they wanted them to be, they just had to wait until things calmed down a little. And they could never go out to any of their usual social activities because they could never leave Peter with a babysitter. It wasn’t a formal adoption, just fostering, so they didn’t get much time off work besides their own vacation days and it felt like they would never get into a routine. Even meals were a struggle. Peter often refused to eat anything at all or even come down for dinner and Bruce worried constantly about the fact that he didn’t eat, reading articles online about allowing your children autonomy over what they ate the only thing that comforted him at all.

Tony, as short-sighted as he was, wanted Peter to have anything he could give him, anything a normal kid would have, and so he bought him a basketball hoop to put in the driveway. Peter categorically refused to play with him, which Tony took on the chin, telling Bruce that night as they lay in bed together that even if it took ten years one day Peter would play a game of one-on-one with him. Bruce smiled and squeezed his hand and was thankful he had such a positive partner.

But it was only a few days later that Peter brought the ball inside and smashed it into an oversized, framed photograph they’d taken from their honeymoon suite in Bali. Glass scratched the picture and rained down across the entire living room and Bruce just walked straight out of the room after he’d come to inspect what happened and into the garage where he did his best not to scream.

When he’d finally settled down enough to come back in Tony was already sweeping it up as Peter sat on the stairs in “time out” – a thing Bruce had never managed to succeed at implementing despite his best efforts. He was shocked at Tony’s patience and the strained smile he gave him as he cleaned up the mess but he wasn’t too surprised to see the ball deflated in the garage the next day.

They struggled so much that Bruce was pretty sure Peter would beg to leave during their home visits but instead he just sat there quietly, as well behaved as possible, reporting that nothing was wrong, he liked Tony, he liked Bruce, he liked his school, therapy was fine, and Bruce would just sit there, feeling numb, feeling like he didn’t understand even half of what he thought he did. Tony would laugh and say something smart and the caseworker would laugh too and Bruce would still be sitting there, feeling like a failure.

Just when things would seem to get a little better Peter would do something else that made Bruce nearly bite off his tongue trying to stop himself from shouting. Tony had decided to grill burgers for lunch one Saturday and Bruce made a big deal out of having every topping you could ever want and Peter rolled his eyes and said something shitty about sardines so when Bruce went to the store he came back with burgers and three different cheeses and tomato and lettuce and onions and mayo and pickles and roasted red peppers and arugula and pineapple rings and chutney and one can of sardines. And he set the sardines on the table with all the other toppings, right by Peter’s place, and when he reluctantly sat down to eat he saw them and grinned. A real, certifiable grin and Bruce took that as a long fought for win.

“Why does he get all the sardines?” Tony asked as Peter inspected the contents of the can with interest and Bruce just shrugged.

“He requested them.”

“Well I request some too,” Tony said petulantly and Peter just huffed at him.

“You’re so lame – you wouldn’t really eat them,” he said, trying to call his bluff.

But what Peter didn’t know was that Tony would put nearly anything in his mouth and he never backed down from a challenge. So Bruce watched, trying hard not to laugh as Tony picked up his fork and leaned over the table, spearing one and immediately eating it without a second’s hesitation and Peter stared at him, wide-eyed and completely surprised and even stoic, sulky Peter couldn’t help but start laughing.

“That is so gross!” he exclaimed as Tony swallowed it and grinned and Bruce laughed too.

“Tony can be pretty gross,” Bruce agreed and Peter made a face.

“You kiss him,” Peter said and then both adults laughed.

“Yeah but I’ll make him brush his teeth first after that,” Bruce admitted and Tony gasped with mock offense.

“It’s just a little pickled fish,” he defended but it was just...

It was just a really nice moment, almost like something normal, and the rest of lunch went well. Too well. Peter played an impromptu game of “have you had this” and listed all kinds of gross stuff – most of which Tony had eaten on a dare in college or at some fancy party his dad made him attend (at least in the case of caviar and champagne, though he was underage when he snuck it, and it wasn’t good enough to warrant the theft) – but even Bruce had a few he could attest to. And afterwards Peter even helped clear the table and put up the left over condiments.

But it wasn’t even a few hours later before Bruce heard something crash and he took a deep breath to steady himself before turning to see Tony’s laptop on the floor, the screen shattered, an obviously intentional act of destruction because simply dropping it would never have yielded that result. And Bruce swallowed hard to steady himself against the rage that threatened in the pit of his stomach but when his eyes met Peter’s he saw only one thing – fear.

