#i've heard a lot of good things about that therapist

[bat-mom-writer]

Impulses

Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)

Summery: you can be very quick to act on your impulse, usually being done with a kind heart. But can sometimes lead to you and some others being hurt.

Note: Something tells me Bruce wouldn't go to therapy, but this isn't real so...

Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst

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"So, tell me Bruce, are you happily married?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well," Bruce pauses, thinking over his words carefully, "it's not exactly that simple."

The therapist's office was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath. Bruce Wayne sat in a chair that was a little too small for his broad shoulders, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a simple room, with a few plants scattered around and a faint scent of lavender in the air, but it was the last place he ever thought he'd be. He was a man who dealt with Gotham's problems from the shadows, not one who talked about his own in a well-lit space with a box of tissues within arm's reach.

"How so?" the therapist asked again, her voice gentle but firm, bringing Bruce back to the present.

He sighed. "Well, my wife… she's incredible. She's kind and she's the glue that holds our family together."

The therapist nodded, her expression neutral. "But?"

Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "But she's… impulsive. She does things without considering the consequences, especially when it comes to the boys."

The therapist made a note in her pad. "Could you give me an example?"

Bruce sighed heavily, his mind racing with instances. "Once we went hiking, and she found a baby wolf, injured and alone. She insisted on bringing it back to the manor to care for it herself. Most of my sons thought it would be a great idea—until we realized it had a pack out there looking for it, and suddenly we had a bunch of very unhappy wolves on our backs."

The therapist looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that situation resolve?"

Bruce chuckled, a bit nervously. "Let's just say there were a lot of stitches involved. And I haven't heard anyone wanting to go camping again ever since."

The therapist's eyes widened, but she remained calm. "It seems she has a heart of gold, but maybe a bit of an overactive sense of adventure."

Bruce nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just with animals. She once tried to organize a surprise street carnival in the middle of Gotham because she thought the city needed more joy. You can imagine the chaos that ensued with all the traffic rerouting and permits she didn't bother to get."

The therapist's pen stopped mid-stroke. "Ah, so her intentions are good, but the execution could use some work."

Bruce nodded emphatically. "You have no idea. She's the love of my life, but sometimes I worry she's going to get us all into trouble. The boys look up to her, especially Dick and Damian."

The therapist leaned in slightly. "How do Dick and Damian react to her impulsive nature?"

"Dick tries to be the voice of reason, but he's young and still learning the ropes of being a responsible older brother. And Damian," Bruce sighed, "he's more like me—he's intrigued by the chaos she creates, but he's also the one who ends up getting hurt when things go awry."

The therapist nodded understandingly. "It's natural for children to look up to their parents, especially when they see the love and good intentions behind their actions. But it's also important for them to learn about boundaries and the potential consequences of impulsivity. How does your wife react when you bring this up with her?"

Bruce leaned forward, his expression a mix of affection and exasperation. "She's… well, she's stubborn. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities, and she wants to experience all of them. I get that, I do. But we can't live our lives on the edge like that, especially with the kind of enemies I've made over the years."

The therapist nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's a delicate balance, isn't it? Wanting to keep your family safe and also allowing them the freedom to live their lives fully. How have you been managing this?"

Bruce's smile grew a bit wistful. "Well, my wife is also the lively part of our lives. Without her, the manor would be just a fortress, not a home. She brings laughter and light to every room she enters. She's the one who convinced me to let Tim build a skateboard ramp in the garage, and even though it's a hazard to my cars, I can't help but smile when I hear them all out there, having fun."

The therapist nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "It sounds like you appreciate her spirit, but it's important to establish boundaries to ensure everyone's safety. Have you tried discussing the potential dangers with her?"

Bruce leaned back, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I've tried," he admitted. "But she's… she's like a tornado of love and enthusiasm. It's hard to say no to her."

The therapist nodded, her expression understanding. "It's clear you care deeply for her and the boys. Perhaps it's time to find a way to channel that enthusiasm into safer outlets."

"I know," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "But she's so… so alive. It's like trying to cage a butterfly."

The therapist nodded. "It's not about caging her, Bruce. It's about guiding her. Teaching her and the boys to weigh risks and rewards. To channel their energy into something positive without endangering themselves or others."

Bruce sat in silence, contemplating her words. He knew she was right, but it was easier said than done when it came to his vibrant wife. Her zest for life was both infectious and overwhelming at times. He thought back to the street carnival she had organized. The look of joy on the citizens' faces as they played games and ate cotton candy was something he hadn't seen in Gotham in a long time.

"There not all bad," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Her impulses have led to some amazing moments, too."

"Like what?" the therapist prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Bruce's smile grew as he recalled a recent incident. "Last week, she found out about a fundraising event for an underfunded children's hospital. Without asking, she decided to host a masquerade ball at the manor. She convinced Alfred to help, and together they transformed the place into a fairy tale. The kids had the time of their lives, and we ended up raising a fortune for those kids."

The therapist returned his smile. "That does sound wonderful. It seems her spontaneity has its benefits."

Bruce nodded. "It does. But it's also a double-edged sword. I want to support her, but I also need to keep everyone safe."

The therapist leaned back in her chair. "Communication is key, Bruce. It's about expressing your concerns without squashing her spirit. Have you tried talking to her about how her impulsiveness affects you?"

Bruce sighed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "I've tried, but she takes it personally. She thinks I'm trying to control her."

The therapist nodded, her expression empathetic. "It's a common misconception. Setting boundaries isn't about control; it's about care and safety. Have you framed it that way?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. I've usually approached it from the perspective of the danger it could pose to the boys."

"It's important to express your feelings," the therapist said. "Tell her how her actions affect you and why you worry. It might help her understand your perspective better."

Bruce nodded slowly, considering her advice. It was true; he hadn't shared his own fears with her, only the potential risks to the boys. Perhaps that was where he was going wrong.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll think about what you've said."

The therapist stood and offered a warm smile. "Remember, Bruce, it's about balance. And sometimes, that means taking a risk to find it."

Bruce nodded, her words echoing in his mind as he left the office and stepped into the Gotham night. The city was alive with the pulse of its inhabitants, a stark contrast to the calmness he'd just left behind. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his need for security and his wife's boundless spirit.

As he drove back to Wayne Manor, the grandeur of the estate came into view, the gothic architecture a stark contrast to the chaos of the city beyond its gates. The manor was more than just a home; it was a bastion of hope in a city that desperately needed it. The lights were on in the windows, a warm glow that promised sanctuary from the cold outside.

When he walked in, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You was in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you pulled a tray out of the oven. You turned to him, your face lighting up with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. "Hi, honey! How was your day?"

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew he had to have. "It was… interesting," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "How about yours?"

"Oh, you know," you replied with a shrug, placing the cookies on a rack to cool. "Just the usual—keeping the boys out of trouble, planning the next big surprise for them." you winked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bruce felt a twinge of both fondness and dread. He knew that look all too well. It was the look you got when she had another harebrained scheme up your sleeve. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into an embrace. "How about we talk about these surprises together from now on?"

You tilted your head back, your smile fading a bit. "What do you mean?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I mean, I know you love surprising the boys, and I love that about you. But sometimes, your surprises have… unintended consequences. I want to be there to support you, but I also need to make sure everyone is safe."

You leaned back, looking up at him with a slightly defensive expression. "Not all of my surprises turn out bad," you said, your voice a bit softer than before.

Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you, flour smudged on your cheek and apron, looking so earnest. He gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. But his face was screaming, "Are you sure?"

You took a step back, "Okay, okay, maybe most of them," you conceded. "But the good ones make up for it, right?"

Bruce sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "They do," he agreed. "But it's the potential for danger that I can't ignore. And not just for the boys, but for you too."

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the flour on your apron. "Me? I'm fine. I can handle myself."

Bruce's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly. "You know what I mean," he said, his voice serious. "How many times have you ended up in the hospital because of one of your… adventures?"

You winced, remembering the last time you had tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree, only to end up with a broken arm and a bruised ego. "Okay, okay," you repeated, holding up your hands in surrender. "I get it. I can be a bit… much."

Bruce's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "You're not 'much', you're amazing. I just don't want to lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling in. "I know," you said, your voice small. "But what about you? You're not much different, Bruce. Maybe even worse. You go out every night as Batman, risking your life."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "That's different," he said firmly. "That's for the city."

"Is it?" you asked, looking up at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes. "Or is it because you've convinced yourself that it's your duty? That you're the only one who can do it?"

Bruce's jaw tightened at your question. It was a fair point, one he'd wrestled with in the quiet moments of his life. He knew that his crusade as Batman was driven by his own fears and the need to keep the city that had taken his parents safe. But he also knew that the stakes were higher for him than they were for you.

"I've been trained for that," he said finally. "You… you have the biggest heart in the world, but sometimes you don't think about the risks."

You nodded, looking down at the cookies cooling on the rack. "I know," you murmured. "But it's just so hard to resist when I see something that could bring joy to people, especially the boys."

Bruce stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "I know your heart's in the right place," he said. "But we can't keep playing Russian roulette with our lives, not when we have so much to lose. I don't want to lose you. Or see you get hurt. I'm just asking, please, consider the risks before you act. And come to me, talk to me, let's find a way to make this work."

You searched his eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in. You knew he wasn't trying to stifle you; he was just worried. "Okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try."

Bruce's expression relaxed a bit, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, how about we sit down and talk about what's been on your mind? Maybe we can come up with some ideas together."

You nodded, swiping a strand of hair from your forehead. "Alright, I'll finish up on the cookies and then we can talk. Until then, want to help? Just to make sure I don't hurt myself?"

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure," he said, taking the spatula from your hand. "Let's do this together."

As you both worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension began to ease. You chatted about the different flavors of cookies and which ones the boys would like best, while Bruce carefully placed the finished ones on a plate. The rhythm of your conversation was soothing, and it reminded him of the first time he had met you—how your laugh had filled a room and made him feel alive again.

[delicatetaylorsversion]

Omg i wrote a therapist if there's an available therapy spot and they replied with yes (within 2 minutes)!

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different II

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: You get your diagnosis

There's a lot of hoops to jump through to finally work out what's wrong with you.

Mam doesn't like you using those words. She doesn't like referring to it as 'what's wrong with you'. She tells you that you're perfect. Nothing is wrong with you. You're perfect the way you are.

There's nothing wrong. You're jumping through these hoops so Katie can finally understand how to help you.

You meet with the paediatrician who makes follow-up appointments for you with a psychologist and an occupational therapist.

The psychologist rules out things like dyscalculia and dyslexia. She says you don't have anxiety and depression either.

You go to the occupational therapist. He runs you through a series of tests. At first, it's big things like jumping or using a skipping rope before he moves onto the smaller things like holding a paintbrush and placing weird pegs things into small holes.

You go back to the paediatrician.

"Dyspraxia," Katie says that evening as you both sit on her bed together," That's what it's called. Dyspraxia."

"I know," You say," I was in the room with you when we got told."

She's holding the pamphlet and folder that the doctor had given you, explaining all the ins and outs of the condition.

It's nothing that you haven't experienced first-hand. You imagine all of these documents were made for parents of little kids who got diagnosed. You imagine it's more for Katie's benefit than your own.

You know what it's like to live with this condition. You know what to expect and how to adapt.

Katie is the one that will be reading those pages front to back, well into the night even though she's got training the next day.

You're off school for the week.

One of the gas taps in the science laps has started leaking so the whole school was shut down as a precaution.

You're more than happy to tag along to training, stealing one of the muffins from the dining hall to eat by yourself out on the pitch.

"So," Kim says as she sits next to you," I heard from Katie that you finally got that diagnosis."

You shrug. "It's nice to have a name for it now. I think Mam's read that folder at least ten times now. I don't know if she even got any sleep last night."

"That sounds like Katie." Kim nudges you with her knee. "How are you feeling about it?"

"It is what it is," You reply, picking at your muffin," Mam said that she's still trying to take it all in. I don't know if that's good or bad."

Katie had been resistant at first. She hadn't wanted you to get tested for anything. You were perfect the way you were and she didn't want anyone to make you think otherwise.

She was all denial.

Deny, deny, deny.

You were brutal acceptance.

There was something that made you different to the other kids. There was something that made you different to most other people you had ever met.

You don't know now what Katie thinks of your diagnosis, this new label to stick on yourself.

You don't know if it'll change how she thinks of you. If she'll think you're less perfect now that you've got something official to say that you aren't.

"Katie loves you," Kim says," That won't ever change. You're her kid."

"I'm not a kid," You grumble and Kim laughs.

"You're her teenager then," She corrects," But she does love you and all she wants is to give you the best possible life."

"Yeah but-"

"It's not going to change anything," Kim insists," Okay? Katie loves you."

You don't doubt that. You've never doubted that.

You just hope Katie doesn't doubt it either.

She paces in front of you that evening and you hold your breath.

"I've talked to your school," She says," They're working on getting you a school-issued laptop but for the time being you're allowed to bring in one of ours from home. You'll get extra time for your exams and the teachers are going to start giving you more handouts rather than making you write everything up."

"Wait...what?"

"What do you mean what?"

You frown. "Mam...I...I don't get it."

"You're getting accommodations," katie says, sitting right next to you," Because you're different to the other kids and need a bit more support. You're a smart kid. You just need to do things a little differently. We're getting you help."

"Mam, I..." You don't quite know what to say. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Katie says," I love you. I'm just making sure you get what you deserve."

[sunburnhurts]

Tired || Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader (Battinson)

Summary: Y/n has been supportive of her husband's secret life, but she is exhausted. A year after their separation, they are reunited at Don Mitchell's funeral. The beginning of the story is before the movie, and ofc the mayor's funeral is an event in the movie. The mayors funeral scene isn't exactly like how it was in the movie, but somewhat close.

Words: 2,426

All My Stories

A/n: Hey guys! I haven't posted in a while, I'm so sorry!! I've decided to start doing batman stories, but I'm still doing Cedric ones too! Requests are open! I also wanted to add I have a lot of drafts, so I haven't posted in a while, but I have some stories in the process!

Y/n listens as her husband, Bruce Wayne, shuffles off their bed, onto his feet. She hears his feet against the hardwood floor echoing the dead silent room. She hates it, him waking up in the middle of the night to be Batman.

Ever since he started being Batman, he's been distant. He slowly stopped touching her over the years. He's always be in a different room, on a different end of the couch, different end of the bed.

At first, she excused it as him being tired from saving the city. She would curse herself for being selfish, why should she be complaining when he is saving human beings, bringing good to Gotham? Then she got tired of making herself feel bad.

Y/n tried having conversations with Bruce about his sleep schedule, how much he eats, how much time he spends worrying about being Batman. These conversations always ended in arguments or Bruce not responding to whatever his wife said because he was too busy working on his suit.

Alfred of course noticed Bruce's distance from his wife. He would try talking to Bruce about his worry for Y/n, saying she is lonely during the day without her husband. Bruce would always brush off what Alfred said, worried about 'more important' things to him.

It's not like Y/n was a lonely house wife, she was an actress who was on break. Before she met Bruce, she was in big movies, making just enough money to start a family. When she met Bruce, of course her popularity spiked more. A big actress and a billionaire getting married was big news in the press.

She was now on break from her job because everything became too much for her. Her depression grew from lack of love from her husband. She put herself in therapy, which made her realize she wasn't being selfish. She of course didn't tell her therapist about her husband being batman, covering it up as his new job.

Now, she was listening to her husbands feet taping against their hardwood floor. She let out a breath, listening to him step into the elevator that leads to the 'batcave'. She made up her mind, she didn't want to be trapped in her life, in this mansion.

Half an hour later, she got up, walking over the the same elevator and going down.

"Bruce, we have to talk." She said, stepping out of the elevator, walking over to her husband. She had a calmness in her voice. She heard no answer. As soon as she was behind him, she stopped walking. He was working on something on his desk, she didn't care enough to know what he was working on. "Bruce."

After a hum of a response came from her husband, she hesitated with what she was about to say. This scenario seemed much more easier in her head, the countless times she replayed it in her mind. But once she saw him, it was a lot harder than she was expecting.

"I want a divorce." She plainly said. She watched as her husbands head moved, but didn't turn to look at her. "I've been thinking about it a lot-"

"Are you serious?" He said, fully turning his head around to look at his wife. His voice sounded more angry then upset.

"I've been thinking about it a lot," She repeated, ignoring his question. "and I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" He angrily asked.

"Be ignored!" She shouted, feeling her eyes swell up. She hated that he didn't already know what he's been doing. A clenched jaw was all she got in response. "Bruce," She started. "you haven't touched me in so long."

"I've been busy, you know that."

"You know you're just saying that as an excuse." Hearing this made Bruce turn his body fully to the vulnerable, standing girl. "God, Bruce! I don't even recognize you anymore!"

