#its a pattern that i sat up last night crying about and recognizing

[jacob-blogs]

Having a lot of moments™ recently.

[belltrigger]

oooh, surprise for prompts? bonus points if it's Ingo learning something new Emmet picked up while he was still yeeted to Hisui, but I'm sure anything you want to do is gonna be a joy to read. :D

Anon, I am *crying* 😭 Tumblr goofed up, as it has been doing over the last few days, and ate your ask. BUT, thankfully for us both, I had copied it for my OpenOffice document while I was working on it.

-Send me a “Surprise” and I’ll write a drabble about one character discovering something surprising about the other

Title: Model Kit Word count: 1,255

The toothy scrape of metal as scissors closed with a snip, the muted thump of them being placed on fabric set down to dull sound. A soft click as something was fit to its match, and then a tick as it was set aside as well. Fingers drummed against a cloth surface in a short pattern, the familiarity distant but comforting.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he turned over towards the sounds, gently being coaxed from his dreams. Recognizing the sounds of something small being worked brought to mind the construction of pokéballs, but that couldn't be. Pokéballs were not constructed by hand here, in Unova.

To further remind him of where he was, wrapped around him were fluffed blankets making him pleasantly warm. His body felt light after a solid rest, a night spent with the twin he had missed for so long. Indulging in a little stretch, the aches that seemed ever-present had not yet noticed his wakefulness, offering a welcome respite. Edging into his awareness, the patter of rain against the window surfaced, and there was a rumble of distant thunder that the fingers again repeated in taps, this time against the wood of the desk.

As comfortable as he was, though, there was something missing. His hand slid across the sheet under the blanket, brows furrowed slightly at the absence of a familiar body next to him. Partially opening his eyes to search for his twin who should have absolutely been wrapped around him, he spotted him hunched over his desk, small lamp on to illuminate his work.

The sun had begun to filter through the curtains, but it was still faint, fighting its way through the storm clouds. His internal clock, combined with that, thought perhaps it was a little after sunrise. It was unlike Emmet to be awake before him, and especially odd that he had managed to get out of bed without rousing him.

In his sleepwear of a white t-shirt and small black shorts, he looked positively absorbed in his work. Quietly murmuring to himself, voice too low to make out any words, he leaned over away from the bed to pull something from the box at his feet.

Watching Emmet quietly as the sound of his work continued, the relaxing atmosphere combined with the continuing rain almost lulled him back to sleep. But he stubbornly kept his eyes open, wanting to memorize this moment of his twin when he thought he was the only one awake.

Visions of Emmet in similar situations overlapped the scene. Of his younger twin, frustrated at his studies, one hand in his hair and weight heavily on that arm, before leaning back with a loud complaint. Or when he was excitedly making adjustments to their pokémon strategies, scribbling down his thoughts as he reviewed footage. Holding up a book to him, pointing eagerly at some text he found. Always vibrant, always energetic.

This was similar, the same level of devotion, but with a quiet sort of focus that he didn't recall ever seeing from his twin.

The urge to call out to his twin bubbled in his chest, and he slid over to Emmet's spot in the bed. "Emmet?" His twin hummed in response, but the distance in his tone implied it was a reflex to his name and not actual awareness of his voice. "Hey, Emmet?" he tried again, a little louder.

Emmet sat back, straightening his posture, and from this angle he could see his twin blink the distance out of his eyes. "... Huh?" He set down what had been in his hands, and shifted in his seat, leg now sticking out to the side as he turned to face the bed. "Oh, Ingo. You're awake."

Giving Emmet a fond smile, he nodded. "Yes, I just woke up. Are you working on something?" Without hesitation, Emmet smiled back at him, still used to mirroring him even after all their time apart. The first time he'd seen Emmet copy him at the exact same time, movements so familiar to his twin, it had astounded him. It had been Emmet's first clue that his memories were lost to him.

"Yes!" Emmet began patting the desktop, bringing attention to his gloved hands, eagerness glowing in his eyes. "It's a 1:64 scale model powered with a spring mechanism!" Not stopping the patting, he turned back towards the desk and used his free hand to pick up one of the plates that contained some of the parts. The limited light caught on the silvery metal, glittering on Emmet's face like stars. "It's verrry complicated!"

"I didn't know you liked to build models." In truth, he didn't 'know' much about his twin anymore, but this didn't ring familiar in his chest.

Emmet laughed brightly and sat the piece down. "You forgot a lot!" A look of guilt began to settle on his face, but Emmet caught it within moments, continuing on. "But not this time! It's new!"

"Hm? New?"

Expression turning wistful, Emmet's hand stopped, and he glanced down at his knees. "You liked them when we were young." He nodded in response, a familiarity welling up. But if his hazy memories were to be trusted, Emmet had never had the patience for it. "I missed you. Thought they would help."

Finally sitting up at his twin's wounded voice, he spread his arms. Pushing himself up from the chair, Emmet climbed back into bed, into his older brother's embrace. They tangled together, Emmet nuzzling at his jaw as he worked to warm his younger twin's arms. "Did they help?"

Emmet nodded under his chin, and he nuzzled at his twin's soft hair. "Yeah. I could think about you. You know, without being sad." A squeeze of his twin was reciprocated, and Emmet placed a kiss to his throat, cuddling up further against him.

Instead of his first thought, which was to apologize to Emmet yet again for leaving him, he pressed his cheek to the top of his head. "Could I perhaps help you with this one?" If Emmet had started it to think about him, would it not be nice to do it together? His precious twin looked so excited to talk about it, it must have been quite the model.

A sudden tightening of Emmet's arms around him alerted him to Emmet's response before his precious twin even spoke. "Really?" Gone was the defeated tone of moments ago, replaced by the eagerness he remembered so strongly.

"Yes, I think it will be fun. We can work together on something just for us." Emmet vibrated in his arms, and he had no choice but to chuckle against his hair.

"Okay!" He was pulled back down to the bed with Emmet, who laughed and snuggled up to him. His gloved hands moved to wrap around Ingo's waist, pulling their hips closer together. A blush warmed his face, but Emmet just wriggled with more determination to get comfortable, almost as if he didn't realize what he was doing.

Emmet certainly knew what he was doing.

Despite how he was affecting his poor older brother, Emmet just shut his eyes after that, and let out a long, pleased sigh. "I missed you, Ingo."

Wrapping one arm around Emmet's shoulder, and the other lower on his back, he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I missed you too, Emmet." Once again, the distant sound of the rain came back to the forefront, and they both drifted off together, ready to share a new hobby together.

[passable-talent]

VADER X GN!READER

cryst am I writing a fic? what is that. who does that anymore akfkvjsb

dedicated to @sunsetkenobi bc she deserves it and I probably wouldn’t be writing this otherwise

okay so if you’ve seen how to train your dragon 2, this is that one scene. ya you know the one. I decided I wanted to break my own heart and here I am to do that so. ergo I do not own the song nor the original concept nor httyd akckcja

also I find writing vader exceedingly difficult thank u send tweet

my apologies for reappearing just to drop a mediocre fic

The stormtroopers took your saber when they captured you.

You had tears in your eyes as they ripped the blade from your grip, but you couldn’t do much about it, with force blockers around your wrists. You just had to watch as they carried away the last remaining piece of your husband.

You hadn’t seen Anakin since he left for Mustafar, intent on ending the Clone Wars. The last time you’d seen Obi-Wan, he told you that Anakin had been killed there, when a sith named Darth Vader struck him down.

Ever since, you’ve been hiding out. Hoping to escape the Jedi hunter who killed your husband. He was ruthless, and powerful, but you did your best to stay among the crowds, unseen, unnoticed.

Unnoticed was a word for it- you weren’t in Jedi robes, and you no longer had your saber. Being dragged through the bowels of an empire ship, stormtroopers flanking you on all sides, you looked like any other prisoner.

You got a cell far, far in the corners of the ship, like they were trying to bury you away. You took the steps down and into the cell and stood amongst it as the troopers left.

Your saber... who knows what they’d do with it. You’d made it with a piece of metal that Anakin had given you, a piece of scrap he’d found on one of his Padawan journeys with Obi-Wan. Nothing else... you had nothing else. You had nothing else of him. And now, your saber was gone, too.

So, your final few hours. You were caught as a Jedi, labeled a traitor to the empire. You were in the ship of Darth Vader, Jedi hunter. You were facing execution now, you knew it. You’d been caught.

So there was no need to hide anymore.

The cell was cold, but it wasn’t too bad. Your fingers would get chilly after a while, but for now, it was a good enough place to meditate. You hadn’t been able to take that risk in so long.

You sat down in the center of the cell, opening yourself to the force for the first time in years.

It was painful, at first. You felt great grief, all around you, surrounding you. It was familiar, too familiar, it brought you right back to the moment that Obi-Wan told you Anakin was dead.

But this was different.

It was a universal grief, one much bigger than one man. It was like a mourning of the force itself, mourning her lost Jedi, mourning each of the thousands of them.

You closed your eyes, feeling like you were leaving the cold cell, becoming bigger than it. You reached out to the ship, to the troopers who wouldn’t know the difference, the millions of miles of wiring working through the cruiser. You felt the metal, the heat, the drone-like worksmanship from the pilots and the sanitation crew.

And then you felt the anger. Rage, the likes of which you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It startled you, tossing you out of your meditation. You opened your eyes and fell backwards, catching yourself with your palms on the floor. And then the door opened.

You jumped to your feet, staring up at the imposing figure in the doorway. A black cape, a saber at his waist, and a menacing helmet.

He took a step into the room, and you took a step back. The door closed behind him.

“(Y/N) (L/N), Jedi scum,” Vader said, his voice deep and scratchy, even through the vocoder of his helmet.

“Lord Vader,” you answered, pressing your back against the wall. There was something to the area around him, the force felt so... unsettled. It was like he both channeled and reflected it, pulling it toward him and pushing it away. Like he was fighting it.

And yet... there was something familiar about him. Your gaze slipped back to his saber, which seemed so oddly familiar. His presence, as well. It made something in your mind ring, as though your own body felt him familiar, too.

How could that be?

“Keep your eyes from my saber,” Vader growled after a few moments of silence, “you won’t be taking it. You cannot escape.”

“I’m not thinking of taking it,” you assured him, hoping not to anger him. “It just... it reminds me of my husband’s saber.”

“Husband?” Vader echoed, his body unmoving. You wished he could at least take off the helmet so you could see his facial expression. “Jedi aren’t meant to marry.”

“I know,” you breathed out, trying to keep eye contact with the disturbingly familiar man, even through his helmet. “But I did.”

There was a moment in which the only thing you could hear was the humming of the ship. And then he turned, his cape spinning behind him, and made his way to the door.

Your husband- you would marry him again, if you could. He was the love of your life, and that was never going to change.

Your wedding, the most beautiful day of your life. Padme’s villa on Naboo, a gorgeous lakeside view, a beautiful ceremony, even if the both of you were still tainted with your padawan hairstyles. But then, later that night, sitting around a fire with a song you would go on to sing together every night you had to yourselves amidst the war. A song you’d develop a dance to, a song you could still hear in his voice, if you listened hard enough.

As Vader approached the door and began punching in a code, you turned your head to the side, closing your eyes.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,” you began, whispering it under your voice, barely even melodic. You hadn’t intended for Vader to even hear you.

“With ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me.” You glanced back up, seeing Vader frozen at the door. When you didn’t continue, he turned his head back toward you with the slowest movement.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey...” Your nerves got the best of you and you trailed away, no longer having the bravery to continue, the strength. You couldn’t cry in front of Darth Vader.

“...if you will promise me your heart...” came that rasping voice, and you snapped your head up. A shuddering breath escaped the vocoder of his helmet as he lifted his hands to its sides, lifting it from his head.

He turned his gaze to you, and your heart pounded harder with every feature you recognized. His face was scarred over from burns, his neck crossed on each side of his throat with thin surgery scars. His eyes were yellow and red, but that much was expected from Darth Vader. His hairline was mottled with scars where the scalp hadn’t healed enough to grow hair, and the rest was unkept, but still it was a familiar gold.

“And love me for eternity...”

Your eyes widened and your hands lifted up, reaching forward to his face, tears already welling in your eyes. Anakin, Anakin was alive, he’s right here. Your husband is alive. You cupped his face, rubbing your thumbs over his cheekbones. His voice was different, rougher, deeper, but still you heard him. His eyes closed slowly, his face lowering into your palms.

“My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me...” You took a deep breath to steady your voice, overwhelmed with relief, emotion, surprise. “But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

Anakin’s eyes opened, and they were blue, that blue you hadn’t seen in so long, that blue you adored. A low smile pulled at his lips, one you never thought you’d see again, and he took his arms around your waist. There was a laugh to his voice as he sang.

“But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry-“ You took slow steps, the cell smaller than your usual dance space, but you made do. His hands spread along your lower back, yours on his shoulders.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me!”

You pulled away, taking his hand, stepping into the familiar pattern. He didn’t step as nimbly as he did when you’d last seen him, but still he tried.

“I have no use for rings of gold,” you sang, falling into the familiar patterns, his smile, the way he looked at you, “I care not for your poetry, I only want your hand to hold-“ Finally his smile brightened to what you remembered, and you took his leather-covered hand between both of yours as you sang your last line, your voice no longer timid, now loud and happy.

“I only want you near me.”

You joined his voice, finally twirling in the circles you never thought you’d have again, holding the man you thought you’d lost.

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming-“ His leather glove, after all this time, hadn’t changed. Did he wear the same one?

“Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh inside me.” His voice wasn’t exactly the way it’d been when you’d seen him last, but still, it blended perfectly with yours. Six years... it had been six years.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning,” You took a spin, like walking on air. He stepped around you, never letting go of your hand.

“I'd gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me!” With the last word, he lifted you up by the waist, pulling you against his body, your knees only just on either side of his hips. Mostly, he held you up on his own, your forehead pressed to his. You’d missed that smile so much.

Your husband is alive. Anakin Skywalker is alive. You couldn’t help your breathy laugh as you settled your weight against his chest, cupping his cheeks.

“Oh, Anakin...” you breathed, closing your eyes, and for one blissful moment, all was perfect.

He dropped you.

You looked up, startled, into yellow eyes. His expression was blank, his glaze flitting over you. He turned with a whip of the cape that forced you to step back, and before you could say a word, he clipped the helmet back over his head.

He only gave you one more look before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

And now the cell felt so much colder.

-🦌 Roe

[eevee-eclair]

Family Resemblance

Written by Eevee

Things to look out for: brief mention of blood, pain, crying, swearing, eating trash, mention of throwing up, (please tell me if I missed one!)

Random side note: Haha raccoon man go brrr (also it impossible for me to write pure fluff, I’m so sorry)

~~~

All of Phil’s sons had some kind of animal they were mixed with. All except for Tommy so far. Techno had pig like features, Wilbur had his fish scales, and he himself had his wings. What Tommy had, they had yet to find out.

But that didn’t bother any of them. No, it bothered Tommy because he looked different. But his family started getting hopeful when Techno noticed small habit changes.

He saw him spending more time at night than the morning and was always waking up late. He took up whistling and hissed at anything that was vaguely threatening. Tommy also became more nosy and destructive than normal. His room was always a mess, but he refused to clean it.

So a few days after his fifteenth birthday when he gained his physical animal traits, no one was that surprised.

———

Techno was always the first awake. After he finishes his first cup of coffee, Wilbur usually comes up and then Phil is right behind him. Tommy has started to sleep in later, but he was always up an hour or so later.

But today he never showed up. It was almost noon before they all went to his room to see if he was awake. What they found delighted them and scared them; mostly scared them though.

Tommy was laying on his floor, a deep growl coming from somewhere in his throat. He looked in pain so they all rushed over. He saw them and hissed, trying to crawl away but ended up backing himself into a corner.

Phil held Techno and Wilbur back and pointed at his face. “Look, does his face look darker to you?”

The two older boys looked at their younger brother and nodded. “Yeah, like there’s a mask on him,” Wilbur said.

Techno pulled away and slowly made his way to Tommy. “Hey, hey, hey! You’re okay, buddy,” he mumbled, crouching down. “It’s me, Blade.” He held out a hand.

Tommy calmed down slightly and seemed to sniff Techno’s hand. He recognized his brother’s sent and relaxed fully. Now he just looked scared.

“It hurts, Techno...” he whined, curling in on himself.

He sat down fully and ran his fingers through his hair. “I know, bro. You’ll be okay soon, I promise. Anything you need?” he asked, looking into his sky blue-turning-brown eyes.

Tommy whimpered in pain again. He pointed to his trash can. “Can you bring that over here..?”

Wilbur rushed it over. Everyone expected him to throw up, but they weren’t expecting him to eat the rotten food bits out of it. Phil quickly took it away.

“Whoa! You know trash is bad for ya, Tommy!” he cried, putting it back where Wilbur found it.

“But it tastes so good!” he wailed. “And it’s the only thing I haven’t thrown up since this morning!”

Techno sighed and turned to his dad. “Remember how I eat potatoes, Wilbur loves eating seaweed, and you eat seeds all the time? This is his food,” he explained. “Trash.”

“But that’s not healthy!” Phil argued. “Tommy how does steak sound? Or a Gapple?”

Tommy shook his head. “I snuck some earlier and they just came right back up. I’ve been living on trash since three,” he said, holding his stomach.

Wilbur sat down, worried. “Three am?! Tommy, why didn’t you wake us up?!”

“I didn’t wanna bother you... Plus, I was quiet! Techno didn’t even know I was there!” Tommy responded, frowning.

Said brother sighed. It was true, he didn’t hear or notice a thing last night. “True. But how’d you manage to sneak the Gapples from my room?” he asked, very confused. He was the lightest sleeper and most observant person in their family so it was hard to get into his room without him knowing, let alone steal.

“I was qui—“ he cut himself off with a large cry of pain. “Fuck! My back!”

Everyone looked to see a tail trying to push its way through. Tommy kept swearing and Phil didn’t badger him about it; he knew how painful this must be. He turned to Wilbur.

“Go call Tubbo and see if he can come home. I think seeing him will help Tommy,” he said.

Wilbur nodded and ran to the phone while Techno tried to reassure Tommy he was okay. He picked it up and punched in Tubbo’s number. It took a few rings before he picked up.

“Hello?”

Wilbur sighed in relief. “Tubbo! It’s me, Wil! Can you come here as fast as possible? I know you’re at a friend’s house but Tommy’s finally gained his physical animal traits and we think seeing you will help him.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right over!” he asked. Wilbur could hear him pulling on shoes.

Wilbur nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Please hurry.” He hung up the phone and ran back upstairs.

Tommy’s tail was half out and they could see the tips of some ears. He sat back down next to him and rubbed his back. “Tubbo will be here soon, okay? You’re doing so good!”

He didn’t respond, he just kept swearing and crying. After about five minutes, the doorbell rang and Wilbur rushed downstairs to let Tubbo in.

“He’s upstairs, come on,” Wilbur said, dragging him in immediately and running back with Tubbo. “He’s here!”

Tommy looked up and whined. His eyes were completely brown and his tail was almost out. Tubbo ran over and sat in front of him.

“Hey, Tommy! It’s okay, you’ll be okay, alright? Do you trust me?” Tubbo got a small nod and he gave a brave smile. “Good. Then trust me when I say it’ll be over soon. Just hold on a little longer,” he said, holding onto Tommy’s hand. Tommy squeezed back, not saying anything but the occasional cuss word.

Phil stood up, knowing his youngest was in safe hands. “I’ll go get towels,” he told them before running off.

Techno watched him go and brought the trash can back over. “Here, Tommy. Eat some trash before he gets back. I used to eat out of the trash all the time and I turned out fine.”

Tommy gave a weak laugh but didn’t reach for what he called food. “N-not hungry...” he muttered.

“Let’s wait until his ears are out,” Wilbur suggested. “His tail is out and when his ears show the pain will ease up enough for him to eat.”

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He took a glance at Tommy. “He look like a raccoon,” he told them, trying to start conversation.

Techno started making a pile of edible food for his brother. “Yeah, considering what I’ve seen him do that makes perfect sense.”

“What’s he been doing?” Tubbo asked.

As Techno filled Tubbo in on Tommy’s new behaviors, Wilbur comforted him. Eventually, Tommy let out a content sigh and let go of Tubbo’s hand, going completely limp.

“That hurt like hell,” he sighed after a while. “Why’d it hurt so bad..?”

Phil walked in with towels and handed one to Techno. “Because your body is rearranging itself to comply with the new appendages,” he explained, starting to dry the blood off his new tail while Techno worked the ears.

Tommy tried to pull away but was too tired to do much so he just let them continue. “I gotta wash these fuckers now, don’t I?” Everyone nodded and he huffed. “That’s no fair! Techno doesn’t have to wash his fangs!”

Techno snorted and Phil sighed. “No he doesn’t, but he still has to take care of his skin just like Wilbur goes swimming everyday and I go flying every morning.”

“Oh poo! You guys don’t have to brush knots out of something you can’t reach!”

Wilbur stepped in. “No, but it’s just as difficult. Swimming takes a lot of energy out of me and dad still has to groom his wings. Techno eats Gapples not just to stay strong but because it’s just as important as us eating vegetables,” he explained.

Techno and Phil pulled away and helped sit Tommy upright. As he reached for the pile of trash, they all took a good look at him.

His tail and ears had dark rings and his eyes were dark, almost black. He had a dark pattern on his face that looked like a mask and his teeth were a little sharper. His nose was slightly pinker and Tubbo gasped before leaning forward and booping him.

Tommy dropped his food bit and bleped, causing everyone—even Techno—to make an ‘aww’ sound. They all took turns booping him and he started to get angry.

“Stop that,” he said, pouting. “Let me eat!”

They all snickered and let him go back to eating. After he had finished, he yawned and curled his tail around his legs.

“Tired?” Phil asked with a small laugh. “It’s only two in the afternoon, son.”

Tommy huffed. “But I’m sleepy! Can I....“ he trailed off and they watched his gaze wonder to the gold bits holding Techno’s cape on. He reached for them and Techno moved away.

“Hey, hands off, Tommy!” he scolded. Then he saw the look of shame on his brother’s face and sighed. “Sorry, that was harsh. It’s just your animal instincts. Don’t worry, we’ll help you learn to control them.”

He nodded and dug through the trash some more. Tubbo was the one to break the awkward silence.

“So, what now? Do I have to go or can I stay?”

Phil smiled. “You’re always welcome to stay, Tubbo. I’m sure Tommy would appreciate it too.”

Tommy pulled out a Gapple core and started chewing on it. “Yeah! I can show you how to climb a tree and dig through trash!” he said with a mouthful of food.

Wilbur took the core from him. “You know how to climb a tree...?” he asked. Techno was just as confused.

“Yeah, it’s not hard!” He stood up and pulled Tubbo up with him. “Come on!”

Tommy’s family watched him go, his new tail wagging from side to side in a blur. Wilbur stood up and sighed. “Well, I’m going swimming. Have fun you two.”

Wilbur walked away and Techno got up also. “I’m gonna make sure they don’t hurt themselves,” he said, following his brother out the door.

After a while, Phil stood up and walked out to start on dinner. Apparently Tommy did know how to climb a tree so they all watched him leap from branch to branch.

Everyone agreed that a raccoon suited him perfectly.

~~~

Hey, thanks for reading this! If you enjoyed please reblog, it helps me stay motivated to write more. Comments are also very appreciated! I might also write some Tubbee or Tubbo with horns if this gets enough attention

(Also, sorry for the rushed ending)

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 8 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: After their weekend together, Reader and Dr. Reid have very different ideas on what the next step is. But all of that will have to wait because there’s a serial arsonist in D.C. who has been choosing victims that appear too random. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. Just all the angst. There is a moment of smut...but it’s angsty smut. 

Content Warnings: The usual criminal minds talk of m*rder and mayhem. Mentioned of drug addiction. Vaginal penetration. Unprotected sex. And there is a character that gets seriously injured, but is ultimately fine. 

Word Count:  6.6k for Chapter 8 

A/n: There is a quote by Jane Austen that says, “All my characters shall have, after a bit of trouble, all that they desire.” That’s my philosophy on writing. I know this isn’t what everyone signed up for when they started reading a sub!Spencer fic. This my hurt you heart, but I promise you the part of Chapter 9 that mends it is already written. If you want to wait to read this until Chapter 9 comes out to read this, I understand. The earliest it will be out is tomorrow, the latest is Friday. 