Peter was absolutely panicked, realizing what he’d done, the severity, how much that computer probably cost, and as Tony walked in with worry creasing his face, asking if anyone was hurt, Bruce wanted to leap across the room and hold him back, tell him Peter didn’t mean it, he was just – it was just –

But Tony didn't seem mad at all. Instead he just looked at the expensive computer on the ground, shattered, then up at Peter, somehow maintaining a completely neutral expression. And when he finally moved he just crouched down and picked the computer up, setting it back on the table.

“You didn’t cut your foot, did you?” he asked with the most non-threatening voice he could have managed and Peter just stared at him, wide-eyed and hesitant.

“Let me see,” Tony asked softly, holding out his hand and Bruce watched in fascination as Peter slowly lifted his foot to let Tony inspect it.

“You know, my man, here’s the thing,” he said gently, releasing Peter’s foot. “Things? They can be replaced. But people?”

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Tony look up at Peter, knowing just the kind of sweet, patient, open look he was giving him, the same look he gave Bruce over and over every time they sat in front of a therapist, every time Bruce’s anxiety got the best of him, every time he needed to be reminded that he was loved.

“People can never be replaced,” Tony said, reaching out and ever so gently touching his arm. “And Bruce and I – we’re never going to replace your mom and dad, okay? Never. We never could. But maybe, one day, if you think you’d like us to be, we could be your parents too. And if you don’t, that’s okay too, but just know that you’re mom and dad? They will always be your mom and dad, but we will still care for you the best we can, even when that’s hard. Okay?”

Bruce could see that Peter wanted to cry but he was trying so hard not to as he nodded his head that Bruce felt the sting behind his own eyes and he wasn’t sure he was going to make so strong an effort. He didn’t know how Tony understood what he had so clearly failed to see. Maybe... maybe he had been doing it a long time. A lot longer than Bruce realized.

“Would you like a hug?” Tony asked carefully and Peter all but collapsed in his arms and Bruce felt hot tears start running down his cheeks.

But for the first time in a long time, they didn’t hurt. And he wiped at his eyes as he looked away, his lips working at a smile he tried to hide because even though he was crying it was the first time he felt like maybe, one day, maybe... he’d have a family.

[misterewrites]

The Detective and the Crook (Sherlock AU)

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and kinda back from my retirement! I hope you’re all doing good!

Sorry for disappearing like that, I had a lot of things come up and some more personal responsibilities i have to take care of but hopefully I can get back into steadily writing again. Also I apologize if this is a little off because I am rusty but hopefully you still enjoy it.

So this is a birthday gift I owe someone and I really hope they like it. They asked me for a sherlock au and I decided to go with the guy Ritchie movie series the one where Robery Downey Jr. is Sherlock. I really enjoy those movies and I feel it is a great balance mystery and action.  

In this AU, set in the 1800s like the movie and the books, Marco is naturally Sherlock with his Waston being Janna because that felt like a fun dynamic I wanted to explore. They’re called in to investigate a crime scene and Marco suspects there’s more to it than meets the eye. Yes Star is Irene Alder because I could not resist.

Warnings! There is a crime scene, suspected suicide. Very tame scene, not graphic but still giving a warning just in case. There is cussing because they’re all in their mid-20s but I think that’s about it.

Well I hope my friend enjoys this gift. I am so sorry it took so long and I hope you had a great birthday. Thank you all for reading it, please let me know what you think if you enjoyed it and I hope you all have a great week! See you all soon with another story!

A thin misty veil of fog blanketed the city of Echo Creek as the frosty winter air kept most of its residents within the cozy confines of their homes. Only the unfortunate and determined would dare to brave such a chilly morning.

“What kind mad loon commits crimes during the winter?” Janna asked with a hint of annoyance, tucking her uncovered fingers within her gloved palms “And in the morning no less! It’s been scientifically proven that the winter mornings are psychologically bull.”

“And I suppose your source for this scientific research is the University Of Janna says?” Marco replied sarcastically.

“We both know I’m not going to answer that.”

“You know when I told you the Yard called that they had found a body this morning and that they requested my...”

“Our” Janna corrected, rubbing her hands for warmth.

“...our services, it was greatly implied they meant right away. Hence the whole walking towards the crime scene now. Why on earth did you cut off the tips of your gloves if you knew it was going to be cold out?”