He shakes his head, scoffing. He moved his eyes everywhere but his wife, his breathing heavy with anger. A ding was heard on his computer, indicating Batman was needed.

"Are you going to get that?" Y/n said, making Bruce's eyes lay on her.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, if you don't be Batman for one night, and you take me back upstairs and show me you love me, I'll take back everything I said about divorce." It was true, one kiss from him would change her mind, she was so desperate for affection and she hated it. She prayed in the back of her mind for him to get up, swoop her in his arms, and take her upstairs. But he stayed still.

He turned his head at the computer, taking a moment to decide. She watched as he got up from his chair, walking over to his suit of armor. Her heart ached. She angled her head to the ground, biting the inside of her lip and bringing her hand up to rub her philtrum. Tears stung her eyes as her throat burned.

She wanted to run to him, grab his face, kiss him. She also wanted to run to him, push him, yell curses at him, ruin all his batman equipment. But she knew better.

Beyond heartbroken, she made her way over to the elevator. She had a slight feeling of selfishness, making him choose between her and a job of a hero, but then she squashed that feeling almost immediately. It should have been obvious to pick his wife, he shouldn't have even had to think about it.

Once Y/n made it back upstairs, she started packing everything. Her clothes, shoes, anything she found that was hers. She couldn't stay there any longer, she couldn't look at Bruce any longer. She was a mess now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hiccuped her breath.

It wasn't even close to morning, she had no idea where she would be going. Her family didn't live in Gotham, they lived on the other side of the country. She had actor friends that lived near, maybe she could try them. She thought of a girl, Nicole, she worked with that she grew very close with, hoping she could crash at her place for the night.

Y/n took out her phone, clicking on Nicole's contact, and pressing call. She listened to the phone ring while she kept packing her things. "Hello? Y/n?"

"Nicole!" Y/n said in a voice that anyone could tell she was upset. "Um- I'm so sorry for such a late call, I really could use your help right now."

"Of course! What's wrong, sweetie?" Nicole said over the phone. Y/n was younger that Nicole, Nicole was like a mother figure to her.

"I just need a place to stay, only for tonight. I will be out by the morning, I promise." Y/n closed her suitcase, zipped it up and sat on her and Bruce's bed. Her head was in her hands as she tried calming down her tears.

"You can stay for as long as you would like!" Nicole's voice calmed her down, giving her the strength to walk out of the mansion.

After Y/n made a plan to meet Nicole, she hung up and made her way to the kitchen with her bags. Her memory flashed to Alfred, it wasn't fair of her to leave Alfred without saying anything. She didn't want to wake him, so she decided on making a note for him.

She grabbed a note pad and a pen, writing Alfred, thank you for everything you've done for me, I love you so much. - Y/n. Tears stained the sheet of paper, she didn't want to leave Alfred, the man who took her in and loved her when Bruce wouldn't.

When Alfred saw the note, his blood boiled. He knew this was going to happen, but he hated that Bruce let her leave. Alfred immediately busted into Bruce's room, waking Bruce up. "What did you do?" He angrily shouted, holding up the note. "Why did you let her leave?"

Bruce sat up and stretched, waking himself up before he took the note in his hand. He read it, heart beating harder. He thought Y/n just went to sleep in one of their guest bedrooms, he didn't know how serious she was the night prior.

~~~~

Months after the divorce finalized, Y/n was feeling a lot better. She now owned her own house, had a new big movie she was working on, and was happier. She of course never told anyone about Bruce Wayne's big secret, she still respected and loved him. There was no way she couldn't not love him.

Her mind would wonder off, thinking about what would have happened if he did actually pick her up, took her back up to their bedroom, loved her. She wonder if things would have changed, if he actually would have taken her seriously and been better for her. She then would bring herself back to reality, dealing with the harsh reality that that didn't actually happen, and it wasn't going to.

Y/n didn't see Bruce after that night, but she knew he was watching her. She knew what his gaze felt like, she would feel it when she walked on the street, even when she was in her home. Although she was mad at him for spying on her, a part of her loved him for looking after her, for missing her.

The media of course made a big deal about this separation. They created rumors and lies about why they split up, it was always something not even close to the truth. That Bruce cheated on her, that she was having a secret affair with her friend Nicole, or that they both were married as a publicity stunt. It was all stupid.

Whenever Y/n was asked about it in interviews, she would deny the rumors. "It was a 'right person wrong time' kind of thing, I still respect and love him very much." She would always say something of that sort to the public. It was true. She would never answer personal questions about Bruce. Mostly she was asked why he was so reserved for being so well known.

Every now and then, Y/n watched the news about what Batman did the night before. She hated that even after the divorce, he still was saving the city, but what was he supposed to do now? He now didn't have a wife to come home to, how else was he supposed to fill his time, how else was he supposed to take his anger out?

He hated himself for picking being Batman, he missed his wife so much. He ate less, slept less, breathed less. He always wanted to reach out, he wanted to hear her voice, smell her scent, feel her touch. He now knew this is how she felt when he was ignoring her. God, he hated himself.

He would watch over her, make sure she's safe. Make sure she's happy. He heard about her being in a big upcoming movie, he was glad she was living her life, even if it was without him.

When Don Mitchell was murdered, Bruce was invited to the funeral. Although he already knew more about the murder as Batman, he needed to be at the funeral just in case any information was released from anyone. It would be odd if Batman showed up to a funeral.

He dreaded going out. He barely went out in public as Bruce Wayne before the divorce, but now he avoided it even more.

Bruce drove his car through the crowd of people, following where ever he was told to go. Once he was there, he got out of the car and handed the keys to the valet and hands him some money. He hears the press screaming his name to come over to talk to them, but he of course didn't. He was there for one thing.

Bruce followed the other known people into the building, listening to any conversation he can. His eyes stayed on the ground, as if not looking at anyone would make it easier to hear. His eyes glanced up for a quick second, catching a glimpse of a girl whose back was turned to him.

He fully turned his attention to the girl, recognizing her. He stopped in his tracks, heart starting to ache. Y/n stood before him, talking to her friend who he recognized as Nicole. He watched as Nicole noticed him, nudging Y/n, bringing her attention to Bruce. It was the first time since the divorce that they made eye contact.

Y/n's eyebrows furrowed in a mix of surprise and longing. She gives Bruce a closed mouth smile, biting the inside of her lips. She looked behind Bruce, seeing that Mayor Reál was approaching him. Knowing that Bruce hates talking to people, Y/n walks over to Bruce, stopping right in front of him.

Bruce watches as Y/n walks to him, his heart racing, his arms longing for her, but he keeps them still. There was no expression on his face, but she could tell he missed her. Y/n watches as the new to be mayor notices her and walks away, leaving the 2 alone.

"Hello, Bruce." She sweetly says, smiling up at him.

Y/n spent 2 years in her marriage already feeling like they've been divorced, so it didn't take long for her to get herself back on her feet after the divorce. It wasn't hard to see him because of the heartbreak, it was hard to see his dark circles under his eyes, his prominent bones much sharper from lack of food.

"Hey, Y/n." His rough voice responded. He cleared his voice.

They started talking about how they've been since the divorce, Y/n could tell he changed a lot. He was more open to talking about his feelings with her, his eyes never left hers, his eyebrows pulled closer together and lowered as he listened to her talk.

"We should catch up more," Y/n starts, "not here, though." Bruce nods, hoping this meant good for their relationship. "Still have my number?"

"Of course," Bruce gave a ghost of a smile.

"It was nice seeing you Bruce," Y/n places her hand on his arm. "talk later?" Bruce finally broke eye contact to look at Y/n's hand placement. He missed her so much.

He nods while saying, "It was nice seeing you too, Y/n."

Bruce was never mad at Y/n for the divorce, he was always only mad at himself. He never wanted to watch over Y/n while she lived her life, but he couldn't ever help it. He wanted to distance himself as far away from her as possible, but he needed to know she was okay.

When Y/n walked away, back to Nicole, Bruce reminded himself of why he was here. His eyes landed on Don Mitchell's son, the one that found his father dead. He noticed that Y/n was now talking to the widow, Mrs. Mitchell.

Bloody screams came from outside, a lot of commotion from the second story of the church. Bruce looked up and saw someone standing still, not being effected by all the movement and screams. Bruce knew something bad was about to happen, he looked back at Y/n and Mitchell's kid. Y/n was facing Bruce, standing in front of the kid.

Y/n rushed the kid and the mother away from the front of the church. She didn't know what was going on, but she wanted to help. She also didn't know where to go, so she just stood there, looking at Bruce confused and worried.

A car bursts through the church. Bruce runs and grabs Y/n, saving her from being crashed into. They rolled on the ground, stopping a few feet from where she once stood. Stunned by what was happening, Y/n stayed still laying on the ground.

Bruce got up, holding a hand out for her. She grabbed it, helping herself up. "You need to go," Bruce said, still holding onto the girls hand. Before Y/n could say anything in return, people were screaming at the person driving the car to get out.

Bruce and Y/n turn their attention to the car door opening and a man struggling to get out. Something was bolted around his neck, a bomb strapped to him. "Y/n, you need to leave." Bruce said again, this time a lot more serious. Y/n nodded, letting go of Bruce's hand and quickly exited the building.

~~~~

Y/n was safely at her home now, out of the funeral clothes, and was now laying down in her warm bath, rethinking the events that happened hours before. Everything confused her, but she knew it somehow was related to Batman. She then thought about Bruce Wayne.

She missed him, of course, praying he would reach out to her. She knew that it was unfair of her to break off their marriage but then expect him to come running back to her, but she knew he changed. She could tell by the way he spoke, the way he opened up to her, the way he looked at her.

As she thought about this, she heard her phone ping. She didn't think anything of it, ignoring it until she was out of the bath. As she wrapped herself in her towel, she picked up her phone.

Messages: Bruce Wayne Hey

Her eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. She reread the message, making sure she wasn't seeing things. She bit her lips, holding the phone, smiling. She opened her phone, clicking on the message to reply. "Hey" she wrote back. She wasn't sure what else to say, she thought for a moment.

After Bruce sent Y/n the text, he was praying to not mess up the second chance Y/n was giving him. He sat in his batcave, hovering over his phone, waiting for a reply. When his phone lit up, he immediately saw it. "Hey" It read. He picks up his phone, unlocking it and he starts typing, "You looked really beautiful today." But then he erased it, thinking it wasn't appropriate.

Seeing the 3 dots appear from Bruce's profile got her excited, but when they disappeared, she was confused. She put her phone down, getting dressed into her pajamas. Once she came back to her phone, there was no new messages from Bruce. Sighing, she typed something.

"Thank you for saving me, I didn't get to say it earlier." Bruce cracked a smile at this text from Y/n. He was happy that even though he didn't respond, she still texted back. "It's no problem." He wrote back.

"Can we meet up sometime tomorrow, to catch up?" Y/n sent. Bruce immediately replied, "Yeah, 11 at my place?" Y/n smiled, replying with "Yeah, I'll see you then."

