#john's assistants (and what became of them)

[itsdefinitely]

can i please maybe hear about the tma x hatchetfield au,,,,,,,,,,,,,

A lot of my thought are incoherent, but here's the basic gist:

The Coven Institute was founded by Charles Coven back in the 1800s, and since then has followed pretty much the same path as TMA up until the present day. The current Head is a man named Mr. Barker, his predecessor being one Ken Davidson. Bill Woodward (preceeded by John MacNamara) is the current Head Archivist. His assistants are Paul Matthews, Charlotte Sweetly, and Ted Spankoffski.

It's not an exact 1 to 1 character swap, but there are comparisons.

Charlotte is closest to Sasha, Paul is closest to Tim, and Ted is closest to Helen.

There are others, like Eddie Chiplucky, who is a business partner to Mr. Barker much in the same way that Peter Lukas is to Elias. Tinky and Michael, Wiley and Maxwell Rayner, Ms. Holloway and Annabelle Cane, etc. There are way too many characters for me to list out here, and not all of them have comparisons.

Some things from TMA canon happpen, like the NotThem, The Unknowing, and the Distortion's transformation. Things from Hatchetfield happen too, like the events of Black Friday.

It's started out as an excuse to draw Hatchetfield characters in the world of TMA, but now I have to think about the implications.

[starkeysbaby]

When the turtle incident at the beach happens the reader gets hurt saving the turtle 🐢 and rafe snap. Everyone sees a different side of rafe

a/n: i LOVE this idea. - Unfortunately i feel like i didn’t do it justice 🥲🥲 but hope you enjoy!! <3

“if i ever see you round my girl again…”

pairings: s4 rafe cameron x kook but not kooky!reader [est. relationship]

warnings: S4 E4 SCENE DESCRIBED/USED (not sure if it’s really a spoiler tho as nothing plot wise is revealed) turtles being hurt, blood, death threat, canon rafe lol, use of swear words. (pls lemme know if i forgot any)

summary: you just wanted peace between everyone, unfortunately you and a turtle became collateral damage over a kook vs pogue contest. rafe is not happy…

navigation ⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊˚ ⋅ obx masterlist

You were a kook? Well that’s what your bank account said. However, you were closer with the pogues and basically hung out with them or your boyfriend.. rafe cameron. that was the weird part. It had been awkward since the pogues all returned from El Dorado. You had sort of become the middle man in between rafe and the pogues including his sister, sarah. It was an unspoken rule between you and rafe that you just don’t talk about them with him which you respected. He’ll come around in his own time you thought.

When the swell came in, your boyfriend and his friends were eager to hit the beach and have a surf day to which you wouldn’t turn down. meeting up at tannyhill, you saw that topper had bought his new girlfriend, ruthie who you weren’t too keen on. You had mentioned this to rafe a while back but he said that it isn’t yours or his business to get involved with toppers love life and told you to just stay away from her if you didn’t like her to which you couldn’t argue.

Arriving at the beach you saw your friends, jj, john b, kiara and sarah and quickly told rafe that you were going over to say hi. Rafe just mumbled something as he set up his towel and told you not to be long as he stared daggers at sarah.

“hey!” you wave jogging up to the pogues, hugging sarah then kie. “what’s up y/nn (your nickname)” kie asked. “not much. just thought we’d hit the waves. i told them we should go a bit farther from here but they didn’t listen… sorry” you explained, knowing it’s best if the kooks and pogues don’t cross paths today. “you’re good. it’s them we don’t trust” jj butts in. “yeah, no. i’ll tell them to lay off..” you smile then turn to sarah. “he’s trying. he’ll come around. i know it..” you tell her, referring to rafe. Sarah just shrugs, pretending as if not being on good terms with her brother isn’t bothering her. “wanna surf?” you smile and take sarah’s hand dragging her to the water as you both laugh.

After surfing with sarah and the pogues for a while, you had joined rafe on his towel and spent an hour or so just chilling with him. He showered you in attention and you did your best to ignore ruthies little comments about the pogues and how jj is a poor sport. At one point, rafe saw you side eye ruthie for shitting on the pogues again. “hey. don’t frown.” he mumbles turning your head to face him and pats your cheek. “i don’t get her problem rafe.” you sigh. “yeah it sucks, but cmon” “no. it’s unnecessary. they aren’t doing anything to her.” you tell him, referring to the pogues just minding their business apart from that tiny squabble with jj and topper in the ocean but topper didn’t seem to care too much so why does ruthie? “i told you, ignore her” rafe says a little sternly taking your hand in his, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “yeah yeah…” you smile as you peck him, letting it go as you didn’t want ruthie to ruin the day.

While you packed up, unknown to you and rafe, ruthie was convincing topper to just ride the truck over to the pogues to mess up their set up. You in the meantime went over to the pogues to say bye, only to find them saving a turtle hatch in which you started assisting with. The next thing you know, you see ruthie driving her truck at a high speed straight at you. While sarah and kie do their best to get the turtles out of the way in time, you stand in front waving your hands trying to get ruthies attention to stop her. “hey! hey!!! stop! there’s a hatch!” you call out but she doesn’t hear you. you can vaguely see topper yell at ruthie, probably to stop but she’s just laughing. kiara notices ruthie has no intention of stopping and quickly pulls you out the way.

Luckily no turtles were hurt at that point but you see ruthie circling around to go again. You stand up again, trying to stop her. Rafe has also noticed this and starts making his way over to get, in his words, your stupid ass out of the way. You realise ruthie yet again has no intention of stopping so you quickly go to pick up a turtle that was in the way but you get hit slightly by the truck, knocking you out.

“what the actual fuck?!” kiara yells rushing to you, she takes the turtles from you and calls for rafe who’s at your side in seconds. He looks up at a shocked, somewhat guilty looking ruthie. “what the fuck is your problem?” he spits “did you not see her fucking standing there telling you to stop!” he yells as he takes off his shirt to wrap around a bloody scrape on your knee from something in the sand. Overall you weren’t too badly hurt but might need some stitches. That was enough for rafe to see red though.