Janna scratched her chin thoughtfully for a moment “I like being fashionable and let me tell you fingerless gloves are going to be huge. Wait and see.”

“I’ll take being warm over being fashionable”

Janna scoffed with a roll of her eyes “And that’s why you’re boring safe kid.”

The pair’s footsteps echoed dully against the thick foggy air with towering, massive warehouses on one side and the murky ocean on the other.

Marco was sensibly dressed for the weather: A large thick travel coat hung over his frame with his finely pressed black dress pants and slightly muddied loafers scraping across the ground with his white collared shirt tucked underneath the layers.

Janna was not as prepared as her partner: Though a green scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck to keep it warm, her dark blue dress jacket, green blouse and knee length yellow skirt did not help. The black ‘fingerless’ gloves were equally ineffective for warmth and her dirtied, frayed riding boots thudded loudly against the cobbled streets. And in true Janna fashion, the cap she had stole from an unsuspecting paper boy sat unevenly on her head.

“So what are we looking today?” Janna asked quizzically, unable to handle the silence for another moment.

“Someone jumped from their office building.” Marco answered matter of fact.

“Uggggggggh then why are we here?!”

“We both know the police have less than an unbiased eye for these types of matters. I simply wanted to confirm their claims.”

“And you couldn’t do it by yourself? I could be wrapped up nice and snug as bug in my bed right now.’

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your final exam?”

Janna fidgeted nervously “I...well it’s on the 5th so I have time.”

Marco’s stare was completely deadpanned “Today’s the 3rd Janna”

“Ah shit.”

Marco shook his head tiredly as the pair reached their destination.

It was a secluded building surrounded by thick, lofty brick walls clearly meant to keep people out, the floor was muddy from the moist ocean air with the squish of dozens of police boots bustling this way and that filling the air. In the center, surrounded by cracked wood and shattered glass was a man, arms outstretched and unmoving, the earth underneath soaked a dark red.

“I suppose that’s our bloke huh?” Janna chimed “Rather peaceful scene. Was expecting more gore, more grisly. Nice change of pace speaking honestly.”’

“I just cleaned these loafers” Marco whined quietly, trying to shake the mud from his feet.

“Oi!” a nearby police officer shouted “Show some respect for the dead!”

“I do!” Janna shot back “Especially more so than you fine folks. Messed up any more crime scenes McNab?”

The officer shifted uneasily before quickly making his escape.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought”

“Janna, stop picking on the police.”

“I will if you don’t.”

The two chuckled softly as a familiar person approached.

“Marco!” Detective Ferguson yelled with unrestrained glee “JANNA BANANA!”

“Don’t call me that” Janna murmured.

“I’m glad ya’ll had the time to come down here though I’m afraid it might be for nothing.”

“Always happy to help you Ferg.” Marco shook his best friend’s hand “More so than the other yard’s detectives.”

“I’ll count myself lucky and show you to the vic.”

The trio trudged through the thick mud over to the lifeless corpse laid across the random debris.

“What happened?”

“Well” Ferguson scratched his neck “Some random bloke on the street saw the guy laying here and figured he was drunk. Called us right away. His name is Andrew Willingham. Accountant that works for building we are currently standing in front of. We don’t have much to go on given that we haven’t been here long. So far we gathered he tossed himself out the 5th story window. Must’ve been stress or something.”

Marco pursed his lips, his instincts screaming at him that there was more here than seemed.

“Mind if I check the body?” Janna piped up.

“Got your medical license yet?” Ferguson cheekily responded.

“My test is in two days….” Janna mumbled darkly.

“Then officially you know I’m not allowed. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go for a walk. A loooooong walk.” and with a wink, Ferguson strolled away, whistling unusually loud.

Janna and Marco sighed in unison.

“Could he be any more obvious?”

“Of course he could, he’s Ferguson.”

“What do you think?” Janna muttered softly as she began to circle the corpse carefully.

Marco stretched his arms towards the sky, mumbling under his breath “I suspect foul play. I’ve been investigating this company. There’s been some known associates of various crime lords visiting this location lately.”

“Fuuuuuuuuun and already proven correct. Ugh, it’s so annoying.”

Marco watched the scattered police cautiously “What is it?”

“Bruises on the knuckles.” Janna cracked her neck “So unless he’s a bare knuckle boxer….”