Smiling at his phone, Bruce gets up and exits the batcave, making his way to Alfred. Bruce informs him about Y/n coming over, making Alfred ecstatic. He then scolds Bruce about the importance of not messing this up, making Bruce roll his eyes in annoyance. "I know, I'm not going to mess this up."

~~~~

Y/n walks into the Wayne manor, smiling at the guards at the entrance that recognize her, nodding their heads at her as she passed. She turned a corner, seeing Bruce waiting for her at the entrance of the elevator. Smiling, Y/n walks to him. His smile grew at the sight of her, his eyes longing for her once again.

"Hey," She says as they both walk into the elevator.

"Hey," He said, his eyes never leaving her. As the elevator door closed and starting moving up, silence fell between them.

Unsure if the silence was awkward or not, Y/n said with a joking voice, "So, what was that about yesterday?"

"Hm?" Bruce says for a moment before responding with a sigh, "Oh, it's a really long story." He brings a hand up to rub his eyes, which looked very tired.

"So, you're still doing the Batman stuff?" Y/n asks, looking up at him.

Bruce nods, adding, "After our," he pauses for a moment, "uh, divorce, I didn't know what to do with myself." He looks at her, unsure if bringing up the divorce was still a touchy subject or not.

"Yeah," she says, nodding and scratching the back of her neck, "I wanted to talk to you about that- the divorce."

As Bruce nods once more as the elevator doors open. He was unsure how the conversation would go, what she wanted to talk about, but he prayed for a good result.

Bruce paused for a moment, almost holding his hand out for Y/n to grab so he could lead her to the table like they did when they first started dating, but he couldn't. He takes a step out of the elevator and leads Y/n to the table that Alfred set up. He pulls out a chair, allowing Y/n to sit in it, and when she does, he pushed it in for her.

She barely blushed at this action, reminding herself that she can't do that. She sent a smile at him, watching as he sat down in his own seat across from her.

"So, um," She starts, not knowing how to start the conversation. Her head was down, avoiding eye contact. "I just wanted to tell you why I did it, I know I just left and we never got to talk through it,"

"I understand why you left," Y/n looked up, listening to him. "I was a terrible husband, I hate that it took us splitting up for me to realize that." It was now Bruce's turn to avoid eye contact as he spoke, "I'm truly sorry, for everything I put you through. And I know, a sorry is not even close to enough to what you deserve." He was looking down, feeling her eyes on him.

She leans over the table, placing her hand on his, causing him to look at her. "I know you're sorry, and I am sorry too. I made you choose between something you love doing and me, that was unfair of me to do."

"No, but I should have chose you," he pauses for a moment, looking into her eyes, "I want to choose you." His hand that was beneath hers flips so that their hand was resting in his palm.

Y/n looks down at the movement of his hand, then back up at him, registering his words. "And we'll have to work on that."

"Are you saying-"

"Yeah, we'll work on it," She says nodding, "work on us."

The End

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! Request if you have any!

[yamujiburo]

1. You are INCREDIBLY patient when replying to asks. You always politely link them to your FAQ or to your master post. For the bad faith asks, you always are kind in your responses. I wanted to give you kudos. Even though you are well within your right to ignore/skip these asks, you still put thought into your responses. I'm giving you some kind words because I just KNOW it would be draining getting the same messages all the time.

2. I'm a fat person, and I've got a whole host of body issues, but your Jessie really helps with my self confidence. She still sees herself as sexy, and Delia still sees her as sexy (probably sexier lol). I also loved your logic behind the character design: sometimes healing and stability bring weight gain. That in itself has made me feel a bit better about myself. Not trying to treat you as a therapist. I just want you to know the impact your Jessie can have. It's so rare that we see fat characters in a positive light! I do hate how many people have a problem with your design though. :(

3. Aroace James also makes me feel seen. I am coming to terms with the fact I may be aroace myself, and it's been hard. I've always loved James, and I'm grateful you've spun him into a character I can relate to. I'm always all over your blog looking for more James crumbs lol.

I appreciate it! I like to assume the best in people and always answer in good faith. While I wasn’t super vocal at the time, I’ve had my fair share of bad takes on the internet and I feel like those who responded to me with patience and understanding had a longer lasting impression on me and led me to change my mind later. Gave me much to think about. Not everyone’s entitled to that patience but I think there is merit to handling things with kindness sometimes. You never know who’s on the other side of the screen and what they’re saying could just be out of genuine ignorance. Sometimes someone putting it in a gentle way is just the push you need. A lot of the time, I think people just want to be heard and are also willing to listen if they don’t feel immediately shut down.

I’m glad you think so! I love seeing fat characters and I love seeing fat characters who love themselves. Fat is beautiful, fat is cute, fat is hot

Hahaha I should do more with him! Aroace James makes a lot of sense to me given his background. I try not to write ABOUT the experiences of identities outside of my own but I think it’s important to at least show it!

[loulovingho]

Carry the Burden

read on ao3 or below. 7.6k, tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of vomiting, love, care, no major character death

Summary:

With Buck, Tommy was an open book... mostly. There was one particular, very important chapter that he kept closed. He didn't bring up his childhood. Didn't mention his parents much. That was a part of his life no one but he and his therapist needed to know about. But a surprise visit from his father changes all that, and sends Tommy spiraling down a path he'd fought so hard to shun away.

They were on the couch, Buck laid out with his head on the arm rest and legs sprawled over Tommy's lap. Tommy had his own legs crossed and stretched out on the coffee table. Buck barely registered Tommy's phone buzzing as he reached and pulled it out of his pocket.

“Hm. Dad's in town.”

Tommy had been so nonchalant with his words that Buck was pretty sure he heard him wrong.

“What?” He asked as Tommy laid the phone beside him.

“My dad's here, apparently.” He didn't even look away from the TV as he spoke, keeping his focus on the basketball game.

They'd been sitting there for nearly half an hour now, Tommy watching the game while Buck did a deep dive on the history of mummification. It wasn't his first time researching the subject, but it was always good to get a refresher.

“Are you... are you going to see him?” Buck asked.

Tommy was an open book with Buck, mostly. It helped that Buck was always more than willing to share stories from his own past.

Tommy would talk about how he was a chubby kid growing up and got made fun of a lot for it. How he took up wrestling in high school. How he joined the military at seventeen, mostly to show his classmates just how strong he was. He'd go into detail about the missions he completed in the army, and the way it impacted his life to this day. He didn't shy away from who he was when he first became a firefighter. How he followed along with Gerrard because it was the easy thing to do. He made no excuses for himself.

Tommy talked about part of him wanting to stay at the 118 once Bobby came, but his past loomed over him like a dark cloud and, even though Hen and Chimney forgave him long ago, every time he walked into the station he was reminded of who he was and not who he wanted to be.

He talked about his first few weeks in therapy. How he went through three therapists before he found one he liked. How hard it was to come to terms with so many aspects of his life.

He still went to therapy, once a week, always on a Tuesday. That was one of his regular days off, and Buck knew there would always be a couple hours of radio silence from him then.

There was one aspect of his life that Tommy never really discussed in detail.

His parents.

It wasn't that he never mentioned them. Buck knew that his dad was not a good man, and that his mom died when he was young, but that's all Tommy had ever really said.

The scoff Tommy let out at Buck's question told him all he needed to know. “No, I- I will not be seeing him.”

Buck pushed himself up into a sitting position, bending his knees close to his chest. “How'd you find out he was in town?”

Tommy didn't have siblings. Didn't really have any extended family. None he was in regular contact with anyway.

“He texted me,” Tommy answered simply.

“I didn't even know he had your number.”

“Oh, he has it,” Tommy managed to look over at Buck and give him a grin that didn't quite reach the eyes, “he just rarely uses it.”

“But he is now?”

“Apparently.” Tommy turned back to the game, but Buck reached over and squeezed his forearm, regaining his attention.

“Hey, Tommy, use your words. I've never heard you mention your dad calling or texting you, but he suddenly is now? Is there a reason?”

Tommy sighed. He reached for his phone, unlocking it before handing it over to Buck. “That's all it says. He's not a man of many words,” he said, before mumbling out, “or many good words, at least.”

Buck read over the text:

In town. Let's talk. Stuff to figure out.

He handed Tommy his phone. “Are you gonna answer him, at least?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I am not.”

“Aren't you a little curious...”

Buck's voice trailed off as Tommy reached for Buck's hand, gently tugging Buck towards him. Buck maneuvered himself until he was curled into Tommy's side, his head resting just below Tommy's shoulder. Tommy wrapped his arm around Buck, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I appreciate the concern,” he spoke quietly, “but this,” he added, lifting his phone, “is not happening.”

Buck understood issues with parents. He'd told that to Tommy so many times before. He'd gone over his life story time and time again, and Tommy always listened with the utmost care and consideration. He always seemed so happy for Buck too. Happy that he was able to, for the most part, work things out with his parents. They may not be on the best terms, and they'd probably never be what others considered a “close” family, but they were better. And that was good enough.

Still, Buck could tell that Tommy was done with the conversation, so he let it go.

“How much longer until the game is over?” he asked, changing the topic for Tommy's sake.

Tommy let out a laugh, shaking Buck slightly. “About ten minutes.”

Buck closed his eyes, settling further into Tommy's side, “Wake me up when it's over.”

*****

They'd been together six months now, had exchanged keys a couple months in, but Buck still felt a thrill every time he walked into Tommy's place knowing Tommy wouldn't actually be there yet.

Something about it just felt so domestic. And Buck loved that feeling.

They'd already discussed moving in together. If they both had a night off, they were never apart, instead switching between each place depending on what errands they had planned for the next day.

Buck had another two months to go on his lease, so they decided to hold out on actually moving in together until then. There was no reason to deny him getting his security deposit back, or being forced to pay rent for an apartment he was no longer living in.

Still, Buck preferred Tommy's house. It was an older place, and not very big, but it had a nice garage for working out and a good kitchen that Buck enjoyed cooking in.

Which was why he came to Tommy's today. Tommy was working, but he'd be off by six, and Buck wanted to have a good dinner ready for him to come home to. Bobby had given him a recipe for something called Marry Me Chicken, and well, who was Buck kidding, that was the ultimate goal.

They would be the first to admit they were a bit unconventional. Besides swapping keys two months into their relationship, they had discussed whether or not children were in their future on date number four.

Tommy never really let go of the fact Buck invited him to his sister's wedding after one failed date.

They had sex on Buck's balcony before they had it in his bed.

They said I love you for the first time in month three, when Buck was deathly ill with a stomach bug and somehow got vomit in his hair. Tommy got him in the shower, letting Buck rest all of his body weight on him as he cleaned him up. Wrapped in Tommy's arms, head resting on his chest, eyes closed as water and soap flowed down his body, and the taste of throw up still on his tongue no matter how many times he brushed and used mouthwash, he uttered out an “I love you” to Tommy. He didn't even care if Tommy said it back, but Tommy did. He pressed a kiss to Buck's temple, dragging a wash cloth down his back, and said, “I love you too, Evan. So much.” That wasn't just the day Buck knew he loved Tommy, it was the day he knew he wanted to marry Tommy.

And, no, the chicken wasn't going to be a proposal. That wouldn't be happening until after they had officially lived together for a while- which had been a discussion during date number six.

But the name of the recipe, the words marry me, made Buck feel soft in a way that almost felt ridiculous, especially since it was literally just a recipe for chicken breast.

Buck had just placed the chicken in the oven when there was a knock on the door.

He rolled his eyes. Tommy often came home with his hands full, opting to carry most of his items separately instead of placing them in his duffel.

“One of these days I'm not gonna answer,” Buck called out as he neared the door, “just to teach you a le- Oh.”

The words died out on his tongue when he was met at the door by an older man that was very much not Tommy.

This man had thirty or so years on Buck, and was a few inches taller too. He was broad- really broad. Like Tommy, but on steroids.

“Uh, sorry, I- I thought you were someone else,” Buck began after he collected himself. “Can I help you?”

“Is this Thomas Kinard's place?” The man's voice was gruff. The kind of voice you get after smoking a pack a day for years on end.

“It is.”

“You're not him.”

“I'm not.”

“Where is he?”

Well, this conversation was going swimmingly!

“I- I'm sorry, who... are you?”

“Right,” the man held out his hand, although the scowl on his face remained. “Charles Kinard.”

Buck couldn't hide the surprise on his face after hearing the name. He shook Charles' hand, which held on a bit too tightly. “Oh! Oh, you're Tommy's dad.”

“'S'what it says on the birth certificate.”

Once Charles let go, Buck moved out of the way, allowing him to come inside. “Come in. Sorry, I was, um, not expecting anyone. I'm Evan Buckley, um, Buck, by the way. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles noted as he walked farther into the house, eyes drifting around the place.

“Yeah, I- I know. Sor- uh, Tommy should be home pretty soon. He's been working. Was he... Did he know you were coming?”

He cringed at the question, knowing it was an odd thing to ask. He was still trying to catch up with what was going on. Tommy hadn't mentioned his father since three days ago, when he got the text he never answered. Maybe he had ended up answering and just never said anything to Buck, but that wasn't like Tommy.

“Not really,” Charles answered, finally turning to face Buck. “Who are you?” he asked, eying Buck up and down. Buck wasn't really sure if Charles was looking at him, or his apron, which he now remembered said, 'I like my meat rubbed, jerked, and pulled!'

Buck untied the apron and unceremoniously pulled it off of him, crumpling it up in his hand. He realized in that moment that he had no idea what Tommy's dad actually knew, or didn't know, about him. “I'm his friend,” he settled on, “from work.”

“You work together?”

Buck nodded. “Sort of. Different stations, but, yeah, um, yes we're both firefighters.”

“Mm.”

“Uh, why don't you have a seat,” Buck suggested, motioning toward the living room as he stepped closer to Charles. “Tommy won't be too much longer now.”

Charles moseyed into the living room, glancing around at the décor before taking a seat on the couch. “You come over and cook for your friend while he works?” Charles asked as Buck returned to the kitchen.

He wanted to text Tommy, or call him, and let him know what was happening, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't exactly talk about his dad while he was right in front of him, and Tommy wouldn't check a text when he was driving.

“I, uh, I like to cook,” Buck started, trying to think of an explanation that didn't sound too ridiculous. “And he's got a good kitchen, so I come over, um, sometimes to cook. I- I pay with food.” God, he was an idiot.

Another grunt like sound came from Charles, and Buck was about ninety percent sure he didn't buy it.

Buck wasn't sure how to communicate with the man. He was usually pretty good about stuff like this. He could make up random things to talk about with anyone, whether they wanted to hear it or not. But this was his boyfriend's father who didn't know for sure that Buck was Tommy's boyfriend, and all the questions that were coming to Buck's mind were only questions a significant other would ask their partner's parents.

“So, Mr. Kinard,” Buck began, beginning to slice a cucumber. He wasn't even planning on using a cucumber for anything tonight, but he needed something to do.

“Charles.”

“Charles, um, what... are you visiting LA?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. That's... that's good. I'm sure Tommy will be happy to see you.”

Yet another grunt. This one almost sounded like a snort. Buck leaned over slightly to get a look at the man, who was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the turned off TV in front of him.

“You should stay for dinner,” Buck suggested, hating himself as the words left his mouth. “There's gonna plenty.” That was true. He always made enough for leftovers.

“Okay.”

This truly was a man of few words.

Buck was just about to tell him he could turn on the TV and watch something when he heard the sound of keys jiggling in the doorknob.

The door opened before Buck could get to it.

“Oh my God, Evan, what smells so good? I could smell it from outside,” Tommy said, walking inside. Buck met him at the entryway.

“Just chicken. Um, Tommy-”

Tommy dropped his duffel at the door, “I even put my stuff in it this time,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabbed at Buck's shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Usually, Buck would've been thrilled. Told him it was about damn time and asked if he could take a picture to remember this moment forever.

Instead, he quickly pulled away from the kiss and unwrapped himself from Tommy's touch.

“We have a visitor, Tommy,” Buck said when he was met with a confused face. “You do, I mean.”

“I was wondering who's car was out front,” Tommy replied. “Figured the neighbors were having another party or something.”

“No, um, it's...” Buck's voice trailed off. He could tell Charles was somewhere behind him now. Could see that Tommy's eyes trailed from looking at him to looking at his father. Whatever was left of the smile on his face disappeared, his skin paling.

Part of Buck wished he could disappear. Just melt into the floor and turn into a puddle of goo.

The other part of him had the urge to stand between the two men forever, making sure Tommy was protected from whatever pain his father had obviously caused him.

Buck had never seen the look on Tommy's face before. It looked like fear and sadness, mixed with rage.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked as Buck stepped to the side to get out of the way.

“Well, hello to you too, TJ.”

TJ? That was new.

“Don't call me that. What are you doing here? How'd you find my house?”

The problem with where Buck was standing, was that he couldn't move toward the kitchen without walking directly in front of the two men, and he wasn't sure this was a good moment to move.

“I'm not an idiot. You own the place, I looked it up. I texted you when I got to town.”

“I know you did.” Tommy shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on top of his duffel bag. “Thought you'd get the hint when I didn't answer.”

“You know how I am with subtleties.”

“Not answering a single one of your texts for three years is not exactly subtle, Dad.”

Buck could not do this any longer. He could feel Charles' eyes on him and, if he was going to be Tommy's friend, he couldn't exactly go into protective-boyfriend mode.

“I'm gonna,” he pointed toward the kitchen, “just go over there.”

Tommy waited for Buck to be out of the room before continuing. “You need to go,” he said, staring his father dead in the eyes.

“Hm. Thought you wanted to know what I was doing here?”

“Decided I don't care.”

Charles smiled. It didn't reach his eyes the way Tommy's did. There were no laughter lines, no scrunched up nose. Just a meaningless smile. “You're lookin' good, TJ. Lower BMI than the last time I saw you. That's good.”

Buck wasn't sure if he was hearing things correctly. Who says that to their kid after not seeing them for years?

“And you're looking me in the eyes. You always struggled with that before.”

“It's easier now that I'm too big for you to hit.”