As sarah goes to fetch water to splash you awake, ruthie stutters “i.. i thought she’d get out the way. why would she just fucking stand the-” kie cuts her off “there was a turtle hatch! look what you did! she was tryna save this turtle” kie yells at her, showing her the hurt turtle to which ruthie turns her face away from. “why the fu-” rafe cuts himself off on questioning you to wake you up with the water sarah got. As you felt water being splashed on your face, you sit up. “what happened?” you groan. “y/n im so so sor-” ruthie starts to apologise but rafe cuts her off. “no. you shut the fuck up and stay away from my girl” rafe snaps causing topper to get involved. “hey now rafe-” but again rafe cuts him off. “control your bitch, top” he huffs shutting topper and everyone else up.

He lifts you up and walks towards his truck. “my head hurts..” you mumble. “i know baby.. gonna get you to the hospital aight” he gently whispers to you to which you just nod. With a final “don’t pull shit like that again” from rafe, he places you in the passengers seat before shutting the door and quickly going up to ruthie. “if i ever see you round my girl again… i’ll kill you” he murmurs up close to her face in a terrifyingly dangerous way. Apart from sarah and a few of the pogues, no one has ever seen rafe like that.. so scary.. so threatening… so murderous. Ruthie just nodded which was enough for rafe to leave the scene so he could take you to the hospital.

a/n: hope you enjoyed - kinda struggled to find a way to set the dynamic where reader is dating rafe but close to the pogues at this point in the show cuz i couldn’t see rafes defending someone so furiously unless he was dating her 😭

requests are open!! enjoy lovelies - liv <33

[henrycangelbaby]

Thinking about John Price and his cute little assistant (reader) who ends up pregnant. 

A/N: Guys i was inspired while scrolling on the john price x reader tag, this legit came to me as a vision and now i have to write it (I plan on expanding on this idea so just stay with me!!!!)

Imagine being John Price's cute little assistant, just the sweetest little thing that John is kinda obsessed with. Like don't get me wrong she is amazing at her job, smart, put together and well organized and John does feel that her addition has been a positive one, taking some pressure off his shoulders and making sure his team is always prepared for whatever they are doing. She is very good at what she does, but that doesn’t stop John from admiring her. He knows he shouldn't be bit, he can't help it, she's young and sweet and a little bit innocent and he just wants to protect and love her all the time. 

In the beginning she was shy, only addressing him as sir and knocking on his door hesitantly whenever she needed to speak to him but gradually their boundaries became less and less. More often than not she works out of his office, whether he’s there or not, he insists on buying her an early lunch when she lets slip that she didn't have breakfast that morning. He has even picked her up from a night out once or twice, a little bit tipsy and calling the most trusted person she can think of that just happened to be her boss. He takes care of her as well, helping her get her makeup and clothes off before tucking her into her bed with a bottle of water and pain killers for the morning. He doesn't mention it when he sees her next, knowing how embarrassed she will be when he tells her the loneliness her tipsy self admitted. 

When she starts to get sick John is having absolutely none of it, driving her home and ordering her to take some time off (he even visits later that night to bring her some soup for her stomach). He doesn't expect her to look so sad when she comes back supposedly better from her “flu”, he doesn't expect to see her eyes shine with tears when he asks “what's wrong babygirl?”.  He sits them down on the couch in his office together, putting an arm over her and pulling her close for comfort. He certainly does not expect her to look up at him with those shiny wet eyes and admit she did something bad before crying that she's pregnant. It’s news to John who never even considered that his girl would be dating (let alone sleeping with) people. When he vocalizes this and she admits that her baby daddy isn't a very good guy, it's over for John. 

Suddenly he's all over her, promising to be there for her, that she can come to him whenever she needs. And he actually means it. Suddenly she’s staying in the spare bedroom in his house, not only does it have more room but John can keep an eye on her. She entirely moves into his office working on his desk with him, he gets her a comfy chair so she can be supported in the later months. He gets up to hold her hair back when she has morning sickness and ensures she gets enough nutritious food each day. When she starts showing, oh my god John doesn't know what to do with himself. That little bump peaking out of her tight skirts makes him foam at the mouth. Of course he prioritizes her comfort, insisting she change shoes and stop wearing those uncomfortable looking heels, but he keeps her in her formal work attire for just a little longer, just so he can see her cute tummy poking out of it. 

Speaking of her bump. He simply can't resist putting his hand on it. He feels so protective over it, best believe he goes feral if anyone tries to touch it. Hell all but breaks loose when his precious baby looks up at him with teary eyes telling him how uncomfortable she was when some rando put their hand on her stomach, (someone definitely lost their job that day). He eventually has her sitting in his lap, cooing over her and reassuring her that they won't get in trouble, that really he is the big boss anyways. He just loves having her there, perched on top of him he rests his head on her shoulder both arms coming around to cradle her now bigger bump. 

John mandates maternity leave when she starts getting big, maybe around seven months when she spends a lot of her time complaining about back aches and swollen ankles, of course he does what he can to help her but it gets to the point where he knows that she should be resting. He has to basically forcibly put her on leave, reassuring her panics about money by promising to take care of her. And oh boy does he. He gives her foot massages and holds her belly, when she starts outgrowing her clothes best believe he would hand over any of his so she can fit in them more comfortably. He's just all over her, unable to stomach the fact that soon she will have a real live baby. That baby is about to become the most protected baby in the entire world.

That's all I have for now because I fear if I begin rambling about the rest of the 141 neither of us might make it out alive. (just know this baby is going to be so damn spoiled it’s crazy). 

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

[miazetomer]

Heartless | Rafe Cameron x pogue(ish)!fem!reader (Part VII)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol use, drug use, mention of abortion, takes place during season four, the usual

Summary: You were back on Kildare after two years. You were able to finish your business degree at UNC Chapel Hill in just two years after earning enough college credits in high school. But, you came back as a force to be reckoned with. You had your own very successful development company which just so happened to be Cameron Development’s newest competition. Two years later and you’re still finding ways to get under Rafe’s skin.

prev next

♡♡♡

You stepped off your family’s private jet at the Kildare airport. The strong smell of salt and sea water hitting you like a train. The last time you were at this airport you saw your then-boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, kill Sheriff Peterkin.

Two years earlier…

“What did you do Rafe?” You said breathlessly as you ran into the Cameron estate.