-- Chapter 8 – “Because I love you” --

Spencer had been reluctant for me to go home last night, but eventually relented when I pointed out that I couldn’t very well show up to work in what I was wearing when I left yesterday. He had kissed me so softly before I left that it made me ache. Everything felt so different, but everything was the same.

The next morning, I was getting ready when I heard my phone ding with a text message. I smiled when I saw Spencer’s name.

“Open your door.”

Not a second later I heard a knock on my door. My eyebrows drew together as I crossed the living room, throwing the door open to see a very chipper Dr. Spencer Reid standing on the other side.

“Hi,” he said softly, smiling at me.

“Hi?” I laughed; I really couldn’t help it. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

“I brought you this.” I noticed the cups in his hand then, both from the coffee shop I showed him yesterday. “Even though it felt wrong to order it,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, taking my iced coffee from him before I waved him into my apartment. Iced coffee was an abomination to my Dr. Reid. “You only hate it because you haven’t tried it.”

He moved to sit on my couch, taking a sip of his own drink. “And I will continue to hate it without having tried it.”

“Brat,” I muttered, moving to stand in front of him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s 6:45 in the morning. You were going to see me in, what, an hour anyway?” How early did he have to get up to do this?

His bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout. “Are you upset that I came by?”

My nervous, darling boy. “Never, Doc.” I turned to go back into my room to finish getting ready.

“I also thought we should talk about what we’re going to do today,” he called from the living room.

Huh? “What do you mean?” I picked out a pair of ankle boots from my closet that would match with my outfit. “Do we have a new case?”

“Probably,” he said, scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t realize he’d gotten up and come into my bedroom.

“Jesus, Spencer,” I laughed, my hand over my heart. “Warn a girl next time, alright?” I finished putting on my shoes, checking my hair and makeup in the mirror a final time before I turned to walk back into the living room. “So, we need to talk about the fact that we ‘probably’ have a case?”

“No,” he said, reaching out to grab my elbow, stilling my movements. “I wanted to talk about us. And what we’re going to tell the team.”

Oh no. “Tell the team…about what?” I hedged.

Spencer's eyebrows came together in confusion. "…About us?”

“…Why would we tell the team?” My question sounded hollow in my own ears.

My darling, darling boy looked confused for a second. “Well, its protocol. We’re on the same team. And…” he swallowed thickly. “I-I thought that…”

I felt my heart splinter into a million pieces. "Spencer," I began quietly. "I don't know if we…I'm not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” He looked so crestfallen, so fucking hurt that I could barely breathe. "I thought after last weekend that..." he trailed off. He looked so young in that moment like he really was a small boy afraid that someone he cared about would leave him. "I thought you wanted to be with me."

His sadness was a punch to my gut. “Spencer,” I said gently. “It is not that. It’s not that at all.” I took a step towards him, reaching out to place my hand on his arm. “I just…you’ve never been involved in this sort of relationship before. There are a lot of high emotions that come with this-“

“What are you saying?” he interrupted, his voice hard.

“I’m saying that we need to give this time before you make any sort of decision about us other than our established BDSM relationship.” He jerked his arm away from me. Don’t do this to me, baby. "Spence, plenty of people have a relationship within a dom/sub relationship. I have! It can work. But…” I trailed off.

“But what, y/n?” His eyes were cold. They looked so wrong. My boy was supposed to have warm amber eyes. Not these flat brown eyes that made my heart feel hollow.

“I’m saying that it’s only been one weekend. And I need you to be sure. We need to be sure about each other.”

“So, you aren’t sure?” He took a step towards me, crowding my space. “You seemed pretty fucking sure last night.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair. “How can you stand here and say you aren’t sure after what we did together last night?!”

Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. “It was just sex, Spencer.” Liar.

He backed away from me, a look of disgust on his face. “I’ve asked you once before not to lie to me, y/n. You know that what we did last night was a whole lot more than ‘just sex’ or ‘fucking.’ You can lie to yourself about it, but don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”

“Then what was it, Spencer?” My anger matched his own, my hands were shaking so hard I had to ball them into fists at my sides.

Spencer turned then, taking several steps until he was in front of me again. His hand moved up to the left side of my face; he ran his thumb over the cupid’s bow of my mouth. “You know what it was, y/n.” His head tilted down while his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “I made love to you last night. You’re hiding, and I don’t understand why. But please. You promised you wouldn’t regret it. Do you?” His eyes searched my face frantically.  

“Not for an instant, Spencer.” My eyes were starting to brim over with emotion.

“Then don’t push me away, baby. I know you’re scared.” He moved to close the few inches that separated us, his lips brushing over mine softly, sending a tingle down my entire body.

“I’m not pushing you away,” I said against his mouth. “I just…Can we give it time?” He pulled back from me, his hand dropping from my face, leaving me cold. “Spencer, you’ve never done this before, you went through a lot of high emotions this weekend… that might have affected how you think you’re feeling.”

Spencer gave a jerk, abruptly pulling completely away from me. “I know exactly how I fucking feel.” His words were low and harsh. Without looking back at me he stormed out of my apartment.  

The tears didn’t come until I saw he had left his coffee cup behind.

--

I was only 15 minutes late for work, and I think I had fixed my face enough so that it didn't look like I had been crying. The team was already in the conference room when I arrived. I darted inside, mumbling my apologies.

“Did you sleep in,” Morgan teased from beside me.

I just shot him an obviously fake glare. “Maybe.”

That seemed to ease the tension in the room…except the tension that was coming from the man sitting in between JJ and Morgan, the man refusing to look at me.

My heart broke more every single second he ignored me. But this is what I deserve.

Garcia walked into the room then, iPads and casefiles in hand. “Welcome back, crimefighters. We’re coming in hot today but luckily we’re staying close to home!” She passed out the iPads to all of us, save my boy who got a paper file, with a huge smile on her face. “There’s a serial arsonist right here in D.C.!”

JJ laughed. “That’s a weird thing to sound happy about, Penelope.”

“And we have a problem,” Hotch said, walking into the room and shutting the door.

“Figures,” Morgan muttered. “We get a weekend off and come back to a problem.”

Garcia smiled at him before turning to Hotch. “A problem with what, Sir? I didn’t see any problems in the files. Other than murder…and destruction of property…Just general icky-ness.”

Hotch sighed, gesturing for her to put the photos on the monitor. "Over the past month, there have been three fires in Dupont Circle. So far 6 people have died. He seems to be targeting married couples with no children or pets."

“It’s not uncommon for arsonists to avoid places with pets,” Morgan mused.

“What is uncommon is how random the victims are. Garcia?” Hotch motioned for her to go on.

"Right, well D.C. Police didn't even realize the fires were connected at first. In the first two fires, they initially couldn't find the origin point where the fire started."

“What?” I asked. “How can the unsub be hiding that?”

“People can hide lots of things.” That comment came from my boy. I looked over at him, but he still refused to meet my eyes.

“That they can, Doc.”  

“That’s all the information we have Sir,” Penelope said to Hotch. “I’m not sure what the problem is.”

"The victims are too random, which is why I wanted to look them over before we officially accepted the case. I think I've found his pattern. Garcia," he said, shifting his focus to her. "Can you cross-reference the names of all the victims against BAU cases?"

As Garcia sat down and started typing Morgan turned to our unit chief. “What are you thinking here, Hotch?”

“I recognized one of the victims of the second fire. We questioned him years ago. Gideon and I were the ones that brought him in. There was a string of rapes in the Washington Highlands area.” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought he looked good for it, but he had a solid alibi. His wife said she with him all night. The case was never solved.”

“Oh my god,” Garcia gasped out, her eyes wide. “We’ve brought all three male victims in for questioning on different cases over the years.”

“And there’s our problem. You’d either have to be a member of D.C. police or someone in the Bureau to know that they had been questioned.”

Fuck me running. “So, we have a serial arsonist that might be able to know every move we make as we make it?”

This day just keeps getting better and better.

--

After hours of speaking with the D.C. fire departments and working with local police, Derek and Prentiss made a discovery when they examined the crime scenes.

“I’m telling you Hotch," Morgan's voice rang out from the phone held in our unit chief's hand. "The scene has been tampered with. The reason they had a hard time finding the ignition point is because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover it up after the fact."

“That confirms our theory that the unsub is a member of law enforcement or the fire department,” Spencer chimed in.

Rossi came over to the table, his hands in his pockets, a worried look on his lined face. "Being a member of the fire department fits better if you're trying to hide the ignition point," he began. "But a firefighter wouldn't have access to the files on who was questioned.

Derek made a noise of agreement. “I think we might be looking at a team.”

“That would make sense,” I said, looking up from the files on the round table. “No firefighter showed up at all 3 fires. We know he’s organized, but arsonists are compulsive. He would have to be nearby to watch it all burn.”

“You think maybe an off-duty cop or firefighter was in the crowd,” Spencer said, finally, finally, finally meeting my eyes for the first time that day. His eyes were lit with excitement over figuring a puzzle out. “No one would notice a person like that being at all 3 fires. And nobody would notice if a firefighter or cop asked to come take a look once the fire was out.”  

I nodded. “Correct again, Doc.”

His gaze shuttered at that, his jaw locking, then he turned his back to me.

“We’re gonna have to re-interview all the firefighters and D.C. police,” Hotch said with a sigh. “He’s one of them.”

“I can ask Will if he’ll come in. A lot of the cops in his prescient have also worked Dupont Circle in the past. Maybe he can help us narrow it down,” JJ chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Tomorrow. We all need to go home tonight. D.C. police are on high alert. We’re not going to catch him tonight. Get some rest.”

With that dismissal, the team disbanded from the conference room.

I tried to catch him, but my boy was gone before I even got back to my desk.

--

“Hey, Spence. It’s me again. I…I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me. You also probably don’t want me leaving you voicemails. You hate voicemails. But…I’m just worried about you and I want to know that you’re okay. Please call me back.”

"Hey, Doc. I'm just checking on you again. Please call me back."

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.”

--

The clock above my TV said that it was almost midnight, but I wasn’t aware of any time passing. My eyes were swollen from crying but the rest of my body felt numb. I had been calling and texting Spencer for hours with no reply. I couldn’t believe that he would do this to me…especially after what I told him yesterday.

It’s strange how this weekend already feels like it was years ago. The best two days of my life…gone. Maybe my ex was right...maybe I’m not worth it.

My thoughts were interrupted by a banging on my door that was so loud and so sudden I almost jumped out of my skin.

Having every intention of just ignoring whoever it was, I didn't move to get up. But then the banging got louder.

I quickly scrambled to my gun safe, putting my thumb against the sensor to unlock it. Gun in hand, I moved towards the door. The banging was constant now, and so forceful I was worried my door would fly off the hinges.

I looked through the peephole in my door, my gun gripped in my right hand. I saw him at the same time he spoke. “Y/n,” Spencer called, pounding on my door. “Let me in!”

I put my gun down and had the lock off and the door open in seconds. "Spencer, what in the ever-loving fu-“

My words were cut off because he pushed through the door, entering my apartment without even looking at me. This feels familiar. I turned to face my boy, angry but in a different way than I had seen him before. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

He gave a bitter smile at that. “We’ve been here before. Don’t call me Doc right now.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. At first, I was ignoring you, but then I…went somewhere where I couldn’t have my phone.”

His words felt like an ice pick in my heart. “You were ignoring me?” My voice was small. “And…you went…” I couldn’t finish my thought; I just wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Yes, y/n,” he said simply. “I was ignoring your calls. I didn’t…” His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he considered me. “I was afraid of what I’d say…what I’d do.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I went to a meeting. Then I went across town and went to another one.”

“Spencer." My voice was a whisper, emotions threatening to overtake me. "I'm so fucking sorry.” I hurt him so much he went to multiple meetings? I did that to him?

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His tone wasn’t dismissive just…impersonal. “Your actions are your own, how I respond to those actions is all I can control.”

“Did the…did you?”

He pulled both of his lips between his teeth. He knew what I meant. He always knows. “No, y/n, I didn’t.” His tongue tapped against his top lip. “But, I really, really fucking wanted to.”

My entire body went cold. “Spencer, I didn’t mean to-“

"Don't, y/n." His hands left his pockets; he crossed his arms over his chest. "I know. I was in the middle of my second meeting when I realized. I was thinking about the quickest way I could get in touch with my old dealer." I winced at his words. "Because…how was I supposed to live with the fact that you dismissed the most…" I saw his anger rising again as he thought about it. "It was one of the most important fucking moments of my life,y/n!” The voice that was usually so soft was laced with bitterness.

My tears started falling then. “Spencer I never meant to hurt you.” I curled my body more into myself. “I…I don’t know how to fix this.”

"That's when I realized what was happening," he continued like I hadn't spoken. "I remembered the look on your face when I told you that you were all sunshine and kindness. You balked at the idea." His eyes bore into me, laying me bare. "You're trying to protect yourself, and it's a natural instinct. But you're hurting me to do it.”

I saw the moment his anger left his body. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes went glassy and I felt the hurt wash over him. “You have to stop doing this,” he whispered, his voice strained. Each one of the tears that fell from those beautiful brown eyes was a knife in my stomach. “You have to let someone care about you.” Spencer cut the distance between us. He reached for me, his hands come up to hold my face, while his own crumpled. “You have to let me care about you.”

I couldn’t bear to see him cry; I couldn’t live with myself when I was the cause of this wonderful, beautiful man’s pain. I looked straight into his eyes, taking in all the pain I’d caused. “I want to, Doc,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how.”

His mouth crashed against mine. Spencer was desperate in a way I hadn’t felt before; he ripped my shirt from my body while I tugged his shirt free from his pants. His mouth moved down to my neck, sucking harshly while I worked his belt off. I slipped my hand inside of his underwear, palming him. He was already hot and hard, and I ached for him. I’m not sure which one of us pulled the other down to my living room floor, but I felt the cool wood on my back as Spencer settled over me.

His hand came up to brush my hair out of my face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. The pressure of his hands changed. The desire still burned between us, but it wasn’t fueled by pain and rage. Spencer kissed me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held. His fingers were soft when they slipped into my panties, finding me already wet for him. There was no smirk on his face when he unfastened his pants or when he pulled mine off.

He held himself against me, not quite inside of me yet. Spencer Reid, my wonderful, darling, nervous boy leaned over me, put his mouth against my neck when he entered me. My back arched and I moaned loudly at the invasion. He peppered kisses from my shoulder, around my neck, until he reached the other side. His mouth moved up my cheek, finally finding my lips while he continued to move inside me.

This felt different than last night. If last night was making love…I don’t know what this could be. I felt like Spencer was inside every part of me, consuming me. He pulled back, looking in my eyes, his thrusts never slowing. “I know you’re not ready to hear it,” he whispered. “But you need to know I feel it. I’ve felt it since the first time you smiled at me, y/n.”

He moved his hand down between our bodies, brushing against my clit. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to cum, but he quickly proved me wrong. I felt my orgasm rising up inside me but even it felt different. It wasn’t frantic or intense, it was slow and powerful…it was perfect, just like my boy was.

Spencer felt when my orgasm started to break. “When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll never stop telling you. I will tell you about how I’ll feel it forever, and how no one has ever felt it the way I do with you.”

I’m not sure if I started crying from the sudden release of the orgasm or from his words, but tears slipped down my cheeks while I held him to me tightly when he found his own pleasure.

“Stay with me,” he whispered against my mouth.

Always.

--

Both of our phones went off at 5 am the following morning.

“Hurry!” Garcia’s first text read. The second made my stomach drop. “There was another fire!”

We arrived on the scene as quickly as we could. I didn't live very far from Spencer, so it wasn't that weird for me to swing by his place and "pick him up." In reality, he just needed to change his clothes. His left hand held onto my right as we drove towards the fire that had claimed 2 more lives.

“We have to talk,” he said at last.

“I know.” Because I did.

“After the case?”

I nodded, bringing our joined hands up so I could press a kiss to the back of his hand.

--

The next two victims were just like the others; a husband who had been questioned in a serial murder investigation by the BAU and the wife that was his alibi. After interviewing everyone again we kept coming up with one name over and over. Edward Gordon was a responding officer at the first and third fires, but several people remember seeing him at fire two. He was on duty for the fourth fire and was already on the scene when the BAU agents showed up.

He had applied to the FBI academy but was denied; that denial didn’t stop him from applying to the D.C. police department. He fit the profile; he had the connections needed to pull it off. We were on our way to his house with a warrant. I was sitting in the passenger seat while Morgan drove; Prentiss and Rossi were in the back. “I don’t like this,” Rossi muttered.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

"I don't know," the older man said. "It just feels…gift wrapped." He turned to look at Emily. "It wasn't until the firefighter you talked to remembered him that anyone else remembered him.”

“Right,” Emily said, consulting her notes. “Jeff Sawyers. He’s 35, married, and well-liked by everyone. We ruled him out.”

Rossi shook his head. “Everyone we talked to said that Gordon was a loner, he didn’t stick out. No one noticed him. So why did Sawyers?”

“Maybe he felt something? Like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?” Morgan offered.

“Well,” Rossi said with a sigh, sitting back. “I don’t know about you guys, but the hairs on the back of my neck are already up.”

Mine are too.

--

Arresting Edward Gordon was too easy. He didn’t put up much of a fight, which made me more nervous.

“Guys,” Spencer called while Morgan loaded Gordon into a suburban. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hotch nodded. “Something is off. Stay sharp, we need to clear the area.”

We broke off into teams to do another sweep of Gordon’s house. I was with Hotch in the basement, Rossi and Reid took the main floor, and JJ and Prentiss to the top.

“There’s nothing,” I said when we all met again on the front porch. “But something feels wrong.”

Emily nodded. “Maybe we should canvas surrounding houses?”

“Not a bad idea,” Rossi mused. “Maybe somebody saw something…or maybe somebody is actually someone.”

“I’ll go tell Morgan,” my boy said, turning to head for the car parked on the side of the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the upstairs window of the house directly across the street. I saw it a moment before everyone else; I was already sprinting towards Reid before the others had a chance to react.

Not him, no not him, I begged. I wasn’t even sure who I was begging. Please not him, please.

Spencer heard the others shout his name; my jaw was locked together in panic, unable to speak. I slammed into him hard, knocking him out of the way just in time.

I felt fire rip through my shoulder, I heard bullets ring out behind me. I didn't pay attention to any of it though.

Why is he crying? I thought my heart sinking into misery. Please don’t cry, my darling boy. I can’t stand it.

His hands were so warm when he cupped my face. These circumstances were different from the last time he held me like this, but my heart squeezed just the same.

“Why,” his voice was strangled. “Why would you do that?”

Blackness edged around my vision. I wanted to make some funny quip to try to make him smile, but I couldn’t draw in enough air. So, I settled for the simplest and truest thing I could say.

“Because I love you.”

-- Spencer’s POV –

In times when I felt overwhelmed, I always counted things. It was a sort of compulsion that started when I was a child. When my parents would fight, I’d count the number of specks in each tile on the kitchen floor. I’d count the number of seconds between each shout. When Tobias had me all those years ago, I counted the boards around the cabin.

I couldn’t focus on anything long enough to count now.

Derek was to my right; Emily was to my left. Hotch was across the room sitting with his head in his hands. Rossi stood near JJ, his arm around her.

It’s not right, I thought. None of this is right because she’s not here. She has to be here.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to…how am I supposed to breathe without her?

“How long?” Morgan’s voice broke through the silence. I didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“37 days, 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 45 seconds. Since the case in Nebraska.”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. Emily raised her hand to place it on my shoulder. Usually, their touches made my skin hurt. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and sometimes they would rub patterns on my skin meant to bring me comfort but all it did was set my teeth on edge. Nobody had ever understood that.

But she did. She knew how to touch me without me telling her. She always checked in with me during everything. I had never felt safer in my entire life than I did in her arms.

And she’s not here.

Penelope burst into the room a moment later. “What happened?” Her big eyes were swimming in tears behind her glasses. Morgan stood and went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

Bitterness rose up in my throat. What if when she was dying was my last chance to hold her? What if all this was my fault? Would she have jumped in front of a bullet for another team member? Logically, I knew she would have. That’s just who y/n is…but I couldn’t shake this feeling that this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t-

My thoughts went blank when another man walked into the room; he had on blue scrubs and a mask hanging around his neck. He’s the doctor. I shot to my feet, halfway across the room before the others even realized someone else had entered.

“You’re all here for Y/l/n?” he asked, his eyes darting around.

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out; I was frozen. My heart was currently in a paradox. She was my very own Schrödinger’s cat. She was both alive and dead and somehow neither at the same time. I now understood that experiment better than I ever had before.

I couldn’t ask the doctor because what if she was gone? What if I got 37 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes, and 3 seconds to hold her…but I had to go the rest of my life without ever seeing her light again? I had told y/n she was sunshine…but she was so much more. She was the sun itself. Without her in this world, nothing would be there to hold my universe together, leaving everything to spin out into freezing darkness.

What if she’s already gone? What if I haven’t had her the past 24 minutes? 15 minutes?

Hotch spoke for me. “Yes, how is she?”

“The bullet nicked her brachial artery; she lost a lot of blood. Luck you had medics so close by. It was touch and go for a moment, but we were able to repair the damage. She should make a full recovery.”

I felt my entire universe shift; my legs were suddenly unable to hold me. I felt someone grab my shoulders when my knees hit the hard floor. My mind flashed with every moment we had had together. Her kind smiles, the way she cocked her head to the side when she was teasing me, the look on her face when she finally trusted me enough to let me be with her the way I had always wanted.

“Kid,” Rossi’s voice said, I only then realized he was who had grabbed me. “She’s gonna be okay. Y/n is gonna be fine.”

His voice was soft, I could barely hear it over the sound of someone sobbing. It took me a minute longer to realize the sobbing was coming from me.

Yes, she was going to be fine…but for how long? How long did I get her until she had to jump in front of another bullet to save me? How long did I get to have the sun before I did something to make it disappear? I could live in a world where she didn’t love me, but I couldn’t live in a world where she didn’t exist.

“Because I love you," she had said. She jumped in front of a bullet because she loved me. But did she even love me? Or did she just tell me what I needed to hear because she thought she was dying?

I finally understood why she was so afraid of love because I had never loved anything the way I loved her.

My body went cold when I realized what I had to do. Every possible future I imagined ended with her the way she was earlier today, bleeding out because she loved me. I couldn’t be responsible for putting her light out. She’d never forgive me. And none of that mattered if I got to live in a world where she was still breathing. Where I got to love her. Even if she didn’t love me back.

Rossi’s grip tightened around me. “Let’s go see your girl, Spencer.”

My voice was hollow as the gravity of everything fell down around me. “I-I don’t think I can.”

-- Reader POV –

The first thing I became aware of was how goddamn bright it was. My eyes started to flutter open and they immediately shut in a wince. The second was the pain.

“Oh, this is some bullshit,” I muttered, trying to pry my eyes open.

I heard several chuckles at my words. “There she is! Feisty as ever!”

That was Morgan. Why is Morgan here? Where is here? It all started coming back in flashes. The house…the unsub…the fires…the gun pointing out the window. Spencer!

My eyes finally opened all the way. I heard the beeping of machines and I smelt antiseptic. Once my vision came into focus, I saw my team filling the room. JJ was crying and holding Garcia. Derek and Emily were closest to me on either side. But…I didn’t see that curly mop of hair.

“What happened? Is Spencer all right?” My words were frantic as I tried to sit up.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Morgan’s hand pressed against my shoulder, keeping me still. “Reid is fine. And you need to rest.”

He’s fine. He’s fine. I kept repeating that over and over again in my mind. “What happened?” I asked, my throat was dry and scratchy.

“It was a trap,” Hotch said from the end of my bed. “Gordon and Sawyers were working together. We had profiled Gordon to be the dominant member if we were looking at a team, but it was Sawyers who called the shots. He just used Gordon’s rage for his own advantage. Apparently, Sawyers’ sister died in a murder investigation 2 years ago. He blamed the BAU because we were called in but the man he suspected had an alibi. Sawyers was in the house across the street…”

Right. There was a gun…and it was pointed at Spencer. “Did you get him?”

Hotch nodded. “Gordon is in custody. Sawyers is dead.”

“Good,” I mumbled. “If Spencer is okay, where is he?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment before anyone spoke. “Let me go get the Doctor. I’m sure they want to know you’re awake,” JJ said before quickly leaving the room.

“I think he just needs a minute, Kiddo,” Rossi said gently.