Buck sucked in a breath. It was impossible to not overhear the conversation. With the open floor plan, Buck could still see Charles, although he didn't have a view of Tommy.

Charles laughed. A deep, guttural laugh that made Buck feel uneasy. “You're never too big for that, T-”

“You need to go. Now.”

“Hang on a minute,” Charles said, waving Tommy off. “I gotta talk to you about my will.”

“I don't give a damn about your will.”

“I've got fifty acres of land in Colorado, TJ. Been in the family for generations.”

“You've got a double wide trailer on that dump of land and couldn't get rid of it if you tried. I don't want it.”

Buck could hear shuffling, so he quickly picked up a knife to make it look like he'd been chopping away at that same cucumber from earlier.

Tommy entered the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink before turning to Buck. “Need help with anything, Ev?”

“N- No, um, no, I'm good.”

“I'm not getting any younger, TJ.”

Tommy placed a hand on Buck's lower back. It was as though it was an anchor for him. Something to keep him steady.

He glared over at his dad. “You're still here?”

“Don't be dumb, Thomas. I'm not leaving until we talk about this. Besides, your friend here invited me for dinner.”

The hand on Buck's back stiffened, before being removed completely. He turned his head toward Buck. “You did?”

“I- I thought you two might, um, might want to catch up.”

He hoped Tommy could read between the lines. Hoped he understood what Buck was really trying to say.

“I felt like I had no other choice. This was really awkward, even for me, and I panicked. Please, don't hate me.”

“That's kind of you, Evan,” Tommy replied, his attention returning to his father, “but we don't have anything to catch up on.”

“Hey! Don't stand there acting like I'm the problem,” Charles said, crossing the room in three steps. Buck could feel Tommy stiffen beside him. “You're the one who left, not me! I've been the one contacting you. You can act like I'm a terrible father all you want, but I'm the one that helped you be something!”

“You didn't help me! I ran from you! I was seventeen years old, Dad, joining the army to get away from you!”

Buck wanted to say something. Wanted to kick the man out of the house, or at least hold up his bowl of finely chopped cucumber and ask if anyone wanted a bite.

But, this wasn't his house. Not yet, anyway. And, somehow, he felt responsible for this whole debacle. He couldn't stop thinking about how he should have done things differently. He shouldn't have let Charles in the house. Shouldn't have attempted to make conversation. Shouldn't have invited him to stay for dinner. Should have figured out a way to call and warn Tommy. Should have texted him anyway; maybe he would have read it before getting out of his truck.

“You know, I really should have known better,” Charles said, shaking his head. “Should have known you wouldn't want to help your old man out.”

“Help you out?” Tommy asked, exasperated. “I have done nothing but help you out for years! I bailed you out of jail three times. I paid your gambling debts for you. I took a second mortgage out on my home so I could pay your back taxes! If I didn't stop answering your messages, I'd be living on the streets! And now you want to come talk about a will? On property that you've nearly foreclosed on twice? I'm surprised you even have that place any-” he stopped mid sentence. Buck glanced over at him, worried something had happened.

“You're about to lose the property, aren't you?” Tommy asked. That made much more sense.

“Now, just listen-”

“You're really here to have me buy the property, and give you the money, so you can go blow it on booze and steroids and hookers and whatever else you feel like.”

“This is what family does, TJ,” Charles said, pointing at Tommy as he eyed him down. “They help each other when they're in need.”

“When have you ever helped me, Dad?” Tommy asked. His voice was different now. Resigned, almost. “Never.”

“I don't need to stand here and listen to these lies in front of your friend!”

Tommy scoffed. “I think you know he's more than a friend.”

“Yeah, I do know. He's been bumbling like an idiot since I got here.”

Buck could feel his face turning red. He wasn't embarrassed by Charles' words, more surprised by the man's lack of filter.

“Get out.” Tommy demanded. “Now!”

Charles moved even closer, a tight fist placed on the countertop of the island. “You owe me!” he spit out through gritted teeth. “The embarrassment you have caused me. Being the way you are, having to answer questions from my friends! I have been trying to knock sense into you for years!”

“Maybe I was too busy lying to doctors in the hospital for the sense to really get knocked in there!”

“Pathetic,” Charles said, before mumbling out, “like your mother.”

“Get out.” It was Buck's voice this time. It no longer mattered to him that this wasn't his home. He didn't care if he was overstepping. Tommy could be mad if he wanted.

For as little as Buck knew about Tommy's family, he did see the way Tommy's eyes got red and glassy when he mentioned his mom. How he'd clear his throat and say she was a good woman, a great mom, gone too soon. From what he'd pieced together on his own, it was a suicide.

Tommy had never said as much, but he came to Buck's after a particularly bad shift. Buck hadn't even been expecting him. He showed up at the door, eyes blank, mind somewhere far away. He'd even forgotten he had a key of his own.

He'd curled into Buck the second the door opened, arms tight around Buck's waist and head turned into the crook of his neck.

Buck squeezed him back just as tight. Asked if he was okay, accepted the silence in return. They stayed there for a while, until Buck was finally able to convince Tommy to move to the couch.

Tommy snuggled up to Buck's side the second they sat down. He laid his head on Buck's chest, one arm curled between them and the other resting over Buck's stomach. They'd rested like this before, but this was the first time Buck ever thought that Tommy looked small. Not physically, obviously, but the way he acted was like a child in desperate need of comfort.

So that's what Buck did.

It was the longest thirty minutes of silence before Tommy spoke. “I worked the ground today,” he explained through a shaky voice, making no effort to move off of Buck. “We were short-staffed. There was a call. A kid found... he found his mom. She was in the bathtub. She was already,” he swallowed down a sob, “she was gone already. He was freaking out. I waited un- until his dad got there to be with him.”

“That's terrible, Tommy,” Buck said, running a soothing hand up and down Tommy's bicep.

“It just... it reminded me-” he cut himself off, took a deep breath, “I like being in the air.”

Buck wasn't dumb. He could put together a puzzle that was missing half its pieces. He knew better than to press the issue. Knew what Tommy needed right now was simply to be held.

So he held him.

He held him until Tommy's breaths evened out and the sun had long set.

And now, with Charles in front of him, it was all Buck could think about. That moment replaying in his mind as Tommy's father spewed venom from across the counter.

“If you're not out of here in ten seconds, I'll call the police for trespassing, and you seem like the type who has warrants waiting for them.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Buck grabbed for the phone in his pocket.

The older man held his hands up in surrender and, without another word, turned and left the house.

There were a few beats of silence before Buck spoke. “Tommy, I-”

“I need to go for a walk.” Tommy's voice was stoic.

Buck didn't like that. He followed behind Tommy as he headed for the door. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

Tommy picked up his jacket and slipped it on. “No, I'm fine.”

“Tommy, I don't-”

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, hand still on the knob but halfway out the door already. “Evan, I'm fine,” he repeated. His voice wavered this time. Only slightly, but enough for Buck to catch it. “I just need a minute.”

Buck nodded, pursing his lips together. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood there long after the door had closed.

*****

A cool breeze filled the air as Tommy walked down his street. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as a chill came over him.

He was tense. He kept trying to make sense of the thoughts in his head, but everything felt all jumbled.

He'd been doing so well. Therapy had helped him work through so many of the issues he had with his dad. Had helped him cut off contact. He stopped enabling the man and set himself free of him.

The only reason he didn't block his dad's number was because he knew, one day, a police officer or one of his dad's deadbeat friends would be calling to say he was dead. Even if he cared nothing for the man, he'd still like to know when it was all over.

There were times Tommy would sit and think about the things he'd say if he ever came face to face with his dad again. He had a list. All the ways his dad had screwed him over throughout his entire life.

And then the one time he actually did come face to face with the man after all these years, he didn't say a single damn thing he'd written down.

He knew he'd never get the chance again.

Knew his dad wouldn't really care anyway. He never cared about the pain he caused, even when Tommy was a little kid.

His jaw tensed. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't want to cry anyway. He wanted to be mad.

That's what his dad always got angry at him for. Tommy would get upset, and he'd cry. His dad would yell, and he'd cry. His dad would hit him, he'd cry. His dad would hit him harder because he was crying, he'd cry even more.

Kids at school would make fun of his weight.

His dad would make him run laps until he'd puke.

He'd avoid eye contact to try and not be noticed.

He'd cry.

He'd cry.

He'd cry.

Not now though. Now he could hold it in. He finally learned that as a teenager. Perfected it over time. His therapist helped him with that too; taught him not to hold in his emotions. For the most part, he didn't anymore, he'd let himself feel whatever he was feeling. Right now he needed to control something, and this was the something he could control.

So he didn't cry.

But he let himself be mad.

Because he was so damn mad.

Mad at himself.

Mad at his dad.

Mad at him showing up to his house, invading his safe space, a space that had been free and clear of the trauma of his youth.

Now, every time he'd step in that house he'd see his dad there.

He hated that.

As much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was mad at Buck too.

No, mad wasn't the right word.

Envious, maybe.

Every time Buck talked about his parents, a twinge of envy sparked inside of Tommy. He knew it was stupid. He didn't even particularly like Buck's parents. He definitely didn't like who they used to be, how they used to treat their son.

But, to their credit, they had been trying now.

And that's where the envy came in.

Because Buck's parents went to therapy with him. They started showing up, being there for their kids, through good and bad, even when they weren't comfortable.

And yeah, they were a little late, and not all wounds ever completely heal. There were still problems, and they were always a bit on edge when Tommy was around, but they were there.

They still put on a smile for Buck, however forced, and corrected themselves when they called him Evan.

They'd never hit their kids. Sure, they were a little too busy ignoring them, but Maddie and Buck never had to be afraid of their parents.

“We were invisible,” Buck had told him once.

Tommy didn't say it, he'd never speak the words out loud, because he knew how much being invisible hurt Buck. But, the first thing Tommy thought when he heard that was I wish I could've been invisible too.

Even thinking something like that made Tommy feel like a bad person. Actually, he often felt like a bad person. A terrible, terrible person who was so undeserving of any forgiveness, happiness, and love. He'd think about who he became in the military. Closed off, angry, ruthless at times. He'd killed people. He didn't think about it. Just dropped the bomb on whatever target he'd been told to hit. They were just targets. Living, breathing targets. He'd hear reports of kids getting hit with missiles, innocent casualties who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was war, and you didn't get emotional with war. Until you got home and you had to reason with who you'd become.

Then he'd think of who he became when he got hired as a firefighter. More closed off, angrier, trying to make up for what he'd done by saving lives instead of taking them. But, no matter how many saves he got, it didn't make up for the kills. And you could get close to people, but you'd probably lose them just like you did in the military, so why have a friend if they're just gonna die anyway?

Plus, there was Gerrard. Gerrard, who was so much like his dad in so many ways. A crass bastard who didn't care who he offended or how he mistreated people. Tears were a weakness, emotions were a weakness, and Tommy was tired of people thinking he was weak. So, he made sure he wasn't.

The difference between his dad and Gerrard was that, if you fit in with Gerrard, he wouldn't bother you as much.

His dad bothered him regardless.

Tommy was not a good person when he had Gerrard as a boss. At first, he blamed Gerrard. Healing came when he took responsibility for himself.

Even with the healing; with leaving the 118 and starting over. With getting therapy and changing his mindset and forgiving himself, there were times when he felt like the biggest fraud in the world. Because he may have forgiven himself, but he didn't deserve the forgiveness of the people around him.

He didn't deserve the friendship of Howie or Hen. He didn't deserve Eddie, who was always excited to hang out. He didn't deserve weekly dinners with Bobby and Athena, who would ask him about his week and listen to his stories. He didn't deserve Maddie, who was ready and waiting to watch The Bachelor each week with wine and a cheeseboard.

He definitely didn't deserve Evan.

Evan.

Who was always there, no matter what. Wore his heart on his sleeve, would do anything for anyone, Evan.

Evan, who was a soft kiss after a hard day. Who's body fit with Tommy's like two puzzle pieces that were finally placed together. Stubborn, smart, bold, unafraid, open, honest, loving, kind, adorable, Evan.

He'd talked to his therapist about it one day. Things were going too well, his life felt too good, and that nagging voice drudged its way up from the back of his mind to repeat over and over you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it.

Then his therapist asked him a simple question. “When you hear the voice, is it your voice, or is it your father?”

After thinking about it for a while, Tommy answered, “A morphing of the two. Starts as him, ends as me.”

A nod. “Let's dissect that.”

They did.

It sucked.

But it helped too. It didn't make the feeling go away, but it did help him recognize that what he was feeling didn't just stem from the choices he made as an adult, it started all the way back when he was a child. When he was told, time and time again, how he didn't deserve good things.

Oftentimes, Tommy felt like his mind was a cruel joke that liked to play, well, mind games on him. As soon as he'd push through his feelings of being undeserving, his brain would laugh and tell him he was pitying himself. Making himself the victim when, in the majority of the things he did as an adult, he was in fact not the victim. This would, in turn, make him feel undeserving of feeling undeserving.

“My mind is a very screwy place,” he said on a particularly grouchy day at therapy. “Truly can't believe they let me fly an aircraft.”

“It sounds kind of like you're torturing yourself for not being perfect.”

“I feel like the more I try to learn and grow from my past, to- to move on from it, it throws itself right back up in my face. I try. I really, really try to let it go, but I can't.”

“I know it's a sensitive topic for you, Tommy, but-”

“No.” Tommy knew where this was going. “No, it's not that.”

A sigh. “Tommy, how old are you?”

He was not in the mood for this today. “Forty-one.”

“And how old was your mother when she passed?”

“Forty-two.”

“I know you've mentioned before how she held onto her guilt. She felt hopeless. Worthless. Let it eat away at her. Your words.”

“I'm not like that. I'm not... I wouldn't do that. I don't feel that way.”

“I'm not saying that you do. I'm saying, sometimes, the reason we feel certain ways stems from our parents, grandparents, etcetera.”

Tommy uncrossed his legs, picked at a string hanging from his jeans. “Can we change the subject? Evan and I have a date tonight and I don't wanna be bitchy when I pick him up.”

*****

Tommy continued down the sidewalk, the only light from the street lamps above him. Occasionally, he'd hear a dog bark or a bird chirp but it was mostly quiet.

He was a couple miles from home now. He knew he should be heading back. His anger had mostly died down to something else by now. Something he couldn't really explain.

Emptiness, maybe?

Yet another word he'd used to describe his mother before.

But, he wasn't like her. He could always get out of bed. He didn't have problems brushing his teeth. He didn't let himself go. He never lost his appetite. He never felt like downing an entire bottle of pills on a regular Sunday afternoon. Would never think of risking his future child walking in the room, excited to tell him about winning the little league game, and instead find him on the floor, long gone.

“I'm the complete opposite of her,” Tommy said at his next session, still annoyed from the previous week. “I don't call out of work, I take extra shifts, I always have something planned when I'm off. I'm in a stable relationship which, yeah, I've only been in for five months, but it's been the best five months of my life. I manage everything fine. Sometimes my mind is just a dick to me.”

“Depression is different for everyone,” his apparently all knowing therapist replied. “Some people have all the symptoms, some have a few, none are exactly alike. There's levels to it, different kinds.”

Tommy slumped back on the couch, sighing as he stared out the window. “Well, that really sucks.”

He tried to be open with Evan. He'd told him so much about his life, about who he was. Evan knew everything about Tommy's time in the military. He knew what Tommy was like when he worked under Gerrard. He knew all the ways Tommy had struggled with himself and his sexuality. He knew all the bad parts, and he loved him anyway.

“I've made so many versions of myself, Tommy,” Buck told him one day, “I think I lost count at 5.0. They're all still me though. I wouldn't be here if I was never there, and I really, really like being here. Sometimes the crappy stuff makes you better in the end.”

Maybe it wasn't as well spoken as something his therapist would have said, but Tommy understood. No matter what, Evan wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't scared off by Tommy. Didn't judge him. He loved him. They loved each other.

Still, as Tommy walked the desolate street, he couldn't help the new voice inside his head. This one was his alone. It was telling him that, as open as he'd been, he'd still closed off a huge part of his life to Evan. It wasn't even necessarily intentional, it was just easier. Easier to avoid the topic altogether. However, it wasn't exactly fair.

He could hear his therapist in his mind, asking him the questions. “Why do you think you've closed that part of yourself off to Buck?”

He'd answer, “I don't exactly like revisiting the subject.”

“Do you not trust him with that part of your life?”

“Of course I do! I trust him with every part of my life.”

“Then why don't you tell him?”

“Because...”

“Because?”

Tommy would feel like pulling out his hair at this point. “Because I have spent so many years letting those parts of me go!”

“Have you really let them go? Unless you hit your head and get amnesia, is that even possible? Wouldn't it be easier if you let your partner help carry the burden when it gets hard for you?”

“He doesn't need to carry my burdens.”

“Don't you help carry his?”

On the street, Tommy stopped in his tracks. He groaned, staring up at the sky as if his therapist was some ethereal being. “I hate you,” he mumbled, before turning around and heading back home.

*****

He opened the door expecting to be hit with the ghost of his father standing there just hours earlier. Instead, he was met with the sight of Evan. Straight ahead at the kitchen table. He plopped his phone down on the table and stared up at Tommy, eyes wide and wet.

“Hi,” Buck said softly. He eyed Tommy carefully, trying to gauge the mood.

Tommy let out a shaky breath. “Hi,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and, once again, placing it on top of the duffel that hadn't moved.

“I was worried about you. You didn't take your phone and I- you were gone a long time.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” He really hadn't. He forgot he had ever put it in his duffel in the first place, usually opting to keep it in his pocket the majority of the time.

“S'okay.”

Tommy walked over to the table, pulled out the chair next to Buck, and sat down.

“I'm sorry, Evan,” Tommy repeated, for a different reason this time. “I shouldn't have left like that.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” Buck sat up straighter, splaying his hands out on the table. “I'm sorry. I had no idea your dad was like that. If I did, I never would have let him in your house.”