“I-I had to, baby, you saw what was happening. She was gonna get my dad.” Rafe said, pacing around. He looked crazy. You always knew there was something different about your boyfriend, but you didn’t think he was capable of murder. “I-I needed to save my dad.”

That was the last time you saw him. After that, you stayed in The Cut, didn’t go anywhere you knew where he would be, you stopped helping John B and JJ with the hunt for the gold, you basically became a recluse until you left for school.

Everyone had kept you up to date on their adventures. You even let them stay at your family’s house in Barbados when they needed some place to stay.

After settling in at your mom’s house, you quickly made the drive to the newly established Poguelandia.

“Y/n.” Sarah cheered with a smile, running over to you. You quickly hugged her as the two of you jumped up and down, smiles plastered across your faces. It felt like suddenly you were sixteen years old again, seeing your best friend after you were in Europe for the summer.

You thought you were going to cry when you saw your brother. You left Sarah’s side and ran over to him, practically tackling him to the ground as you hugged him.

“You know, I expected the first hug, but the second one is fine too.” JJ joked, returning your hug. His voice was like music to your ears. It broke your heart to leave him here on Kildare, but you needed to get out of here, away from everything and everyone.

“You are never hunting for gold, ever again.” You warned, pointing your finger at him. “I’ve never been so worried in my life when my mom called to tell me you were a missing person. She came and got you right? From the airport.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He answered, nodding his head. “She actually let me crash at her place for a while.”

“Good.” You smiled before walking over to John B.

“You know when you left I was pretty certain you were never coming back.” John B said as he hugged you. “You had me pretty worried.”

“Never say never, JB.” You returned the hug with a smile before moving over to hug Kie and Pope. “You must be Cleo.” You smiled towards the girl who you didn’t recognize but had heard plenty about.

Everyone hung out in the backyard and you told them all about your company that was quickly taking off and they told you about the business they started in the backyard.

“So, like, do you have an assistant now?” Sarah asked, knocking her shoulder against yours.

“I do.” You answered, cringing a little. You never imagined having your own assistant, you always thought it was pretentious, but when things started piling up, you realized quickly you would need one.

When the pogues told you about what happened at the Enduro, you felt a fresh wave of anger surge through you. The type of anger you hadn’t felt in a long time. The type of anger only one person has ever been able to bring out in you, Rafe Cameron.

“I’ll see you guys later.” You muttered, standing up and pulling your car keys out of your jean shorts pocket.

You raced to the Cameron estate, typing in the gate code that you had had memorized since you were a kid. You quickly pulled into the driveway once the gate opened and got out of your car, slamming the door shut. You thought about just storming in there like you owned the place, but instead you took a second and knocked on the door politely. You knew that if you pounded on the door, no one would open it, probably terrified.

“Y/n.” Sofia said softly when she opened the door.

“Where is he?” You were fuming. Sofia didn’t know a lot about you, but she knew when you were angry, not to try to stand in your way.

“H-He’s upstairs in his bathroom.” She answered and you pushed past her, before running up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to his bedroom, a room you spent countless nights and hours in, but before you let yourself reminisce, you walked into his bathroom. The bathroom was steamy, Rafe obviously just got out of the shower as he wrapped a towel around his waist. He looked up at the sound of the door opening expecting Sofia, but his smile dropped when he saw you. His eyes raked over you, he thought you looked good, older, more mature. But when his eyes landed on your face, he already knew you were pissed.

“Y/n.” He said cautiously.

“Are you crazy?” You walked over to him and pushed him, but Rafe barely moved. “You could’ve killed him.” Another push. Rafe almost killing JJ wasn’t the only reason you were pushing Rafe, it was like every emotion you had suppressed about Rafe was suddenly bubbling to the surface and threatening to spill over. “Seriously, do you ever think? You told me in that letter you wrote that JJ would be off limits, no matter what.”

“You read my letter?”

“Yes, I read your twenty page letter! But, that doesn’t change anything, Rafe, you still almost killed my fucking brother!”

“Let’s not be overdramatic, I tapped his bike and he fell.”

“Really? You just tapped it? Is that why you both went flying?”

“Oh, I see why you’re so upset, you were worried about me.” Rafe smirked down at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Worried about you? Please, Rafe, I haven’t worried about you in two years.” You scoffed, crossing your own arms. But the truth was, you did worry about Rafe. Not about his physical well being, but his sanity. You worried about it every day since he killed Peterkin.

“Right, and that’s why you didn’t send those flowers when my dad died?”

“I-I didn’t send any flowers.” You were lying straight through your teeth. Of course you sent flowers when you heard Ward had died, you wanted Rafe to know you would always be there for him without him knowing it was you.

“Really? Y/n, your signature flower was in the bouquet.” Your face faltered a little, you knew you shouldn’t have put those stupid flowers in the bouquet, but you wanted to do something that showed it was you, even if Rafe didn’t realize it. You never would’ve thought he would remember what your favorite flower was.

“I’m not here to talk about what happened almost two years ago, Rafe, I’m here to talk about yesterday.”

“What happened, happened, y/n, there’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“No, but you can apologize.”

“Apologize? To a pogue?”

“Look, I’m giving you until the end of the night to apologize and if I find out you didn’t, I will ruin your life, Cameron.”

As you turned to leave, Rafe called out saying, “I’ll see you later tonight, Thornton.”

That was your breaking point. The idea that Rafe would show up at your homecoming party with the help hanging off his arm pissed you off to no end. Every emotion you felt coming back here was boiling over and you picked up the closest thing to you, throwing it towards Rafe’s head. But, Rafe ducked before the glass hit his head, smashing against the wall.

With that you turned on your heel and walked out of the Cameron estate, driving just next door to start getting ready for your homecoming party.

“Everything okay?” Sofia asked Rafe, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Everything’s fine.” Rafe responded, a little snappy. “Just an old friend saying hi.”

“An old friend? Or an old girlfriend?”

Sofia knew all about your relationship with Rafe. She would see the two of you at the club, golfing together or playing tennis, grabbing lunch or getting drinks. She saw how happy the two of you looked, until you stopped showing up one day. No more golf or tennis games, no more lunch, no more drinks before going to get dinner at an expensive restaurant. No more you.