“Impossible. With his build, he’d lose. Consistently” 

Janna rolled her eyes “Obviously captain. Probably was assaulted before thrown out the window. Fought back but lost.” Janna frowned at the body “Well clearly.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond when another, unfriendly voice cut in

“What are you two doing?”

A random officer approached the two, eyes narrowed in suspicious irritation.

“Hello officer!” Marco gave a cheerful wave “I am sure you know who we are. I am Mr. Diaz and this is….”

“Like you said, I know.” The officer gritted his teeth “And I am afraid civilians aren’t allowed in crime scenes.”

“Detective Ferguson...”

“Is not here” The officer crossed his arm threateningly “And when he comes back, I’ll be happy to let him know where you’ve gone.”

“Oi! What’s going on here?”

The trio’s attention snapped towards Ferguson madly rushing their way.

“What seems to be the..” Ferguson huffed, his breathing heavy as he doubled over “Oh boy. That….mud...very hard to walk across….”

“Detective” The officer started “I know Mr. Diaz is a friend but regulations...”

Marco gave a loud sneeze, causing the two officers to jump in surprise.

“I am very sorry I...” Marco let loose another sneeze “Oh, I guess I’m allergic to something here.”

“You have allergies?” Ferguson asked quizzically.

Marco nodded before sneezing once more “I...I think I should go.”

“Okaaaaay” Ferguson nodded slowly “I hope you feel better? I’ll let you know if we find anything else out.”

Marco wiped at his nose with his coat sleeve “Thank you Ferg. Janna?”

Janna snapped to attention mockingly “Coming boss man!”

Marco ignored the glare of the peeved officer as he and Janna made their way out of the murky courtyard.

_____________________________________________________________

The pair walked in a careful silence until they were sure the police were out of earshot.

“What did you find?” Marco asked nonchalantly.

Janna reached into her pocket and brought out an elegant pin: It was a beautiful, well crafted butterfly shaped pin inlaid with varying shades of blue gems.

“A blue butterfly pin. Fine piece of jewelry, worth a pretty pound.” Janna answered with a hint of boredom “It was tucked inside his jacket pocket. Good call on checking his clothing. Should we tell the bobbies?”

Marco shook his head “No. I’m afraid this is beyond their reach. I think the man that called it in was involved somehow though I doubt he was the murderer.”

A brief tense silence.

“Do you think she’s involved? It’s not really her cup of tea offing random, supposed criminal accountants.”

Marco bit his cheek anxiously “No. I don’t think she murdered him but I believe he knew her. I suspect he’s part of the same organization as Star. The pin is most likely a subtle way for the members to reveal their identities to one another in public. I’ve seen this pin on her person and its general shape and color seems to indicate it was custom made.”

Janna let out a sigh of relief “Oh thank the queen. Not going lie, I was going to be very disappointed in her if she started offing random blokes.” Janna paused “I mean innocent blokes. Well...presumably innocent blokes. Seriously, can you figure out if he’s a crook or not? I don’t like feeling conflicted. Morality is annoying.”

“We need to find her.”

“Because you want to see her ooooor she’s a target?”

Marco coughed, tugging at his collar nervously.

Janna snickered “You could’ve just said both. Both is good. I miss her too.”

“I do not miss her” Marco firmly growled.

“And how bout those pictures of her you have hanging on the wall? Oh I’m sorry, your case board.”  

“You never know when the police...might want to reexamine her case and….I just wanted to be prepared. She is a rather tricky criminal.”

“Mhm” Janna smirked mischievously “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Marco flushed a bright red, coughing coolly “No….but I know where she will be.”

“Awesome!” Jana beamed cheerfully.

_______________________________________________________________

“Oh bloody hell” Janna pouted, openly glaring at the rundown state of pub that towered before them “You couldn’t have told me we were coming to this shitehole? I lost money here. Repeatedly.”

Marco ignored his partner’s whining “Perhaps you should stop gambling on games of chance.”

“Perhaps you should mind your own business.” Janna huffed “Ugh, are you sure she’s here? Maybe she’s round at the nice corner store. I should go check it...”

Janna frowned as Marco held the back of her coat tightly.

“Fine fine safe kid but I want the record to show I protest this whole adventure.”

“Mhm”

“I mean it Marco. I want a voucher” Janna gestured threateningly as the duo began making their way towards the building “One adventure where I get to stay home and do nothing.”

“Let’s get this over with Janna. You have a test to study for.”

“Oh shut up” Janna snarled, angrily pulling the bar door open.