“Our house,” Tommy corrected. “Soon enough, anyway. You don't need to be sorry either. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Buck smiled at him, turning one hand up for Tommy to take. “Can neither of us be sorry instead then?”

Tommy held onto it, Buck's touch relaxing him in the way it always did. “Sounds good to me.”

“Are you hungry? I left the food in the oven on warm, just in case.”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I am actually. I'll get it though, you relax.” He squeezed Buck's hand as he got up. Before walking away, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple. When he began to pull away, Buck held onto his shirt, turning his head and giving him a real kiss. He moved his hands up to Tommy's face, stroking his thumbs along his cheeks as he did his best to project all his love into the kiss.

Tommy looked dazed as they parted. “I think I need to go on walks more often.”

Buck rolled his eyes, swatting at Tommy's butt as he walked off. “Ass.”

“And you love it.”

“I suppose I do.”

“So, what'd you make?” Tommy asked, putting on some oven mitts before pulling the dish out of the oven.

“You're, uh, not allowed to laugh at the name. It's a recipe I got from Bobby, but he got it from the internet or something.”

“Oh God, did you make that goat in the boat dish again?”

“It was toad in the hole, and you loved it!”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed. He got out a couple plates and started plating the food. “What's it called?” he asked again.

“It's... It's called, um, it's Marry Me Chicken.”

After a beat of silence, Buck looked over to see Tommy staring at him, an eyebrow raised. “Evan Buckley, are you proposing to me over a chicken dish?”

Another eye roll. “Absolutely not.”

“You know the saying, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“And all this time I thought it was through his ass.”

“Aye!”

Buck laughed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Tommy finish up in the kitchen. “There's also some very finely chopped cucumber in the fridge if you'd like that as well, but it's not part of the dish.”

“Still a delightful addition to any meal,” Tommy replied, grabbing the bowl out of the fridge. He balanced it on his wrist before picking up the plates and bringing them to the table. “This looks amazing, Ev.”

“I hope it tastes good.”

“I'm sure it will.”

As Tommy and Buck both began to cut up their pieces of chicken, Tommy glanced over at his boyfriend. “So, um, tonight was... it was a lot.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I wanted to...” Tommy's voice trailed off, unsure of how to articulate what he wanted to say. He put down his cutlery and focused on Buck. “I was thinking on my walk about how open you've always been, talking about your mom and dad. Even the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff, you share it all. I- I haven't done that with you, Evan. That's not fair to you.”

“I've never felt that way,” Buck assured him. “I understood.”

“Still, I- I've always shared everything with you, besides that. It's not even the worst parts of me, really. I know... I know that stuff, when I was a kid, I know none of that was my fault. I think part of me felt like if I ignored it forever, it would eventually go away.” He shook his head. “It doesn't go away.”

Once again, Buck held out a hand for Tommy to take, connecting them on top of the table. “I'm here. Whenever you're ready. Now. Ten years from now. Whenever.”

Ten years from now. Those words hit him hard. He could feel his heart swell.

They were forever. Evan was his forever.

He took a deep breath, his residual anxieties melting away. “There's a lot about my parents you don't know.”

“Practically everything,” Buck agreed.

Tommy let out a laugh. “Well, I'd like to change that,” he replied, sharing a soft smile with Buck.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because we don't have to right now, if you're not ready.”

“No, I'm ready,” he answered. He squeezed Buck's hand tighter. “There's a lot to talk about with my dad,” he started, grabbing up his fork with his free hand to pierce a piece of the chicken, “but I think I want to start with my mom. She was... She was a lot like me.”

Buck nodded, smiling gently. “I love her already.”

[l1vchuu]

resentment. part four

!! warnings: mentions of sh and suicide, strong language, may contain triggering themes and blood, angst, and slow burn, P.S. This chapter might have a lot of time skips, so be wary.

A few days went as you were gone, and you weren't the only one who felt the changes.

It was a Monday afternoon as you sat at your kitchen table, reading a book you randomly had picked off your old shelf- "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. You bought this book after watching the film that just got released in the theaters, hoping that you would read it someday and feel the same emotions you did when you sat in front of the big screen. After some unfortunate events that occurred in your life at that time- you never really got to read it.

The soft yellow tint of the light from the cheap lightbulbs filled your small kitchen, going through your hair, and making a slight shadow on your face. The tea you had made for yourself earlier was getting colder as the minutes passed by, and you couldn't feel more peaceful.

So far, you tried taking things slow- since you had a whole month to figure things out. You've put out the thought of seeing a therapist later, your mind was still blurry. Currently, you were trying to calm your mind by reading and watching movies.

A few hours later, you put down the book and decided to take a shower. As you entered the cabin and turned on the shower, the sudden warmth of the water took all your thoughts with it.

You recently bought some new showering essentials- new shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few other things. Maybe if you tried to take better care of your hygiene you could feel prettier, or at least have some type of order in your life that you follow.

The sweet honey scent filled the atmosphere as you washed your hair, slight steam flowing in the air, getting captured in your lungs with every breath you took. Your mind was roaming through your memories, mostly the good ones. You remembered the first time you discovered Wes Anderson.

A few years ago...

You sighed as you scrolled through your Letterboxd watchlist, the titles moving faster than the thoughts in your head.

"'Detachment', 'Lost in Translation', 'Vertigo'..."

You mumbled to yourself as you kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Then your eyes stopped at a yellowish poster, excluding itself from the others.

"Fantastic Mr. Fox"

You had heard of that movie before, all positive things. You stared at the trailer for a while

"Who even watches trailers for movies that have been out for years?"

You thought to yourself as you kept looking, but you were mesmerized. You hadn't seen anything else like this. It was so quirky and sweet and bitter that you wanted to watch it badly. You found the movie, and just as you were about to put it on, Simon opened the door.

He entered the room, looking at you with his brown, empty eyes.

"How was the shift?"

You tried to spark up a conversation, but it ended nowhere.

"Fine."

He sat on his bed, still with his mask on. You know he took it off when he slept, but you had never seen his face. It's like he knew the moment you woke up and fall asleep just so he can put his mask back on and act like nothing had happened.

"You gonna' sleep?"

You asked him, your eyes looking up from the monitor of your laptop.

"Not now, why you ask?"

"I was going to watch a movie, that's why."

You could somehow see his eyebrows rise underneath his mask. It was the first time he heard those words from a Sergeant. People usually never had time to do anything really, being tired from long work shifts and all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It just... It's the first time I've heard that sentence here."

"What? You don't watch movies?"

"No- It's not that. People don't find the time for things like these."

"Well, I do. Does it bother you?"

"As long as it's not too loud, no."

"Good."

You sat back on the couch as you hit space and the movie began.

Half an hour later, you were so invested in the movie that you didn't notice the presence of your roommate next to you... until he coughed, causing you to flinch, and because of your reflexes, your hand went into a defensive position. He looked at you, his eyes slightly wider.

"Oh, sorry."

"I think... I think I saw Jesus."

He chuckled, showing the slightest bit of emotion he ever has.

"It's just me."

"You really live up to your name, huh? Sneaking in like that."

"I didn't do anything, it's the movie's fault for having you so fuckin invested."

"Yeah, sure."

-

It might not seem like the brightest memory ever, but that was the first time you had such a close interaction with Ghost ever since you got moved into a room with him. That moment felt like a slight push into a whole other universe. A universe where you felt less scared to talk to him, a universe where he got to be the closest person to you.

The whole story began when you joined the British Army at 17 years old after a really bad banter between your dad and your brother, resulting in your brother's suicide. At his funeral, you could barely hold yourself up and alive- it had shattered you completely. You couldn't help yourself to eat, your mother had to force-feed you just like she did when you were a baby. Your body was aching with every step you took, every time your jeans brushed against your thighs, making your fresh scars bleed again from the friction. A month later, you were at your lowest point in life- you didn't go to school, and your mother ignored every call from the principal because she didn't know what to say. Everyone at your house was so lost, your father refused to go out of his room, leaving the house in the process, your mother barely slept at night, and you had ruined yourself. At this point, everything was a lost cause.

One morning, as you barely walked towards the front door, placing the rubbish bag in its' place, you saw the leaflets from the military scouts that live in your area. Usually, you would throw them in the rubbish bin and continue on with the day, but this time something was off. Your brother wanted to enlist in the military so much, he even started going to the shooting ranges outside the city to train his aim. You could feel your cheeks getting wet as you stared at the papers in your hands- he would've served his country and fulfilled his dreams in a year.

With slow and steady steps you went to his door, opening it slowly. His room was always cluttered, as he never got the time to clean it- always so busy with his voluntary work and training. There was a big flag hung on his wall, frames with pictures of him in his boy scouts uniform, pictures with him and his friends at a red cross event, and posters of his favorite movies and superheroes, he was such a bright and generous kid. There were stacks of military scouting leaflets piled on his desk, catching more and more dust as the days go by.

You sat on his bed, holding a picture of him with a German Shepherd 'Scouty' - a military dog that was pretty famous in your city and had saved multiple lives. You remembered taking that picture, him getting so excited when they allowed him to pet the dog, his eyes lighting up when they said that we could take a picture with him, his big smile, showing his braces as the dog stood still. Everything seemed so wonderful, life was so full and bright.

The tears began rolling down your cheek as your fingers traced his face, the room still smelled like him, somehow. You felt a pair of fragile hands holding your body close to them. You looked up with your red and teary eyes at the figure- it was your mother. You two sat in silence, crying quietly as you held each other. She noticed the leaflet in your hand.

"When does the recruiting start?"

Your mother asked you, her voice quiet and shaky as she looked at the paper.

You wiped your cheeks as you checked the dates on the leaflet- it was slightly damp and crumpled.

"The applications can be sent in a month from now."

You said, your voice cracking as your hands shook slightly.

"Mhm."

Your mum responded as she gently pat your head, her fingers brushing through your hair.

You stared at the paper in your hands.

"Will you leave Dad?"

You asked.

"I can't, you are still here."

She replies.

"What if I leave for university? Will you leave him?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

But you still had two years left, and with your absence, you were sure no university or college will accept you. You thought about it- if you were to return to school, people would ask you questions back and forth, and you couldn't deal with that. You knew your mother was suffering more than you, I mean, losing a child can be amusingly painful for a mother. And the last thing you wanted to do is to make your mother suffer even more, but continuing to live with your father after all that had happened was doing that same exact thing.

You thought about this the whole day. Holding that same leaflet, making all the research, asking people about it- and then you made your decision. You were going to join the Army.

Sure, you may have absolutely no experience, unlike your brother, but that's what he would've wanted. You were doing this for him and your mother.

You walked back and forth in your room, wandering in your documents and checking in your strengths. You knew a little about artillery from your brother's trainer and all of his lessons. You had a month in order to prepare for it. You went to consult your mother on the decision.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure, I just need to train a bit, but I need to know that if I go, you leave him."

She thought for a minute.

"I'll stay at your aunt's place until I save up enough money for rent and divorce."

You looked at her, your eyes full of uncertainty.

"Do you promise- No- Will you promise me to do that?"

You took a breath before continuing.

"When I leave, you leave him. You go as far away as you can. I'll lend you money if I can- Go to another country and live there if you need- Just promise me you'll leave that man, please..."

She put her arms on your shoulders, making you look at her.

"I promise you, but how do you know if you are going to get recruited?"

"I will get recruited, don't worry."

She looked at you, not being sure if you were just talking nonsense or actually meaning your words. By the look in your eyes and the sound of your tone, she knew you weren't joking.

After your mother made that promise- you got to work. You went out and trained every single day, but before that, you visited the shooting range. You knew that the trainer was a British Air Service veteran, so you asked for his help.

'You want to enlist? As in, you want to apply?"

He looked at you, a worried look on his face. It was the first time he saw you since your brother's funeral, and he saw the change in your appearance.

"Yes, and I need your help."

You said, looking up at him. You had explained everything to him, in detail, too.

"For a month..."

He silently thought to himself as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing.

"I can manage a training schedule, but I'm not sure if you could-"

"I'll do it.'

You interrupted him.

"- handle it."

He stared at you, his eyes slowly wider than before. He sighs.

"It won't be easy. Not at all. Your brother had months and years of practice, but now you have to make it up to him in a month."

You nodded your head, your eyes burning with ambition once again.\

"I'll do it. I won't give up."

"We'll change up your diet too,"

He paused, taking in the situation with your family. Your mother could barely stand up from her bed, and your father was nowhere to be found.

"I'll bring you food, you'll eat here."

You tilted your head to the side.

"Will that be okay with you?"

You asked him, a worried look on your face.

"It'll be absolutely no problem. I'll pack in food for your mother as well."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his offer.

"Thank you."

He nodded, holding his hand out for a handshake. You took his hand, giving a firm squeeze.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 AM."

He searched your face for any reaction.

"As I told you, it'll be hard."

He gave you a slight smile.

"But now I believe you'll make it."

During that month, he took care of you and your mother- you trained with him all day, and he checked in with your mother in the meantime. He was a single father taking after his father's business. His son enlisted two years ago, leaving him alone in his house all year round. You became attached to him quickly, he was almost like a father to you. He helped you become the person your brother wished to be. For a month, you became a weapon, which got you in the Army, which got you in the Special Forces (SAS). That's the place where you first met Simon.

It was three years after you joined the Army- you were now 20 years old. You finally had the opportunity to apply to the SAS- which you did. After a long process of training and selection- you finally made it into the force.

When you got in, they introduced you to a couple of people, Captain Price and some other Lieutenants. As you entered the base where you would be working and living, they introduced you to one final person- your roommate- Simon Riley, or his callsign 'Ghost'.

As you finally got to call your mother, announcing the news to her, you were surprised more than usual when your trainer picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The male voice echoed through the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely recognizing it.

"Hello?"

You replied.

"It's you! How's it going, kid?"

And that's when you recognized him. You two had a long conversation- apparently, your mother had moved in with him, which got you flabbergasted. Your mother was at work when you two were talking. You announced the news to him.

"Really? You got in?!"

He said, his voice full of pride and joy.

"I knew you would make it. I'm so proud of you!"

I'm so proud of you.

I'm so proud of you

That sentence kept you up at night. It replayed in your mind non-stop, echoing through your veins with each word.

Someone was proud of you.

-

Simon looked at Soap as he ate his lunch, holding his bowl in one hand as always. It's been a week since you were gone, and by that time everyone was aware of your absence. Soap looked back at Ghost, unsure about how to approach a conversation with him after all that had happened. Your seat at the table was empty, and nobody dared to sit on it, leaving a gap between Gaz and Ghost. It was rather quiet, everyone was lost in their own mind. Some of them were surprised that you never said anything, that you didn't notify anyone. Johnny was probably the first person who decided to write to you.

"Come on, I can't do this by myself. We have to let her know that we are with her and that we miss her, right?"

Johnny states, looking at the empty piece of paper in front of him.

"So, what do we write?"

Kyle grabs the pen and begins the letter, slowly filling it up with words until the page is full. Signing at the bottom were Johnny, Kyle, and Alex. After a few hours, the letter was sent to you, arriving in your mailbox.

The morning after, your neighbor notified you that you got mail. You looked in the box, a confused look on your face as two letters appeared in your hands. One of the letters had three signatures, while the other had only one- a skull face.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heyy!! I'm back as promised with the fourth part. This part had a lot of time skips for which I apologize if you were confused with! Sending lots of love and see you with part five <3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Ok, I'm gonna preface by saying I am being brave and REALLY stepping out of my comfort zone asking this. Also, this is a bit hard to phrase, so bear with me. Every time I do anything remotely sexual I feel Dread. Like, if I masturbate I will feel a sinking feeling in my stomach as if something bad is going to happen. This happens as well if I touch my nipples or get aroused. I don't get aroused often, (asexual) but I hate when I do because of this.

I don't know what's causing this, and I don't know if it's normal or if you know of this happening to anyone else. I don't expect you to know exactly why I'm dealing with this, obviously, but I'm really just confused. I don't miss masturbating or anything, Its not as if I've lost my libido and want it back. I just want to get read of the Dread! Have you heard of this happening to anyone else? Is there something wrong? If there is, I'm a minor and I really can't bring this up with a therapist (I have bigger fish to fry.) Do you have any advice, or is it a "don't do that if it hurts" situation? I'm perfectly fine just waiting to see if it goes away and I'm not super worried about it, but I am curious. Thank you!

(P.S: I can confidently say that me experiencing this feeling of dread is not linked to any sexual trauma. I really haven't experienced anything close to that.)

hi anon,

so I would like to. very gently. push back on the idea that this isn't something that should be brought up with a therapist, because this is absolutely a mental issue that is absolutely 100% impacting your quality of life and does not seem likely to go away on its own.

I fundamentally do not believe in attempting to diagnose anyone with anything on my blog, because I'm not qualified to do that and it would be irresponsible to pretend otherwise, but what you're describing sounds a lot like my own experiences with extremely bad anxiety and the experiences some close friends have had with OCD. that's not to say that you necessarily have either of those things! but it is a good indicator that what you're experiencing here is something substantial enough to be worth addressing with a professional who can help you worth through it.