That was when she swooped in. She attempted to put Rafe back together piece by piece, but it was like none of the pieces fit each other. Eventually, she just accepted she would never get to experience the love he had with you for herself, just happy that she had Rafe to herself for the time being. In the back of her head she knew you would come back one day, but she just kept that thought locked up, ready to deal with it when the time came. But, now the time has come and she doesn’t know if she’s ready to deal with losing Rafe.

♡♡♡

You walked through your childhood home’s backyard, with a glass of champagne, saying hello to everyone you came across. This was your chance to network on Kildare, gain the clientele and investors you really wanted and needed to start building on Kildare. Your eyes darted over to a table by the house and there he stood, talking to people you had just chatted up. You excused yourself from the table you stood at and made your way over, downing your glass of champagne before putting it on a server’s tray.

“The woman of the hour.” An older man said with a smile, raising his glass towards you, you returned the smile with your own, followed by a quick hello.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” You laughed politely. “I was just wondering if I could borrow Mr. Cameron here just for a moment.” You put your hand on Rafe’s bicep, looking up at him with the fakest smile you could muster.

“Of course.” The older man responded with a small nod of his head.

“Thank you.” You excused the two of from the table, dropping your hand from Rafe’s arm as you walked in front of him, leading him to the porch, away from everyone so you could have a private conversation. You would’ve gone inside, but the woman of honor could not be seen sneaking inside during her own party, much less with her ex-boyfriend.

“Keep smiling.” You started while plastering a polite, fake smile on your face. “I don’t need them thinking something is wrong. What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming.” Rafe smirked down at you, shoving his hands in his dress pants pockets.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I’ll always show up for you.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” You asked, ignoring Rafe’s comment.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, Rafe, I think you do and I think you’re scared to admit it because you’re scared of what people are going to say when they find out you’ve been sleeping with the help.”

“Sofia is not the help.” He scoffed.

“Really? Because if I remember correctly she used to make us drinks at the club all the time. I mean we would be there and she would be there, but she would be behind the bar serving everyone drinks. Or if we were playing a round of golf she would always be a cart girl, you know now that I think of it, she was always around, wherever you were at the club, she was there ready to help. Sounds like the help to me, oh and a bit stalker-ish. Also, if you could tell her to get off the balcony, she’s dampening the mood of my party.” You pointed to Rafe’s balcony where Sofia stood, scanning the crowd for him, looking like a starved, sad puppy. You grabbed a champagne flute off of a server’s tray and walked back out into the crowd before Rafe could say anything else.

“Ms. Thornton.” A blonde woman said with a smile, stopping you in your path. You recognized her, you just couldn’t place it. “How nice to see you, welcome back to Kildare.”

“Mrs. Robinson.” You greeted her with your own polite smile. “Thank you, it’s so wonderful to be back, I forgot how nice everyone is.”

“You know, I heard you’ve become one of the leaders in the development business lately. I have a fantastic business opportunity for you, if you would love to hear it sometime.”

“I love business opportunities, let me give you my number.”

♡♡♡

“So, did Rafe, ever like apologize to you for knocking you off your bike at the Enduro?” You asked your brother as you sat across from him on your boat. You decided everyone deserved a break from working so hard and invited them on your yacht for the day.

“No.” JJ answered with a confused look on his face. “Why would he ever apologize for doing something like that?”

“No reason.” You said, looking off towards the water. “I have to make a call.”

♡♡♡

You were at the club playing a game of golf when one of the managers came out to talk to you.

“Nice swing, Ms. Thornton.” He said with a smile, his hands behind his back.

“What’s up, James?” You asked, putting your 9-Iron back in your bag.

“You asked me to come get you if Mr. Cameron showed up, he’s here.”

“Thank you, James.” You smiled, pulling your gloves off as you walked inside. You walked outside the front doors to where Rafe stood with his arms crossed.

“Seriously, you had my club membership revoked?” Rafe asked.

“You know that’s the nice thing about my step-dad owning the country club, I can do whatever I want.”

“You think that this is ruining my life?” Rafe chuckled, looking down at you.

“Oh no, this is just the start. I mean what will everyone say when they find out Rafe Cameron, the owner of Cameron Development, got kicked out of the country club? I mean all it takes for you to become an outcast is for me to tell one person that you got kicked out for assaulting the owner’s prized step-daughter.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right I won’t, if you apologize.”

“You’d be willing to ruin someone’s life because of a race?”

“No, Rafe, I’m willing to ruin your life because of all the other bullshit you’ve pulled with my brother and friends.” You said, glaring up at Rafe. “It’s about time someone held you accountable for your actions and if the cops won’t, then I will.” You added with a shrug. You went to walk away, but Rafe grabbed your elbow, pulling you back.

“I am not that person anymore, y/n. You can’t hold that shit against me.”

“You mean I can’t hold you almost drowning Sarah, or shooting her, or the countless times you beat the shit out of Pope, against you?”

“And what if everyone found out about the abortion you got?”

“Keep your voice down.” You said through gritted teeth, your face a mixture of hurt and embarrassment. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to throw that in my face. You know that was one of the hardest decisions of my life.”

When you and Rafe first started dating you had missed a couple of your birth control pills. You were so wrapped up in applying to colleges and scholarships that you thought it wouldn’t hurt to miss one or two every time you turned off the alarm, saying you would take them later. But, before you knew it, you had missed a week.

Luckily, with your form of birth control you still experienced your periods, so you knew something was wrong when you missed your next period. You had chalked it up to stress, but when it didn’t come the next week or the week after that, you decided to buy a couple tests. When they all came back positive, you panicked, you didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t part of your plan.

You thought the decision would be easy, but when the day of your appointment came and you sat in the chair as the doctor went over everything with you, you thought about everything. The color its hair would be, if it would have your eyes or Rafe’s eyes, if it would be good at sports. But, then you realized that’s all it was to you, an it.

After the abortion, you laid in bed for a week, unable to do anything. You didn’t regret it, but the thought that you had just gotten rid of a part of you and Rafe was tough for you to deal with. Rafe wasn’t upset, or mad, or disappointed, he was understanding. He laid in that bed with you for a week. He helped you shower, he helped you with your homework as best as he could, he helped you study for your tests. He didn’t leave your side until he was certain you were okay.

“Apologize to JJ and I won’t say anything to anyone, you’ll get your membership back, and we can go back to pretending like we don’t know each other just like the last two years.”