“Oh, and don’t think for one goddamn minute you’re gonna be able to weasel out of telling us about you and Reid.” Morgan looked positively giddy. “He said since Nebraska, y/n.” Prentiss shot him a glare, to which Morgan only shrugged.

I sighed, but then quickly realized how much that fucking hurt. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

An older man entered the room then. “Hello, Agent y/l/n. I’m Dr. Richardson. I’d like to check you over if I could? And your friends can leave the room.”

Emily brushed her hand over the top of my head. “We’ll be back.”

--

I had a repaired artery, gotten a transfusion, and somehow fractured a rib. Oh, and a new scar near my shoulder. The bullet was through and through, and scars were just scars.

None of that bothered me as much as my boy’s absence. The rest of the team had left hours ago. Garcia promised she’d be back bright and early and that she would be making a schedule of who was going to visit me each day and at what time. I didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it.

I had brought up Spencer a few times, I had asked for my phone to call him…but everyone had always changed the subject or tried to redirect my attention. After everything that had happened, him avoiding me now almost hurt as bad as the bullet wound.

There was a hesitant knock on the door that made my heart jump. I know that knock. Sure enough, the door pushed open to reveal the only person I wanted to see. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he was in different clothes than he had had on Tuesday morning. But even though I was so happy to see him I just felt something…wrong.

“Hey Doc,” I said softly.

Spencer came to stand at the end of my hospital bed, his eyes flat, his hands gripping the plastic rails. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice was raspy and hollow.

“I’ve been better,” I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

My boy just sighed. “That was really fucking stupid, y/n.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to let him shoot you.”

His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the bed. “So, you let him shoot you? How does that make any fucking sense, y/n?!”

My voice was small, “Because it wouldn’t be you that got hurt. Why are you being like this, Spence?”

He ran a hand over his face, licking his lips before he spoke. “I just feel bad about this because…you were right.”

“I’m right fairly often, Doc. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“About my feelings,” he said his eyes were on me, but they weren’t focused. “You were right when you said that they were just a chemical reaction to what happened this weekend. You said they would pass, and you were right.”

I couldn’t breathe. I felt like all the air had been taken out of the room.

Spencer went on. “I’m sorry if I led you on, y/n. I enjoyed our time together, but it’s not something I’d want to pursue long term. I’m embarrassed of how I acted, especially since it gave you the wrong impression.”

“Oh.” My entire body went cold and I felt my heart drop.

“I also think we should end our personal relationship.”

I blinked back tears, he sounded so impersonal. “We can’t even be friends?”

His hands lifted from the bed, his arms crossing over his chest. “We weren’t friends before, y/n.”

I pulled both of my lips between my teeth, taking small breaths so my body wouldn’t hurt more than it needed to. “I appreciate the honesty, Doc. I really do.” I turned my head to the side, unable to look at him any longer. “But this is a weird fucking time to do it.”

“I know,” he said, his tone not changing. “But I think your judgment has been compromised. I don’t think we can have any sort of relationship when it makes you do something so reckless because you think…” He trailed off.

“Because I think what, Reid?” I spat out.

“Because you think I care about you more than I do.”

I scoffed, not caring about the pain. “I didn’t take a bullet for you because I thought you cared about me.” I did it because of how much I cared about you. “You’re a member of the team, I would have done the same for any of them.”

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team.”

I think it would have hurt less if he just punched me in the bullet wound “Thanks a whole fucking lot, Reid. I’ll do that.”

He dropped his arms and turned to walk out of my room. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n.”

His hand had just pulled the door open when I called out. “Reid…did I say anything? After I was shot?”

The man that used to be my darling boy turned to look at me, his face was unreadable. "Not that I heard, no." With that, he was gone. He just walked out of my room like he didn't rip me to shreds like he didn’t take my entire heart with him.

My heart jumped with hope when the door opened again, only to plummet when I saw it was just the nurse. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked, coming to fiddle with the machines that monitored my vitals. “Oh, my lord. You’re crying! Are you in a lot of pain?” she didn’t wait for an answer, she just started for the door. “I’ll get your next dose of pain meds, be right back.”

She could do that…but I don’t think this pain will ever go away.

--

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[sisterspooky1013]

Perfect Opposites, chapter two

Rating: General Audiences

Read it on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

You all requested a chapter two, so here it is

I couldn’t forget it if I tried. I’ve turned it over in my memory so many times by now that it comes back to me like a well trained muscle repeating a familiar movement. There were a lot of little moments before that, but this one in particular stands out because it was the first one where I realized that he felt the same way I did.

We were an odd pairing from the start; he a pragmatic, analytical planner and me an idealistic, carefree dreamer. He used to call me a “loose cannon” and at first it was truly meant as an insult, said in a moment of frustration, but over time it became a term of endearment. That first day we worked together, I immediately noticed how handsome he was, tall and blonde with a square jaw and slim hips. He was so stoic, and my attempts to get to know him were met with one-word answers and pleas to focus on our assignment. I knew that I wasn’t bad-looking, and in fact I was quite used to men responding to me readily, so it felt like a fun challenge to try and crack his shell. I wasn’t trying to sleep with him; I was smart enough to know what that would do to my reputation. I was one of the first dozen female field agents to serve and I wasn’t about to blow it for all the others by hopping right into bed with my partner. But I was intrigued by his guarded demeanor, and the more he resisted me the more I wanted to know him. He insisted on calling me Rogers, even though I asked him repeatedly to call me Bridget. At first I called him Harry, but then I started calling him Hansen just to make a point and it stuck. It became a dance; I would tease and flirt with him, he would ignore my advances while we worked a case, and every once in a while he would give me a little something. First, it was little jokes, told so dryly that I had to look for the barely-there smirk on his lips to be sure he was intentionally being funny. Getting him to smile was a game in and of itself, but when I got one it was like magic. He was so beautiful when he smiled, and it became a drug I was always seeking. Over time, little by little, he started to trust me, and confide in me. He turned off the AM radio on our long drives and talked to me, not just about work.

One day he turned to me while we were driving, smiling about some stupid program he’d seen on TV the night before, and I realized that I was in love with him. I can’t say now when that happened, exactly, but in that moment I knew it, and that started the years of pushing it down, of going out with other men and pretending that he wasn’t the only one I wanted. It was so hard and heartbreaking, and I thought about asking to be reassigned dozens of times, but I couldn’t give up on the chance to be near him every day. As different as we were, he complimented me so perfectly that he became my equilibrium, the thing that grounded me to the place I was in space and time. I didn’t know how to exist without him. I was faced with an impossible choice; leave the bureau and try to have a happy life without the other half of my heart, or stay and resign to a life of pining for him across the console of our rental car. Of course there really wasn’t a choice. I could no sooner have left him than I could have chosen not to breathe anymore.

I’ve thought about that September night so many times, I can still remember the way his gingham table cloth felt under my fingertips as I nervously traced its pattern, waiting for the news I had been dreading for the last three years. He’d been seeing someone, and I just knew he was going to tell me it was getting serious, that they were getting engaged. I was afraid that I would cry, and he would ask me why, and then he’d know. He was sitting close, closer than most people would to their coworker, but that’s how we were. And he was telling me about this woman, Donna, and I felt so sick.

“I broke it off with her” he had said, and I looked at him, confused. “It just wasn’t right, Rogers. She’s a nice lady, but it just…it didn’t feel right. She’s not the one.”

I was so flooded with relief that I actually did start crying, and of course he was confused. Why would I be crying because he broke up with his girlfriend? He knelt down in front of me, and he held my hands in his, and he was just so sweet. He was always so sweet with me.

“Rogers, what’s wrong? Are you upset about Donna?”

I didn’t know what else to say, or how else to explain it, so I just nodded.

“I know we seemed like a good match, but she’s not the one. She’s the kind of person I always thought I’d end up with, but I’m realizing that I was wrong about what I wanted. About who I wanted.”

I looked at him then, at his crystal blue eyes. It felt like he was looking straight into my soul. He was searching my face like he was looking for an answer, but didn’t know what the question was.

“Bridget, have you ever just realized all of a sudden that everything you thought you knew was wrong?”

He called me by my first name. I nodded, and I thought of that moment in the car. And he was still looking all over my face, and at my mouth, and it felt like we were suspended in space, adrift in a moment that could never go forward or backward. Stuck until we made a choice. We had to make a choice.

He kissed me then, so softly, and we returned to Earth together, having found new ground. Having found each other. Even though we’d worked together and been best friends for 8 years, something entirely new was born that night, and we spent the next 20 years making up for the 8 we had wasted.

I was thinking about this at my retirement party, while the other agents ate grocery store cake and politely looked at photos of my grandchildren. When Agents Mulder and Scully walked in, I couldn’t suppress my smile. Agent Scully walked over to me with a secret smile on her lips, one she always sent my way when we were in the same room together. We had never spoken of our conversation in the bathroom last year, but she always went out of her way to say hi to me.

“Agent Hansen, congratulations” she said warmly, taking my hand in what felt more like a hand-hug than a handshake.

“Thank you, Agent Scully. I look forward to spending more time with my grandchildren.”

Agent Mulder walked up then. He sure was a handsome man, and somehow seemed to get better looking as the years went by.

“Agent Hansen, the time has come!” He said jovially. “I only wish Harry could be here retiring alongside you, he would have loved this little shindig.” There was heavy sarcasm in his tone; he knew Harry would have hated the fuss.

“You knew Harry Hansen?” Agent Scully asked him with genuine surprise.

“Of course, we worked together in VCU. I liked to give him a hard time. He reminded me a lot of you, actually” he said to Agent Scully with a gentle nudge of his elbow to her ribs.

“Sounds like he was a great guy” she joked, then “we have to catch a flight out for a case, Agent Hansen, but I wanted to come by and say goodbye. It’s been such a pleasure working with you.”

Agent Mulder looked at her a little quizzically, but I understood the meaning behind what she was saying. I shook her hand again, and held it in a little squeeze.

“I hope you’ll remember what I said” I told her, and she nodded once before they turned to leave. I was happy to be retiring, but I would miss watching them together and would always wonder if they ever found their way to each other.

A few months later, I was at the 7-11 picking up donuts for my grandsons when I heard a familiar voice in the next aisle. It was Agent Mulder, on his cell phone.

“Hey, sleepy head… It’s after 9, that’s hardly early… Well what were you doing staying up so late last night?” He chuckled, and the innuendo was clear even from the bit of the conversation I could hear. I felt sadness tug at my heart thinking that he was seeing someone, and how Agent Scully must feel. I knew exactly how she’d feel.

“We’ll I’m getting you breakfast now, and coffee, so hopefully that helps…I was thinking we could go to Annapolis tonight, there’s one of those movie in the park things, we could stop by and see your mom first…because no one in Annapolis knows us, so maybe you’ll actually be willing to be seen in public with me…you know what I mean, outside of work”

I couldn’t help but smile from my hiding spot behind the donut case. He was talking to Agent Scully.

“…well, think about and you can decide later….yes, I’ll be back in 15 minutes, go back to sleep if you want…Love you, bye.”

He paid and left, and an idea started cooking in my head. Annapolis wasn’t that far of a drive, and I didn’t exactly have an active social calendar. I just wanted to see them together again, one more time.

My plan had been to get there early so I’d be sure to catch them as they arrived, but through a combination of traffic, my own poor navigation skills (that had always been Harry’s strong suit) and lack of parking, I walked in to a full lawn and the previews already starting. Thankfully, her red hair was easy to spot and I found a place for my blanket just a few feet behind them. It was a little too close, and made the odds they would see and recognize me higher than I would have liked, but soon enough it was clear that it wouldn’t be an issue. They were in their very own universe, bordered by the ugly brown Aztec blanket they sat on. Agent Mulder was reclined against a cooler with Agent Scully between his legs, leaning against his torso like an Adirondack chair, his arms wrapped around her. He whispered in her ear and kissed her neck as she giggled. They looked more like two teenagers on a date than two federal agents and it reminded me of so many nights Harry and I snuck off for dates in some forgettable city after wrapping up a case, freed from the risk that someone from the bureau would see us together and report our relationship. Those were some of the most exciting times in my life, and watching them now…I felt the tears bubbling up in my eyes. They were happy tears, full of memories and love and hope. Full of the promise of a relationship forged in fire and turmoil, sealed by dedication and hard work. I knew I’d have to go visit Harry the next day and tell him all about it, and remember with him how clumsy and awkward we were in the beginning, peeling each other’s armor away slowly until it was just us, unguarded and vulnerable and the most seen we had ever been by another person, or ever would be again.

By the end of the movie, they were spooned together under the stars, the relative darkness allowing for a kind of public intimacy that would normally be out of place. She had fallen asleep, and Agent Mulder was watching her, tracing a finger along the shell of her ear before placing a kiss to her temple. He sighed and I could hear him whisper to no one in particular “my perfect opposite.”

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part one: falling flowers

A friendly date with Calum’s best friend’s sister was not supposed to tailspin into a night of blurry secrets and uncertain feelings. And yet, there was no telling of the fleeting taste of sugar and the warmth of being with each other. There was no denying all that lingered between them. And consequently, there was no escaping all of the repercussions and mixed emotions the night created.

5k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

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The party was verging on completion when Calum finally worked his way over to her; he had spotted her almost immediately after entering the yard. He almost didn’t recognize her after years of change and distance. She sat alone on the grass, back to the house with a bottle leaning against her leg. Music was becoming a background noise as the glitzy house party began to wither away. Calum approached her slowly and kneeled down, his own drink settling on the grass. Her head was tilted back, gazing up at the stars in a silent introspection. Calum knew she was aware of his presence; the slight shift in her position offering him a spot by her side. He took it without a word and pressed his back to the siding of the house just like her; let his eyes wander up as he cleared his throat.

“Hey, short stuff,” he began with; the old nickname coming off his lips in a teasing manner as it always had.

“You know I hate being called that,” she answered as she always used to. “Ever since we were kids.”

Calum nodded though she couldn’t see it, her gaze still captured by constellations. He let out a breath as his hand hovered over his drink and his eyes skirted down to hers. It was nearly empty and he couldn’t help but wonder how many she’d already had. His hand abandoned his cup in favor of settling on his lap.

“And I’ll have you know I hit my growth spurt since I last saw you,” she defended as she finally turned to catch eyes with him.

Dark hazel eyes were unblinking and unfazed. She had changed over the years, but her unflinching ability to hold eye contact stayed the same. Calum remembered her in hazy moments. Michael’s sister was sifted into the background of many memories. Now she was a thought at the forefront as Calum arched an eyebrow and took up the bait of banter.

“Yeah, how much did you grow? An inch?” He asked as she sighed with pouted lips and eyes that told him he was a fool.

“Two, actually,” she corrected in such a matter of fact voice Calum couldn’t argue; or continue to use his nickname against her.

“Alright. Arden it is then,” he conceded and though the name was foreign on his tongue after years of not using it the slight smirk on her face made him want to continue the practice. “How has Arden been lately?”

She gave him a pointed look and a smirk but shrugged, a forced nonchalance taking over. She picked at an imaginary loose thread on her striped pants as her feet wiggled and she figured out how she had been doing. Calum gave her time to think it over, craving an honest answer.

“I’d say I’ve been doing okay in some aspects,” she replied and shrugged again. “Maybe not as okay in others. I’m no famous rock star, that’s for sure.”

Calum bit back a sarcastic laugh at her last comment but let the reality of her words before wrap around him. Okay and not as okay. She was a conundrum, a kaleidoscope point of view; this and that all at once. Calum suddenly wanted to see from her eyes, see the shifting lenses and the light and reflections of how okay and how not okay she was.

“Last I knew you were off in Italy somewhere, what brought you all the way out here?” He asked, hoping that maybe Italy and her reasons for visiting were a part of the okay aspects.

Arden shifted, turning so her weight was on one leg and knees were bent and she could face Calum fully. She reached for the bottle she was nursing and took the last small sip from it before putting it aside and pursing her lips in thought.

“Michael didn’t tell you?”

Calum shook his head; confusion clear in the motion. He couldn’t remember Michael mentioning why his sister was here; just that she would be around for a while. He could jump to conclusions and assumptions. A visit finally due after years of evading the city. Needing a favor. Missing her brother. None seemed plausible enough to bring the ever unattainable woman to a standstill in a city she seemingly hated and avoided at all costs. She had travelled the world; studied abroad and backpacked through countries Calum had only ever flew over or saw through airport windows. Yet she steered clear of the place Michael had made a home. And evidentially, that meant she steered clear of Calum.

“A wedding. It’s actually in Vegas but I knew I’d catch hell if I came all this way and didn’t pay him a visit,” she explained and Calum could sense tension in her words.

He’d settle for that explanation; for now. It was thin and terse and he could tell there was much more to it than that. But he was never one for pushing. Time would do the telling much easier than she would. Or Michael, possibly, if Calum asked in the right way. The mood was darkening in a way he didn’t want; a frown cutting across her face as they sat in silence for a moment.

“You didn’t tell me you’re getting married,” Calum joked, hoping his words would lighten the conversation.

He was rewarded when she laughed, but it was all taken back when she sobered and an unknown sadness captured her eyes. It was fleeting; there and gone in an instant. Shying away from the not okay as she reeled herself back in from scattered patterns of shadows.

“Not my wedding,” she said with a slight eye roll and smile; an attempt to follow his lead of lighting up the mood. “It’s pathetic enough I’m showing up to this wedding by myself. Be even worse if I was alone at my wedding. It’s too bad I don’t even have a friend to go with me.”

Calum let out a sarcastic huff and tried to ignore the speculative gaze she now looked at him with. When she didn’t look away and he could see the gears turning—already knowing the thoughts playing in her mind from just one look—he began to shake his head.

“No,” he said before she could say anything else. “No, I’m not gonna be your date.”

The words felt heavy. Heavy enough to sink to the bottom of his stomach and churn. Heavy enough to make him look away from her pleading gaze.

“Oh come on,” she said, voice verging on cracking. “I never ask you for anything.”

“I never ask you for anything either. It’s worked so far. Let’s keep it that way,” he said, words quick to defend his no though his mind wasn’t so sure about it.

When she went silent Calum felt a pull to turn back, heart heavier and faster in its rhythmic beats. Her eyes were now downcast, hands in the grass as fingers tugged on blades and slow breaths escaped her. He was almost certain she was calming herself, as if the situation was enough to make her cry. To make her not okay. Calum felt himself regretting his no as she looked up at him with shining eyes. He stole himself and licked his lips.

“Why don’t you ask Ashton? He likes Vegas.”

“He’s busy,” Arden mumbled and Calum gave her an incredulous look.

“So I’m just your back up then?” He feigned outrage but dropped the act when she seemingly didn’t want to play along.

“I figured you’d say no. I was stupid to even mention it,” she said, trying to wave away the situation as she leaned back against the house, finding the stars once more. “It’d just be nice to have someone I’m comfortable with there. A little moral support.”

“It’s just a wedding, Arden, you’ll be fine,” Calum murmured though he wasn’t sure of his own words.

He’d never seen her like this before. Admittedly, he didn’t spend much time with her alone, ever, but of the memories he was bringing back in none held such weighted words and somber tones. Arden shook her head and emptied her hands of the grass she had pulled up. They drifted off in a sudden breeze and Calum pulled his jacket a bit tighter around him. The night air was cool and he wondered how Arden was fairing in a tank top.

“It’s just a wedding, you’ll be fine,” she repeated and grabbed for her bottle but dropped it when she remembered it was empty. “You try saying that when the ones getting married are your best friend and your ex.”

Calum’s heart sank and stomach twisted; the revelation hitting him hard. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t fathom what she must be feeling. She turned back to him and bit her lip.

“Don’t go,” Calum suggested but he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

“That’d be worse than showing up alone.”

“Bring Michael,” he said and even he couldn’t hold back laughter.

“You really just want to embarrass me, huh?” She asked with blazing cheeks and a disapproving shake of the head. “The only thing worse than showing up alone or not showing up at all is showing up with a sibling. I’ll just go by myself.”

They lapsed into silence and Calum took a moment to think, to feel, to see things from her perspective. She went motionless; no wiggle of her feet, no picking at threads or plucking at blades of grass. Her gaze left him and focused on the fence separating property lines in front of them. His heart was pounding hard and fast, eyes burning at just the thought of her situation. Of Arden having to face all of that alone. Of being the one to let her down. His mind was already made up when she spoke again.

“You know, the reception has an open bar. And it’s Vegas. We can ditch as soon as possible; go gamble or drink our woes away.”

“You had me at the open bar,” Calum said though that was a lie. She had him with her glossy eyes and a truth that must have been painful to admit. “As long as Michael’s okay with it.”

Arden smiled, the woes already washing away and being replaced by shining stars twinkling in her eyes. She leaned in closer, barely a breath away.

“Thank you,” her lips nearly brushed his cheek as her whisper carried to him.

Calum warmed at the almost kiss and watched as she slowly stood, eyes searching the remnants of the party. In their conversation more people had fled, the music had been low to begin with but was nonexistent by the time Calum was pulled back.

“I’ll go tell Michael now,” she decided and began to take off in search of him, but turned back to Calum with a smirk. “We leave tomorrow. At five.”

Calum let out a breath and watched her go. He’d be ready. Waiting. Curious and taken by his best friend’s sister’s sudden reappearance and the mysteries that followed her. She’d been evasive for years, as soon as the band took off so did she. Keeping her distance and the answers to mysteries with her.

***

“I don’t know how you suckered me into not only going, but into driving,” Calum mumbled as he switched lanes.

They’d been in the car a while already but the situation was still perplexing to Calum. The road to Vegas wasn’t long in retrospect; for all the time he spent in tour busses and on planes a four hour drive was minimal. But, he was still dumbfounded at the fact he was behind the wheel. Arden’s art of persuasion had grown in the years they were apart.

“I don’t know my way out of California,” she offered and Calum could see from the corner of his eye the way she stretched out in her seat, legs wiggling in her attempt to get comfortable. ”Besides, we’re in Michael’s Tesla, it’s not like you really have to drive if you don’t want to.”

“I still have to be alert and in control. I don’t trust self driving cars,” Calum rebutted and then thought for a moment, a new question suddenly striking him. “If it wasn’t enough you got me to drive, how the hell did you get Michael to let us take his car?”

Calum spared a complete glance her way for just a second, just to see the smile on her face and the way her nose scrunched up.

“Laid the sweetness on thick. Begged, even. Said I’d tell mum on him,” she answered with a giggle.

“You did not.” Calum bellowed out a laugh, suddenly transported to a time where that threat was very real.

If Michael wouldn’t let her play video games with them. If they teased her just a little too much. Got caught spying or reading her journal. A threat of telling always followed. Sometimes tears, but always a threat.

“No. He was nice enough to say yes after a little bit of a puppy dog pout and about thirty minutes of begging.”

Calum straightened and tapped his fingers on the console. “You know I have a car we could’ve taken.”

“Sure,” she said quickly and clipped. “But it’s not as cool as a Tesla.”

“My car is cool,” Calum defended with a staunch expression.

Arden reached over and patted his hand lightly, as if comfortingly, the contact a bit odd; hardly ever having been so casual in those encounters. Not since an almost brush of her lips against his cheek as a thank you last night. And rarely before that.

“Whatever you say.”

The rest of the drive was quiet between them even though Calum had hundreds of questions filtering through his thoughts. He didn’t want to ask when his focus was on the road. He wanted to be able to fully gauge her reactions to them, note if her eyes averted his gaze or her words were tight and said between her teeth. He wanted to know the truths. So instead they listened to music. Her playlist was moody; darker themes carrying the lyrics and heavy instrumentation creating the songs. He felt that maybe there was something to understand there. He often found that music spoke louder than words.

By the time they got to the hotel exhaustion from the drive was winning over. Calum was able to secure his own room last minute; coincidentally and perhaps luckily, across the hall from Arden. With another odd form of contact—an unsure hug that lasted mere seconds—they bid each other good night. Calum stumbled into his room, peeled off his pants and shirt and fell into bed; half dreading the next day and half anticipating his time with Arden. It took him a while to fall asleep, usually he knocked out as soon as his head hit the pillow. But there were too many thoughts and memories swirling through his mind.

Morning came in a rush. It took Calum no time at all to get ready for the wedding; merely showering and throwing on a suit. He wandered across the hall when he was done, wondering if Arden could use some company while she got ready, wondering if she might answer his questions in the meantime. The door swung open after the first knock. Arden stood before him in a bathrobe, hair in a towel and face clean of makeup.

“You’re not even close to being ready, are you?” Calum asked as she moved aside to let him in.

“Ten minutes,” she declared and shut the door before stalking off to the attached bathroom.