so to answer your questions: yes I've heard of something like this and yes there's something wrong; the answer to both is "mental illness, babe." please take that seriously, babe; you deserve to live a life in which you don't experience Dread just from touching your own body.

[beneathsilverstars]

very possible youve done this before but…. can u come up with some hcs about how the party connects with nille? in a post canon hypothetical

(youve probably talked a lot about nille before but just!! general ideas. maybe silly ideas. anything u wanna share you havent talked about before. etc :])

Ok this is all minor spoilers for my currently unposted Nille fanfic and major spoilers for my currently unwritten post-canon fanfic but I don't care if you don't, let's go.

People usually write Nille as quite overprotective of Bonnie, and I do too, but I also write her as unsure that she's good enough to protect them! So her big reaction to meeting the party is "I failed to keep Bonnie safe, of course I failed, I was always doomed to fail. And these people succeeded!! Who am I next to the Saviors of Vaugarde??"

So she kinda feels like shit, personally. And she has no idea how to act around the party, because there's the way she acts around strangers, and there's the way she acts around people she trusts, and it is understandably bizarre for those circles to overlap. Since she can't be suspicious or friendly, and she's feeling somewhat useless, I think her instinct is to kinda just... fade back..? Which is upsetting to her in itself, which feeds back into the problems. But! Everyone is very determined to connect with her, and "we love the same kid" is a great way to bond, and Nille still has her usual Bambouche support system to help her sort out her feelings, and the party have been working on their communication skills. So they figure it out!

Her exact first impression of Siffrin probably depends a lot on how he's coping at that point post-canon, which isn't something I've decided yet... But it's some sort of strange mix of "I owe you my life" and "Wowww do you need my therapist's number" and "#Relatable /neg /pos". Siffrin meanwhile is anxious as fuck because he's not just meeting the most important person in Bonnie's life, she also has the power to break apart the family he nearly destroyed the world to keep together! So it's a little awkwardly intense on both sides.

Then once they get to know each other better, there's some emotional difficulty in how similar they are; it's hard not to compare what's worse, remembering shitty parents or not remembering any family, being alone or having to take care of a young child. So there's some pity and guilty jealousy on both sides. But also commiseration and understanding! But also they're liable to trigger each other's issues occasionally, what with Siffrin still having a rather poor handle on their own emotions and Nille disrupting the party dynamics. But they don't really hold it against each other; it would be hypocritical, and none of that matters compared to the fact that they've both nearly died for Bonnie. They like to go fishing together, sometimes Nille helps explain things that Siffrin only knows through muscle memory. And Nille does end up passing on some therapy tips!

Nille is a little star-struck by Mirabelle, who is the Chosen Savior of Vaugarde and only a couple years older than her and so heroic and nice and well-adjusted! Mirabelle is on a similar but less extreme wavelength, excited to meet Bonnie's sister who she's heard so intriguingly little about, but who must be so brave and cool! Once they get to know each other more it's kind of a confidence boost for Nille to realize that even Mirabelle has anxiety and imposter syndrome and is just some girl who found herself in the position to do something and she did her best to do it. And Mirabelle thinks Nille is just as cool as she imagined!

They end up taking some small classes together for fun at various Houses while they travel. When Mirabelle figures out that Nille isn't very good at reading, she reads books to her sometimes, and recommends her books that aren't too hard but also aren't too kiddie. One more for the girl's night book club! They have some good convos too about the balance of protecting and caring for a child vs giving them space to grow confident and independent, since Mira's parents were quite stifling; it's easier to find the acceptable middle range when you know what both failure modes look like, instead of just the one horrible extreme.

Isabeau is very friendly, and used to working with strangers and projecting an aura of safety, so he's got the chillest dynamic with Nille to start. He's the one who notices that her easy acceptance of the group was a little too easy and actually has some difficult feelings behind it. And he's been working on being braver, so he consults with his friends and then talks to Nille about it! I think it's a scary conversation but helpful in the long run, it's the start of establishing actual personal trust rather than just assumptions and idealization.

Since that precedent has been set, Isabeau becomes Nille's first choice if she needs to bring something up to the group. Doesn't hurt that he reminds her of one of the first people she met in Bambouche, too! On Isabeau's side, he likes having the opportunity to get to know someone new while he's figuring out his new self. And he's so delighted when she joins the war on puns as a whole new front: dad jokes. She wasn't even particularly into them before, she just wanted to shake up the battlefield. Nille and Isabeau also spar sometimes, because she hates how poorly she did at defending Bonnie, and Isabeau has the most formal/practical training in self-defense to pass on. (And he's the most willing to do physically-demanding activities for fun after already walking all day.)

Nille finds Odile intimidating. She's not sweet like Mira, or exuberant like Isa, or, uh, whatever the fuck Siffrin has going on. She's a full generation older than Nille and hard to read! Scary! But Bonnie adores her, and she's been making an effort to be more reassuring to Siffrin lately which shows, and Isabeau starts being more teasing-rude to Odile (the way she is to him) to prove that he can annoy her without repercussion which is really funny. So it doesn't take all too long for Nille to come down from high alert for the most part! And Odile respects Nille hardcore for raising Bonnie and takes her very seriously, which she appreciates.

Odile takes point on tutoring Bonnie, because she has some formal teaching experience and they're most likely to sit and listen for her anyway, but the others will give lessons on this or that. But Odile soon realizes from the way Nille hovers but doesn't help that she is actually further behind in schooling than Bonnie, and makes it her mission to rectify that. It's kinda rocky at first because Nille is both self-conscious of and resigned to her lack of education, but once she starts getting into it she really gets into it! This brings Odile and Nille a lot closer and Nille ends up admiring her a lot, especially as she catches hints of wild Odile lore.

Loop really likes getting to know Nille, since she never knew pre-loops Siffrin but she's still connected to their family. Not a stranger, not a copy, best of both worlds! Nille also appreciates having another person there who feels out of place in the party dynamics. She thinks Loop is funny, but also worrying, but they have enough people worried about them that she decides to goof off with them and enable them instead. Like yes it's probably bad for their mental health to make this kind of joke but it's worse to have everyone constantly analyzing their jokes' healthiness, yknow? Ironically, this (along with her newcomer status) means that Loop takes her worry more seriously and is more likely to listen to her than anyone else (except maybe Siffrin but only maybe).

Sometimes Loop gets a little too frantically irrational and it freaks Nille out because it reminds her of her and her mom's manic episodes. But she can disengage and tag someone else in, and see from afar that it all turns out okay! Loop gets some therapy tips from her too, but not necessarily the same ones as Siffrin. And they give her super shitty advice in return, in that way where it makes you realize how shitty it is and commit yourself to doing the opposite. They like to do silly things together that Nille never got the chance to do as a child and Loop doesn't remember doing, like rolling around in mud puddles and staying up all night just to watch the sunrise. Nille doesn't feel as self-conscious about acting juvenile because Loop is like a billion years old, but she also doesn't have to be in charge the way she is when playing with Bonnie! And Loop gets to make brand new memories with someone who has no old ones to compare them to!

Bonnie is super happy to see Nille for like, a day, and then they get really mad at her more often than not for like a week (because now that they're home with her it's safe to be distraught and uncooperative), and then they settle back into a more consistent dynamic. But it takes a while longer for them to be able to comfortably get any farther away from each other than maybe a room over; Bonnie confidently heads off and then suddenly comes running back, and Nille is so brave about separating and bravely panics the entire time. Oh well! The first time around it only took her a couple years to get to be okay with Bonnie being away from her, she'll figure it out again eventually!

There's no rush.

[lucidlivi]

Fur and Fate

Requested: @deans-spinster-witch

Tag List: @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @perpetualabsurdity @antisocialcorrupt @heavenlyackles @anixiiee @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @k-slla @alternativeprincess @spnbaby-67 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @hzllxhoundxx @kmc1989 (I have my tag lists all messed up lol I'm very sorry if I missed you!)

Warnings: PTSD, Violence, Language, Service Dog Use, Trauma, Demonic Possession

switching point of view will be indicated with italics

*I just want to state a disclaimer that I am not an expert on PTSD or Service Dog Use, I did consult with someone who knows more than I do in order to write it to be more real/fair representation!

I took a deep breath trying to calm my erratic heart rate. I stared at the hooded figure walking in the grocery store parking lot. I felt a nudge against my hand, then another, a little more forceful this time.

I looked down just in time to see my service dog Sammy nudging me with his nose, trying to get me to walk away from the window. He puts his paw on my leg, trying to give me a forceful push.

I let Sammy lead me away from the window to one of the aisles. I once again tried to calm my breathing. I was trying to remember the mindfulness exercises that my therapist had taught me, but I was already spiraling at this point.

I shut my eyes tight trying to block out the images of that fateful night.

"goodnight mommy." I whispered as she tucked me in.

"goodnight my love."

"mommy?" I called before she could leave.

"yes my love?"

"when's daddy coming home?"

At eight years old I didn't understand that Daddy left for good and he wasn't coming home. He didn't love us anymore.

"I don't know my love, let's just try to get some rest." Mom said kissing my forehead once more.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, giving my mom one last smile. I saw her switch on my night light as she exited my room. I never had a problem falling asleep. I was out within minutes, dreaming of princesses and unicorns.

I jumped hearing a loud thud coming from downstairs. I sat up rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"mommy?" I called out in the darkness.

I heard more thumping coming from downstairs. I got up, grabbing my unicorn night light, before descending down the staircase.

"mommy?" I called again.

I walked in to the living room, seeing a man standing over my mom. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt so I couldn't see his face.

"baby run!" I heard mommy call out weakly.

I couldn't run.

I felt like my little legs were glued to the spot.

I watched in horror as the hooded figure stabbed my mom with a knife. I felt blood splatter on my face as the figure yanked the knife from her body before plunging it back in. In an instant mommy was thrown against the wall, and her body became engulfed in flames.

"mommy no!" I cried.

I'll never forget what happened after, and to this day, nobody believes what I saw.

I backed up in fear, my back hitting the bookshelf. I watched the hooded figure turn around, giving me a chance to look at his face. I tried to get a good look at him, but the only thing I saw were his eyes.

Black, and not just the irises.

No, the entire eye was pitch black.

He stared at me giving me a sickly sweet smile.

"I'll be back for you."

Those were the last words I heard before the figure disappeared.

I sat frozen in fear until I was being pulled out of the house by police officers.

I knew my mommy was gone.

I lived every day in fear of the man, his words haunting me.

I was asked to come to the police station to make an id on the suspect police were sure committed the crime, but it wasn't any of the men they brought in.

I didn't see black eyes.

Of course nobody believed the testimony of a terrified eight year old.

Mom's case ran cold, and was eventually forgotten about altogether.

Not by me though.

I felt like any day the man would be back for me.

I got the hell out as soon as I turned sixteen.

I've been living on my own since.

I eventually met a friend who told me to seek out therapy.

PTSD is what they call it. It stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was the poster child for it, it seems.

I witnessed my mother being murdered by a black eyed man.

I couldn't go out anywhere without feeling like I was going to run in to the man with black eyes. I feared for my life every second of every day.

I felt exceptionally triggered any time I saw a person with their hood up.

I felt paws digging in to my leg again. Sammy was pushing on me, alerting me that I needed to sit down so he could help me. I sat down, leaning my back against the shelf. Sammy climbed on to my lap, and leaned in to my chest, putting pressure on me. I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tightly.

I worked on controlling my breathing, reminding myself that I am safe. It took awhile, but I eventually calmed myself down with deep breathing exercises. Sammy, noticing I was much calmer now licked my face before climbing off my lap.

I got up stretching my muscles. I was always so exhausted after an episode.

I just wanted to pay for my groceries at this point and go home. I grabbed my basket that I had dropped in my episode. I went to turn around, accidentally clamoring in to a hard chest.

"oh gosh, I'm so sorry." I heard a deep voice say.

I looked up, my eyes landing on the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

Green eyes pierced my own, as I gazed at his facial features. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks. He licked his lips, bringing my attention to them.

"no, I'm sorry I wasn't watching where I was going." I managed to squeak out.

I was weary of most people, but this man seemed gentle, and harmless. I couldn't deny there was something about him that just seemed safe.

"are you okay?" the mystery man asks.

I chuckled softly.

I don't think I even knew the meaning of being okay.

I haven't been okay in awhile.

I was about to respond when Sammy went over to the mystery man, sniffing him, before nudging his hand. Sammy was specifically trained not to do this when he was working, but for some reason he really wanted attention from the mystery man.

"well hi buddy." the man said leaning down and scratching under Sammy's chin.

Sammy's tail wagged with delight. It seems that Sammy thought he was harmless too.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't ever do that, he's trained not too." I said, my cheeks going red.

He probably thought I had no control over my service dog.

"oh, should I not be petting him? I apologize, I didn't know." the man said standing up quickly.

"no, no its okay, he likes you." I laughed as I watched Sammy lay down so the stranger could scratch his belly.

"well I would love to know his name, and yours?" the man asked, once again giving Sammy the attention he craved.

"I'm (y/n), and this is Sammy." I said.

I watched the strangers eyes light up with amusement.

"Sammy huh? I have a Sammy too."

"you have a dog named Sammy?" I asked.

"well he's sort of like a dog, doesn’t sit or stay very well." the stranger answered, making me confused.

"Dean, what the hell I've been...." I heard a voice start to say but he tapered off when he saw me.

"meet my Sammy." the stranger, who I'm now learning is named Dean says with a laugh.

I saw the other man roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Hi, I'm Sam." He said shaking my head.

"(y/n)." I answered returning his hand shake.

Sammy didn't brush against his hand for a pet. It seems that he only did it for Dean.

"I should uh be going gentleman, sorry again for bumping in to you Dean." I spoke grabbing Sammy's leash.

I never stayed in one place for too long, it was far too risky.

"It was my fault." Dean was quick to defend.

Sammy nudged Dean once more earning a scratch behind the ear.

"see ya Sammy, take care of your mom." Dean said giving Sammy one last pet.

I smiled at the pair, heading to the front to pay for my groceries. I was relieved to see that the hooded figure was gone. I put my groceries up to scan, glancing around furiously at my surroundings.

It was something ingrained in me to do. It was my flight or fight response.

I had to make sure I had a way out of every situation.

I took note of all of the emergency exits.

I handed the cashier my money, quickly collecting the bags in my arms. I grabbed Sammy's leash heading towards my pickup truck. I saw Sammy stop abruptly, his hackles rising to signify something wasn't quite right. I glanced around the parking lot, but nothing caught my eye.

"what is it boy?" I panicked.

Sammy started to whine, putting his head in the crook of my knee to push me towards the truck. I felt my heart start to race. I quickly got in the seat, allowing Sammy to jump in beside me. As I started the truck I saw a figure illuminated in the headlights. I felt fear course through my body.

It seemed like the figure was staring directly at me.

I put a hand in Sammy's fur trying to calm my heart rate.

I saw the figure step closer, the light illuminating more of it's features. I felt my heart sink to the bottom of my chest.

Black Eyes.

"no, no." I started to cry.

He had found me.

I jumped as a hand started banging on my window. I snapped my head to the side seeing Dean standing there. I quickly turned my head back to where the black eyed man stood but he was now gone.

"(y/n) are you okay?" Dean asked opening the door.

I felt the air leave my lungs as I stared at the empty spot. I felt like my chest was burning from the lack of oxygen. Sammy noticing my breathing become heavier made his way to my lap, putting pressure against my chest. I dug my fingers in to his fur trying to calm my erratic heart rate.

"you saw it before didn't you?" Dean asked, voice laced with concern.

"my.mom." I managed to choke out between heavy breaths.

Dean ran a hand down my back trying to help me calm myself. I would've thought it a sweet gesture if I wasn't completely losing my shit right now.

I didn't know what got me more scared, the fact that it found me or the fact that it was real.

I wasn't crazy, at least I got that closure.

I buried my face in Sammy's fur going through my deep breathing exercises once again trying to calm myself. It felt like hours but I was finally able to slow my breathing down to an even rhythm. I looked over to see Dean still sat with me.

"that thing killed my mom, and now I think it wants to kill me." I voiced my concerns.

Dean gave me a look, like he knew more than he was letting on.

"it's called a demon." Dean spoke.

A demon? I didn't know what I expected but it certainly wasn't that.

"like one of those things from hell?" I scoffed.

"exactly that, look I know it sounds crazy but I can help you." Dean said.

"you're right you sound completely crazy." I growled looking at him.

I thought Dean looked gentle and safe but in reality I didn't know him at all. He could be insane for all I know. He was sounding that way with all this talk about demons.

"look you don't live in the world you think you do, okay, there are things out there, things that you wouldn't think exist but I promise you they do." Dean said.

"Dean I really can't do this right now." I said trying my best to leave the situation.

"you know in your heart that this is something more, you just don't want to believe it." Dean said adamantly.

"please, let me go." I cried.

"that's why you told the police a black eyed monster killed your mom." Dean spoke not daring to look me in the eyes.

"how the hell do you know that?" I growled, suddenly fearful of this stranger.

"I read the police report." Dean said looking suddenly guilty.

He's read about me.

He knew me.

I thought running in to him was fate, but that wasn't the case at all.

It was planned.

"go to hell Dean." I spit at him.

Dean sighed backing away from the truck. I slammed the truck door, leaning my head on the steering wheel. I sobbed, feeling like the world was slowly closing in on me.

Dean was right.