The detectives flinched as the silence of night was broken: Cheers of triumphant joy and sorrowful cries filled the air. The smell of cheap alcohol and thick smoke wafted all around them as an unbearable heat engulfed the pair.

“Open a damn window!” Janna shouted into the crowd, waving the smoke away from her face.

“Go outside if you don’t like it.” A cigar smoking patron answered from a nearby table.

Janna shook her head “That’s going kill you. Painfully.”

The patron made an obscene gesture before returning to his drink.

Janna growled furiously, clenching her fist in righteous fury.  

“Janna” Marco stepped between his friend and her victim “Janna, he’s drunk. He’s not worth it.”

She gritted her teeth “Just once. Just once and I’ll be good.”

“Janna, we’re here on a mission.”

“You suck” Janna grumbled, adjusting the cap on her head “I need a drink….”

And with a sudden turn, Janna stomped her way over to a waiting bartender.

“Don’t forget why we’re here!” Marco yelled after only to have his partner respond with a lazy wave.

Marco sighed tiredly, his gaze searching for the elusive trickster Star among the drunken patrons.

No, not Star. Don’t use her name. If he uses her name, that humanizes her and he was here on a case. He was not here to see her. He was here to question a suspect and nothing more. Not at all. Nothing beyond that. Why was his heart racing? There was no need to be nervous. None whatsoever. It was just….Star. Her.

Marco jumped at the soft tap of his shoulder. He whirled around with his fist closed, his stance guarded from the interruption of his thoughts.

He was expecting some sort of muscular goon or drunk trying to stir up trouble. What he found was a barmaid with a tray in one hand and a smug knowing grin on her lips.

“Looking for a fight darling?” She teased.

Marco flushed, dropping his hands to his sides “N-no. Sorry, I was..distracted. “

“I bet” she gave a flirty wink “Can I get you anything?”

Marco narrowed his eyes “No though I suspect you have for me.”

The barmaid’s grin widened as her voice dropped to a whisper “She’s waiting for you. Upstairs in the office. It’s the room just above the bar love.”

Before Marco could ask any further questions, the barmaid gave a cheeky grin and giggled joyfully before vanishing into a thick crowd of customers.

“Of course….”

________________________________________________________________

Marco took a deep breath, his nerves further frayed and on edge as he stood on the second floor landing. The rowdy shouts and cries of the bar below could be scarcely heard over the thundering of his footsteps in his ears, each step he took brought him closer to the office door across the way. Marco noticed Janna giving a hearty laugh at the counter, playfully nudging a sailor before making her way towards card game in the back.

Marco felt oddly exposed making his way across the second floor. He told himself it was due to being in such a vulnerable location: Everyone below had an excellent unobstructed line of sight to the detective with little to no cover if someone decided to take a shot at him even though none had any reason to suspect who he was.

Of course that’s only what he thought. With each step his heart raced more, the idea of seeing Star tugged at his heartstrings and morals.

Marco gulped anxiously, gently running his fingers across the weathered, ancient door that separated the outlaw and himself.

He took a deep breath, gripping the doorknob firmly for a moment….two….three before he steeled his nerves and quietly pushed open the door in hopes of catching Star unaware.

“My heart is pierced by cupid”

Marco flushed, pausing as Star’s voice caught him off guard instead. It was sweet and soft with a gentleness she hardly spoke with.

“I disdain all glittering gold”

The floor creaked under her steps, back and forth in time almost as if she was dancing with someone but he could hear no other person in the room and Star never sang while there was an audience.

“There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

Marco knew there was no point in waiting. Either she had taken a moment to relax before his arrival or, more likely, knew he was listening. He entered the room, eyes downcast as to avoid Star’s Cheshire gaze. He closed the door behind him with a subdued thud.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “Let’s get this over with”

Marco’s cheeks burned a bright red as he slowly took in the sight of Star.

She was as beautiful as the last time she escaped from him: Her long blonde hair tied in a braid slung over her shoulder with various colored flowers weaved within. She wore a brown long sleeved blouse with matching fingerless gloves holding tightly onto some invisible partner. Her skirt was not the current bell shaped dresses most woman preferred nowadays but rather a slim, knee length skirt that seemed rather practical. And of course, in true Star fashion, weathered yet well kept riding boots completed the outfit.

Her blue irises were hidden behind her closed eyes, her body swaying back and forth to some unheard music. She hummed softly, a melodic sound Marco could’ve listened all day if he were a weaker willed man.