Calum was fully prepared for ten minutes to be twenty or thirty or even an hour. He couldn’t ask questions between the walls of the hotel and the obnoxious noise of an old hair dryer blasting on what he assumed was high. He was settled into a chair shoved in the corner, the muted curtains dominating the wall were pulled open just enough for some natural light to spill through and play against the patterns on the carpet. Before Calum could pull his phone out to kill time the hair dryer was shut off and Arden came stalking through the room, headed for her bag on the bed. She was quick in grabbing what she needed; a pair of shoes and something else Calum couldn’t quite make out. Her hair was dry and fell softly down her back; chestnut brown lightening from the sun. Arden looked over at Calum, a bite of a smirk on her lips as she backed away from her bag.

“Five minutes,” she updated with a promise and now Calum was apt to believe her.

When five minutes blew by and all was silent Calum stood from his chair; curious if five was turning to ten. He approached the bathroom door slowly; it was wide open and Arden stood dressed and ready. A red silk dress was heavenly against her skin and Calum wondered if maybe it was too much for a wedding; surely upstaging the bride—but then, for a moment, he considered that no matter what she wore no one else would compare. The dress was short but the Vegas heat provided reason for that. Her hair was now up but loose tendrils framed her face. Painted red lips were quivering and her face had gone flush; hands gripped the lip of the counter so tight her knuckles were visibly whitening. She looked up and caught Calum’s eye in the mirror; detached herself from the counter and moved to him with stiff motions.

“I’m ready,” she whispered with tight words and now shaking hands.

Calum wasn’t sure what led him to placing his hands on her shoulders—another form of touch they had never been comfortable enough to do—or why it was starting to feel so natural. He didn’t understand the way she responded, letting out a breath as if her worries were easing. Only when she locked gazes with him did he speak up and realize how hard this truly was for her.

“You know, we don’t have to go if you aren’t okay,” Calum offered; his sincerity on his sleeve and in his gaze.

Arden shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a little nervous; I didn’t drag you all the way out here for nothing.”

“Well, it is Vegas. We could just go gamble or drink,” Calum repeated her words back near verbatim and it earned him a smile.

“After,” she said with a decisive head nod and moved away from Calum’s touch and to the door.

He watched her turn her confidence on as they walked to the chapel and then saw it crash and plummet upon entering and having to decide between the bride or groom’s side. Posing as her date left the opportunity to hold her hand open; to give her some comfort while being authentic and playing the part. Her palm was warm and her fingers gave him an appreciative squeeze, and while Calum didn’t notice during that particular moment he responded by running his thumb along the back of her hand soothingly. As if by instinct.

“Guess we’ll go to Viv’s side, at least she didn’t dump me,” Arden mumbled and Calum felt shock tingle up his spine as she led the way to a pair of seats.

The mysteries of Arden’s past were presenting themselves in small offhanded sentences. In queried answers that were tight and hard to swallow. It was almost as if the more Calum found out the less he wanted to know. Yet he needed to; he needed to figure out the okays and not so okays.

Through the ceremony Calum’s gaze kept wandering over to Arden; noting the way she shifted uncomfortably, letting her whisper in his ear as the bridal court walked down the aisle. Her whisper of at least she didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid, those dresses are hideous making him smirk as he knew she was attempting to cover her pain with humor. He kept his hand in hers and although they’d never done something such as that—possibly the closest being a high five as kids—it felt almost normal as time passed. And in the midst of the vows; generic words that made Calum roll his eyes, he realized there was more to Arden’s world than he realized. He couldn’t picture her ever dating the man at the altar. Simply put, and only ever said in Calum’s mind, he looked like a douche. Like his name was Chad or Justin or something of the sort. The ceremony became a blur to Calum by the time they were at the reception; the promise of an open bar looming past the dance floor.

If Calum hadn’t been holding Arden’s hand he would have lost her in the crowd. She moved with graceful steps past people in their way. The venue was dark but lit with flashing lights. It felt more like a house party than a wedding reception to Calum but the loud drone of music drowned out the chatter of people he didn’t know. The dark provided an escape for Arden as she managed to wrangle them through the crowd and into the shadows. They stopped just short of the bar, tucked into a corner where eyes couldn’t find them and she could catch her breath. Calum could sense it was becoming harder for her, that the ceremony had done her in and the first dance was more than enough to keep her there.

“Want to dance?” Calum asked before he even knew the words were in his mind. His hand was held out to her and in the moment he rationalized it would be a good distraction. Arden bit her lip as she contemplated.

“I didn’t think you were one for dancing,” she said but took his hand nonetheless.

“Guess you don’t really know me.”

“Not anymore,” Arden said and Calum felt the weight of those words.

As he pulled her closer and onto the dance floor the distance they’d had between them for years became more apparent. They were never particularly close growing up, but they’d been in each other’s orbits long enough to know one another. He realized in a mournful way the Calum she knew was still a shy teenager with dreams bigger than his mind could allow at the time. She knew someone who was uncertain and still trying to find a path to follow. A boy with a choice and no right or wrong answers. And he knew her to keep eye contact with volition but blush at the drop of a dime. Teeming with wanderlust but having nowhere to go.  A girl with too many contradictions. Time had changed them and any fragment of what they once knew had blown away in years worth of winds.

The music had shifted to something slower, the lights easing with the song to glows scattered across the floor. Calum’s hands settled around her waist; with a light touch and questioning look to ask if it was okay. She communicated that it was by settling her hands on his shoulders. They found a rhythmic sway to the music even though their bodies were a bit stiff at another new form of contact. It took a few moments to warm up and relax. Calum explored her eyes, how dark they were against the glare of white lights. He had questions and now—while they were so close—seemed the best time to start asking.

“When did you even meet them?” He asked, referring to Viv and Chad or Justin or whatever his name was.

A timid and sorrowful smile captured Arden’s lips. He hoped the question wasn’t too much, wanting to avoid another glossy eyed or white knuckled incident. She sighed and Calum felt her hold on his shoulders shift slightly but stay present. He expected her to drop her hold, to fall into silence or turn and walk away. Arden was full of surprises.

“When I was studying abroad. Viv was my roommate and at the time my best friend. I dated Brett until my second year,” she explained.

Brett Calum mused, somehow, that was even worse than being a Chad or a Justin. He realized she kept the details to a minimum but held eye contact; Calum knowing it was the truth. A small bit of the truth that left more questions circling his mind but he was patient; willing to wait for her, knowing there was more than meets the eye.

Arden’s lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed as she thought back to a time he really didn’t understand. Her eyes were contemplative and Calum found himself diving back into them. Her gaze flickered and the lighting played against deep hazel and made it nearly golden for just a moment. He noted the way she squinted when lost in thought and was floored at the sudden panic that captured her now frantic stare. Her line of sight was past his shoulder.  It had him turning, catching the bride and groom passing by. It must have been shocking for her; speaking of them in small and painful fragmented words in a world where their lives were intertwined. And now she was an outcast; seeing her old best friend in white with her ex at her side—looking as happy as a couple could be. Without thinking, without inhibitions, he pulled her closer and without hesitation she reciprocated; tucked her head against his chest and let her arms slide down and wrap around him. He felt her body ease against his, could almost hear the breath escaping her over the boom of the music.

Calum’s heart was racing, body buzzing and electrified but the world was in slow motion. The sound of the music faded and all he could hear was the thump of his heartbeat; wondered if she could hear it too. Surely, with her head to his heart she could hear and feel it as well. He chalked it up to the moment. Everything was just a little bit too much. The song was too slow and the lights were too dim and they were too close. The moment was too intimate and it left his reactions skewed. He was susceptible to the influence of everything around them. That’s what he told himself when his hands found the small of her back and his head dipped down, an intoxicating and now familiar scent of honey and peaches finding its way to him.

Arden pulled back and looked up. The heels she wore put them nearly at eye level. And once again Calum found himself moving without thinking, pushing a strand of fallen hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger and trace down her jawline. She was quiet but Calum swore she moved into his touch. The thought of who they were and who they are entered his mind but it was fleeting. Titles such as best friend’s sister became meaningless in a darkened moment with minimal space between them. This time, with nothing but thoughts accompanying his movements Calum leaned forward; painstakingly slowly with minute movements, giving Arden time to think as well. Maybe his thoughts weren’t all together and rational and maybe he was under the influence of their surroundings and maybe she was too close for any other thought to break through. There were a lot of maybes that made up the moment she closed the distance and red lip stain graced Calum’s lips. It was demure and brief but somehow Calum felt audacious and that time itself had stopped to allow it. His mind was spinning with senses of Arden he’d never known before. She tasted of sugar and left him in an airy free fall.

All too soon it was over. Calum cleared his throat and Arden blinked rapidly. They both came back to reality and a silent understanding of it never happened and it doesn’t count—both separately convinced of the influence of the atmosphere—settled between them. Arden went back to resting her head against his chest and Calum’s hold drifted back down. The music had picked up in tempo but another understanding of we’re fine the way we are slowed the music and the world and with eyes closed the flashing lights didn’t matter. Calum still felt like he was falling; completely winded and not sure he’d ever land or what would be waiting for him if he did. He found himself lost in the moment and sifting through memories; moments in which Michael had mentioned Arden in the years he hadn’t seen her. He was trying to piece her together and hold them together, another sorrowful feeling tugging at his chest as he realized all of the circumstances. That little title in his mind ringing alarm bells he found jolting. He drowned them out in favor of pulling her just a bit closer.

The music cut out and the world made room for a bridal tradition that had Arden on edge. Her grip on Calum tightened at the announcement and a nervous bounce had her shifting weight from leg to leg. In a matter of moments the bouquet would go flying and land in the hands of the person to be married next. A crowd formed around the bride and Arden looked away.

“How about… we go get a drink,” Calum suggested, wanting to take her away from the scene unfolding before them. Wanting to mend whatever pain and heartache she may be feeling.

She nodded.

“How about two? And then we leave.”

Calum followed her lead, quick steps carrying them away from the situation. He heard the drop. Turned to see a bouquet of flowers landed where their feet had been moments ago; Arden luckily oblivious to the unlikely affair. He turned and picked up their pace, wanting to avoid the rush of people trying to find the tradition. Wanting to put plenty of distance between them and falling flowers.

<< >>

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[brahkest-fr]

CW: trauma, maggot/worm imagery, blood, general violence | Titan n Chimera have a moment

Titan rushed down the hall, long tail flailing mercilessly behind him, tripping cursing guards as he sprinted through ancient corridors that reeked with the stench of dust and mold. Another tundra stood at the end of the dungeon, old eyes cold and weary, not at all surprised at the other’s sudden appearance. He crossed his arms as Titan approached apprehensively. He didn’t meet his gaze but the elder bore through him with a fire that could raise the dead.

“Let me see her,” Titan demanded, rare harshness in his voice.

The other tundra squinted. “Be my guest. She will be dealt with by the morning,” he spat and pushed past him, frail old shoulder barely nudging Titan’s massive frame but the sentiment was there. “I told you something like this would happen.”

He waited until the other left before gingerly opening the wooden cell door, its creaking overwhelming the deep, pained breaths from within. His jaw slacked as he gazed over the hunched form of Chimera, kneeling on bare stone, arms folded behind her and chained to the wall. She peered upwards, head heavy and swaying. Her vision was blurry but made out Titan’s broad shoulders, haloed in the dusty light of the door frame. Angelic. She thought she was dying.

Titan conversely became aware of the dull, raspy sound of Chimera’s wheezing and the utter nothing coming from his own throat. Knees buckling, Titan faltered to the floor, hand grasping at the stone as he crawled towards her in a silent frenzy, hesitantly cupping his dear friend’s face with soft paws, head pressed to hers. Her breath quivered, recognizing the gentle touch and glimmering fur that encased her trembling form in a warmth that seemed foreign and unbelievable. He smelled like spices and sun, strong on her dull senses that have been subjected to the stale, putrid jail cell. She mouthed something weakly, spittle dribbling down her chin. He wiped it away, running his hands gently down her shoulders.

She shuddered, gray and melting in the dark of his shadow.

Chimera always saw beauty in bruises. Never was anyone more moved by the blossom of welts and the flush of cut flesh. He briefly wondered if she would have thought the way she appeared now, broken and stiff, was pretty.

She would. Even this dark place - she would.

“I’m so sorry Chimera...I should have stopped you sooner. I should have been with you before-” he gasped as he nuzzled her forehead, ignoring the blood oozing from her cuts.

Should. Should. Should. He always should have something.

“Titan,” she hissed, “It’s not your fault.”

He felt her cool blood seep into his fur, a jarring sick wetness.

He lowered himself, peering into her sickly yellow eyes that struggled to flutter open. They were pussy, glassy - tired. He ran the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away thin tears she didn’t realize had fallen. He kissed the wedge of her snout, nauseated by the coldness of her skin, the stillness of her body other than minute flinches. He wrapped his plush tail around her, fur coated in the filth of her blood and sweat. She collapsed into his body, for what little slack the chains gave her. Pressing gentle fingers to the base of her spines, he massaged her neck, earning an exasperated choke from her.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked in the smallest voice he could muster.

Chimera’s eyes widened, manic and fearful though her body remained defeated and limp. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “The same. Always the same...” she sobbed.

He constricted her body, desperate to hold her pieces in place. “Where are you?”

Chimera grit her teeth, “It’s all red. All red and flesh and fog. She’s watching me again. But her hands are around me... I can feel her nails-” she heaved into a wailing bob back and forth, Titan pressing her to his chest.

It was routine for him, holding her, talking her through her delusions. It was the same story each time but progressively getting worse, an assault he couldn’t stop. A nightmare he couldn’t end. At first he thought Chimera simply had many peculiar fears here and there, bad dreams and the like as everyone does. But when her tough facade melted away into pure terror, screaming into the morning because she thought the hand reaching from her throat was real, Titan couldn’t pretend it was nothing. He wished it was nothing.

He loathed to be helpless when he shook her awake, failing to convince her she was safe. How the paralysis of sleep and fear would take her - how his very touch would send shock waves up her spine and out her maw as whines for help. How he was a sailor lost in the midst of her storms, throwing him wave after wave into her darkness. Drowning always inevitable. But the sun would rise and she would be there, resting on the railing of their sinking ship. She’d be pale in his nightmares. Dead. But he would hold her, tell her she was really alive and really there with him. The dark would come and swallow them whole. A story he knew the end to. He’d wake up and in a mad scramble would find Chimera sleeping restlessly in the guest room, tangled in ripped sheets. He’d breathe and slide down the door frame. Content. A moment of relief betrayed by continued suffering.

Titan was her rock though crumbling.

In all their years together, she could only cope with his hands stroking the whole of her back as the terrors would keep her up at night and plague her throughout the day with visions she couldn’t understand nor ones he could ease away. Chimera was always her strongest out in the city where she put on a brave face that day after day cracked slowly, along fault lines that he knew too well - the pinches to her forehead, the distant look in her eyes, the smile that was painfully fake. She tried her best to avoid being a burden though Titan would never consider her as such. It was hard to convince her that this nightmare was his own as well, something he chose to participate in, something he wanted to help heal. She’d look at him like a bug to flick away but like a tick he stuck to her side, sharing in the cursed blood. The gods awful nights and tortured days. The unholy body in alien skin.

Often Titan’s thoughts looped back to Sorrow, the vile witch they visited years ago for some semblance of an answer. It was said she knew everything. Foolish of them to think they would get a straight answer from a creature who delighted in the plights of dragons. The snowy, angelic imperial whose divine body was draped in silk and stars smugly sneered, a soft hand trailing down her own neck to chest, indulging in the deliciousness of their desperation.

“The gods certainly like to choose their favorites, don’t they? How cruel of them,” she laughed sweetly, predatory evil behind cold alabaster eyes.

It was hardly an answer but answer enough. Chimera was a victim of divinity, an ant under a magnifying glass. But what solution they could muster would elude them.

It would break them.

And now sits Chimera, kneeling under a shadow of death, oblivious to the world around her except the all consuming thoughts worming holes in her mind since childhood. Squirming like maggots in a wound, hungry to burrow and fester, their chafing claws scratched at her ears, throbbing rustling heartbeats haunted her sleep and peeled away her resolve. She’d pick at them like dead skin, indulging in habits that would only give her seconds of relief. A fight here. A fight there. Hours of physical training. Her mood was always electric and frenzied, focused on the next thing that would distract her. The worms hollowed the space just under her skin, slithering like plump veins in sickening patterns only she could see. Scratching. Wriggling. Squirming.

Titan often had his aristocratic duties and she knew that’d she’d have to cope alone, avoided by neighboring dragons too fearful or annoyed at the ridgeback who stalked the streets with a fervor that danced on the edge of violence. She suffered in silence, other than her wails that verbalized at the cusp of dawn in the arms of her friend who forced her to share his home, worried what such terrors would make her do. What they did make her do.

-

The grand library was dead silent. Dark. Titan's feet froze on the cold marble floor that could not be a more obvious sign to leave. She’s gone, he thought briefly - unwillingly - and shook his head. No. No. He can help her. She’s here and he’ll help her.

He found her deep in the basement of the library, surrounded by books meant to be locked up now lay open faced, ghostly runes visibly tearing themselves from the pages. Screaming wails from nowhere bounced off the walls as Chimera sat in the middle of a magic circle, muttering a language not even the Shade knew, lost in thought. Possessed. He yelled to her, held back by an invisible force of her own creation and she turned, face wet and screaming, desperate to end her torment. While an ancient tongue left her lips, she mouthed, help me.

Please.

Titan, filled with a fury and desperation that puppeteered his movements, tore through the magic barrier with a feral violence masked by the ghostly paleness of his face: a visible trace of doubt should he fail.

Why couldn’t he be here sooner.

He pulled her away from the cursed tomes but not without a fight as she flailed, child-like and dangerous, claws narrowly digging into the scruff of his throat. In this effort he forgot how strong she truly was, tangling themselves in a heap of limbs. In a last attempt to summon some gods’ forsaken horror, Chimera flew to a book, screeching its words like a siren until Titan grabbed her by face, tearing her away along with a vibrant strip of flesh from chin to eyebrow. Reeling back in pain and blinded by blood, she collapsed, pooled in sweat and sobs as she held her cheek, crying for it all to end, for the maggots in her brain to cease their chatter. Her back arched and she tore at her scales as if covered in ants, rolling along the cool floor to disperse the heat in her muscles. Titan loomed over her, hands unsure what to hold, how to touch. It was a piercing self awareness of his vulnerability in that moment. He heard yelling from above, likely guards posted outside. Chimera kept screaming, scratching, panting, crying. He shakily stared at his paws, fur now sticky with sweat and blood and grime. He wiped his hands in frantic motions, desperate to clean himself of the viscera he drew but it only smeared and matted his fur in pungent red. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do.

-

He was beside her again now, no more confident than before but he could hide that, for now. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as she wailed, biting into his flesh, drawing crimson over his sunset fur. The pain was dull and fleeting while his thoughts were scattered and distant in the love he wished was enough. Her ribs cracked as she heaved in coughing fits, delicate and ready to burst. He wanted the floor to fall away, enveloping them in a comforting darkness - a place of attractive nothingness. He wished for a lot of things in that moment.

His tailed tightened, python-tight and unwillingly to let go. The torn flesh cutting across her eye festered, swollen and red. He forced himself to keep from turning away. You did that. Her sobs slowed and she was coming back to the present, away from the pit of worms who for now would slumber, buried deep under her skin, ghosts pricking their nails in anticipation against her bones. He stared at the chains bolted to the wall. Brittle.

“Chimera?”

She hung her head. Resigned.

“I want you to run.”

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

The bedroom down the hall

Warning: Super angsty, like next level angst, it made @sirkekselord​ cry Word count: ~1.6k Summary: After Jason’s death you know it’s time to pack up the things in his room, but will you be able to cope with all the memories and the fact that your son is really dead? (Inspired by “In the bedroom down the hall” from ‘dear Evan Hansen’)

Requested by the lovely @hubblill: Hey!Love you fics! I wonderd if I could request a super angsty batfam (batmom) story, inspirerad by the song "In the beadroom down the hall" (dear evan hansen) where batmom is packning up Jasons things after he dies and remember all the good and bad times they had. Ending with some fluff please.

The manor was cold with the absence of the little boy you'd grown to love in the last five years. You had grown to see as your son, your youngest after Dick. You weren't able to really blame Bruce, he was your husband after all, but at the same time, you weren't able to look into his eyes, let alone sleep in the same bed with him. It just hurt too much. It had been two months now and you still expected Jay to come through the door and fall into your arms after school. But he never did. He would never again. "Mistress Wayne," Alfred's voice made you look up from the book you had thoughtlessly picked up, not realizing what it was, only to recognize the cover of the book you had always read to Jason when he couldn't sleep when he was younger when you tried to put it back on the shelf, "I think it's time, I've already placed the boxes in front of the door." He didn't need to say explicitly what he meant, you already knew, you already dreaded it. Jason's room had been closed, left the way it was, ever since the night you found out he died. Back then you had spent the whole night kneeling at his bed, crying for all the days he'd never have, all the experiences he would never make. Bruce tried to get you out, but you couldn't even bear to be in the same room as him and, even though he was hurting too, he loved you too much to intervene, instead deciding to give you space and time to grieve. The next morning you locked the door and put the key around your neck, you couldn't stand the thought of changing it, even though you knew, deep inside, that it wouldn't be used again. You had played with the thought of letting it just stay closed, gather dust until you were ready to face the fact that you had lost your son, but Alfred made you try to understand that you'd never get to that point if you'd literally lock your feelings away. So you just nodded, eyes void of emotions after days and nights that you spent crying, and turned around to go to the place that became the center of everything you had hoped would never happen. You stood in front of his bedroom quicker than you had expected. It was the very last room in the hallway that had been dedicated to your children, Dick's room that was also long left empty only a few doors away. A pained smile made its way onto your face when your eyes landed on the lettering that Jason had carved into it when he finally felt home 'Jason's room! Keep out!' and a bit smaller under it stood 'Except mom!' that he had added when your mother-son bond got as strong as it had been for the rest of the five years you had together. Only five years... You swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes for a second, trying to keep the tears from streaming just a little bit longer, before picking up one of the boxes and opening the door, before you could change your mind. 

You tried to ignore your surrounding as best as you could, knowing that if you'd focus too much on anything you'd break down again, and made your way over to the closet that stood beside his bed and slowly opened it. The beginning was easy. It was shirts that he wore every day that laid perfectly folded in their place, they made you smile a bit, thinking about how they all seemed to be the same shirt in different colours and with sometimes a pattern on it. But then your hands landed on a deep grey crocheted sweater. You remembered like yesterday how you started to try your hand at crocheting when the stress of Dick leaving and the new cute kid going out fighting with your husband got a bit too much. The sweater was the first thing you made that you dared to show anyone and when it turned out to somewhat be the size of Jason you couldn't help but give it to him. He always complained about it, saying that the fabric was just a horrible choice and that the arms got tighter at the end. You just shrugged and laughed that maybe crocheting wasn't your strong suit after all and that he could feel free to throw it away whenever he wanted. You were sure that he'd thrown it into the trash the same day, but here it was. In your hands. He had kept it. The first tears started welling up in your eyes and you couldn't help but pressing it to your body as if Jason was still in it... but it was just a thought, the ghost of a hope that you started to lose. You finally looked around the room. Your eyes were drawn to the superman nightlight that was plugged into the wall beside the door, you had bought it for him as a joke, but somehow he never wanted to take it off again. You only found out that he wasn't too fond of being alone in the dark when the lightbulb inside it broke and he made his way to your and Bruce's bedroom, asking you if you could fix it. You had promised he would never see it break again, but you had never known that it would be because of such a gruesome circumstance. Then your gaze landed on his bedside table and you were like in a trance when you sat down on the bad and opened its drawer, your breath hitching when you saw the broken picture frame laying inside it. It was a picture of you, him and Bruce on his birthday. You looked so happy, but it seemed like a distant memory now, something from a place that was destroyed by a blizzard of change. You traced the cracks in the frame and of the fragments of glass and you couldn't stop your brain from wandering to the evening when it was broken like that. You couldn't quite remember why, but you had forbidden him from joining patrol that night and he was enraged by that. He screamed at you, shouted that he heated you and that you weren't his real mother, but instead of sitting him down and explaining that you were just worried for him and that you knew he didn't mean it, you screamed back... You'll regret saying that... One day I might not be here to care about you anymore, what's then?... Stop acting so childish... Then he threw the picture at the wall and you left the room, telling him that if he thought he knew everything so much better than you that he should make is own decisions... You weren't sure when you started crying and sobbing, you hadn't even noticed your finger getting pierced by the shards of glass and blood dripping onto the picture beside your tears. The hairs on your neck began raising and your hearts started beating when you thought that it was Jason who stood in the doorway, but when you looked up it was Bruce who looked at you worried, with tears of his own welling up in his eyes.   You started to break down and, you didn't know how, but soon you were clutching onto Bruce, crying into his chest. "I-I can't do this," you sobbed, "I'm sorry, I just can-can't." Your voice was broken and cracked and you felt like there was just a heavy brick of ice where your heart had been. "It's okay," Bruce whispered into your hair, but you could hear that he was crying too, "We don't have to.."