“I’ll apologize to your brother, but I’m not just gonna walk around here pretending I don’t know you.”

“I don’t know what you want from me Rafe. Do you really expect me to forget all the atrocious things you did to my friends?”

“No, I just want you to know I’m not that guy anymore. I’m trying to do better, I’m in therapy, I got off coke, Cameron Development is better than ever.”

“Rafe, all of that is great, but I can’t just ignore everything. I have a game to finish.”

With that you walked back inside the club, leaving Rafe standing outside.

[soulessjourney]

Vengeance Trail

Paring: Billy the kid x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You and Billy had known each other during your younger years. However, following an argument, you departed to forge your own path, leaving things on bad terms between the two of you. Years later, circumstances led you back, having been recruited to assist John Tunstall. As the war drew nearer, tensions resurfaced between both of you.

Warnings: Slight mature themes nothing too detailed, Billy not knowing how to make up his mind

A/N: So this was supposed to be one long drabble but I got 4k words in and wasn't even half way through so I will now be turing this into a small series.

Your life hasn’t been easy. For years, you had to fend for yourself, even as a young girl. At such a tender age, loneliness was your constant companion until you met him—Billy McCarty, as you knew him. It all began in Kansas, just days after their arrival. His mother, a kind and gentle soul, his rowdy and energetic brother—these were the first faces you encountered. But Billy stood apart, calm and soft-spoken, especially towards you. Little was known about Billy’s father except for his ailing condition upon their arrival. When he first encountered you, you weren't dressed like the other girls in town. No, clad in a simple, dirty white cotton shirt and brown-stained trousers, mud tainting your braided hair, you were as fiery then as you are now.

Billy swiftly became your closest friend after your initial meeting, and the two of you were inseparable. You stood by him during the loss of his father, just as he stood by you when your parents abandoned you for greener pastures. The McCartys became your surrogate family, and you were willing to sacrifice everything for them. After his father's passing, the McCartys decided to seek new opportunities in Santa Fe, extending an invitation for you to join them.

As your new life unfolded in Santa Fe, you chose to assist Billy's mother at the inn, doing everything in your power to ease her workload. You shielded her from advances made by older men and helped restore order after brawls erupted in the bar. But over time, Kathleen and the others grew distant. She met a man who prompted her to move in with him, taking the boys along, while you remained stuck living at the inn, toiling tirelessly to make ends meet. As you and Billy matured, a shift occurred between you two—a growing chasm that led to that pivotal, fateful night.

Standing in your room, you tucked your shirt into your trousers before slipping on the boots. "Y/N, don't do this. You're not thinking straight," Billy urged, positioned near the door to impede your departure. Rolling your eyes, you tied your hair back with a ribbon, keeping the strands from obscuring your face.

"It doesn't matter, Billy. My decision is final. I can't spend my life here in the inn or aiding you in poker, especially after what happened with Carlos," you retorted, arms crossed, referencing the tragic incident that occurred last time you attempted to help him. "This can't be my life anymore. I have no family, and constantly fending off the advances of older men isn't the future I want."

"You have a family, Y/N. We're your family," Billy insisted, attempting to reason with you, taking a step closer.

"You're not my family, Billy. You ceased being my family when you left me here to work for my bed," you replied firmly, brushing past him to retrieve your gun belt from the nearby chair. If there was one thing you appreciated about Billy, it was his lessons on shooting, and you had become quite proficient.

Billy followed closely, his voice growing desperate as he tried to persuade you. Moving around his brother and acknowledging Kathleen with a nod, you stepped into the night air. "Fine, leave. But where will you go, Y/N? You don't know how to survive out there on your own. You'll end up dead in a ditch, and I can't bear to bury another friend," he implored, quickening his pace to block your movements.

Shaking your head, you reached your horse, a striking brown and white paint, and began fastening your belongings. "I'll figure it out, Billy. I grew up alongside you. I'm confident I can handle myself. But I'm tired of stagnation. What happened to the Billy who dreamt of running away with me, exploring the world? You're not the same friend anymore. I'm happy for you and your mother, but I need to discover who I am, and I hoped you'd support me in that," you murmured, pausing your actions, refusing to meet his gaze.

Waiting for a response that never came, you mounted your horse and rode off into the night, leaving Billy behind, watching you vanish from his life.

---

A few years later, you had earned quite the reputation, becoming one of the most renowned outlaws. To conceal your past, you adopted a new alias, known to many as Sadie Bennet, while others foolishly dubbed you "The Wolf," a title you found entirely absurd but resigned to endure as there was not much you can do besides complain. One of your crew members had rationalized the nickname, claiming it suited you because you tracked your targets before striking, often appearing as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seated not far from the bar, your hair cascading down your back, you leisurely sipped on whiskey. "Ms. Bennet, I assure you this deal will benefit you. Your marksmanship is unmatched, and we desperately need your expertise. Mr. Tunstall won't rest until we secure your assistance. While we may not match your previous compensation, he's vowed to collaborate with you to clear your name," the man before you spoke. He appeared relatively young, likely just a few years older than you.

Setting down your glass, you arched a brow, sucking air through your teeth. "Mr. Bowdre, I appreciate the offer, but as I've reiterated, a petty power struggle isn't in my best interest," you stated, adjusting the suspenders chafing against your skin beneath the blue plaid shirt. "If Mr. Tunstall is genuinely in dire need, he should make a personal appeal. His absence leads me to believe otherwise."

Charlie ran his hands over his face, growing increasingly desperate, an almost amusing sight. "He's away on business, Ms. Bennet. That's why he can't request your services in person," he explained, using a word that made it seem as though you were peddling yourself to men, a notion that irked you.

"Very well, I'll consider it. There's not much occupying my time currently. I'll head to Lincoln County in a few days. There, we can convene and discuss details further. I have a few loose ends to tie up here before departing," you announced as you stood. Noticing his instant relaxation upon your agreement made you ponder just how desperate they were for your aid. Retrieving your hat from the table, you brushed it against your brown trousers to rid it of any table dirt before placing it atop your head. Tipping your hat, you offered a faint smile before pivoting on your heel. "I'll see you in a few days, Charlie. Ensure Tunstall is present; it would be nice to meet him after your vivid descriptions," you remarked, striding out of the saloon, unaware that accepting his offer would soon thrust you back into the life of a close friend.