He coughed hesitantly.

Star’s eyes slowly opened, blue meeting brown as a soft warm smile danced on her lips.

“Good evening my sailor bold.” She spoke sweetly “Which storm are you chasing today?”

Marco stayed still, ignoring Star gestures to sit.

“This isn’t a social visit Star.” Marco struggled to keep his voice neutral.

“It never is” Star responded sarcastically “Always business with you. Why can’t you ever come just to see me?”

“If you found a permanent residence I’d visit more often. I think the local jail is very lovely. Perfect for you.”

Star chuckled, an intoxicating sound to his ears.

“How’s our Janna? I heard she’s been going on the straight and narrow now.”

“Good” Marco played with a random globe on Star’s desk “She’s almost a real doctor now. Her medical exam is in two days. I think she’ll pass with flying colors but don’t tell her that. Pride is quite the sin.”

Star beamed proudly “I am so happy for her. Please pass along my congratulations, will you sweetie?”

Marco answered by clearing his throat.

“Marco, Marco, Marco” Star sighed tiredly “Enough flirting. Why are you here?”

Marco strolled across the room, glancing at everything that wasn’t Star.

“Andrew Willingham. You know him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Star’s grin faltered for a moment “He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Jumped out of a building this morning.”

Star scoffed “Like you really believe that.”

“We both know I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

Marco made his way to the window, staring at the busy street below.

“And what?” Star put her hands on her hips “You think I killed him? For shaaaaame Marco. You know me better than that. Or at least I thought you did.”

Marco rolled his eyes “I don’t think you killed him but I believe the murderer is coming for you next.”

Star looked unconvinced “I run with a very secretive and, frankly, shadowy organization love. I haven’t done anything...” Star pursed her lips “Lately to anyone. Who would want to kill me?”

“How many of you are in town?”

Star scratched her chin thoughtfully “If Andy’s dead, then just me but that hardly seems like any sort of proof that I’m in.….”

Creak.

The roof groaned unhappily as bits of dust fell from the ceiling, the building shudder slightly while the wind howled outside.

Marco and Star stared at one another in understanding.

Star moaned unhappily “That’s not the building settling, is it?”

Marco shook his head.

Star glared openly at the detective “I hate it when you’re right.”

Silence.

CRACK!

The window shattered, glass scattering everywhere as a dark robed figure sailed into the room, knife drawn. He lunged directly at Star, his blade glimmering in the soft light of the room.

But his attack struck air as Marco pulled Star closer, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

“Woooow, we are bold today aren’t we Mr. Diaz?” Star teased.

“Not now Star!” Marco shot back, cheeks tinged pink.

The assassin skidded the across the floor, gracefully raising to his feet before pivoting on and charging at his targets.

Star slipped her hand into Marco’s, trying to ignore her skipping heartbeat when Marco firmly held her waist.

The assassin slashed wildly, striking with a finesse only a master of their craft could muster.

The assailant’s single minded pursuit was mired with confusion as the two did not assume any defensive stances to fight off his assault but rather began swaying back and forth, their feet gliding effortlessly across the aged wooden floor as if in a dance.

He thrust forward, tumbling forward when Marco spun Star, gracefully twirling the thief out of harms way. The assassin whirled around, attempting to slash the detective but Marco dipped his partner and as Star fell backwards in Marco’s arms, her leg shot up and caught the assassin in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards.

“This reminds of Paris.” Star grinned slyly as Marco brought her back to her feet

“You and I remember Paris quite differently Star.” Marco shot back, spinning her away from their foe’s lunge.

The assassin roared with a savage fury and plunged his blade towards the couple but with a gentle shove, Star broke away from Marco, dropping into a respectful bow before glancing upwards towards the detective.

“Could you…?” Star gestured towards the assassin.

“Right.” Marco awkwardly nodded in agreement before giving Star a steely glare “Don’t go anywhere.”

Star gives a cheeky grin “Would’ve dream of it love.”

Marco rushes forward, grabbing the assassin’s shoulder but before he could react, the assassin lashed out, elbowing the unprepared Marco.

Marco staggers to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it scrapes across the wall. Marco jabs at the assassin, his fist connecting with his chin.

The assassin staggers back, weapon and hand wildly flailing to keep Marco at a distance.

“Who do you work for?” Marco yelled, not really expecting an answer.

“Death” The assassin mumbles darkly.