Your head was arching at the screaming match that was happening in your living room between Bruce and Tim, a useless fight that both would have forgotten by tomorrow, and you decided that it wasn't worth your evening. You were walking towards your room when something caught your eye in the corridor that you hadn't entered for years. You couldn't believe your eyes. Jason's door was wide open, even though the key was still hanging around your neck, never having left its place. Whatever took over you at that moment was something that you couldn't explain, but instead of calling for your husband to investigate, your blood rushed through your ears as you warily walked over to the room. When you stood in the door your gaze landed on the figure that was standing in front of the commode that was decorated with pictures of your late son and the rest of your family (mainly you, Alfred and Bruce). The person, seemingly a man, was towering at around the same height as Bruce. "Who are you?" you breathed out in a whisper, something about the man was off. He turned to you in surprise, but even though he was taller, more muscular, older and now had a white streak in his black hair, you'd recognize these blue eyes everywhere. "Jason?" you whispered with tears in your eyes as you walked closer to him, while he just stood there like a statue. "Is it really you?" You raised your hand to his cheek and stroked over it. You weren't quite sure if the look in his eyes was one of anger or one of sadness, but you didn't know if you cared. As soon as your heart was sure that it was really your little Jason, you embraced him as tight as you could, feeling like he could disappear any second again. Sobs were shaking your body, but soon you felt his arms around you, hugging you just as tight. "It's me mommy, I'm back. It's really me..."

[bobohunn]

The 56th Street

Title : 56th Street

Pair : baekhyun x reader, baekhyun x you

Genre : angst, fluff, one shot

Warnings : language, and mentions of stalking, divorce and non consensual taking of pictures (not between pair)

Word count : 3k

Note : Italicized words are character/reader’s thoughts; indented (blockquote) and italicized paragraphs are flashbacks.

xx

“Are you busy right now?” a husky voice found its way to your ear from the other side of the line.

“No. Thank god,” you mumbled before letting a deep sigh leave your lips.

After ages, you finally heard your favorite sound on earth again.

It was the sound that went a little too high while singing along to Queen and Michael Jackson songs that played on the radio in your room while you did homework at 3 pm. The one that rang loud throughout the whole house while you danced to random and silly steps on the stage that is your bed at 3 am.

It was the same sound that went two octaves lower when you teased him too much about the little crush he seemed to harbor for the girl who sat beside him in 11th grade or when you asked him for one of his friend’s number. One that carried sweet nothings with it to your blushing ears the first time you got drunk on your birthday.

It was the very same sound that was once your refuge and salvation. The very same that calmed the erratic beating of your heart when you were nervous. One that chased your tears to crawl back up and hide in the corners of your round eyes when life enveloped you into darkness.

The voice you’ve been longing for more frequently these days.  

Your best friend’s voice.

He chuckled, his low register ringing through your eardrums. “Are you at home?” 

“No, but I’m walking home,” you say almost too softly, trying not to sound too excited.

There was a long period of silence. If you didn’t know Baekhyun enough, you would have already ended the call at the lack of response. However, you knew him way too well to see (hear) that he was still thinking about what he would say. So you just continued walking on your path slowly, occasionally looking over your shoulders in case you were blocking somebody’s way.

“You’re walking on that street again, aren’t you?” He hummed before asking in a very knowing tone. It took you a moment to process his question, so when you were about to defend yourself, Baekhyun had already started his nagging, “I told you not to take that street when I’m not with you!”

You smiled a bit at the realization that although you didn’t even answer yet, he already knew the truth. And your smile grew more prominent at the thought that he still knows you better than anyone.

The only person you wanted to remember you still knows you like you were the back of his hand. And you‘re not anywhere near remarkable for anyone— or even just for him at least, to remember you. Isn’t that an achievement for you?

Snorting out a laugh, you said, “Sorry, Baek. It’s the fastest way home.”

No. Actually, it’s the street that reminds me of you most.

It was the quietest street in your town, 56th street, both your favorite route to take. It was the street that held a huge part of your memories together with him and had all the little moments that piled up into ones you’ll treasure forever. The road that witnessed both of you grow from the innocent little boy and girl you once were to the lovely man and woman you both are today.

It’s the street that reminded you of when you first heard him laugh,

“Since we’re neighbors, and I’m new here, can’t you show me around the town?” the little boy said as he lifted his hands to his neck to scratch at the skin right below his jaw, making you stare at them in awe.

You snapped yourself out of your short trance and said blankly, “The only places I know are my house and the school.”

As cliché as it may sound, everything around you moved in slow motion as the side of the boy’s lips rose to his tinted cheeks. His eyes turned upside down, and his eyebrows raised. He laughed lightly before asking, “Then, should we see where this street ends?”

Of when you first saw him pout,

“Baekhyun, no. We have to go home,” you said as you continued on your track without looking back at him. He went silent, and a smirk crept up your face.

However, it grew too suspiciously silent. So you stopped walking and turned your head back, only to find a sulking Baekhyun. His hands were in his pockets, eyebrows knit together, cheeks puffed out, and his lower lip pouty. He slowly looked back up at you with his puppy eyes that always won you over.

“Oh my god, don’t give me that look. You’re making my head hurt.”

He moved closer to you and grabbed one of your hands, “I’ll stay over at yours for dinner so your mom won’t scold you for too long. Just please come with me to the supermarket. I’m really craving ice cream,” he said with his eyes quivering from left to right.

He’s onto something. “What do you have up in your sleeve, Mr. Byun? Tell me, or I’m not going with you,” you said as you narrowed your eyes at him.

He looked away from you and landed his gaze towards the ground again, “Y-you, I heard y-you crying in your room last night. I just want to buy you ice cream to cheer you up because I won’t be able to sleep knowing I hadn’t done anything for you before this day ended.”

When you first heard him curse and get mad,

“Excuse me, Dude. But what are those photos for?” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Recognizing it as Baekhyun, you quickly looked over your shoulder to greet your friend.

“A-ah i-it’s just for documentation purposes for our group study,” stuttered the other guy whose back was turned to you.

You called out Baekhyun’s name, confused about the current situation laid in front of you. Your friend only raised his head to you and motioned for you to come to him, “do you know this guy?”

You approach the two men, curious as to who the other person is. When you caught a glimpse of the unfamiliar face, you slowly shook your head no. “I don’t think so. Do I have to?”

Baekhyun clicked his tongue and clenched his jaw. He sneered a little and turned his head to the side, making you more confused.

“The next time you make a fucking excuse, make sure it’s not as stupid as you look. Stop being a fucking pervert, you fucking stalking asshole.”

And of when you first heard him cry.

“Oh my god, Baekhyun, what happened?” you said as you brought the taller man’s head to your shoulder. You tried to rub his back and smooth out the creases of his school uniform, but he just started wailing more.

He was leaning into you, and you couldn’t take his weight anymore, so you guided him to sit down on the sidewalk. You tried to pull away from him, but he planted his face deeper into your neck, so you just hugged him tighter and drew unnamed patterns on his arms.

When his sobbing finally toned down, you tugged at his chin and made him look up at you. The redness of his nose, along with the tears in and around his eyes, made your heart hurt. Who on earth would try to make this man cry?

“You’re not telling me what happened?” you whispered as you wiped the tears that continued to drop down his cheeks.

“My mom wants to divorce my dad.”

You heard a small huff from his end, making you chuckle loud enough for him to hear.

You tilted your head to your side and pictured how he would have looked if he were actually walking with you today. Would he have had his hair down or gelled back? Would he have worn the oversized hoodies you told him were your favorite on him? Would he have walked in all his glory on the sidewalk in his new Js? Would he have looked at you with loving eyes, like he did back then?

“Still! Didn’t I tell you that I’d be mad and not call you if you walked there alone? That street is so quiet and far from people. It’s too dangerous!” he whined again.

A bitter taste started to spread in your mouth. You took a deep breath of the crisp air, “Yeah. I know it’s dangerous.”

Dangerously silent and lonely without you.

“Do you remember? That time when I told you to go home without me because I had fun playing football with my classmates?” he paused for you to answer, but he knows that you remember it anyway.

Yeah, when I almost cried, thinking you didn’t want to hang out with me anymore?

He laughed, “I think I hit my head somewhere that time, and I realized that I wanted to walk home with you. So I ran to catch up with you, but then I saw a guy taking pictures of you from the back.” You chuckled a little at how fast his tone changed from happy to angered towards the end.

You added in, “And you cursed him with all your heart, and I had to drag your boiling ass home or else you would have had a swollen hand.”

And when I thought my heart would explode, seeing you all worked up and protective of me.

You stopped walking and recalled how it exactly happened, where you exactly were, and what you exactly felt. While reminiscing, you could almost see the image of your younger self pulling the younger Baekhyun, who couldn’t take his eyes off the stranger who stalked you, pass by in front of your eyes.

“Yup. I decided to walk home with you every day since then. But now that I can’t, I made you promise not to walk 56th street, didn’t I?” Baekhyun said in a sing-song tone.

“Sorry,”

“I’ll let it go this time. But next time I really won’t call you for three months! Or even six months!” He taunted.

Even if I kept my promise and never walked on the same street again, when the time comes, you’d probably stop calling me.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay here. Training is getting hard, though. But I bet you five tubs of ice cream that I’m gonna be on national TV in 3 months!”

I need not bet because I know you’ll make it. It’s your lifelong dream, after all.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” Baekhyun beamed from your porch as he took off his shoes. You watched him with confused eyes from the couch of your father’s living room.

“What?”

He quickly approached you and pulled you up from your seat, “it’s time for us to take a walk. Long since we’ve done it, no?”

You and Baekhyun took your precious time to walk. One whole step before the other, as if scared that the sidewalk would run out if you walk faster.

You didn’t really say anything to each other, but the sound of the spring birds singing and your soles rubbing against the bricks on the sidewalk made you both feel entertained.

With longer legs and bigger feet, Baekhyun was walking slightly ahead of you. Having to catch up with his steps, you walked faster, eager to walk side by side with him. But he noticed that you were trying so hard to keep up with him, so he tried to make his steps smaller. Then, he moved closer to you until your hips touched each other.

It was always like this with Baekhyun. You’d take a walk together on 56th street without saying anything, and you’d still enjoy it. He would always end up walking ahead of you, and you would ever walk behind him. Then, when he notices that he’s walking too fast for you, he would start taking smaller steps so you could keep up with him. And when he thinks he’s walking slow enough to match your pace, he would close the gap between your bodies by putting an arm around your shoulders or waist or just by feeling your sides against his.

“I li-“

“I’m leaving,” Baekhyun started, cutting off what you wanted to say.

“What?” Your voice came out shaky, unsure of what you heard.

Baekhyun stopped walking, “I said I’m leaving. I’m leaving for the city.”

You blinked your eyes twice. Stiff as you were, you tried to open your mouth to say something which you couldn’t seem to remember anymore. Baekhyun giggled at how you looked.

“I’m gonna be an idol, [y/n]. I’m going to be a singer.” he said as his eyes twinkled with joy.

How? Where? When? Why? You wanted to ask him, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to move even a muscle except for your eyes.

“A company scouted me at graduation. They said I had the potential to be a singer. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but now I am.” He said while looking up at the cloudless sky.

You didn’t know how it happened, but you only managed to speak out the words, “I’m happy for you, Baekhyun.”

You didn’t see Baekhyun the week after that walk because he was busy packing, and you were busy denying to yourself that he was leaving. So when you saw him from your window pushing boxes unto the trunk of his parents’ SUV with his hair white as snow, you couldn’t help but jump out from where you were standing.

You accidentally pushed your windowpane in an attempt to save your face from kissing the wooden floor, and it made a noise loud enough for Baekhyun to look up at your room. He waved up at you and motioned for you to meet him outside.

“Are you leaving today?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I wasn’t able to tell you,” Baekhyun said as he scratched the skin under his ear. He always did this when he was in an awkward situation.

You stared at him without speaking. You took in how he looked for the last time. But you realized that it was too much for you. He was too much for you. So you focused on his now white hair that rested against his scalp, seemingly tired from the process of bleaching.

Baekhyun only smiled at you like a child that was offered candies and delight. You moved closer to him, eyes exploring his face and stopping at his lips for a few seconds before losing confidence again.

His name softly left your lips, to which he only hummed in response.

“I,” you paused for a moment, maybe two? or three. You don’t know.

Baekhyun’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

“I like your hair.” you said with a smile.

“Don’t I look like a real celebrity now?” he said as he let his fingers run through his locks.

“You do,” he always did.

You let yet another chuckle escape your mouth, although the last thing you wanted to do was laugh. “I’m still your best friend, right?” you questioned, though you were scared he’d say no.

However, you heard a different voice from his end of the call shout, “Baekhyun! 10-minute break is over!” and your friend responded with something you couldn’t catch. All that you knew was that he was laughing with someone, their voices slowly fading as if they were walking away from the phone.

He’s happier now. Even happier than when he was with me.

You used to associate his laugh with flowers, candies, love, and everything sweet. But now you can’t help but feel bitterness crawl up your spine, like a vine climbing its way up the walls and lampposts.

The cold and long blow of the wind made you feel nostalgic (if you weren’t yet), and you wanted as much to let it take you to wherever your heart is, where Baekhyun is.

“I have to go [y/n]! I’ll call you again soon!” he quickly said before a long beep was heard, announcing the end of the call.

Months passed, and you are still waiting for when his name flashes as the caller ID on the screen of your phone. Maybe he’s busy? Or he lost my number? Perhaps he changed his phone?

You wanted to ask his parents for his new number or even just how their son was doing. But you were surprised to find out that they already moved out of the house next to yours, when you returned from your grandparents’ house for a 3-week vacation. You wanted to ask your parents if they had his parents’ number, but then you decided that seeing him on TV and your phone screen was enough for you.

He’s clearly doing well.

He has got to be doing well. How could he not when he has been flashing the cameras the widest and prettiest smiles? The kind of smiles you never witnessed when he was with you.

He’s clearly happier than ever.

Although you kept saying that you were happy for him too, you just can’t deny that you do feel jealous of how far he had come. It was just like the long and silent walks you took with him throughout 56th street before: he was always steps ahead of you, and you were burning in jealousy behind him because of the advances his relatively longer legs brought him. Except that he was miles and dreams ahead of you now, and he couldn’t slow down his pace to match yours and stay by your side anymore.

He’s way too far ahead to turn and run back to me.

He’s probably living a better life.

He probably has funnier (best) friends to laugh with.

He probably has prettier eyes to stare at, softer hands to hold, and more comfortable shoulders to lean on.

He probably has a new favorite street to walk with somebody new. Somebody who’s better, somebody who’s not you.

And you started to accept that little by little.

You had started to move on.

You started to forget.

You finally let go.

But you kept the promise you made him.

You never walked 56th street again,

because he’s not there with you anymore.

—

[dc41896]

Safe Haven

Hey guys! So a little backstory for this imagine, I randomly had a dream about this scenario with EZ and as soon as I woke up I was like “I gotta write that!” so here we are! Also just want to add how I really miss Mayans MC and my bois and I can’t wait for season 3 to come out🥰! Okay that’s pretty much it other than I hope you guys like it and sorry if it’s long or doesn’t flow well (I feel like it kinda seems rushed and towards the end doesn’t sound the best, but then again that might just be me being overly critical of myself 🤷🏽‍♀️ lol).

Pairing: EZ ReyesxBlack Reader

⚠️: Bit of angst, mentions of blood (very tiny), fluff mixed in throughout though

Sunlight beaming down from the small window above your bed, EZ slowly opens his eyes to see your still figure lying next to him. Hand placed just below his newest tattoo marking the birth of your son and leg draped over his, he gently brings you closer taking in the coconut scent of your lotion still radiating off your skin from last night.

Living a life like his, rarely could he experience peaceful mornings just lying down hearing the birds chirp outside, so he made sure to appreciate every second of it that he could.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!?! YOU THINK IM THAT DUMB TO NOT KNOW YOU’RE LYING?!??!!”

Barely muffled shouting from your neighbors coming through the walls, EZ rolls his eyes with a soft groan while you begin to wake up.

“They’re arguing again?,” you groggily ask rubbing your eyes as a yawn slips from your mouth.

“Yea they just started.”

“Well, it could be worse. They could’ve started at one in the morning like last time,” you softly laugh grazing your thumb along his cheekbone. Taking your hand in his, he kisses your knuckles before leaning down to give the same attention to your pouted lips. Slightly calloused yet soft hand gripping your thigh, you push against his chest separating his lips from yours.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“You know exactly what,” you smirk. “Today we’re supposed to go get more diapers for Omari and more food for my fridge since someone and his brother keep eating everything.”

“That’s all on Angel, I know how to limit myself. And your leg was draped over me so really I should be the one telling you don’t start,” he chuckles kissing your jaw as you stick your tongue out at him. Sitting up, you carefully step over him to make your way to the bathroom.

“Whatever, I can’t help how I sleep Ezekiel.” Closing the door behind you, a wide smile spreads across his face as he shakes his head. While the use of his full name was only reserved for his father and brother, the way it rolled off your tongue made him want to hear you say it all day.

Swinging his legs over the side, he stretches before hearing the soft cries of his eight month old son in the other room. Quickly putting on his white tank and boots, his long legs guide him to the wooden crib in the next room. Tiny arms reaching between the bars, he carefully lifts him up to bounce him in his arms.

“Hey man, annoying neighbors woke you up too huh?” Reaching in his crib, he removes an older looking stuffed bunny with different sized buttons for eyes and a random patterned patch sewn on its belly. “Look what I got.”

Calming down, his hands roam around it’s face fixated on the black point that was its nose. “That patch was because your uncle Angel decided to keep throwing him at the ceiling fan seeing if he would stay on the blade. Don’t ever let him play with your toys ok?,” he smiles kissing the top of his head.

Like every event in his life, he could vividly remember everything that happened that day. Him begging Angel to stop. His hard headed older brother not listening until cotton fell from above. His mother calming him down insisting how it could be fixed as she smoothed his dark hair before kissing his forehead.

It may sound weird, but every time he saw that bunny he felt his mom’s presence as if he was back to that day sitting in her lap watching as she sewed his friend back together. That’s one reason why he wanted his son to have it, so his abuela would be with him.

Hearing your footsteps, he looks up to see you suspiciously looking towards the door instantly making him worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just thought I heard someone stop in front of the door,” you answer taking one last glance towards the front of your apartment. “It’s nothing though, they probably just paused for a second.”

Handing Omari to you, he approaches the door looking out the peephole before opening it to peak outside making sure no one was hanging around.

“Something like that happens again and I’m not here, call me.”

“I doubt-,”

“I’m serious Y/N.” Locking the door behind him he walks up to you and your babbling son peering down with dark brown eyes that were stern enough to know he meant business, yet still displayed their usual softness showing it was out of love for you and Omari that he was being so protective.

“Okay,” you answer; soon after feeling his beard brush against your skin as he pecks your lips.

———

“Ready to go to the park love?”

Bringing the diaper bag higher on your opposite shoulder, you balance your baby boy on your hip as you lock your door. Just as you turn around, you’re faced with three men patiently waiting while two of them intensely looked at you and your son. The tall, slender one in the middle, clad in a grey suit, displayed a small smile trying to appear friendly, but mostly seemed awkward as if he wasn’t used to that emotion.

“Hello, my name is Lincoln Potter and these are a couple of my associates. We’re looking for a man by the name Ezekiel Reyes, or EZ, as some call him. We have a couple witness accounts on seeing him in the area so we’re asking around for more possible information.” Holding up a candid picture of him on his bike outside his dad’s carneteria, you lightly bounce Omari hoping to distort his view so he wouldn’t possibly recognize his father.

“Sorry, haven’t seen him.”

“Well it doesn’t have to be around here. Have you seen him anywhere else? In town perhaps?”

“No, nowhere else,” you answer showing no emotion. While this was your first physical interaction with Potter, you were definitely familiar with the attorney. A few times while you were at EZ’s trailer he’d have to step away to answer his call or meet him in some secluded location. It was then you saw how much of a pain he could be to any target he had his sights on.

Looking at you for a few seconds his mouth parts as if he had more to say, but instead the awkward smile returns as he hands you his card.

“If you do happen to see him, please call. He’s needed for...very important matters.” Taking the card from his hand, he gazes down to Omari innocently nibbling on his fingers. Black coils on the top of his head shifting from the light breeze, his dark eyes finally meet Potter’s crystal blue ones causing a low chuckle to escape the man’s lips.

“Might I add you have a beautiful son. His father is very lucky to have such a beautiful family.”

Through his compliment you could feel a sense of iciness laced within. Like he knew what information you were keeping from him and was 10 steps ahead of your two.

Politely nodding your head as a soft “thank you” leaves your mouth, you walk by the three men feeling eyes on your back. After buckling your son in his car seat, you move to the drivers side quickly closing the door behind you before resting your head on the steering wheel to take a deep breath.

“Mama,” Omari whines lightly kicking his feet wanting the car to move.

“I know we’re going baby boy just give mommy a second.” Dialing EZ’s number, you pull out of the parking lot onto the busy street anxiously waiting for him to answer.

“Hey, you okay?,” he asks, deep voice full of concern and worry.

“Um well yes and no....it’s Potter.”

———

Sat on the floor watching your little boy laugh as he plays with his interactive animal book, you occasionally look out the window anxiously waiting to see EZ and Angel arrive any minute. After telling him what happened, he instructed you to meet him at the clubhouse where he’d take you to his dad’s just in case you were being followed.

Dropping you both off, he didn’t say much as he walked you into the small house. Kissing Omari’s cheek and then your lips, he quickly left again with his brother instantly making you worried. Knowing what was going on, Felipe tried to get your mind off things by offering you food and getting you to talk about yourself or Omari, which worked but not for long.

Now over three hours later, it was dark outside and neither you nor Felipe had heard anything from the brothers.

Motorcycles humming outside, you peer out the window to see Angel and EZ slowly making their way to the front of the house causing you to sigh in relief. However, your worries quickly returned seeing both tiredly trudge through the front door and the front of EZ’s grey shirt crimson with blood.

“What happened?!,” you ask rushing to examine him for any other injuries.

“Calm down, it’s not mine,” he answers bringing your hands to his lips with a small smile. “Just had to save this one as always.”

“Save me? Pretty sure that’s not how it went at all but ok. And I’m good too, thanks for asking.” Shaking his head Angel picks up your son before sitting down on the couch and flipping through the channels on the outdated tv. “You care about your tio don’t you man?”

Little hands pulling his hair as he giggles, Angel lets out a small yelp trying to loosen his strong grip.

“Omari be nice,” you laugh before returning your attention back to your boyfriend. “Here, let me help you clean up.” Leading him to the bathroom, you close the door behind you as he removes his leather vest and shirt before sitting on the toilet.

“Try not to cry this time alright?”

“Psh, whatever,” he lightly chuckles resting his large hands on the back of your legs. A comfortable silence falls over you while you stand between his legs carefully cleaning the blood from his scars. Although you had grown used to these moments being with him for a while now, that still didn’t take away the ache you always felt seeing him hurt.

“You and Omari might want to stay with your mom for a while,” he speaks just above a whisper.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? You saw what happened today Y/N, I don’t want you guys hanging around for it to happen again.”

“If it happens again,” you correct making him roll his eyes as he stands up.

“Now’s not the time to be naive, I’m driving you tomorrow. Your stuff is already packed waiting at the trailer.” Reaching for the door, you stand in his way planting yourself against the worn looking wood with arms crossed over your chest.

“Last time I checked, you’re Omari’s father not mine.”

“Y/N move.”

“No. I’m not afraid of Potter or the men under him, he’s all talk.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because if he really wanted to do something he would’ve done it then and there. I mean think about it they had me at my most vulnerable state with no where to go and no way to defend myself,” you explain receiving an exasperated sigh from EZ as his hand rubs down his face.