I knew this was something more.

But a demon?

No.

It can't be.

Can it?

Plus who the hell even was this guy?

He read my file.

Was he a detective?

Why help now?

Surely detectives don't believe in demons.

I pulled out of the parking lot, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out.

Dean

"way to go genius why'd you bring up the police report?" Sam asked stepping out of the shadows.

"I don't know, I was trying to help." I said running a hand through my hair.

I didn't know why this girl was having such an effect over me.

Maybe I did.

"Dean, we had a plan why didn't you stick to it?" Sam grumbled.

"you didn't exactly follow through to your part either, considering the bastard got away." I growled at my baby brother.

"Dean, I get you want to help this girl but..." Sam started but I cut him off.

"Sam, that's just it, you don't get it! I watched mom die, okay, I know the pain she feels every single day. I watched her die and there was nothing I could do." I yelled, feeling the emotions wash over me.

"Dean you were just a kid, what were you supposed to do?"

"I couldn't do anything then, but I can do something now."

Sam nodded his head in understanding.

I had a good feeling this demon could lead us to the yellow eyed demon that killed mom.

I expected to meet her, I planned it.

I knew she could help us catch this thing.

I didn't expect her to tug on my heart.

Sam and I hopped back in the impala driving back to the motel. I couldn't shake this feeling like something bad was going to happen. Although lately I felt that way all the time. It was like I was living in a nightmare, and no matter how hard I fought I just couldn't bring myself out of it. I threw my jacket down angrily.

"I feel like this bastard is always a step ahead of us." I growled, crashing on to the uncomfortable bed.

Sam was about to respond, but we heard a light scratching on the door.

"what could that be?" Sam wondered aloud.

"one way to find out." I said grabbing my pistol.

Sam grabbed his, slowly opening the door.

I was shocked to find Sammy. I looked around, noticing (y/n) wasn't with him. I felt fear in the pit of my stomach. Sammy was whining, circling around.

"I think he wants us to follow him." I said to Sam.

Sam gave me a look of concern before nodding his head. Sammy started to walk away, Sam and I hot on his trail. He led us down the road to a worn down apartment complex. I instantly noticed her truck. It was still running, and her groceries were on the ground.

"Dean this doesn't look good." Sam said noticing the scene too.

Sammy whined, pawing at my leg. I bent down wrapping my arms around him.

"I promise boy I'll find her." I said giving him a hug.

Sammy wiggled out of my arms, going towards a door and starting to paw at it.

"I don't like this Dean." Sam warned as I walked towards the door.

I ignored him, hesitantly trying the handle. It was unlocked.

I swung the door open, but the room was pitch black, leaving no visibility.

"Dean." I heard her voice say.

"I'm here, where are you?" I asked whipping around in the darkness.

I heard a sickening chuckle as the room illuminated. (y/n) stood in the corner, but I could tell it wasn't (y/n).

"leave her body now." I growled, as her once beautiful colored eyes flashed black.

"I don't know what you're talking about Dean? It's me."

"leave her body." I growled once again.

"or what? I mean you can't kill me, no because that would mean she'd die too, and you don't want that do you Dean?" the demon taunted.

the demon was right.

If I tried anything she'd die too.

"besides, I can help you."

"yeah like I'm stupid enough to trust you." I growled as the demon possessing her body started to circle me.

"I mean if you don't want to know why your mom died I guess that's your loss. I can tell you though, this one, her daddy made a deal he couldn't cash, and would you believe he traded the lives of his wife and his daughter, what kind of a man does that? I mean your mother wasn't innocent either."

I felt my blood boiling in anger.

"you don't know what the hell you're talking about." I spit.

I tensed as the demon came up, using her hand to rest on my cheek.

"oh but I do."

I grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the wall. It hurt me to do, but I had to remind myself she wasn't herself right now.

"shut up, and let her go." I growled.

"you know you're hot when you're angry."

In a split second she had her hand on my throat throwing me to the ground. I landed with a thud, causing her to laugh.

"oh Dean this is just too easy."

"where's the yellow eyed demon." I growled.

"in a place you'll never find."

"so he's sending you to do his dirty work, is that it?" I growled.

"kind of like that, but we all have our own personal vendettas."

I could see out of the corner of my eye Sam drawing a devil's trap. I needed to lure her out there.

"let her go, or else."

"or else what, you can't kill me, I thought we were past this."

It was now or never.

I stood up slowly as she paced around me.

"you're right, I can't kill you, but that doesn't mean I can't trap you."

As soon as the words left my lips, I tackled her body out of the door, right in to the trap. I moved out of the way as the demon stood up angrily, unable to move.

"what did you do to me?"

"it's called a devils trap, and now we're going to make you leave whether you want to or not." Sam growled.

I started reciting the latin words that would exercise the demon from her body. I felt a pang of guilt as she thrashed around with each word I spoke.

I spoke the final line, and the demon left her body, causing her to collapse to the ground. Sam took the book from my hands reciting the next part of the exorcism to send the demon back to hell where it belongs. I ran into the devils trap picking up her body, just as Sam spoke the last line sending the demon back to hell.

"Sam get me a cold washcloth." I yelled cradling her limp body.

Sam ran inside the apartment, returning quickly with what I asked for. I put it to her forehead dabbing lightly while shaking her awake.

"come on, wake up." I pleaded shaking her harder.

Reader

"I won't take your life, just your soul."

I could only remember those words being spoken before I awoke with a jolt. I touched my body making sure I was still alive, and most importantly still me. I glanced up seeing the concerned eyes of Dean.

"Dean?"

"Oh thank god you're back." He sighed in relief.

I tried to sit up but it felt like my joints were on fire.

"Easy, you'll be sore for awhile, I uh kind of had to tackle you." Dean said rubbing his neck nervously before helping me sit up.

"what the hell happened to me?" I asked.

Dean explained everything.

Demons, possession, exorcisms.

It would have been pretty unbelievable if I hadn't just lived through it. He explained the deal my father made.

A deal with the devil.

I couldn't believe that my mom was gone because of him. I just hoped wherever he was, he was paying too.

Dean explained that he saw his mom die at the hands of a demon too. I felt my heart sink as he explained that he's spent all this time looking for the thing that killed her.

I gazed at him, seeing the broken person that lay underneath this tough facade.

Dean watched his mom die too. He was just as broken as I was.

I put my hand to his cheek gently caressing it with my thumb.

"Dean, you saved me."

"I had a little help." Dean said glancing towards the truck.

Sam opened the door, allowing Sammy to run out into my arms. He was wagging his tail like crazy, licking over my face.

"I missed you too boy." I smiled hugging him tightly.

Sammy jumped on Dean causing Dean to chuckle. He reached down scratching him.

"I guess it was a little bit of fur and fate." I whispered biting my lip.

"fur and fate huh?" Dean whispered, suddenly much closer than before.

"I didn't really believe in fate, but then again I didn't really believe in demons either." I said.

"and what now?"

"now, I believe I want you to kiss me." I whispered taking in his intoxicating scent.

"I can do that." Dean whispered leaning in.

I don't know if it was fur or fate, but whatever it was, I was thankful.

and for the first time since I was eight years old, I felt okay.

Author Note:

I'm sorry it took me so long to finish! I really hope you liked it! I'm forever grateful for all the love!

xoxoxo

Liv

[squiddleknitted]

Watching the new James Somerton apology.

Bold move monetising your apology video. The revenue will go to HBomberGuy! Or Wikipedia maybe!?

The focus on how so many people were nice to him feels like he's suggesting nobody should criticise him now that he's been forgiven by the people he personally and directly wronged.

There's an awful lot of weight being placed on "I'm a cis white man." It's like he's trying to take the blame off himself and put it onto the cisness, whiteness, and maleness. Being a cis white man means he will always be flawed, it's a way of avoiding his responsibility for his actions.

He called the fucking cops on someone. He claims the person, "Did an internet and threatened to kill me." He then follows this up by acknowledging that, "Cops don't usually have the best interests of people at heart." I'm not familiar with the Jessie topic but this video explores it and offers context.

Lots of "We tried too hard to be good and that was our real downfall" type bullshit.

On Telos: "These were not going to be unionised movies, and we were very clear about that upfront. We wanted to be able to pay actors as best that we could, but we never expected to be able to reach typical union wages." Do I even need to say it?

Lots of throwing Nick under the bus. What are Nick's pronouns? James goes from using exclusively they/them to exclusively he/him. There's a line about how him and Nick were codependent that makes me wonder if abuse/toxicity allegations are in the future?

He's talking an awful lot about how every movie he tries to do has issues and he inevitably had to move to a new movie plan. Surely he should've just. Focused on how to fix the issue?

He's getting really into the suicide topic again. In a way that would be better saved for close friends and therapists.

Supposedly several people showed up at his house trying to harm him while he was not there. I'm a little skeptical. This is the first I've heard of anyone having his address, and while I'm sure he received threats, I can't imagine anyone is so invested as to actually go to his house.

He is re-uploading videos, including new videos. The re-uploaded videos are monetised and the money will be going... Somewhere.

"I know that misinformation made its way into our past videos." Well, it didn't write itself?

He has put together a new Patreon, and claims he will not be reopening the old one.

"This video is not about promoting myself." And yet, you have spent much of it doing exactly that.

He hasn't acknowledged the ways that some of his work upheld misogynistic and racist views? 43 minute video and he couldn't manage a, "I should've been more normal about nazis," or, "I said some mean things about women."

[notnights]

Out of all the mean shit I've gotten for my ribbuns (and I admit it's expected to an extent I am after all purposely depicting this in a way that should disturb you, but man some comments get MEAN) there has only been maybe 2, or 3 that basically sum up to "I went through something like this, and seeing my favorite character go through the same thing makes me feel less alone."

And honestly that kind of makes it worth it. I can get 60 mean comments but if there's one that makes reference to feeling seen and heard, then that's kind of worth it.

I had--have someone who still loves me a lot. Till this very day, every day she tells me she loves me so much. It took me years to figure out that doesn't make everything she put me through right, or forgivable. So there's a certain cathartic aspect in some of what I make. While not the exact same scenarios, it helps. Can't explain in detail why, would just bore, and it's too personal anyways.

Why I constantly joke about "my therapist says toxic ribbun is good for me." Art therapy all that jazz.

Anyways, I don't really know why I'm posting this. Awhile back someone left a comment on one of my "toxic ribbun" pieces, that has probably since been deleted because I can't find it again, but one point they said in it, "I feel seen in this." Hope who ever said that is doing alright out there and life takes it easy on you.

I think about that comment a lot. For a lot of different reasons, I hope they're okay out there. But it reminded me the value in all sorts of different stories. Different portrayals. And how it can make us feel less alone. I've always liked making sad stories, I feel guilty for writing so many sad stories, I think about how awful the stuff I went through made me feel, why am I putting my favorite characters through that. I don't know, but it helps apparently somehow. I guess I'm glad it's helped others too. Maybe one day I'll be in a place where I can make happier stories but right now these are what I want to tell and I'm just glad what I'm telling now maybe still has value in some way, even if it's just one or two people.

Then there are also some people who say things like "this is me fr" and I DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW TO RESPOND TO THAT IS THIS SOMETHING YOU TOO WENT THROUGH AND ARE JUST VOICING IT IN A COMEDIC MANNER BECAUSE IT HELPS ? ARE YOU JUST JOKING? ARE YOU GOING THROUGH THIS RIGHT NOW?! ARE YOU OKAY??? DO WE NEED TO FIND HELP FOR YOU PLEASE FIND PEOPLE YOU TRUST TO HELP YOU PLEASE BE OKAY OH GOD. I'M TYPING IN CAPS TO MAKE THIS A LITTLE MORE COMEDIC BUT GENUINELY I HOPE ALL OF YOU ARE OKAY OUT THERE

[thesamoanqueen]

WIP Friday tagged by my beloved @harmshake , @joannasteez and @southerngirl41

A little preview of the next chapter of Blackwater, unfortunately I've been working on so many things lately that I can't keep up with all my ffs, im sorry.

It had happened once, when he was still traveling across the country for the family business, months before he met Y/N. They had made up, Roman had forgiven him and their bond had grown stronger since then, but it could have happened again. Loyalty is never absolute, Roman had learned that lesson the hard way. If his own family, friends, had chosen to betray him, why couldn’t the wiseman do it twice?

- I would never dare, you know nothing means more to me than you! I love you! You are my Tribal Chief!

- But you forgot me to do as you wanted – he reminded him, taking a step forward, feeling his stink, panic, creeping into his nostrils.

- No, no, I would never disrespect you like that, I was just-

- I made myself clear wiseman – he growled softly and Paul raised his hands, to defend himself or slow him down, it didn’t matter.

- I-I… I did it for Y/N! I shouldn’t say it but it’s true, I did it for her! – he finally admitted, gesturing towards the stairs for the bedroom.

She wasn’t awake to hear him, but she didn’t need to be there to give him one of her warning looks, because Roman was already doing it. He witnessed their arguments on a daily basis, luckily they had never gone too far to make him interfere and part of the reason why it never happened, was because the wise man knew to watch his mouth when she was involved. Whatever moment their relationship was going through, whatever was happening, it didn’t matter, Y/N was untouchable.

- Be careful wise man – he warned him, his gaze now dark and Paul understood, as his demeanor changed and he took a few seconds to choose the right words before speaking.

- It’s nothing new, she’s always been… against it… she has her opinion and a lot already happened, it’s probably the prospect of losing someone she cares about that puts her on the defensive – he explained giving him a look that made Roman's mouth twitch.

This conversation was becoming unbearable for him. He was perfectly aware of what Y/N’s opinion was about the feud with his cousins, he was aware there was more than what she was admitting, he was aware of what traumas the past had left in her mind. He didn’t need to hear the wise man explain to him how things were or play the part of the therapist to justify what was happening when he knew they were not on good terms.

- Im her family, she won’t lose nobody – he reminded him exasperated, seeing him show another face that pushed his nerves even further before speaking.

- Of course, no… not you at least, I’m sure she knows perfectly her place is by your side but… you know there’s a strong bond with the twins, im not gonna lie… it’s mutual, at the meeting it was clear that Jey feels it too, you saw it, we were all there and she’s a smart woman, a survivor and maybe- his growl stopped him from saying anything else, but Roman had heard enough by now.

No!

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @expert-texpert @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318 @headoftheetable @sortudademais

[lastoneout]

Wheelchair excitement is being more than slightly dampened by concern that either my insurance is going to deny me and I won't be allowed to pay for the chair myself because I have Medicade OR that the physical/occupational therapist and/or wheelchair assessment people will decide I don't actually need one despite my primary, who again is a former EDS specialist and is very certain my quality of life is bad enough I need one, and turn me away.

Like my mom has gotten a wheelchair through Medicaid basically her whole life and she told me that the assessment people aren't allowed to turn you down, they are ONLY there to help you decide what chair will best fit you and take the needed measurements and make adjustments once it's made, the only person who can decide if I truly need one is my doctor and the prescription is the final say, but most of the stuff I've been finding online about the process is saying the assessment people are part of the initial decision about my need for one and their say has just as much weight as the doctor writing the prescription, and I am sadly WELL AWARE of how anti-mobility aid a lot of physical therapists can be so the thought of getting that far and being shut down is concerning me greatly.

I'm also worried my insurance will only approve me for one of those manual transport/hospital drive ones that are too heavy and weirdly built for the passenger to propell themselves meaningfully on their own...I know I can fight it and one of those straight up will not work for me but still. Also I've heard Medicaid will refuse to pay for one if you don't need to use it inside the house, which I won't need mine for that plus my house is way too small for me to even use it in here at all, and I guess I could lie but eugh I am not good at that.

I probably shouldn't worry until I actually get in touch with the assessment people, and tbh when I called them earlier this year to ask what the process was they told me all I need to see them is a prescription from my doctor so I'm really praying everything goes smoothly but like shit typically does NOT go smoothly for me so I know my ass is just gonna be freaking out and over thinking it the entire time.

I just really need this chair. My quality of life is gone, it's so hard for me to even find the will to do the things I need to to regain what mobility I can because I know it will never be enough to allow me to actually do the things I want to do and I don't get to do anything fun in the meantime so I'm just depressed about this constantly, and I truly do not know how much longer I can sit here and watch my entire life go by without me. I want to be able to run errands and spent time with my family and go to museums and parks(masked ofc) and go to school and it is abundantly clear that no amount of knee braces, pain meds, and physical therapy will get me there, so it is truly cruel and unfair to say I should just not do all that because the thing that would let me do it at all is somehow "bad" for me.

I deserve the dignity of risk. I deserve to give informed consent. I deserve to be treated like the fucking adult I am who is more than capable of doing physical therapy and other exercises at home to maintain my muscles and mobility. I can be trusted to know when it's appropriate to use my aids and when it isn't. I am so FUCKING sick of being treated like a literal child by doctors who insist if I get in the chair I will simply give up and never walk again, I'm almost 30, I have self control, I'm not lazy. Every single activity I have given up, be it work or hiking or walks has claw marks in it, I am the opposite of lazy.

I just don't think I can take much more of my life being denied to me by abled people who clearly think all disabled people are lazy idiots who can't be trusted to make their own decisions. I genuinely cannot take it. If this doesn't work I don't know what I'll do.

(I think for now to temper the anxiety I'm going to write down all the measures I've tried to fix myself(PT, knee braces, rollator, ect.) and why they haven't been enough to achieve the VERY REASONABLE goals I have for myself. Also all the ways my current medical conditions limit me. That should help me feel more like I can actually convince the right people that we are well past the time that this should have been considered. Fingers crossed anyway.)

[baenyth]

First Half of Miraculous Season 2 Done. Here's my thoughts:

The Collector: A pretty good start! They made the teens smart while still being dumb teens!

Despair Bear: Chloe needs a therapist, arguably moreso than a redemption arc and especially a downward villainous spiral. Also Dangit Grandpa

Prime Queen: Wow, this was a lot more chill than expected. Even Cat Noir was left aghast at what Nadja was doing, Nadja seemed to be pressuring Ladybug and Cat Noir more for views than anything else, and I'm not entirely sure Akuma personalities can be trusted.