“Such a bloody edgelord” Marco clicked his tongue in disappointment.

The assassin lunges at Marco, hand reaching for his throat. Marco grabs at the man’s wrist but the assassin throws his weight forward, knocking Marco off balance. Marco stumbles uneasily as the assassin goes in for the kill.

Marco tackles into his opponent, slamming him into the bookcase. The assassin winces in pain, kneeing Marco in the stomach before shoving him away.

The two caught their breath for a moment, the falling books thudding loudly onto the floor.

The assassin yells with a hope of startling Marco. He swings with crazed fervor: Left right, thrusting forward.

Marco dodges and weaves the blade, hopping side to side to avoid the weapon. The assassin rushes at him, trying to drive the blade into his chest.

Marco flails for a moment, not used to facing such a skilled opponent.

The assassin smashes into Marco and sends him sprawling onto the desk. With a confident grin, he raises the blade high before bringing it down with all his might.

Marco reaches for the closest thing he could find and uses it as a desperate shield. The blade sinks into a leather bound book he grabbed. Marco winces at the force of the blow, sweat beads forming on his neck as he struggles to fight off the assassin.

“Soooo love.”

Marco frowns, glancing towards to door, not at all surprised to see Star giving him a cheery wave.

“You got this right?” Star asked hopefully.

“Don’t go anywhere STAR!” Marco shouted, wildly kicking at the befuddled assassin.

“Right! I’ll get Janna”

“STAR!”

But it was too late. She vanished beyond the doorframe.

“Ugh” Marco growled, shifting his focus back onto the problem at hand.

The assassin snarled furiously: He yanks back with all his might, pulling the book free from Marco’s grasp. Marco sits up but the assassin is ready for him. He strikes at Marco’s stomach with an open palm, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Marco gasps in a panic but the assassin doesn’t go for the kill. Instead he rips his blade from the book and races for the door.

There’s a loud thud that no one hears as the assassin kicks open the door. His eyes narrow at the sight of the fleeing Star. He grins to himself, gingerly holding the edge of his blade. His arm pulls back, his gaze focused solely on his target’s back. He takes a deep, calming breath and….

“Shit!” The assassin howls as his blade his knocked out of his hand by a book. He turns around in time to see a charging Marco.

He pulls his fist back but its too late: Marco slams into him, pressing him against the second floor railing and holding him place.

The assassin grabs at Marco but Marco lays into him, driving his fist into the assassin’s side over and over again.

The sounds of the bar are overwhelming though it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed the two combatant fighting directly above them.

“Janna!” Marco shouts, flinching as the assassin knees his side but still managing to keep his hold on him “JANNA!”

Janna chuckles, swaying drunkenly as she yells in victory, hastily collecting her winnings from the disgruntled losers.

“JANNA!” Marco tries again.

The assassin jabs at Marco’s side, nearly getting free but Marco slams him against the railing again.

“DAMNIT JANNA YOU SUCK!”

Janna’s head snaps towards the source of the insult, her dull eyes slowly growing in realization.

“Ah shit!” she exclaims, raising to her feet “Da hell going on brav?”

“Janna, Star!” Marco gestured with his head towards the fleeing Star.

“Right” Janna gave an intoxicated salute.

“Oi” One of the players stood up “Sit back down. I wanna win my cash back.”

“Srroy.” Janna slurred “But I gotta go. Duty calls.”

“You ain’t going nowhere till I win back my money. Now sit.”

“No man” Janna glared “You sit”

Before anyone could react, Janna grabbed her winnings and tossed them into the air. There was a pause for a moment as the bills rained down across the bar.

“MINE!” A cry called out from nowhere, breaking the spellbound customers of their stupor and sending them frantically towards the fallen cash.

Janna shook her head disappointingly “So weak willed….right Star? Star….gotta stop Star...” Janna scratched her chin, glancing left and right in search of the elusive criminal.

Meanwhile, the assassin strikes furiously at Marco, each blow attempting to break his grip on him but Marco holds fast, blocking where he could and simply taking the less painful attacks.

“Tell me who you work for!” Marco shouted, pulling the assassin closer by his collar

“I’m a professional!” The assassin screeched before headbutting Marco.

Marco winced, stumbling backwards and loosening his grip on the assassin.

The assassin reached into his pocket, drawing another dagger as he straightened up.

“Ugh, of course you would have another one.” Marco gritted his teeth through the pain.