---

As promised, you arrived in Lincoln County a few days following your conversation with Charlie. While making your way toward town, you were intercepted by Charlie himself, evidently waiting for your arrival. "Ms. Bennet, welcome! We were starting to worry that you might have had a change of heart," he greeted you as you turned your horse to face him, a smile gracing your lips.

"Nonsense, Mr. Bowdre. I may be many things, but I always keep my word. I said I'd come, and I intend to follow through," you replied, meeting his contented smile as he guided you toward his house. Though the ride had been somewhat lengthy, the scenery was undeniably picturesque. Looking up, you caught sight of an eagle soaring above, circling twice before disappearing. Closing your eyes, you reminisced about the last time you had seen an eagle. It was just after your departure from Santa Fe, when illness had nearly claimed you. Lying on the ground, an eagle had soared overhead, and you'd tracked its every movement before succumbing to sleep. Days later, you'd awoken in an unfamiliar bed, unsure of your whereabouts.

"Mr. Tunstall will be delighted to meet you. We have a few others more directly involved in our operations. They'll also be present to greet you. Don't be put off; some of them relish being intimidating," Charlie's words interrupted your thoughts, eliciting a soft laugh from you. Shortly after, you arrived at a small ranch, where a woman stood waiting. Radiant and evidently excited to greet the man beside you, you assumed she was Charlie's wife, judging by the ring adorning her finger and her joyful expression upon seeing him.

Dismounting your horse and patting her gently, you followed Charlie toward the house. Taking a deep breath, you entered and glanced around. It was a lovely, well-organized home—neither too crowded nor too sparse. Charlie guided you into the living room, where you paused, noticing a group of men engaged in conversation. Some appeared older than you, while one around your age gazed out the window.

"Mr. Tunstall, gentlemen, I present Sadie Bennet," Charlie announced, prompting the men in the room to straighten, catching their attention. The young man by the window turned towards you, causing your heart to skip a beat. Standing before you was your old friend, Billy McCarty, though markedly different from your last encounter. Life had evidently molded him into a hardened man. His widened eyes and the way he uttered your name revealed his surprise and disbelief at seeing you again.

Tunstall scanned you before removing his hat and extending his hand in greeting. "Ms. Bennet, I've heard a fair amount about you from Charlie, including the challenge it posed in persuading you to assist us," he remarked, his smile softening as you firmly grasped his hand. Indeed, you hadn't been the easiest to recruit, having encountered Charlie multiple times before, his persistent attempts at recruiting you finally wearing you down.

"I apologize, Mr. Tunstall. I wasn't initially certain about joining this endeavor. However, Charlie's persistence eventually led me to agree. I hope my delayed acceptance didn't hinder your plans too significantly," you offered, ignoring Billy's intense gaze as he positioned himself beside you.

"That's quite alright. What matters is your presence now, and your skills will undoubtedly be invaluable. Now, allow me to introduce you to the others," Tunstall said, shifting his focus around the room. "This is George," he gestured to the man on his left, "and you're already acquainted with Charlie." Charlie offered a reassuring smile, leaving only one person to introduce.

"Finally, we have B—" You abruptly interrupted Tunstall, turning to extend your hand.

"William Bonney, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face. You're quite the celebrity; I was concerned about competition for the title of most notorious outlaw," you jested, noticing a subtle change in Billy's expression. Unsure whether it was anger or disappointment, you shrugged it off. Arching your eyebrows, you awaited his response, but as he made no move, you scoffed and turned back to Tunstall. "Well, as famous as he is, he certainly lacks manners," you grumbled, crossing your arms, eliciting a surprised cough from Charlie, who attempted to suppress a laugh.

Billy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I apologize, Ms. Bennet. That wasn't my intention. I was merely surprised to encounter a fan. It's delightful to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my lapse in manners," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Mr. Bonney. Just pleased to meet the most wanted man in several counties," you shrugged, distancing yourself from him. "Mr. Tunstall, can we discuss my involvement privately? I won't commit until we've reached mutual terms," you proposed. Tunstall nodded, dismissing the others, and you shot a lingering glance in Billy's direction. Removing your gun belt and placing it on the table, you settled into a chair. "Tell me the details of my role."

Tunstall positioned himself opposite you, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. "As you're aware, there's a feud between Mr. Murphy and me. He's a power-hungry man, exploiting the land and its people. He indebts them, then employs unsavory means to seize their property. I'm sure you're familiar with his tactics." You nodded, feeling a simmering rage within. "We aim to confront Murphy, reclaim the land, and provide these people with the rightful homes they deserve without enduring such hardships. I require your skills to assist in taking him down. You and Mr. Bonney will offer exactly what's needed to dismantle Murphy's corrupt hold."

As you reclined in your chair, Tunstall's words raced through your mind. This man was willing to fight and die for a cause—bringing a better life to Lincoln County—and he sought your aid above all. "Alright, let's assume I agree to assist you. What assurances can you provide? I'm not interested in money; I seek something more secure and dependable," you challenged, noticing Tunstall's surprise, though it didn't shock him, especially given your reputation.

"I can offer you an opportunity to clear your name. As far as I'm aware, you're wanted across at least four counties, three of which have bounties on your head. However, by assisting me and transitioning away from the outlaw life, I can advocate for you. I'll speak to judges, emphasizing your change of heart and commendable actions, working to eradicate those bounties against you," Tunstall proposed. The offer held undeniable appeal. Clearing your name from charges that weren't your doing in the first place seemed like a tempting prospect.

Nodding, you contemplated the offer more deeply. "Very well, I accept these terms. I'll collaborate with you to take down Murphy and assist in your objectives. But it's crucial that you uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Tunstall," you affirmed, running your fingers through your hair. "Now, could you tell me further about William Bonney?" Tunstall's eyes brightened as he eagerly briefed you on what he knew about your former friend.