“It was a warning. Yea they didn’t do anything when they could’ve, but they wanted to scare you into telling them what they wanted to know and intimidate both of us with what they could do.”

“Well it didn’t work,” you reply guiding his chin to look at you. “Ezekiel I knew what I was getting into when we started talking and I’m still here. If it ever gets to the point where I don’t feel safe or fear for our son’s safety then we’ll leave, but until then I’m not letting Potter get to me. Plus do you think it would be easy for us to just leave after all this time?”

Placing both hands on either side of your head, he slightly bends down leaving his face inches from yours. “I’m not saying it would be easy, but if it needs to be done then that’s it bellita.”

“And when it needs to be done it will be.” Connecting your lips with his, your hands roam from his bare chest to the nape of his neck while his wrap around your body bringing you closer.

“We’re gonna need to put you in a new apartment too,” he says separating his lips from yours as his fingers graze up and down your spine.

“Hopefully your dad is okay with me staying here for a while longer then.”

“Here? What about the trailer?”

“I think the constant revving of motorcycles and occasional parties might not be ideal for a baby to be around.”

“True, you’re probably right,” you both laugh before being interrupted by loud knocking.

“Aye I hate to interrupt your probably intimate moment in there, but your kid is hungry and I’m not sure if it’s for what I can give him or what only mom can,” Angel explains as Omari fusses in his arms. “Relax man I’m trying to get her out here.”

“I’m gonna shower, you better go ahead before he starts pulling his hair again,” he smiles kissing your temple.

Opening the door, you carefully take Omari from his hands tickling under his chin to make him laugh. “Okay my baby lets get you fed.”

“The amount of strength he has that’s not a baby, that’s a tiny grown man,” Angel adds making you laugh.

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[gaemkyuu]

Of Kings and Queens (Part 4)

Warnings: none!  A/N: Part 4! Prince Charlie finally makes his formal appearance!  AU!Prince Charlie Gillespie x Fictional Character Disclaimer: This is a FICITONAL writing piece! In no way do I claim characters in this piece act this way in real life.

Masterlist *now taking requests ;)

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6

Maybe taking a break wasn’t the greatest idea because Olivia was running slightly late to the dinner, but she managed to make it to the doors of the banquet hall right before the Western Kingdom’s family was announced to their guests. 

“I’m sorry. I’m here!” she panted, slightly out of breath. Her father shifted awkwardly and her mother burned a hole through her with her angry stare. Her father was never the type to discipline her, unless it was rightfully needed, because that was her mother’s job. “What? I made it on time!”

“After our discussion in the parlor and your clumsiness at tea time, I would’ve hoped you reflected upon your actions! This is absurd Olivia!” Savannah flitted about fixing a couple loose ends here and there on her dress and hair. “And you! Is it not your duty to ensure that you are aiding the Princess? You are equally responsible for her tardiness” Savannah bowed apologetically and the Queen dismissed her with a wave of her hand, something Olivia thought was very disrespectful.

“Mom, Savannah’s done nothing but help out today and she’s been doing a great job! Being late was entirely my fault I-” her mother silenced her with another glare, ready to rip her apart, but her husband’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“You will refer to me as your Majesty since we are in the midst of Royal Affairs. The King and I have prepared for this event for months and I will not have you ruin it! Why can’t you just do as your told and be a good Princess that her Kingdom can be proud of?” The Queen took a breath and was about to continue until she heard the announcement of their name. “Stand straight and smile. Do not embarrass us” she spat, and instantly changed her composure, as if the entire conversation hadn't happened.

Olivia blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and straightened her spine. From that moment on, a nauseous feeling settled in the pit of Olivia’s stomach. Walking down the center aisle to the head table was a blur, she couldn’t remember what food was being served to her or how it tasted, she was simply going through the motions. Her mother was never this hard on her and was normally so accepting, but Olivia couldn’t help but be herself. She truly believed she would make a great King and that the traditional expectations and roles of women needed to be changed. She fought hard for these beliefs, and admittedly failed at times, but she still believed that she could radically change the Kingdom for the better. 

Yet her mother’s actions and words had made her feel like there was no more fight, that her future and fate was decided and that she did not matter. This feeling was unfamiliar to her and kept her mind occupied the entire evening. As Savannah served her dish after dish, she would quietly ask if she was alright, but Olivia could only nod. Her mother seemed to be in a better mood as she discussed with her father over dinner, putting on a show for all of her guests. As Olivia’s defeat settled in, the pit became deeper and the nausea stronger. She started to feel her chest tightening and the room felt suffocating, despite its size. By the time dessert came around, she politely declined and cleared her throat, directing her attention to her mother for the first time.

“Your majesty, may I be excused?” she could tell her mother was about to protest, but her father spoke before her and gave Olivia his permission. She quickly excused herself and exited the banquet hall from a side door, to bring little attention to herself. What she didn’t catch was that someone watched her with concern and excused themselves from the table, quietly following after the Princess.

As soon as she was out of sight, she quickly picked up the pace escaping to the one place where she found peace; the palace gardens. There was a fountain surrounded by greenery that was tucked away within the massive expanse of the garden and it is there where Olivia would flee to when she felt that she needed to escape. Feeling the cool breeze of the evening air hit her face as she exited, she took a deep breath, finally starting to feel the claustrophobia escape her. But what replaced the stuffiness was the sadness as she realized the truth in her mother’s words today. Fleeing to the fountain, she started to feel her tears quietly stream down her face, but she didn’t stop until she felt the cold marble of the fountain in her hands. She fell to the ground and did something she rarely did, which was cry.

In her pursuit to prove herself worthy of ruling the Kingdom, Olivia made sure that no one would ever see her crack under the pressure. The only time she cried or became emotional was in private, away from anyone because she didn’t want anyone to think she couldn’t do it. She thought that she was blocking out the negativity and doubt, but in reality, the words bothered her. Savannah often lectured her that harboring all these emotions would eventually get to her, and today it seemed like it was. She abruptly left afternoon tea, she cried in front of Duchess Carolynn and now she was crying on the floor in the garden next to the fountain.  Olivia could hear the voice of her mother chastising her actions right now. Her mother would be disappointed that she lost her composure or that she was crying over nothing. Her tears came out in a steady flow and she felt her chest get tighter again. Within seconds, Olivia was panting, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to stay rooted to reality. She didn’t notice that someone had finally caught up to her and rushed over to her side.

“You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay. You aren’t alone.” the voice was unfamiliar, but then again everything sounded muffled and an annoying ringing was ever present in her ears. “Focus on the sound of the water. Listen to the steady rhythm of the water as it falls from the fountain.”

The voice was strong, but calming and steady, so she followed the voice’s instructions. The ringing started to subside as she looked for the sounds of water hitting water. “Now feel the grass underneath you... feel how soft it is and how cold it is.” She was starting to hear things more clearly and as she grasped the grass in one hand, the other hand held strong onto the cold marble of the fountain. A shiver ran up her spine as she felt the cold evening breeze.

“You’re doing great. Now, take a deep breath in and out. Not so fast, just time it with the breeze” she felt warmth wrap around her shoulders as the unknown figure sat beside her, taking her hand in theirs rubbing soft circles on her hand. She started to focus her breathing on the pattern that the hand holding her own made, and eventually her breathing steadied. “Think you can open your eyes now?”

Olivia instantly recognized the beautiful green eyes in front of her, and just like they did earlier, they took her breath away. The eyes showed a deep concern and a need to know that she was alright, but for a moment, Olivia lost herself in the intensity and transparency. The saying that the eyes were the windows to the soul was never more true than in this moment.

Prince Charles Gillespie.

“You okay?” He searched her eyes, needing some sort of confirmation that she was fine. Olivia couldn’t believe that the Prince had helped her through her first ever panic attack and showed genuine concern for her. She nodded, speechless, and he pulled out a handkerchief to gently dab below her eyes. “My sister told me that if you wipe your face, you stretch your skin and make it wrinkly” he chuckled. Shoving his handkerchief back into his pocket, he helped her up to sit on the fountain. That’s when Olivia noticed that the coat he wore to the banquet was draped over her shoulders, keeping her warm. It wasn’t uncomfortably cold that night, but it wasn’t warm enough to be without a coat or shall, but that didn’t seem to bother the Prince. He sat there in the cool evening air in his dress shirt and asymmetrical vest, buttoned all the way up. Feeling a little guilty, she moved to take off his coat, but he stopped her from doing so.

“Thank you for your aid Prince Charles, but I think it would be best for us to return to the banquet” the Prince chuckled and shook his head.

“Call me Charlie and I’m 100% the last place either of us want to be is in there” Olivia snapped her head towards him and fumbled to find some way to cover up the truth in his statement. “It’s fine, you don’t have to pretend to be all Princess-y to me. It’s cool. You aren’t the only one with Royal Family issues” despite the weight in his words, he offered her a friendly smile.

“What’s your story?” Charlie sighed deeply and paused, but Olivia knew she had asked him a loaded question.

“My parents want me to be a King, but I don’t want to be. I mean, being King would be cool because I could help more people, but I don’t think I could handle all of that responsibility. It just all seems so suffocating... What about you? You’ve been zoned out since you walked into the banquet hall”

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid” Olivia sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“That’s quite the judgement to make despite meeting me for the first time.” He winked at her jokingly, but she felt as though she could tell him a little bit.

“I don’t want to be married off to be some man’s submissive wife and be Queen. I just want to be King and help my people continue to live in peace and prosperity. The fact that someone who is more qualified can’t rule the Kingdom based on their gender is a little archaic, don’t you think?” Charlie nodded in agreement, understanding her frustrations. “How silly... A Prince being urged to be King, but doesn’t want to be and a Princess who wants to be King but can’t!”

“It’s quite the interesting predicament that we’re in isn’t it?” Charlie chuckled and Olivia giggled softly. “But seriously, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I was just overwhelmed and emotional, which is stupid because it’s not that big of a deal” he looked at her as though she was crazy. 

“Y’know holding in all those feelings aren’t healthy right?” Olivia blushed, knowing that Charlie saw right through her. “It’s okay to feel things once in a while y’know? You don’t always have to be okay” she scoffed at the last remark he made.

“Please, according to my mother being a Princess means the world is just sunshine and rainbows! Everything is awesome! Also, aren’t you cold?” he laughed at her response and shook his head. 

“I’m from the north, this is nothing, and don’t try to change the subject” he stood up and offered his arm to her. “Shall we go for an evening stroll my lady? I believe that you were supposed to set time aside for me tonight since I skipped out on our meeting in the atrium, and you need someone to talk to, who won’t judge you” she smiled and took his arm, standing as well. “Plus, it gives us an excuse to not have to go back right away, something I think you appreciate as much as I do”

Olivia enjoyed her time with Charlie. They laughed and told stories from their childhoods, making fun of each other from time to time. Charlie exchanged stories of life in the northern part of the Kingdom and Olivia answered every question about the marine wildlife on their coast. They wandered the gardens, losing track of time in each other’s company, that they didn’t notice their feet eventually take them back to the outside of the Palace. Olivia didn’t anticipate to be slightly disappointed that their time together was coming to an end. From the outside, they could tell that everyone moved to the ballroom to dance and socialize for the rest of the evening.

“Ready?” Charlie looked at her expectantly, but a slight look of sadness crossed his eyes. She nodded, knowing very well that neither of them were truly ready to return. As they walked up the steps, she stopped in her tracks, nearly pulling them down. “What’s wrong?” if the concern in his eyes weren’t obvious, his tone was.

“I feel stupid for asking this, but tonight... this isn’t some crazy plot to get my hand in marriage?” Olivia instantly regretted asking the question. Charlie looked a little hurt at the question, but she needed to rid herself of the little voice in the back of her mind.

“I’m not here to convince you to marry me, although I’m sure everyone would love that. I just... I saw you struggling and how no one was helping you... I felt bad because I know exactly what it’s like to feel the way you do...” she smiled at his response, but cocked an eyebrow when he started blushing. “I mean like you’re really pretty, but you’re also really cool, probably one of the coolest girls I’ve met, but I don’t want to pressure you into anything y’know? I mean like, if you want to do this again, I’m all for it, but if you just need to vent that’s cool too!” she silenced him, with a finger on his lips.

“I enjoyed my time with you and you’re not too bad on the eyes either” he blushed a deeper shade of crimson and smiled wide. “But we just met, and I think we both deserve to get to know each other before anything else happens... but only if you want to because lord knows that once our families catch wind of this they will constantly be down our throats...” an uncomfortable silence came between them when they realized that there was truth to what Olivia said. “I want to get to know you for my sake and not theirs. Do you feel the same?” He smiled and took both of her hands in his, looking down at them and back into her eyes. 

“I would like that very much. Wherever this goes, or whatever comes of this.” The sparkle in his eyes was very attractive to her, and she was curious to know more of him, but all perfect moments have to come to an end. King Patrick opened the balcony doors looking slightly irritated, searching for Charlie. King Patrick was surprised to see them in each other’s company, but they quickly climbed up the remaining steps.

“Your Majesty” she greeted and curtsied. “Prince Charlie was kind enough to accompany me on an evening stroll, I hope I did not keep him away from you too long” King Patrick smiled, happy that his brother was in the company of the Princess. 

“Not at all, I am simply glad to see that you are both alright.” he smiled, but Olivia heard Charlie scoff beside her, knowing well that he probably rolled his eyes. The three of them walked into the ballroom, and a look of shock, displeasure and excitement crossed the Queen’s face at the sight of them. She whispered quickly to the King and both of them moved to intercept the three.

“Your Majesty, I would like to sincerely apologize for missing my meeting with the Princess earlier this afternoon. I was grateful for her understanding and am very appreciative of the lovely tour she gave me of the palace gardens” Olivia was surprised at how articulate Charlie was despite their conversations in the garden. She also appreciated that Charlie was covering up for her as she didn’t want her mother to know what truly happened.

“I am glad that the Princess was able to reconcile the situation and I am glad that she was in your company” Olivia was annoyed with the smile on her mother’s face as her father spoke. Their conversation was interrupted by Prince Owen, who cleared his throat.

“My sincerest apologies, but I do believe that the Princess promised me a dance this evening” he winked at Olivia, not knowing he had been quietly observing the interaction in the distance. Owen’s gaze then went to Charlie’s and both men smiled at one another, holding a short conversation in their eyes. In this quick exchange, Olivia realized that the pair that dashed passed her this morning was Prince Owen and Prince Charlie, and it became apparent to her that they held a deeper friendship beyond that of Royal Families. As she curtsied to Charlie and he bowed back, Owen extended his hand to Olivia and accompanied her to the dance floor.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I don’t dance very well?” Olivia laughed as they walked to the dance floor.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I only know how to lead and not to follow?” Owen smiled and bowed as they stepped onto the dance floor with the other couples dancing. “Since I’m doing you the favor of making you look good, are you going to tell me about yours and Charlie’s relationship? Especially since your almost ran me over this morning” Owen’s eyes widened.

“That was you?!” Olivia laughed and nodded, while a slight blush rose to Owen’s face. “Charlie and I have been friends for a long time. I was supposed to marry his younger sister, but she found a Duke that was way more suited for her than I was. Not that Princess Meagan is not a great person, but she’s always felt more like a good friend than a future spouse. The two of them often spent their summers in the South with me.” She imagined them both as children innocently playing in the fields and probably getting chastised for their messiness when they returned home. It brought a smile to her face because she finally understood their playfulness. “I take it that the smile is for Charlie?”

Olivia blushed and shook her head, trying her best to sort out her feelings. In all honesty, she hated to admit the fact that Charlie did sweep her off her feet tonight. She was stubborn and refused to be one of those Princesses that immediately fell in love with a man she just met. In her mind, love is something that takes time and develops as you get to know the person. It doesn’t simply happen in a few moments over a conversation in the garden. But she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that maybe she did fall quickly, but it felt so good, something Olivia hadn’t felt in a long time. The music came to a slow end and the crowd applauded the musicians, while Owen bowed to Olivia and thanked her for the dance. 

“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts, I hope I wasn’t rude?” Owen shook his head no and smiled at her.

“Honestly, it was fun dancing with you even if the entire time you were blushing. Plus, I think our interaction will keep her Majesty off of you for a little bit” he nodded in the Queen’s direction subtly and winked at her. She could tell out of the corner of her eye that her mother was very pleased.

“Pardon me, but may I steal the Princess for a dance of my own?” Olivia jumped at the voice behind her and turned around to see Prince Jeremy, smiling. 

“Save the formalities Jer. She’s cool, not like all the other snotty ones.” Owen smiled and gave him a curt nod, opening his one arm in a gesture that he surrendered Olivia’s company to him.

“I’m on duty tonight Owen, I gotta be Princely. Plus, Care already told me that she isn’t like the rest” he winked back at Owen and then smiled at Olivia. “Shall we?” she smiled back at him and took his hand preparing for the next dance. As the music began, Prince Jeremy took the lead and Olivia struggled to follow along, but Prince Jeremy quickly caught on and slowed his pace for her.

“You’re quite the dancer Prince Jeremy, people must be envious of Duchess Carolynn” Jeremy chuckled and continued to lead them in rhythm of the music.

“Please, you can call me Jeremy between our small circle of friends. It’s nice to not always have to be formal with everyone. But if you asked Carolynn about my dancing, she’d tell you that I’m only good because of the amount I’ve stepped on her toes.” Olivia laughed at this. “But you’re not wrong about people being envious of her. I was told that she shared a bit of her story with you this afternoon.”

“She did. You have a beautiful and amazing wife to be Jeremy. I’m grateful for the compassion she showed me earlier” Jeremy’s eyes held a look of love as he looked over Olivia’s shoulder. With a quick turn in the dance, Olivia saw that Carolynn was watching the both of them, amused. “If I may ask, what’s it like to be in love? How did you know she was the one?”

“I used to think that love isn’t something that instantly happened. It was something that was created over time, but when I met her, it felt like my whole world needed her in it. Everywhere I looked and everything I did just reminded me of her and I couldn’t get her out of my mind” Jeremy’s eyes held this look of awe and passion thinking about when he first met Carolynn. “I was so overcome with this idea that I had to be with her and the more time I spent with her the stronger that feeling became, which I didn’t even think was possible at the time. I ended up saying ‘I love you’ first, which was a bit forward at the time, but it truly worked out.”

“Weren’t you ever scared that you were listening to your emotions too much and not logically processing everything?” Jeremy let out a hearty laughed as they danced, which attracted some attention from the crowd. “I’m being serious! I don’t want to be one of those girls who falls head over heels too quickly!” she whispered.

“And what would be so wrong about that?” Olivia couldn’t think of anything to say to answer his question. “Sometimes you have to stop thinking about how others will perceive you and start thinking about what you truly want. I was once told that the greatest thing one could ever learn was just to love and to be loved in return” Jeremy slowed their waltz as the music came to an end, the applause once again signaling the end of the dance. “Besides, I think you already know how you feel but you aren’t ready to admit it”

His wink and observation caught her off guard, that she stood there with her mouth slightly agape and slightly flustered, her cheeks turning a slight pink. Jeremy was very perceptive and had pretty much vocalized Olivia’s thoughts on the matter. She may have been falling for Charlie rather quickly, but was it bad because of what people would think or was it bad because Olivia had to admit that she was wrong about the way love should work. Jeremy thanked her for the dance and while he bowed to her, she curtsied and moved her way to take a moment of rest of the throne next to her mother.

Olivia became lost in her thoughts about the prince as the other guests danced around throughout the evening. Some Dukes were brave enough to introduce themselves and ask Olivia for a dance, something she politely declined, not because she wasn’t interested or annoyed, but because she couldn’t stop thinking about the man with the green eyes who weaved his way into her mind. 

The man who lowered all of her defenses within a matter of minutes.

The man who understood her more than anyone, including Savannah.

The man who she couldn’t stop thinking of.

“Your Majesty, my King” Olivia almost didn’t recognize her voice as she spoke to her father, but she startled both of her parents. “If you could be so kind to please arrange breakfast tomorrow morning with Prince Charles in the atrium, I would greatly appreciate the gesture.” The smile on her mother’s face was huge, but she refrained from saying anything. Her father smiled sincerely at her and nodded.

“If that is your wish my Princess, then so it shall be done.”

tag list:  @ifilwtmfc @warmness0ul @starjane312​

[prolestariwrites]

Open For Me [5]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 5 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and to my friends @wordborne and @solynacea for their feedback. Please enjoy the final part.

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Be gentle with me, for my heart hides so many wounds that never bleed. —Alexandra Vasiliu

There is a man who sits on the bench in the park across the street from your house. That in itself is not terribly strange: the homeless often find refuge in the public space. And he certainly seems homeless, draped in dark clothes that are little more than rags, his posture drawn in as if to hide.

You wouldn't have noticed him at all if it wasn't for the feeling he gives you when you walk by. Something familiar, maybe his shoulders, maybe his hands. It isn't unease, but the opposite: a driving curiosity to find out who is underneath the fabric. You don't see anyone anymore, not really, not since Vergil had left. He had been the only person you ever trusted, and that had been a mistake.

So you don't dare to ask or to offer. You watch him from your window, as he sits day after day. No one even seems to see him there, not even a cop as he strolls by. You start to wonder if he's just a figment of your imagination, until you hear his voice.

You are at your door, keys in hand, checking the mailbox when you hear one word: "No."

Coldness douses your spine and you drop the envelopes on the ground. You are afraid to turn around, not of him, never of him, but afraid he's not really there. It has been so long since you heard that voice, more than two decades, but at once you are a girl of nineteen desperately in love with someone who does nothing but lie. Tears blur your vision as your mind pleads with your body to turn around and look. Just look.

Slowly your head turns. Someone had offered him a bottle of water, and rebuffed they are now moving on. The figure settles back into itself, and your hands are trembling as you stare, waiting for more. But he does not speak again.

A minute slips by, then another. Does he see you? Why is he here, on that bench, that fucking bench outside of your house? You had left the apartment as soon as you were able, moving into this house in the city, the top half of a duplex you bought when the owner died. How did he know, how did he find you? Did he find you, or is this the biggest cosmic joke of the universe? Because you never forgot him, never moved on, prayed for days and nights he would come back until the pain of losing him turned you into stone.

Your feet are moving and you are halfway across the street before you notice. A car blares its horn at you, jolting you back to reality, and you dart to the sidewalk. The figure hasn't moved, not even when you were nearly hit. It can't be him, he would have moved, he would have saved you.

You approach slowly until you are standing in front of him. You realize your purse is gone, dropped somewhere, but your keys are still in your hand, like a weapon. Your eyes dart to the side and you note there is no sword. You can still remember the diamond pattern of the hilt, could draw it in your sleep.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you feel your lip shaking. "Vergil?" you whisper.

There is no answer, not even a movement indicating he had heard you. You swallow painfully, still waiting. "Vergil, is that you?" you ask again, a bit louder this time.

Slowly he stands. You step back, shaking now, his height so familiar that you let out a soft sob. "Vergil?"

"Do you know where it is?"

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. "What?"

"Do you know where it is?"

His voice is different. Maybe this isn't Vergil? It's harder, rougher, like broken glass.

What has happened to him? "Vergil, come with me. Let me… I live right over there." You reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Vergil, please? Let me help you."

You pull harder and grab his hand. With a gasp you feel it is cold: cold as ice, his skin like stone, and when you look down you must swallow against the sight of gray skin that is cracked and broken. You remember so vividly that night in the kitchen when his face and arms had healed from an attack; in the years following, you had turned this over again and again, realizing he had never once been sick or hurt, no cuts or colds, no flu, no headaches. Demon prince, he had said to you, and some part of you had started to believe it, impossible as it is.

He snatches the hand away and turns. He moves quickly down the street, so quickly that it doesn't register for a moment. "Vergil! Wait!" You take off after him, tears blurring your vision as you try to keep track of the dark fabric. At the next intersection, the light turns green, and he disappears.

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You almost ignore the knock on your front door, frowning at the clock. Nothing good ever came after 9:00, that's what your mother always used to say. But when it comes again, firm and insistent, you put your book aside and pull the blanket around your shoulders, cautiously opening the door with the chain still on.

At first you don't recognize him. You frown and take in the tall build, the angles on the handsome face, the dark coat. But when he shifts and you see the glint of his blue eyes and the silver color of his slicked-back hair—silver, not white or blond, he had scolded once—you let go a gasp. "Vergil?"