Befana: Fun fact: This was the episode that got me into Miraculous in the first place because of how shocking it was. And then I discovered even more. In hindsight from watching the other episodes, it was relatively darker, but mostly because it's Marinette's friends and family that are getting G-rated killed instead of random civilians like every other episode.

Riposte: Kagami is here! I don't see too much chemistry with her and Adrien yet, but she's cool and I like her and feel like I could be friends in real life. Also this feels like a relatively uncommon trope, but I wish "X is blatantly a woman but no one notices" was spedran through by someone with brains.

Robustus: Pretty good, all things considered. From what I've heard about Miraculous lore, creating sapient or at the very least semi-sapient AI isn't that uncommon for weirdness hotspots, and I'm putting Max in the list of characters I think should have figured out Ladybug and Cat Noir's identity. (There's four now!)

Gigantitan: It turns out my favorite parts of Miraculous are the slice-of-life bits instead of the superhero bits the show is about! We got to see more of Marinette's friends! Alix! Mylene! Julie! The Eeby Deeby herself! Also it was really sweet to see Adrien's bodyguard calm down just by looking at the kid. Adrien's true daddy.

Dark Owl: No wonder these two aren't allowed to know eachothers' identities, considering how much of a loose tongue Marinette has!

Glaciator: Alright, it's finally time to talk about the sins of Marinette and Cat Noir, considering the fan content I osmosed before watching the series was heavy salt stuff, and I wanna see how much it holds up. So far Cat Noir has acted as if he's already dating Ladybug previously, and in this episode he got mad at Ladybug for not showing up at a date when she herself said she might not come due to having other plans. Isn't he supposed to be used to not-showing-up disappointment as Adrien due to his dad? Is it different because he's Cat Noir? Is this a breaking point? No matter, he eventually calms down and is ultimately the less bad member of the relationship. Marinette, meanwhile, doesn't have as many misdemeanors to her name but they're a lot worse. She stole Adrien's phone to get rid of an embarrassing message and got away with it too, what the hell, and also owns the schedule. Although I don't believe she stalked Adrien and made it herself due to how busy she is as both Marinette and Ladybug, that's just weird and wrong. I'm reluctant to call her a stalker, but her actions are still wrong. Ultimately, this relationship is going to need a lot of therapy and counseling to not crash and burn. What were we talking about again? Oh yeah. The ice cream episode. I think the ice cream guy can be wrong and he doesn't understand that.

Sapotis: Silly little fun episode, also it introduces the first new Miraculous holder! I'm honestly fine with it so far if it means more screentime for side characters. I honestly really like seeing Marinette's classmates. They're neat. Also I was this close to putting Alya on the list but she proves time and time again that she doesn't actually know Ladybug's identity.

Gorizilla: In this episode we are introduced to Adrien's deranged parasocial fanbase. I'm starting to understand some of his father's decisions at this point. This is what I was talking about with the schedule, by the way. These obsessive stalker creeps make Marinette look reasonable, and I wouldn't be surprised if the one guy who I'm pretty sure becomes Party Crasher discreetly stalked Adrien to get his schedule. Restraining orders need to be filed.

Captain Hardrock: One of the funniest episodes, up there with Dark Cupid. Also Luka is here! And he already has great chemistry with Marinette! And more Rosie and Julie content even if it's crumbs!

[lainiespicewrites]

I Just want to feel safe Part 2

Okay this took me literal weeks! And I’m sorry! But I’m happy with how this turned out I think. Here is part 2 of my Walter Fic! Again this has kind of become an SVU crossover and I’m not sorry 😂

Let me know what you think ❤️

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, cursing

Also there’s a POV switch because I wanted to try something new.

I own all of my mistakes here! I’m sure it’s not perfect but it’s mine.❤️❤️

Part 1:

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

When I woke up in the morning the detective was back in his office. He looked up from his computer when he heard me stop in the doorway.

“Good morning,” He spoke softly, offering me a warm smile as continued sifting through some case notes.

“Hi,” I said shyly, a little unsure about this situation now that I was of sound mind. Still he was warm and welcoming in his demeanor. Despite all that had happened.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking a moment to think about how to answer. It shouldn’t be a difficult question. But the last few weeks, everything seemed to feel that way. It all felt heavy and difficult to navigate. Although I wasn’t looking for more pity from this man I gave him an honest answer.

“I slept, which is more than I can say for the last few nights.” His lips quivered into a sad smile and he nodded.

“I thought about something this morning,” He said as he pulled open one of his desk drawers and started rummaging through it. “I’m not sure if you’ve considered it or if it’s something you’re already doing..” He said as he continued to search through the drawer. Finally he found what he was looking for, a business card of some kind. He took it out of the drawer and held it out for me to take. I entered his office and took the card hesitantly. I waited for him to speak again before I looked at it. “We’re given a lot of resources in the police department. And although I didn’t have much luck with her, it was mainly my own fault. I’m terribly stubborn I suppose,” He chuckled awkwardly trying to reign in his rambling. “I hear she’s an excellent therapist. She’s very kind.” I nodded. I examined the card. It gave the therapist's name and hours. The address and the phone number. I bit my lip contemplating again. He just shared something personal with me. Indirectly, albeit, but still. He didn’t have to tell me he’d been to therapy himself. But at the same time, I had tried it too. But I never felt comfortable opening up. It never worked. He wanted to help. And I had to face the fact that tonight I had to go home. And be alone again. I couldn’t keep staying with him. This was strange enough as it was.

“Thank you,” I said finally. It was the only thing I could say. “I’ll keep this in mind. I appreciate all you’ve done and all you’re doing for me. Detective Marshall.”

“It’s my job,” He said softly. But that was it. I mean, was taking a distressed victim home with him part of his job? Or was there something about me that made him want to help? Or am I losing my mind and catching feelings for the first person who made me feel better. I shook my head. I was losing it. I was sleep deprived and overwhelmed and we were truthfully just getting started. I needed to get a grip.

“Yeah,” was all I said in response. He let out a short breath and stood up.

“We should get to the station. Get things rolling,” He said. I nodded and followed him as we exited his house and got into his truck.

The ride to the station was mostly quiet. But there was one burning question I couldn’t keep to myself. “Once I give you my statement, will you … will you have enough to arrest him?” I asked. Walter was quiet for a moment but his grip on the steering wheel got tighter. There was a tick in his Jaw as he thought about what to say. I suppose that was all the answer I really needed.

“It could be,” He said plainly. “However,” he added, his voice a little more pained. “With as long as it’s been and with the lack of evidence, we’ll likely have to do a more thorough investigation before we can send your case to the prosecutor, in order for them to send us the okay for the arrest.” My heart dropped.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance you won’t even be allowed to charge him?” I couldn’t help the urgency in my voice. That’s not what he said. “You said you put people away on less!” I cried. “I change my mind, I don't.. I don’t wanna do this!” I was panicking. I wasn’t worth it. I knew it wasn’t. Reliving telling this. And how many more times would I have to do it. And what if it’s for nothing. Walter stopped the truck pulling over on the side of the road. He sighed. Leaning his head back against the headrest and then turning to me.

“Alayna, this isn’t hopeless, I need you to trust me. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t sure I could help you. I have put men like him away with just a witness statement. It’s just not easy to convince the court to let us move off of something so…” he paused trying to find the right word.

“Weak?” I spoke.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” He said softly, he reached for my hand gently putting his hand over mine before tentatively lacing our fingers together. He sighed again. He was frustrated, not so much at me, just that he was also stuck. Bound by the system to do things by the book. He ran his other hand through his hair and let it fall to his lap. “My job is to keep you safe. Beyond that, I want to keep you safe. I want to help you. I’m not going to let them sweep you under the rug. I’ve seen how this affected you. How it still affects you. I can’t force you to report this. But I can tell you that if you ask me to take you home right now. I’m going to lose even more sleep tonight worrying about you than I would if I were working your case.”

“What happens if they refuse the charges?” I asked meekly, staring at the floor. I felt him squeeze my hand.

“I promise you, he’ll never touch you again. I’ll keep you safe.” He said. I looked up at him. Meeting his eyes. They were darker. Something fierce. I was going to ask another question. I was going to ask how he could possibly know that. How he could be so sure. Why would he promise something like that? But looking in his eyes. I knew. He wasn’t going to let the prosecutor deny the charges. He was going to fight for me.

“I’ll go.” I said finally. His face softened and I felt his thumb brush over the back of my hand before he pulled away from me and veered the truck back onto the road. The rest of the drive was quiet. But there was less tension now then there had been.

At the station, Walter took me into a room where they interviewed the witnesses. This was nothing like what I was used to on TV. It wasn’t a dark, dingy interrogation. It was warm, comfortable, and bright. There was a couch along the wall. I sat there and watched him as he sat across from me in a chair and explained the process.

I probably should’ve paid better attention to what he was saying. But I couldn’t. It’s why I was confused when he set a tape recorder on the coffee table. He must’ve read the look on my face because he gave me a gentle smile and said.

“To record your statement for the prosecutor's office I may have to ask you a few questions as well. And then you’ll write it.” He explained. Likely repeating himself. I nodded.

“And then I’m done?” I asked desperately. He nodded.

“Then you’re done. If it were recent we’d collect any evidence and take you to the hospital for an exam, but we don’t really have a reason to do that here. Just your statement is good enough.” I nodded and Walter pressed record, starting the interview.

The whole process took about 2 hours. Going over everything, carefully recalling each detail. Of course he had to ask questions. “If there were others in the house why didn’t you call for help?” It was like my brain was paralyzed. I was just going through muscle memory, going through the motions. I couldn’t do anything. “Why did it take you so long to report your assault?” At first I wasn’t sure it was assault. I didn’t want to believe that he would do that to me. But the more I replayed it in my head and when I finally told someone what happened. I came to terms with it. But by that point I was scared. I had nothing. It wouldn’t matter. I convinced myself it wouldn’t matter.

I thought it would be hard to write it all down. To see it all on paper. But even when he asked me to read through it and confirm that it was all true, it didn’t hurt like I expected. Maybe doing this, finally giving myself a sense of justice was the peace that I needed. Maybe, I just needed to speak it outloud to someone who could really listen. So I wasn’t the only one carrying it. Or maybe it was him. Maybe it was how soft his voice was. The way he was looking at me. What he had said in the truck. Was this what it felt like to actually trust someone? But he was a police officer. He was just doing his job. I had heard of this before. Women falling in love with their therapists, or the firemen who pulled them out of a burning building. Whatever I believed was here couldn’t be real.

I avoided his eyes as I put the pen down. I had signed the statement making it all official. He reached across the table taking the paper and tucking it away into my casefile.

“I’ll get this scanned and submitted to the courts right away, unfortunately this is the part where we hurry up and wait.” I nodded.

“So, what do I do now?” I was exhausted, my voice was weak and tired. Walter sighed and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“Now, I’m going to take you home, and try to get some rest, and leave the hard part to me, as soon as I know anything I’ll contact you.” He said. I nodded. Out of all the things I had to do today. This was the part I dreaded most. Being alone again. But it was inevitable.

When we arrived at my building Detective Marshall offered to walk me inside. But I just shook my head and gave him a weak smile. I didn’t want to bother him any longer. I had to learn how to survive again. Hopefully this will all be over soon.

WALTERS POV

I waited until I watched her walk into the building. If I’m honest, I sat in that parking lot for another 20 minutes, watching the door and checking the perimeter of the building. I promised I’d keep her safe. I intended to keep that promise.

When I finally headed back to the station I checked I.T. to make sure her paperwork had been faxed to the prosecutor. I hate this part. I’ve worked cases where people try to take the law into their own hands. And while I still continue to follow through with direct orders and let the system put people to justice. I could see why others take matters into their own hands. I sat in my office, loading her file on my computer. Reading through it all. I see this everyday. I track down killers, rapists, abusers, every single day. But she’s stuck in my head. The knock on my door takes my focus from the screen. I lifted my eyes to see who was at my office. Rachel.

“Hi,” she spoke softly. She had that sympathetic smile on her face like she was reading my mind before I even spoke.

“Did you need something?” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow.

“I just wanted to check in with you, and see how everything went with the girl that came in to report last night?” she asked, her eyes big and hopeful. Rachel is an incredibly kind person. But she is also incredibly curious and stubborn.

“Just finished up this morning.” I said blankly. Hoping she would take it and leave. I know better.

“You got her to talk to you, good. I was worried about her. I noticed, uhm that, she came in with you today,” she raised an eyebrow accusingly. I let out a sigh running a hand over my beard. I locked eyes with her. I’d already beat myself up for taking this girl home with me last night. I’d gone against the code of conduct to help her feel safe. What did she want me to say?

“You seem to know everything already, why don’t you tell me what’s going on then. Since you’ve got me all figured out here.” I nodded to her, pursing my lips into a tight scowl. I didn’t need her psychoanalysis to tell me I’d fucked up. I knew that.

Her arms were crossed now as she leaned against the door frame looking me over carefully.

“Did you drive her home last night?” I let out a sharp laugh.

“It was freezing outside, she walked here. Yes. I took her home.” I replied. Not fully a lie. We did stop there. “Are you done?” I asked her “I have a lot to get done today and I’m waiting to hear from the prosecutor,”

“Walter,” She sighed, stepping into my office and sitting in front of me. The same place Alayna had sat last night. “Did she go home with you? It’s typical for victims to make…” she paused trying to find the right word. “Advances, toward men they see as protectors.” My brow creased my eyes zeroing in on her as I stopped her.

“You think I had sex with her?” I snap “That girl is afraid of her own shadow, you saw her. How long had you been talking to her? Trying to get her to open up before I came in? Yes, I finally got her to talk. And she was extremely shaken up. I took her home, but she looked so scared. Afraid to be alone. I don’t know why I did it. I could’ve … I should have sent her into her building and called an officer to sit and keep watch for the night.”

“But you didn’t, you let her go back to your house. Why?” She pressed. I groaned, frustrated.

“I don’t know,” I sighed.

“Nothing happened?” She asked.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” I growled. Her eyes went wide and she held up her hands in defense.

“Okay, just be more careful, something like this could have the head of the department on your ass and I can’t cover for you,” she said. I rolled my eyes, looking back at the screen.

“I didn’t ask you to,” I mumbled. She sighed and her shoulders slump, defeated. She stood to exit the office. Before she was completely out of ear shot she added.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” When I knew she was gone I leaned back in my chair letting my head fall back and let out a frustrated groan. Of all people she should understand I was just trying to help this girl.

I’m distracted by my office phone ringing. I picked it up immediately.

“SVU this is Captain Marshall,” I answered

“Marshall, this is Casey Novack, I just reviewed your case.” I gripped the phone tighter.

“And?” I encouraged her.

“You have no evidence here, what do you want me to do?” she explained.

“Let me arrest this guy, there’s enough detail in the statement to pull a confession, Casey. This victim’s been holding on to this for 2 year’s,” I argued.

“If I do that and he doesn’t confess this judge will have my ass Walt you know that, If this girl would’ve confessed sooner…”

“Casey, this isn’t a gamble. This happened. He’s guilty. I will get you that confession.” I barked, interrupting her.

“Legally?” I couldn’t see her face but I knew she had an eyebrow raised. “You’re a good cop Marshall, I’ll give you that. I don’t know what’s changed in you, I’ve never seen you fight so hard for the victim. It’s always about brute force with you. …Pick him up. Don’t make me regret this.” She said.

“You won’t,” I assured her.

It took me less than 2 hours to track him down. He wasn’t home. He wasn’t at work. Ironically, he was back in their hometown, with an old college buddy. Before I walked into the bar I stopped to call her. I told her I’d let her know when anything happened.

“Hello?” Her voice came through the phone soft and sleepy. I must’ve woken her up.

“Alayna, This is Detective Marshall.” I heard something shift in the background and her voice was more clear when she spoke.

“Detective, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” she said, I smiled softly.

“Yeah, well, the prosecutor is an old friend. I’m arresting him. He’ll be in custody soon. I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you,” Her voice was weak but I understood the sentiment. “I appreciate you calling. I guess. I’ll see you when I’m needed.” She added.

“You did an amazing job today, leave the rest up to me,” I soothed. I heard her sigh softly.

“Goodbye walter.” I could tell she was smiling.

“Goodbye Alayna.” I hung up the phone and walked into the bar. This piece of shit had no idea what was coming. His friend saw me first. He offered me a shot. When I turned him down, that's when he turned. I knew it was him. I recognized the pictures we’d found online for reference. But apart from that. She had described him so vividly. I would be able to recognize him anywhere. “Justin Veach?” I asked blankly, clearly unimpressed by their little charade.

“Yup,” He replied. “Since ‘89! How can I help you?” He asked smuggly, I didn’t give him a response. I pulled the cuffs from my belt.

“You’re under arrest for the rape and assault of Alayna Doyle.” I dragged him up by his arm slapping the cuff on one wrist. “You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say or do can be held against you in a court of law.” I continued reading him his rights as his friend followed us out of the building shouting not to say anything. And informing me that he went to law school. The officer that had followed me led Justin to the back of his car. His friend continued to shout but I ignored him. I nodded to the other officer, getting back in my truck and leading him back to the station. Now it was time for the fun part. Keeping my promise to Alayna. And to Casey. I had to get his confession. It was the only way to convince a judge to take the case. And now that he’s been accused. It was the only way I could assure Alayna I could protect her. Everything’s riding on this. Casey told me I was a good cop. I’d like to think that. But men like him… Will never get to see that side of me. It’s showtime.

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

Thank you all for your support on this! I intend for part 3 to have a much quicker update! Thanks for you patience and love y’all ❤️🥰

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