---

That evening, you lay outside, your coat serving as a makeshift pillow while your gaze remained fixed on the stars. A gentle cool breeze kissed your cheek and nose, while the nearby fire crackled softly. Your eyes flickered open as the sound of footsteps approached, halting beside you as a figure settled down. "I didn't expect to see you roped into all of this," Billy spoke softly. "Honestly, I thought you were gone for good until I spotted your wanted posters everywhere. Who would've guessed you'd dig a deeper hole than mine, but I suppose stubbornness runs in your veins, so that's no surprise," he said, glancing down at you.

Sitting up, you drew your knees to your chest and released a sigh. "What do you want, Billy?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. "Don't expect anything from this. I'm here solely to clear my name, not to mend something that shattered a long time ago," you added, redirecting your gaze back to the starlit sky. Billy sighed and fiddled with his fingers, uncertain of his next words.

"I tried to find you. After my mother passed away, and I was falsely accused of a crime, I searched for you. I assumed you'd moved on to another town or two, but you were nowhere to be found. Then I kept hearing about this remarkable woman named Sadie Bennet—how impressive she was, especially for a female outlaw. It wasn't until I saw your wanted poster that I knew it was you. Part of me felt relieved, but another part wanted to keep searching," Billy confessed, joining you in gazing skyward.

"I wasn't far when Kathleen passed. I'm sorry for your loss; she was a remarkable woman," you began, "I knew you were alright, still alive, as people talked about you often. Imagine my surprise when they accused you of murder. I couldn't believe it because you were always about settling disputes, not escalating them to violence. No matter how much I might have disliked you, I couldn't believe those allegations," your words struck a chord, leaving him silent.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he uttered quietly. "I took advantage of your presence, assuming you'd always be there for me, even when I distanced myself. You were a constant in my life, and I took that for granted. Life turned into hell after you left, and realizing my mistake hit hard when I didn't have you to turn to anymore. Joe was furious with me for weeks; he blamed me, rightfully so."

"Don't blame yourself, Billy. I left because I needed more than the life we had. Our rift was just one part of why I left; it's not solely on you," you said, meeting his gaze filled with sorrow. Wanting to comfort him, you hesitated but then pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Stop looking so forlorn, Billy. You're not alone; there are people who care."

Billy wrapped an arm around you, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. "The reason I regretted it so much was because I was in love with you. You meant everything to me, and you showed me what it felt like to be truly wanted," he whispered softly, tightening his embrace. You remained silent, uncertain of how to respond to his confession. When you attempted to pull away, he shook his head, drawing you closer. "Please, just listen. I was so deeply in love with you that my mother was helping me gather the courage to confess my feelings. But then you vanished, leaving me with unspoken words and a heap of regrets."

"Billy," you murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "You carry so many burdens and regrets. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You didn't deserve to feel alone, and I regret leaving you in that state. I had feelings for you too, but when you distanced yourself, I took it as a sign and fled like a coward," you confessed, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb caressing your skin. Lost in each other's eyes, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

His lips felt weathered against yours, yet the kiss conveyed volumes of unspoken emotions, making you disregard any roughness. Your fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his brown locks, and a subdued moan escaped as he pulled you into his lap. Breaking the kiss, Billy placed a tender one along your jawline before meeting your eyes. "Let's head inside. It's getting late," he murmured, guiding you along. Pausing just outside the spare room, he kissed you again before ushering you inside, where the evening was spent memorizing each other's bodies and sharing quiet confessions.

---

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Stretching your arms, a smile naturally spread across your lips. For once, you felt truly rested, and the usual ache in your back was noticeably absent. Sensing movement behind you, you felt an arm around your waist draw you closer. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind, and you suppressed a smile as you turned in bed to meet Billy's bright blue eyes. "Good morning," you whispered, gently cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a sleepy smile as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," he mumbled back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. Pulling away, he nestled his head on your shoulder, his arm holding you tighter. "Do you think we should come clean about knowing each other?"

Running your fingers through your hair, you pondered his question. "I'd say we might have to. There's hardly any believable excuse, especially after last night," you chuckled, placing kisses along his jawline. "But we should probably get up and start our day," you sighed, only to squeal as he playfully rolled on top of you, tickling your sides and eliciting high-pitched laughter.

After some playful moments and shared affection, Billy rolled off and got up, heading to the small bathroom. Lying on your stomach, you observed him dressing and attempting to tame his tousled hair. Catching his gaze, you noticed a flicker of something before he grabbed a black shirt from the wardrobe. Handing it to you, he sat on the bed, tracing his fingers over your exposed back. "I'll head downstairs while you get ready. I'll try to hold them off until you're ready to face the grilling," he said with a playful eye-roll, making you stifle laughter in the pillows.

Eventually, you sat up and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'll see you downstairs, cowboy. Don't let them chew you up," you teased, rolling out of bed. As you started dressing, you ran a brush through your hair, noticing the red marks on your neck and collarbone. Groaning, you tilted your head back, silently blaming Billy. Once dressed, you made your way downstairs, overhearing hushed whispers. Some sounded teasing, while others seemed more disgruntled, likely discussing you and Billy. Walking into the room, you stood behind Billy, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Good morning, gentlemen. How was your night's rest?" you greeted them with a wide smile that faded as Billy distanced himself from your touch.

Charlie greeted you with a small welcoming smile while Tunstall settled into the chair at the table. Positioning yourself next to Billy, you observed him, puzzled by his sudden shift in emotions. "Sadie, or should I say Y/N, what exactly is your relationship with Billy?" he asked. Part of you hesitated, uncertain of what to say, as his expression demanded nothing but the truth. Before you could respond, Billy interjected.

"There's no relationship. Last night, we both had a bit to drink which led to events that should have never happened. I want to apologize for our actions. We have more important things going on, and we should have been more careful." His words hit you hard, and your face contorted into a mix of horror and shock. It was a mistake—this whole situation. Just moments ago, he appeared content waking up beside you, but now you felt reduced to a mere error. Clenching your hands into fists on your thighs, you bit the inside of your cheek to restrain any comments on the brink of escaping.

"Billy is right, Mr. Tunstall. We both got carried away, and I'll ensure it never happens again. I allowed myself to become too vulnerable around someone, and I shouldn't have." You managed to force the words out, your voice strained. "Now, if you boys excuse me, I need to tend to my horse and maybe explore the town to familiarize myself with the area," you grumbled, rising abruptly and causing the chair to scrape against the floor.