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. Your fingers fly over the locks until you can swing the door open wide, your mouth open as you stare. It's him for sure, just older now, a bit more… tired? You remember the cold, gray stranger from years ago, but this person is more like the boy you loved in your youth. Something wells in your throat, still filled with disbelief. How long has it been? How many years?

"It's been a while," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes you shiver.

"A while," you echo.

"You remembered."

Shaking your head, you say, "Of course I remember you."

"Can I come in?"

You blink, nodding, and step aside. Vergil's eyes sweep through the room as you replace the locks, and you realize how little has changed since he last stepped foot inside your home. A new ottoman, a couple of throw pillows, but other than that it is the same. The only thing that has changed, in fact, is you.

Wiping your hands nervously on your jeans, you ask, "When did you…?"

You don't even know what you are asking, but Vergil still answers. "Two days ago. I had some business to take care of, with my brother."

Your hands clench at your sides, the ease in his voice making the hair on your neck stand on end. "Business with your brother?" you hiss. "You've been gone for years! You left me! And that was you on the bench, wasn't it? That was you, after all that time, you came and sat outside of my house just to go again! Why? Why are you doing this?"

It actually looks like that got through. Vergil blanches, just slightly, and without asking he sits on the couch. His back is straight and he unbuttons his coat, the air of formality only stoking your anger. You've seen him hurt, and sick, and nearly half dead, you've heard him moan and cry and laugh with tears in his eyes. And he wants to sit on your couch as if he's a visitor from the local church making a social call?

"Vergil," you snap, moving in front of him with arms folded. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth." It's his turn to echo you, and to your surprise he reaches up and takes your hand. The little bit of affection catches you off guard, and all you can do is watch his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and remember. Vergil, sitting up late at night, reading books yellow with age as you dozed next to him. Listening to him talk about the places you would visit together, trying to picture him as you could never see yourself. Running his hands through your hair as he talked of his plans, the spark in his eye so lovely that it helped you ignore the lies on the surface that left you so unsettled at times.

You try to tug your hand away gently, but he holds firm. "I owe you an explanation," he says.

The laugh that huffs out of your throat is quick and humorless. "You owe me more than that."

Vergil glances up, and you see there is something different. A part of him you haven't seen since you were barely adults, something that is warm, something you stopped associating with him. "You're right," he answers.

The confession, as small as it is, catches you by surprise. "Since when are you so self-aware?" you say before you can stop yourself.

But he only shakes his head. "This feels strange," Vergil murmurs. You frown as he continues to stroke the skin of your hand, but his expression is thoughtful. "I'm feeling things that… well, I'm feeling, anyway. And I needed to come and see you, that much was certain."

It is sweet to say, even though you don't trust him, not yet. "Where did you go?" you ask.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replies, glancing away.

"Try me."

Clearing his throat, he asks, "Did you see on the news the story about Red Grave City?"

"Yes," you frown. "What about it?"

Vergil nods, easing back on the couch, and you sit next to him. He talks for a while, the most you've heard from him since you were young, and he goes on about legacies and power and all kinds of fantasy, leaving you enthralled without understanding why. He tells you about the sword he had lost, that belonged to his father—Yamato, you remember the name clearly, another detail he had shared you never really understood. There is hesitation on the next part, something he hides as he glosses over years spent "away", but the pain in his voice keeps you from asking more. He tells you about leaving his human self behind, of becoming a monster, only to be patched back together by his brother. Demon prince, that's what he had called himself, but could any of this be possible? He tells you of heading off to fight off Hell in order to save his son.

"Your son?" you interrupt.

Vergil nods. "It was unexpected."

That… stings. More than you're willing to admit, even to yourself. If he has a son, then that means… You shake your head, not ready to think about that. "You were right. I don't believe any of this."

He seems hurt by that, which catches you off guard. "I don't blame you," replies Vergil, although the cool timbre of his voice contradicts the very uncomfortable look on his face. "But I'm done with all that now. I tried to become something I'm not, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try to just be…"

"Yourself?"

Vergil chuckles and meets your gaze. "I was going to say human. But I suppose myself is apt."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and against your better judgment, your heart softens. "I don't understand," you murmur. You reach up and stroke your fingertip against the side of his brow: something he always liked, and as always Vergil sinks just a bit, pressing against your touch.

"I know you don't." He hesitates, and you wonder: is he searching for the right words, or is he convincing himself they are true?

"What do you want?" you murmur.

He swallows, his eyes down. "Another chance? I keep asking for one from everyone." Finally his gaze lifts, and there is a warm sensation inside of you that swells because there is sincerity there.

"I'm older now," you say.

Vergil laughs. "So am I."

"I'm different," you clarify. "You broke my heart. You hurt me."

"I know."

Why is this so easy? It shouldn't be, not after so long, but he looks like the same boy who needed a place to stay on a cold night and felt so warm in your bed. "That was you on the bench, wasn't it?" you murmur.

He looks into your eyes and nods. "I don't know why. I came back and was dying. I needed to find someone, and I followed my instincts. I thought I was finding Yamato, but I found you."

You close your eyes and shake your head. "That night when you healed," you whisper, afraid of hurting him.

"I never wanted you to know," he says.

"Why?"

"It was too dangerous. Things wanted me dead."

The tone in his voice sends a shiver through you. But there is no lie in his eyes, not this time. "And now?"

"It's over, I suppose? I don't know. But… that part is over." Vergil swallows uncomfortably. "There is too much to say, I don't know how to explain it all."

"It's okay," you sigh. "We have time."

On instinct you reach up and press your palm to his face. The last time you did this, you were still barely children, and he had flinched away from your touch. But now he presses against your palm, sinking towards you, and Vergil wraps his arms around you to hold you closely. You press your cheek to his, feeling him tremble. He feels so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time, and as you card your hand through his hair you wonder just what really happened to him.

You whisper his name and he turns to press his mouth on yours. It is unexpected, but when has Vergil ever not surprised you? Your lashes are wet as you kiss him back, the sensation so familiar it almost hurts. Your heart aches remembering the last kiss, the last touch, the last time you were together. It feels like a lifetime ago; it probably was.

He pulls you closer so you are practically draped over his lap. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and smooth. The last image you have of him as that figure on the street is fading like a dream as you press against his body. The kiss turns more passionate as one hand slips into your hair, and Vergil sighs as you open your lips to slide your tongue along his. The taste of him awakens the part of you that had gone cold and quiet when he left, and you cover his body with yours, needing to be close.

His heart is beating wildly when you push your hands under his shirt and your palm finds his chest. Vergil helps you remove his shirt, and then he pulls off yours. The look on his face is nothing but reverence, but you blush a bit, suddenly self-conscious. "I haven't…"

He looks up at you and nods. "About Nero… it's hard to explain, but I will. Just know I've never been unfaithful to you."

Your brows draw down slightly, wondering what that means. But he pulls you into another kiss, his hands roaming you now, and you decide to leave that until he can explain.

It takes no time for him to remove your bra, and then he turns to lay you back gently. Vergil was never a rough lover, but he could be hard, so the soft care makes this moment feel strange. His mouth presses to your neck, and he whispers how beautiful you are as they travel downward. Your own heart is fluttering by the time he kisses your breast, your eyes sliding closed when his lips tug on your nipple.

Again, he is not demanding, instead soft as he sucks on your flesh. He teases you with his teeth as your body melts with pleasure, his fingers caressing you tenderly. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice strained as he presses his forehead to your chest.

"No, no, of course not," you laugh.

He kneels up and takes hold of the waistband of your leggings. "I love you," he says as he pulls the fabric down. "I never stopped."

You lift your hips and his hands travel back up your bare legs. "I didn't either," you reply.

It goes on like this, slow and quiet, his demanding touch now so tender, his searing kisses a sweet gentleness. He lights your core on fire with his touch, until you are moaning and reaching for him, gasping for more. "Please Vergil… I need you…"

"Open for me." Your eyes close and a tear rolls down your cheek as your thighs spread and he presses inside your body. It's been a long time since the last time you were together, and it's uncomfortable at first; but he uses just as much care now, his shallow thrusts making your back arch from the cushion.

You slide your hands on his chest, fingers searching his skin for any signs of the cracked and gray skin. But he is perfect and whole and solid, and once his hips are flush with yours you look up at him, eyes wide and searching.

He stares down at you almost in awe as he starts to move. You press your hand to his cheek again and he winces, and you see the pleasure and pain in his face. Your palm grows wet as he kisses your skin, and before long he is thrusting with a deep, steady pace that has you both moaning. You twist underneath him as the pleasure mounts, the anticipation building until it snaps inside and your body begins to pulse. Vergil groans, long and loud, and as your muscles tighten around him he spills inside of you. His seed is hot and thick as it fills you up, making you cry out as wave after wave of bliss has you holding to him tightly.

Vergil sinks against you, laying with his head on your chest, another thing from years ago that you remember well. How is it two decades pass and yet it feels like no time at all? You stroke his hair as he grows soft inside you, his hands clenching and releasing against your back as your breathing slows.

"I won't let you go again," he says.

"Okay," you reply. Vergil raises his head and you kiss his lips. "We can start over."

"I have so much to explain," he sighs.

You stroke his cheek. "No more secrets. I am ready to hear it all."

He nods and leans in for another kiss. As he moves over you, you remember the red pendant and how it had pressed against your chest your first night together. That Vergil had been just as strong, and just in need of help. But this time, you are stronger too.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- FLESH, BLOOD, AND BONE

Remus watched Harry's shoulders heave with pity as James immediately dispelled the mess and Sirius' mind was clearly scrambling to say something, Remus offered, "Jeez Harry, if you were that upset about tying, you should have just sent up sparks the moment you stepped through. Saved yourself the whole last task."*

Harry tried to explain around a shaking jaw that he swears he wasn't having a go at his memories, even as he tried to get out every last thick layer of emotion he'd been forced to feel in such a small span of one moment where he'd touched that Cup. Happiness for winning for his school, peace with his decision of what he and Cedric had done, all combined with his knowledge of the unknown on how this was going to end. He couldn't put any of this into an intelligible sentence, and instead was left a babbling mess until his mother took over.

In one motion Lily forced Sirius to move so that she could be next to him while he was so clearly distraught, and then wrapped a protective arm over his shoulders, humming a lullaby in his ears as the first bit of distraction she could think of. It's what she enjoyed doing to put her infant down to bed, and though Harry had no memory of the song, the sound alone seemed to give him some sense of relief.

She stayed like that even as he went back to a heavy silence, still torn between now and whatever cruelty his mind was locked in with those memories he couldn't access, and silently convinced James to go on.

He in no way wanted to, for the first time he just could not believe this was going to get better. Not after what had happened last year with Sirius and that traitor, James just couldn't believe anymore this was all going to come out a win, not with the traumatic way his son was reacting. Yet what would happen if they stopped now? Could they ever even leave this place without Harry getting back his full memories and telling them what was going on? Besides, Harry should be getting put back at the beginning of the maze. They'd all instantly recognized the description of a portkey, and though it seemed stupid to put that kind of spell on something to take them back to the beginning instead of just releasing a spell to make the maze drop away, the point still stood that Harry would be back surrounded by the teachers and Dumbledore. At least for the first few moments he hoped his son would find just a moment of peace before whatever happened began, so James plucked the book up and found his spot, forcing out words past a raw throat.

    The two slammed to the ground with such force the Triwizard Cup fell a few feet farther away. Cedric rose first, asking where they were.

"What do you mean?" Sirius demanded at once. He knew he should have sat back down next to Remus already, but he felt useless just sitting on his hind while Harry was going through such an experience, so he was left bouncing in place like he was on a broken trampoline. "You should have just been sent back to the beginning of the maze, right?"

Harry didn't answer, he still had his eyes closed as he was leaning against Lily, like even now he was trying to deny whatever was fixing to happen.

Cedric helped Harry to his one good leg as well while the two investigated the area, which was nowhere near Hogwarts as far as they could tell.

James was trying to deny to himself how panicky his voice was already coming out. Surely they were exaggerating how bad this was, but even to himself that wasn't feeling right. Not with how Harry seemed to be reliving his worst memory yet, and had been since the start of this task. It had to be because of this place, wherever they even bleeding were!

Remus was clearly thinking the same thing as he hissed mostly to himself, "Just where the bloody hell did that stupid Cup send you? Why was there a Portkey on it at all? It should have just activated some enchantments to make the maze fade away."

"If you figure it out, let us know," Sirius grumbled when Harry flinched extra hard at these questions.

They were instead in a dark graveyard;

Harry didn't realize he was reaching for it until his mother's hand curled into his. The boys were beyond feeling panicked at this point, Harry was acting more like a scared little kid because of this place than he ever had previously. At eleven facing death against those obstacles, at twelve and being an inch away from death because of that Basilisk, he'd faced it all with a stoic sense of calm and acceptance. The only time he'd showed such clear fear and pain as he was now was for something regarding someone he cared about, like his friends...

on the outskirts of nowhere. The only thing visible was an old house on a hillside far off in the mist.

Cedric took another glance at the Cup, asking if Harry had known it was a Portkey?

Harry said no, his eyes peeled in every direction of the misty graveyard,

James voice kept failing nearly every time he got out the word graveyard, because of how badly Harry flinched beside him.

then asked if this was some part of the task?

"There's no way," Remus muttered to himself, "I can't believe you wouldn't have been forewarned about this, but then how did it get there? Whoever put the Cup in the center had to know it was a Portkey, but the only person who could have done that was, well one of the judges I presume but-"

Sirius gently cut him off by grasping hold of his shoulder. While they all wanted answers to those questions, Remus' babbling was going to drive them all mad, Harry first.

Cedric knew no more than Harry, and suggested they pull their wands back out.

"I hadn't even realized you'd put those away," Lily murmured into his ear, not scolding, but even just for a moment to point out something else.

Harry nodded mutely, giving some soft response about how they'd tucked them away just before they'd grasped the Cup, they'd had no reason to think they were needed anymore, and trailed off from there before his mouth spouted the worst of it, they needed them now more than ever.

Harry was happy it had been Cedric who suggested it,

James forced out a laugh he didn't really feel, but thought now more than ever was a perfect time to tease his son about, "you've really got to stop caring what Cedric thinks, you're twice as brave as he is at half his age."

There was a terrifying moment where a look actually flashed across Harry's face like he would have punched James for saying that, but then just as fast his face closed off. His eyes had opened now but he was staring fixedly into the fire, watching the flames lap against the logs and clearly so torn between his past and present he was only keeping himself in check by reacting to as little as possible for now.

as they did just that. Harry kept looking in every direction, that feeling again of being watched on him.

That statement finally seemed to jog something of Harry being in here, his eyes darting to his dad again, but now with clear worry. Harry somehow just knew that in a few moments time, his dad reading about whatever was fixing to come, something of the person who was watching him, was going to cut his father deep.

Harry caught the movement first, telling that someone was coming. They seemed either short, or bent over, and were shuffling into sight with too thick arms, until he realized the walker was carrying something.

Harry could feel a scream building up in him, that or vomit he wasn't sure anymore, but he was confident what it meant. A warning, they needed to get out of there, now!

The distance between them closing all the time, Harry managed to take in a few more details. The face was covered with a hood, so he still couldn't see the moving person, but now he was sure what was being carried was something in a bundle of robes, like a baby.

Sirius had the odd moment of a flashback to how Hagrid was first described appearing, but even shaking that image away it was impossible to figure out what was going on. None of this was adding up, and he just knew one thing for certain, he wanted his pup out of there before he'd even gotten there.

The figure stopped just beside a marble headstone, and for a small moment the three figures only stared at each other.

Then Harry's scar exploded with pain.

James's knee jerked in shock as he half shouted that last part, his eyes shooting fearfully to Harry and back to the book. If he'd had a bad feeling about this before, it was going haywire now. Harry was rubbing at his scar, his fingers trembling as he traced the pattern in remembrance of that. James remembered Dumbledore's words, how Harry would feel that whenever Voldemort was close by or angry...and it just didn't feel like a coincidence that this was happening now!

Harry's knees buckled, he fell to the ground with pain he'd never felt before, his fingers covering his face with agony;

Lily tightened her hold around him, and James considered passing the book along to someone else already, he felt like he was torturing his son by forcing all of this out with Harry just sitting there rather than react how it was clear he felt he needed to back how he would in that graveyard.

he was screaming in so much pain he hardly made out a high, cold voice command 'kill the spare.'

James was so worried about Harry at his side that for a moment it had hardly registered what he'd said, and then he thought his tongue had swollen to twice its size in his mouth, he just wasn't able to speak anymore. Harry was crying freely now, there was no denial anywhere on him that showed what he'd heard was in any way wrong. James just couldn't believe it though, there was no way what was being painted could actually have happened. He forced out in a state of utter denial.

The spell Avada Kedavra rang through the night, there was a flash of green light, and a thud hit down beside Harry. Through stinging eyes he forced himself to look at Cedric lying spread eagle on the ground, dead.

"No." Lily's voice came out more of an echo than an actual denial as her arms tightened so hard around Harry she was likely hurting him, but he didn't complain. Though her world was focused solely on her fourteen year old son having to witness that, in such a brutal and heartless manner, her thoughts did indeed flip just for a moment to Amos and his wife, how proud they were of their son who'd simply had his life cut from him. That could have so easily been her only child, how he wouldn't be sitting beside her now with a dark look of acceptance on his face.

Harry for his part only felt the shock of his fourteen year old mind registering what had happened, some slim denial in there as well. He was rubbing at his streaming eyes to force that away, not in shame, but determination. He'd distantly recognized for some time what his memory had been trying to warn him of, what all these protective feelings of Cedric were when in reality he'd never been close to him. Now his memory was complete and he understood those feelings, but the worst of them lingered. Cedric had been discarded for no reason that Harry could ever understand, but that wasn't the worst part of this night still. There hadn't been an excuse for this, his partner in winning this competition had only been killed because he'd been there with Harry.

James was more angry than he'd ever been in his life. The only thing that had enraged him more was finding out what had happened to Sirius, but this was almost on level with that. Those words kept ringing in his head, 'kill the spare.' Cedric had been murdered just for simply being there! He wished he was more surprised by this, but it was entirely the Death Eater way to act like this! His only other real emotion was concern, if Cedric was the spare, than Harry was indeed put there for a reason, and his hands trembled at even a guess of why that was. He didn't even chance a glance at his friends, though he had registered Sirius falling down beside Remus in shock, but James was now too muddled in his own brain to consider anything other than hearing how Harry got out of this.

For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's open gray eyes,

Harry couldn't stop an extra sob catching in his throat for that, not only for Cedric, but someone else with gray eyes he'd have to one day see for the last time...but the thought was so distant he didn't even realize he'd been thinking it, too focused on trying to marshal his thoughts into any kind of recognizable order other than horror.

his last frozen expression of surprise. Before Harry had even considered moving, someone was hauling him to his feet.

Lily snarled in outrage of anyone touching her Hare Bare in that moment, not a person on earth could remove her arm from where it was right now.

The short man who'd come into sight was now dragging Harry toward the headstone, and despite his struggles in the dim wand light held by the person, he was slammed against it, only just making out a name. Tom Riddle.

Remus muttered something James couldn't register. He certainly felt his own amount of shock as some part of his brain lit up on where this was, but the rest of his being went numb upon that realization. Voldemort really was there, and they were at a Riddle's gravestone, which meant the book had come full circle, and they were ending where it had begun. That bundle of blankets was the little being that had been in a high back chair this whole time... so that was-

"Here Prongs," James jolted and nearly turned Sirius into a slug as he interceded his trail of thoughts, but then his best friend did register, and he looked pissed. It was all to clear he was understanding this all just as well as James had, but where James still could hardly properly form what had become of this future, Sirius was well into another angry cycle of wanting to demolish the world, but for now settling on reading in blistering tones. At least he was more likely to get it all out without wanting to break down every five seconds with regret and pain, no Sirius was more likely to read it out with a colorful array of insults and death threats, but that was more bearable, because at least that would give them an easy focus. James passed the book along and leaned back as far as he could, then moved over until he had both Lily and Harry tight in his own arms, the only distraction that could give him peace.

The cloaked man had conjured thick cords and was keeping Harry in place as they were wrapped around every bit of him. The shallow breathing coming from the shadowed face was fast and struggling. Despite Harry's attempts to get away, he was punched with a hand that held a missing finger.

It had taken Harry a few beats longer to catch up with where everybody else was, but as the blow sank in and he pressed his hand to his face in shock and looked around him properly again, he distantly felt sorry for them all. He was still lost in the maelstrom of what had happened to Cedric, but to them someone else they'd all loved had fallen so much farther.

Lily looked disturbed, like the image of a man who'd been there the first time Harry had kicked in her womb could not be put on the same person who put a fist to his face for any reason! The boys looked monstrous, Remus more so than Harry had ever seen at his worst times. For the first time, Harry truly saw the shadow of a wolf reflect in his eyes when he heard one of his closest friends doing that. For one tiny moment Harry was convinced he'd see that look again, but Sirius was still snarling out every word as a promise of a death threat, that hand was coming off faster than his head now.

Harry realized who was under the hood, Wormtail.

Sirius couldn't use the nickname Harry had learned to associate that rat with, that would have actually broken him, that name meant too much to him. Instead he could only manage to refer to him as him. The word was used with such pure violence it wasn't hard to put it together.

Harry tried to say something, but before he could a wad of thick material was shoved into his mouth. Then his ropes were checked for any slackness, but the knots were cutting into his skin with tightness.

James was beside himself. He knew he'd never forgive what had happened, he'd betrayed him and Lily, and never for what he'd done to Sirius, but unintentionally, this whole time in the very smallest bit of his heart, he'd actually been hoping the rat would pull another switch. That little comment he'd made, there in the beginning about trying to use another other than Harry, well clearly this was what that conversation had been about, so whenever that time had come James had unbeknownst even to himself been praying to see a return of his friend, that he'd help Harry in a moment of redeemability. Now that was as dead as Cedric, another innocent person he'd rid himself of in his bid for his own protection.

Harry couldn't turn his head to see much, so he was left staring at dark mist before him, while just on the edge of his vision Cedric's body was twenty feet away.

Harry knew he should have felt betrayed at the part Wormtail was playing, and continue to blame himself for Cedric being there and now his death as well. At the time, he knew it had been his fault, if only he'd let Sirius and Remus kill him when they'd had the chance, none of this would be happening! Yet, Sirius' words still hovered enough that he didn't break down all over again, apologizing and begging forgiveness of this happening to an innocent person. Sirius didn't blame him for this happening, and that was what really mattered, it was in fact all the fault of a fallen Marauder.

Just a few feet from him, the Triwizard Cup.

Remus' mind was already forcing itself past the worst anger he'd ever felt in his life, and instead trying to come up with wild escape plans for Harry to get out of this, ironically which had been his part in their pranking schemes, their escape route. Now he was stuck on those terrible memories and couldn't process what he'd been wanting to think of regarding the Cup.

Harry's wand lay where it had fallen by Cedric, so Harry was defenseless against the smooth marble, still in pain with his scar burning against him. The swath of fabric on the ground was now twitching furiously where it had been set down, and Harry knew one thing for certain, he did not want to see what was under that bundle.

Of that they all agreed with. They'd never wanted to think of this thing existing in the first place, now it was within reaching distance of where Harry was, and all they really wanted was a large rock to squish that moving cloth before it could do even worse than it already had.

Wormtail had vanished for a time, but now he was coming back dragging the largest cauldron Harry had ever seen, which seemed to be filled with water.

In spite of the bloodlust pumping through them all, this really was odd enough to distract them back into the actual act of the story, and what the bloody hell was going on? Why hadn't Harry just been killed outright, what potion was being brewed for whatever kind of situation this was? In spite of these questions and more, they were all entirely certain they wanted no answers, and yet Sirius forced himself to keep going, the faster he finished the faster he could get to the murder he was owed.

Once it was set in place only a few feet away from where Harry was, a fire was lit beneath it, which quickly set the liquid within boiling. Not fast enough, as the cold voice commanded again to hurry.

As menacing as Sirius sounded then, even his godfather still couldn't hold a candle to the icy venom of Voldemort's voice, which Harry oddly found some comfort in. Even with the backlash of murder curling his every syllable, it was of some ease to Harry he still couldn't fear for his life in here like he had that night.

In the harsh light of the fire, Harry could pear inside the steaming bubbles, and saw the whole innards was encrusted with diamonds.

Remus cocked his head to the side as something nagged at the back of his mind, what an oddly specific cauldron.