“Professionalism.” The assassin sneered as he moved his blade back and forth.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “This is bad. Close range, nowhere to move with my opponent has a dagger, about 4 inches. Maybe if I retreated back into the room and get more space, I could fight him off. He’ll lunge at me and it’ll be the only shot I have to dodge him. Okay, I got this. Just wait for an opening and….”

The assassin took a step forward, prepping himself for his attack when….

A sharp whistle cut through the brawling symphony below, causing the assassin to flinch in surprise.

He turned in time to catch a frying pan directly to the face. He flailed uncontrollably, backing up against the wooden railing for support.

“What the…?” He growled, noticing a grinning Star waving at him with the kitchen utensil before pointing to the left.

Confused, the assassin followed the direction and found Marco racing at him full speed. He rose his arms to protect himself but it was too late: Marco tackled into him, cracking the railing behind him and sent him plunging to the room below. There was a thud and the sound of wood crunching as the assassin broke through a table.

“Nice of you to come back” Marco huffed, leaning on his knees for support.

“What? I needed a weapon.” Star motioned the pan in her hand.

“Star….I...”

Screams and the breaking of glass caught Marco’s attention. The two glanced downward only to find the assassin nowhere in sight.

Marco and Star shared a concerned glance before sighing tiredly.

________________________________________________________________

“3 minutes to boarding! 3 minutes to boarding!”

Marco shifted uneasily alongside the train car, conflicting emotions tugging at his resolve.

Since the unknown assassin had escaped into the night, Star felt it best to leave Echo Creek until the threat died down.

The trio stood outside the waiting train, the star twinkling over head. The train platform was nearly deserted though Marco kept a careful eye out in case their assailant decided to trail them from the bar.

“It was nice seeing you again Star.” Janna hiccuped, rubbing at the splitting headache she was nursing.

“Aww, it was great to see you too Janna Banana. You’re going do great on the test and you are finally going to be a real doctor.”

“Legal doctor” Janna corrected, smiling brightly at the blonde before tightly embracing her in a hug “Be safe.”

“Only for you.”

The two broke apart, Janna standing awkwardly between the detective and the outlaw.

She coughed uncomfortably “Right, I’m just gonna go….not be here.”

And with a cheery wave, Janna walked towards the station entrance.

“So...” Marco began

“Thank you” Star said with a loving softness “You still owe me two.”

“Two?” Marco scoffed “You owe me for Paris.”

“You owe me for Washington.”

“No, you caused Washington. I helped clean that up so really you owe me two.”

Star smiled playfully at him “Fine. I owe you two my sailor bold.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Marco whispered, unable to keep the plea out of his voice.

Star cupped and caressed his cheek fondly “Marco, I know you’ll keep me safe but it’ll be easier if I go away for awhile. Besides, you’ll know where I am. You always do.”

“Yeah….”

Star leaned forward, kissing Marco with softly Marco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

“Train leaving the station! All aboard!”

The two parted slowly, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Goodbye my sailor bold.” Star grinned mischievously.

“Goodbye princess.” Marco smiled sorrowfully.

Marco stood there in silence, watching the train shrink into the distance.

“So...” Janna cleared her throat “You ready to go home?”

Marco gave a simple nod before following Janna back onto the street.

“It’s too bad Star didn’t give you any leads to anyone who might want her dead. Would’ve been helpful”

“Right. Helpful.” Marco reached into his coat pocket, unsurprised to find a certain item missing from within and instead finding a small folded up piece of paper Star had placed there. He unfolded it, eyes narrowing at the word that she scrawled across its surface.

Toffee.

A lead but a dangerous one.

________________________________________________________________

“Excuse me miss, may I see your identification please?” The usher asked politely.

“Of course!” Star beamed, passing both her ticket and the false identity card she swiped from Marco’s pocket “I’m sorry, I was just deep in thought. I’m about to spend some time away from my husband and I already miss him.”

“Oh” The usher shifted uncomfortably “I’m sorry to hear that...” He squints at the card “…. Mrs. Diaz. I hope you see him soon.”

Star’s cheek flushed as she took back the card, her heart skipping at the sight of Star Diaz written on the paper.

“Me too.”

She sighed longingly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the item Marco had snuck in. She smiles gently at the simple sliver wedding band with a note that said “For your disguise.”

She slipped the ring onto her finger, playing with it absentmindedly as she stare out the window, Echo Creek shrinking in the distance.

“Me too.”