Wormtail told his Master it was ready,

James longed for a time where he would have beheaded someone else for insinuating the friend he knew would ever have called Voldemort Master as anything more than a joke.

and shuffled over to the thing on the ground one last time. In lifting it up, Harry finally saw what had been swaddled, and his yell was only strangled off by his mouth having something blocked in it.

Harry may not have anything blocking his airway now, but he thankfully still restrained himself from repeating that noise even if the look on his face did already show the level of horror they were fixing to hear.

It was indeed in the shape of a child, but no infant that should ever exist.

Lily couldn't get the disgust out of her that this blight had once held her own precious child, that the mockery of the moment was distorted beyond all recognition with him having spent any amount of time caring for this new facet of Voldemort's wasted life.

There was no hair, and every inch of skin was burnt red, the arms and legs were feeble and could not have supported itself, the face was flat and held snakelike features with ruby red eyes.

Remus remembered back to that first chapter, how he'd considered the idea that Voldemort had somehow possessed a human child and that was how this thing was existing, he really had no other explanation for how it was even alive, but then again, he hadn't a clue from the beginning how any of this worked. Harry should have died that night but instead Voldemort had vanished, and still hadn't been killed himself. None of this was in the realm of possibilities he understood, so why was something about that cauldron lingering in his mind?

Its fingers wrapped around Wormtail's neck as he lifted it up, and the cloak finally fell away from his face, revealing the revulsion on the servants face.

Sirius couldn't deny the fact that he was pleased in the most twisted way it was possible to be. Even if he couldn't be skinning this useless critter alive right now, at least in some form he was still being forced to deal with the choice of his decision. Revulsion would soon be a happy memory of his once Sirius got ahold of him, so he should enjoy it while it lasted.

The being was carried to the cauldron and dropped inside, Harry could hear its body hit the bottom. Around his scar having its own fire on his forehead, he still managed the pleading thought of it drowning.

Lily was trying to get her mind to go past what was being done to her son, to focus instead on what on earth this potion could be, but she was coming up blank. What could Voldemort be using, and still far more importantly, why was Harry there?!

Wormtail was reciting to himself as he kept his wand held in his good hand, speaking to himself as he called for the bone of the father, unknowingly given, to renew its son.

Remus was, well not happy by any means in this situation, but grateful he hadn't been the one to take the book away from James now, because he was entirely certain his voice would have failed him. It wasn't really that potion.

The ground cracked under Harry's feet, and a fine powder was being lifted away from the dirt upon the wands command, and fell into the vat. The clear surface hissed and frothed, now turning a vivid blue.

James had not a single clue of what brew was being concocted in that, but from the one ingredient alone he was more confident than ever before he was not going to like the end results, and more than anything he wanted Harry away from it.

Wormtail's voice was going even higher in fear as he tucked his wand away and instead pulled out a dagger, still forcing himself to speak through his own sobs,

Sirius didn't even sound disturbingly happy anymore, he was too wrapped up in disgust for what he was forcing out.

of the flesh of the servant, willingly given to revive his master.

Remus had hated himself many moments over his life, but none more so than now, where there was no more doubt in his mind what that rat was actually doing, and it was all his fault.

He had his right hand hovering over the boiling pot now, and was raising the dagger with purpose. He had it held at its highest point, and swung down.

Lily replayed that sickening line one more time in her head, and still she wasn't prepared for what Sirius shot out next.

Harry realized what was about to happen a moment before it did, his eyes snapped shut, and still he was forced to hear the wrenching cry of pain tearing through the night and the splash as the ingredient was consumed. Behind his closed lids, he knew the splash of red was the potion changing colors.

Harry wasn't sure about the others, but for him this was still more traumatizing than anything. To even think about what Wormtail had done to himself, what he'd already done to Cedric. He knew he should have been angry, or scared, but the only thing still resonating was the pain this night had caused.

He wasn't done quite yet. Sobbing harder than ever, his voice now inching closer to Harry, Wormtail brokenly recited the last line, blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, will resurrect his foe.

Sirius roared that line more than anything. He'd been apoplectic when he'd learned what had been done to James, and even himself, but this still somehow managed to reach a new level of atrocity on his part. He was going to take what from Harry!

Harry's eyes snapped open, but being directly below him Harry couldn't even look down to watch as he felt the cool metal pressing into his arm through the material of his robes, felt the pain as the knife cut through his arm and despite his desperate pulling to get away, blood ran free.

One of the reasons Lily had always claimed to be good at potions was because of the details. If it said the twelfth scale plucked from an occamy, then you'd better be sure you counted right or the whole thing could be in a mess. So her mind was left spinning off, wondering if Harry hadn't been tied down, if he hadn't struggled, could whatever this was be prevented? Of course it was too late now, whatever was happening was being done, but since her life goal was to insure this would not be happening to her baby so long as she lived, even for a moment it felt good to think of some way to prevent this.

His attempts weren't acknowledged, as a glass vial was pressed into the stream, and Wormtail staggered with his prize and let the droplets of blood splatter the surface. The whole thing turned the brightest of white, and his part done, Wormtail slumped to the ground, cradling his bleeding stump.

Remus couldn't find anything in himself to feel hatred for that rat, or even a selfish glee at his pain, or anything much except for how much he hated himself.

Harry could think of nothing anymore except for his silent prayers into the night for it all to have gone wrong.

Harry shook his head sadly at his younger self. This moment had felt imminent from the first time he'd heard Hagrid speak the name, that was a child's wish, one that Harry had never been granted.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, everything inside of the cauldron seemed to vanish and instead culminated in more steam streaming the area, and a dark figure was left standing in its midst. Still Harry kept begging of something, anything, for it all to have gone wrong.

Sirius had absolutely no emotion in his voice as he pleaded Harry's thoughts, there was not a shred of hope left among them to even pretend that could be happening.

A figure unfurled itself from the cauldron and stepped free, and commanded it was clothed. Wormtail sprung to, one handed as he fitted the previous robes over the tall figure. Then the face of nightmares turned and spotted Harry.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

They wished they could have been more surprised for that, tried to find some way to deny the heart pounding fear and misery they knew that would cause for the next foreseeable future, but considering they were currently living in the time where Voldemort reigned everywhere, that sentence just didn't have much of an impact on them other than the realization Harry was in the middle of that!

Sirius finished his chapter, but couldn't think of anything to say or do to show he had. His brain had shut down, it was too complicated to do more than keep a low growl resonating from his throat as his mind kept a single focus on who's fault all this was, which is why he was so thrown when Remus sobbed;

"My fault, it's all my fault!"

"Remus, you can't still be blaming yourself for him getting away!" Sirius snapped at once, he wasn't going to let him take blame for this any more than he would Harry, he'd been keeping half an eye on his pup this whole time to make sure he wasn't thinking the same, but so far he was mostly a frozen mask of shock. "I keep telling you, your sanity was more important to me than him, I'd make the same decision again in a heartbeat."

Remus clearly wasn't listening, burying his face in his hands and whispering that over and over again.

"Remus, Moony I'm begging you, if you know what that was, tell me." James begged, he was sick of listening to how one person kept ruining his life, but Remus talking like that was coming in a close second.

Remus kept his eyes tight shut, he couldn't bear to look at any of them, but somehow that nickname being used helped, it was still a symbol that meant more to him than he could put into words. He began whispering "I, well one time we got to looking up a ah, a cure for me." He was starting to shake uncontrollably, which hardly stopped when Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder, but he still kept going, "this was during the process of you guys trying to become animagus. H-he was having some difficulties with it, and he was really good at potions," he'd clearly directed that part at least at Harry, as all of them knew that. Maybe that's how he was even getting all of this out, he was building himself up to start trying to apologize to him, though none of them still understood why he was blaming himself, until he finished with.

"Well, we conned the Defense teacher into signing a book for us from the restricted section, it was a book on potions used for people who were, like me, suffering from, well things that they'd do anything to get out of their body for. We, we came across this one potion he really seemed to like, one that would give you a new body. Except, well I'd never seen such a disturbing potion. It required everything that was just mentioned, and no bleeding way was I going to consider hurting anyone to try and get this to work. Not to mention the bleeding thing could only be brewed at such a ridiculously specific time frame-"

"Would you stop! I'm more than confident Voldemort will have known about this potion all on his own, quit blaming yourself for everything," James insisted.

Remus wasn't exactly convinced, he still remembered back to that first chapter, and wondering why the rat hadn't deserted Voldemort as well. He must have had some knowledge of what was to come, insight into the plan of Voldemort's return, otherwise he should have abandoned that helpless little thing as surely as he had them. True that Voldemort could have somehow known about the potion another way, but the rat must have gone back to him with some form of a plan, something that would draw him back to his protector to ensure he'd stay just that.

Sirius still looked likely to force feed him this book if he didn't stop, so regardless of if he agreed, Remus stopped arguing the point. Sirius instead turned his attention on Harry when he realized this, and whispered, "It alright if I keep going pup? That chapter was over, and it's only going to get worse."

He was asking more for James than Harry though. This was clearly hurting him more than anything else, to continually realize what that traitor had done to his sons life. When Harry agreed though, and Prongs didn't say otherwise, Sirius forced himself to turn the page.

HPHPHPHP

*Loved this pointed out by nahte123456, but clearly by this point Harry was so into the Tournament it would have been silly not to at least try his all in this last one and go for a win. Plus, I have every confidence whoever did touch the Cup still would have been killed, and Fake-Eye would have just got Harry sent there at the closest moment, so...

[uwu-boll]

Yesterday I consumed nearly 4 grams of mushrooms. Here is what that was like for me:

First, this isnt my first rodeo. I've consumed psychedelics a few times before; I wouldnt call myself necessarily experienced but I have an education background in psychopharmacology and I have a couple of trips under my belt already so I knew what to expect and how it was going to feel going into it. 2 months ago. my girlfriend and I purchased 7 grams of mushrooms to split for our anniversary weekend this past week. We purchased a hotel room - I wanted to avoid doing this at home due to a very stressful living situation - and situated our setting so as to be best prepared to go about our experience. This included water, music, videogames, some snacks, etc. The necessities.

Our day started following a night of several shared margaritas and burgers between us. We went swimming, had coffee and a light breakfast, went to therapy together, and then a healthy midday lunch. Following that, we gathered the supplies for the night and settled in at around 3pm. Starting then, I measured out the dosages for the both of us; 2.75g for her, 3.87g for me (the dosages were more or less arbitrary, but we had a ballpark of what kind of experience we were looking for). She ate hers straight up, while I prepared a 'lemon tek'; powdered shrooms soaked in lemon juice for some time. There is some science behind it, but the idea is to shorten the duration or the experience while making it more intense. This also helps with digestion to prevent nausea, although there will still be some present as your body tries to 'reject' the chemical.

My shrooms sat in lemon juice for 20 mins before I tossed them all in orange juice for me to take big gulps of. Disclaimer - I HATE the taste, smell, texture, EVERYTHING about mushrooms. This... isnt necessarily better, but it's the best way to consume them short of capsules, I've found.

3:25 PM: I start drinking my pulpy orange juice - mushroom cocktail. It tastes like sour orange juice, because of the lemon juice I added, but the thought of the mushrooms in there makes me gag before I even get the concoction in my mouth. I can already tell this is going to be an endeavour. I take one big swig, maybe a fifth of the bottle, and approximately a quarter of the dose. I wait about 5 mins before taking another swig

3:35: one more swig, followed by a dab, hoping that the weed will calm my tummy. It does, but not before I nearly puke coughing up a lung

3:45: I finish the cocktail. This whole time I'm watching my girlfriend - who is approximately 15 minutes ahead of me having already dosed - set up the Nintendo switch and design a character on Tony Hawks Pro Skater, the remastered edition. She finishes, we take a dab, and we start playing. We, for some reason, start with a VS game, first to 500,000 points. I dont know why we thought that was a good idea, but we did. From here on, times are approximate.

Approximately 3:50: We are mindlessly skating in complete silence, absolute fixated in this game. I'm pretty high from the dabs as it is, so I'm spacing out and having trouble coordinating.

Approximately 4:00: I'm focused entirely on how gross my stomach feels having drank the cocktail. My body feels heavy, and it's very difficult to coordinate in the game properly.

Approximately 4:15: We are probably 100,000 points into this game before we both realize how long it's going to take before anyone wins. Were both kinda over it, and clearly struggling with performing and we only know it's going to get worse. As the come up begins, I feel a profound sense of anxiety. Recognizing it as the comeup anxiety, I dismiss it, but it's quickly becoming pretty overwhelming. The lemon tek, in shortening and intensifying the experience, creates very powerful come ups. We stop playing THPS and switch to Super Mario 3D World, which makes me feel better

Approximately 4:30: We get through 2 levels before we stop playing for the night. We decide to cuddle and try to calm each other down. We put on Bo Burnham's 'Inside' to listen to while we come up, which was a great idea because we love him. Really got us talking about our pasts and the meanings behind each of his songs. My body is very heavy, but I feel at absolute peace within it - I'm not biting my nails compulsively or shaking my legs - despite the come up anxiety and the slight nausea. I feel attached to the bed, I didnt want to get up even if I had to. I am absolutely CHEESIN, smiling so hard my cheeks still hurt a day later.

Approximately 4:45: I am staring at the wall, looking at what appears to be a pattern overlaying the texture of the wall. I see the same pattern on the bathroom floor. I'm questioning as to whether or not it's really there. I quickly move to the ceiling - a popcorn ceiling - where I am blown away; the lighting in the room makes the ceiling look both purple and green. My pareidolia is going crazy and I see constantly shifting patterns in the white noise that is the popcorn ceiling. The crazy thing is knowing that there is no pattern to the nonsense I am seeing, but making out patterns regardless. I stare at this for awhile. The ceiling is flowing like water.

The exact order of events henceforth are kind of a blur. We lay in bed for the rest of the night, but the topics of discussion vary from point to point, mostly us complimenting each other and praising each other. At some point, Inside ended, and we listened to Hamilton. However, I hardly remember both the end of Inside nor the entirety of Hamilton, and so it's likely that around d approximately 5 oclock, began the Great Existential Breakdown (TM)

At approximately 5 oclock, I was peaking. Emotions were running high, and, in response to being hungry, I had a breakdown because I hated the fact that I was born into a world dominated by cruelty, inhumanity, and the insatiable drive for profit. I hated that I lived in a world where something as simple as hunger was a problem, and that food - a human right - is commodified. I hated that consumption was obligatory, and that to feed the endless gluttony that is the human need to consume, we exploit both our fellow humans, and the planet. I hated that in that obligatory need to consume, weve facilitated this social climate in which it's okay to pollute our world and exploit the human labor condition so as long as its convenient to the consumer and profitable to the corporation. (Now that I think about it, this may have been spurned by Bo Burnhams 'That Funny Feeling', which I feel like is his most powerful song on the album. ) This quickly evolved into how being born, and forced into a world without your consent where conditions like this exist in the first place is inherently a violent act, and that having children is immoral until we create an environment where those conditions are obsolete. Then to how bullshit it is that I am forced to take care of a meatsuit for the whole of my life, but I have to pay to upkeep all of it as if i had some choice in the matter. This lead to me talking about how I wanted to be a transient observer of the universe, untethered to any physical point in space. Not quite dead, not quite alive - still able to see things happen, but not be able to participate. I then went on to say how I didnt think suicide was the answer to my problems because that doesnt necessarily get rid of the conditions that lead to my despair, but rather creates new problems for my loved ones. I knew that the key was to live in despite of the despair and to continue on in search of my own personal meaning.

This breakdown lasted approximately 3 hours and was very emotional for both of us. We spent a lot of time crying and talking about stuff weve never spoken about before. The comedown was very gentle and helped me feel very cathartic and relaxed. Over the course of the comedown I took several dabs, a few of which brought me back to 'The Wonky Space' (TM). However, this was short lived. My girlfriend sat in the tub naked from the waist down, which quickly turned into a bath, and from there, after my breakdown, we started to relax, watch some Shameless, went downstairs, got some snacks, some drinks, and went to bed.

Before I fell asleep, and once I knew the experience was 100% over, I took some time to reflect and felt very satisfied with what happened. It wasnt at all what I expected the night to be, but I felt like I needed to do that, and experience that kind of existential pain. I felt very relaxed once I got control of my body again, and that peace - the general sense of wellbeing, happiness, lack of anxiety, connectivity to my partner and my fellow man - has persisted well into the next day, and will likely continue for at least the next week. 10/10 would do again.

Would I say I had a bad trip? No. Was it a good one? N...no. but I had a great time, it was fun, and enlightening, and helped me realize where I feel like I am struggling mentally.

[monstaxardeur]

Warnings: Mature, Angst

𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 - 𝚒𝚒

His black chipped nail brushed the small chit of paper in his hands as he was questioning himself… 'was this necessary?' He looked out the window of his cab, the early morning wind greeted him but there was no sun in sight…in fact it looked like a storm was brewing. 'Wasn’t there enough rainstorm last night?' he wondered blankly watching the cityscape pass him by, his thoughts starting to tangle in last night’s aftermath.

'She' was gone, just like that, leaving a little pricking void in his heart, no..not just his heart, he was sure she took his soul too, sucking the life out of him. She wandered into their lives one fine day and disappeared one night as if the dark skies swallowed her whole, her being now lay atop the cosmos as perhaps the beautiful moon he witnessed every night…along with her stars she oh so lovingly called 'her little moonbeams'.

Last night had been difficult, his fingers grazed over the frayed edges of the torn fabric, he hated it…how she had intoxicated him, her existence, her touch…her kisses in the dark like a pretty little secret. He may or may not have pleasured himself to the swaying memories of 'Queenie'. Her words, the soft nothings would haunt his nights and keep him from peaceful sleep but it had been a while, a good while and she hadn’t been around anymore. Sometimes it felt like a lucid dream he had, it won’t be long when the affects of her drugging existence wear off and it may just feel like it was never real.

'Why am I even doing this?' He bemused himself staring at the small piece of folded paper. He was sure he wasn’t the only one she left small favors with, but why? Its like she left the boys with her fragments to finish what she couldn’t.

“Will you do me a favor my love?” Her words were soft like velvet, her lips barely away from his, both of their lips swollen from the feverish kiss they shared. “Hmmm?” He had replied and all she did was slide a small piece of paper in his palms. He briefly looked down to inspect it but she closed his palms into a fist and captured his lips onto hers, resuming their romantic escapade.

He bit his lip at the sudden memory vividly playing out in his head and sighed throwing his head back and pulling the hoodie over his face, but his moment of tranquil came to a halt as the cab stopped at the destination.

He hesitated before turning the knob…'this doesn’t feel right' his mind told him but Queenie gave him the keys herself, entrusted him with it for this very purpose. He walked into a room greeted with soft music playing, he recognized the song, 'Art Deco by Lana Del Rey' but his feet stopped at a canvas before him. A beautifully haunting image was splayed in freehand strokes on a dark canvas that lay there. An image of a silver cloaked goddess caressing the cheeks of a butterfly winged human. He could recognize her face anywhere, the goddess..was Queenie, but this other person wasn’t completely visible yet, probably an incomplete artwork?

“It’s still in progress.” You spoke startling him out of his trance and he swallowed a lump he didn’t know was in his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He flashed a faint smile and held up the chit, “She sent me.” You paused and he turned and pointed at the goddess in the painting, “I meant her, I know its her you painted.” Your gaze shifted away as you rubbed the back of your neck sighing….you missed her dearly at times. Right now was one of those times, for your home was the definition of grief, it was messy and unkempt and your appearance looked like you were yearning for the moon’s touch, this moonbeam looked drained of her beams, he could see it in your eyes.

~

His fingers dug deep into the skin of your bare thighs and his lips moved feverishly over your hot skin as he trailed them all mottled to find that one spot, on the left of your chest…where your heart beats, he knows the goddess lives there and what was meant to be a soft bruise was a harsh mark, a love bite perhaps? You panted and winced at the sudden surge of pinching pain and your own hands tugged and pulled at his blonde locks. His brows knitted and he growled in frustration….he could feel Queenie all over you, he was convinced you were a vessel. What looked like a drained little moonbeam turned out to be bleeding moonlight the moment your skins touched. Like a butterfly so still but at a mere touch it’s wings were spread wide, shimmering it’s vibrant colors and beauty as it fluttered about.

He dragged his lips back to to the sweet spot under your neck to hear those soft moans that were like comforting music to his ears. One of his hands grabbed hold of your neck in a low squeeze and your eyes met his again as you panted and held his hand that was over your pulsing veins. “Please…let me..” your words barely audible against him in close proximity and he loosened his grip over you, softening up and your lips requested entrance at his own and he greeted yours with a needy urge. Holding his face in your palms, you shifted to sit up closer in his lap and your core could feel his hard on but you were patient and just kissed him the most mind numbing kiss, just as his entire existence was mind numbing to yours.

You wanted out, you wanted it all out, the moonlight in your veins that was injected by 'her' loving words and caring notions, by her presence….by her mere existence. You knew you had soaked in a lot of her essence maybe a little more than what you bargained for and he wanted it like a drug, why else would he wander here upon Queenie’s request, you knew despite your overflowing emotions underneath the moonlit facade…that he was here for her, he envisioned her in your stead, all he wanted was to feel 'her' under his skin and you were radiating with her essence…dripping moonlight at his mere touch.

'What an odd place to find your heart at?' You thought pushing back tears so forceful that your throat hurt and a whimper escaped your lips as he broke the kiss letting you breathe. You had hoped to find the other side of him when you looked into his beautiful dark eyes but all you saw was a disciple’s yearning for his goddess and you let go of yourself to his dark desires..

~

It was nightfall, a silent beautiful night, the moon was full and the starts winked from beneath the floating clouds. He lay bare under the sheets of the bed, he had slept his aching soul away and it was late. '00:00′ the time struck. Was it the witching hour? Did it feel like Walpurgis Night? Sort of, but not in the most devious ways only in the most lulling ways as if the witches themselves descended to sing their lullabies.

When he came to, his nose caught the whiff of scented candles but a very non conventional one, you lived in a beach house but couldn’t get enough of the scent of the ocean. His eyes were greeted by your bare back that had your floral print tattoo, it was so delicate like an old lovers kiss~ When you felt him shift you put on your little crop top sweater and turned to see him, for a moment your breath was stuck in awe as you saw his naked form that lay moonkissed before you. The way the moonlight touched him made you wonder he was perhaps truly made for his muse.

“Were you crying?” His deep low voice was raspy from having just woken, the reason he asked was your glistening cheeks, “I finished the painting.” You changed the subject wiping off your semi dried tears. The painting of the butterfly human was no longer the same, it was in fact everything like him. Changkyun’s eyes were fixated on the painting of what was now the moon goddess and himself…~ “Take it with you.” Came your voice from inside the room, you wanted nothing to do with it anymore, they belonged with each other and you wanted nothing in between their love story, the ache was too much to bear.

The mattress depressed beside you as he sat down next to you in nothing but his undone jeans, he followed your gaze to the night sky outside your window from where you sat. “Isn’t she beautiful?” You asked smiling melancholic. “And haunting.” he added as his fingers traced patterns on your arms trailing them to your wrist. “Do I still bleed her soul?” You asked looking at him, your expressions always softening up while looking at him. He hummed a nod still playing his fingertips on your skin. “Just a little though but it’s always there, like a dormant demon wanting out….I felt it in your heart beat.” and his eyes glance at the mark under her left collar bone, a deep bluish purple bruise and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug for his doing. He marked your heart so harshly, you’ll probably remember it for days to come.

You felt defeated at his reply, “I’ll always be with you my little moonbeam, shhh don’t cry now. You’ll see me again, I promise~” were her words and back then they felt like warmth, comfort & home but never did you ever thought that too much of even such a deep unexplained love could leave you scarred and over flowing with her memories. It’ll take forever for someone to find the real you deep down trapped under the smothering love of your Queenie~

Just as he came, he had left, leaving you in your sheets bare and bruised with his love marks. His touch always burned, always left indents because he was always searching for someone within you. You lay fast asleep exhausted from your little sexual escapade but in the dead of the night you may have felt a comforting touch stroking your head as if a guardian angel watched over you. “I’m so sorry my little moonbeam.” The muse softly kissed your head and fixed your covers, “My poor baby, I’ll tell him to be kind to you hmmm?” she cooed. “I’ll have to pay him a visit though.” her words trailed off as she looked up at the sky and the moon was now completely covered in clouds….almost as if it was never there in the first place~

…𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎

mood song: art deco by lana del rey