Charlie stood up swiftly. "I'll join you. Perhaps I can give you an overview of the town and how everything operates." You nodded at Charlie and left the kitchen, purposefully avoiding looking in Billy's direction. Charlie followed closely, slowing his pace as you reached the horses.

"What truly happened between you and Billy? Anyone who can read a room can tell that you're more than just a drunken mistake. So, what are you to him?" Charlie inquired as he mounted his horse.

Swinging yourself onto your horse, you shrugged. "I thought I meant something to him, but I should've known better than to believe his words. I apologize if things were awkward this morning, Charlie. That wasn't my intention at all." You offered him an apologetic smile as he joined you on horseback. A part of you wanted to cry and vent your frustration after Billy's sudden indifference. You had opened up to him and comforted him, only to be discarded once again. Last night felt too perfect to be true, but it hurt to realize that you had exposed yourself only to be hurt in the end.

Charlie shook his head and regarded you as the two of you began riding towards town. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. Sometimes people change, and sometimes they change in a matter of minutes. All you can do is look ahead and move on. You're a wonderful and kind young lady. Billy just doesn't know what he's doing," Charlie consoled. Part of you felt weak for letting Charlie comfort you, but his words resonated and lingered in your mind. He was right. You couldn't let this consume you. All you could do was fulfill your duties and keep moving forward.

[callsign-dexter]

Coach Bradford

Summary: Tim, your father, agrees to coach your softball team along with Lucy.

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, Tim being Tim, swearing, injury, blood, hospital

Masterlist

Summer was officially here and that meant that travel softball was starting. You loved softball. You've loved it ever since you could remember. You had played it for most of your life starting from t-ball all the way up to fast pitch. You were the best player on the team. You could pitch, hit, catch, be infield and be outfield. You were just in elementary school ending 5th grade and already so good. Maybe it was because your dad, Tim Bradford, was a baseball lover and a hard ass when it came to practicing but he was only doing to help you. He would never push you too hard to the point of physical hurting yourself.

Playing softball took your mind off your mother not being there. She had left when you were young but you were old enough to understand what was going on. You threw yourself into softball which you just grown to love and it became one of your favorite hobbies.

You loved your team and your coach and coach assistants. You also loved that your dad, his girlfriend, Lucy Chen, and the rest of the group, John Nolan and Bailey Nune, Wesely Evers and Angela Lopez, Nyla Harper and James Murray, Celina Juarez, Aaron Thorson, and Wade Grey and Luna Grey, showed up to your games whenever possible.

Currently, your coach had to step away for a family emergency. The assistant coach was out sick, and the other coach was sick along with his wife, who was the assistant coach, but their kid was fine and staying with another friend. That meant a parent needed to step in. You being you volunteered your father and to say he was surprised but he would do it for you anyway.

You had just come to the station after practice still in your softball gear. You had been dropped off by your friend's parents. You walked into the station and greeted the front desk and they smiled and greeted back and let you go. As you were walking you ran into the first person you liked to play practical jokes on, Quigley Smitty. "Hello, Smitty." You said sweetly knowing it would unnerve him.

"Hello Mini Bradford." He said

"How are you?" You asked and he eyed you suspiciously.

"Fine." He said and you smiled.

"That's good. I'll see you around." You said and winked at him and walked off. He shivered you had played some pranks on him that made him scared of you. As you were walking further into the station you saw your dad. "Hey, Dad!" You said enthusiastically and he turned around and smiled.

"Hey, Sweetheart. How was practice?" He asked

"It was good. Coach had to tend to a family emergency and the assistant coach is out sick along with his wife." You said and he nodded. He knew the coaches and knew they wouldn't miss anything unless absolutely necessary.

"So who is going to be coaching you?" He asked as Lucy came up along with Angela and Harper.

"Oh you are." You said just so casually.

"Wait what?" He asked surprised.

"Yea they needed someone and I volunteered you." You said and the three girls snickered.

"What?" He asked turning to them.

"Oh it's nothing really but I can't see you coaching." Lucy said trying not to laugh.

"Well get used to it because you're helping him." You said smirking and her laughing stopped.

"What? Seriously?" She asked and you nodded and now it was his turn to laugh. "You know what? I would love to teach your team with you." Lucy said and you smiled.

"Thank you." You said

"Sweetheart, you know I would love coach too. You just took me by surprise." He said and you nodded.

"I know but none of the other parents know what they're doing but I knew you did. So, I volunteered you." You said now feeling guilty for now talking it over with him but they needed a decision right then and there. "I'm sorry for not talking to you about it. They needed someone right then and there." You said and everyone's heart broke.

"It's ok really. Lucy and I would love to coach you. It's not a problem." Your dad said and Lucy nodded.

"He's right. We would love to do anything for you." Lucy said and you looked at the two of them.

"Really?" You asked and they nodded.

"Although Tim may be a hard ass he would do anything for you, Y/N." Angela said

"She's right. When is next practice?" He asked

"Tomorrow at 8 AM. We don't stop until 3 PM." You said and they nodded.

"Perfect. Now go into Grey's office and wait until the shift is over." Your dad said and you nodded and headed off that way.

"You coaching? I would love to see this." Harper said smirking.

"I love coaching. You'll see it her next game." He said and then walked off. Lucy stayed behind and was about to say something but Tim's voice sounded "Chen!" He yelled.

"Uh yup! I'm coming!" She yelled back and took off after him.

"This is going to be interesting." Angela said

"You know it." Harper said and they walked off together talking about their recent case.

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

The next morning bright and early you were at the field with your team and Lucy. Everyone was on the field and they gathered around your dad and Lucy. "So what do you all do first?" Lucy asked.

"We usually stretch and then some of us start with some passing. The rest usually go with batting along and then some pitching and catching." Millie, your friend and main catcher, said your dad and Lucy nodded.

"Alright, we'll start with that. How many goes where usually?" Lucy asked before he could even though he knew the answer.

"Usually we have three groups of three practicing. 3 passing, 3 batting, and 3 pitching and catching." Samantha said and again they nodded.

"Alright get to stretching. We're going to need a third person." Your dad said and everyone scattered.

"Ok." Lucy thought "What about Harper and Angela?" She asked and Tim laughed.

"Yeah, that's a no-go." Tim said

"Nolan?" She asked

"He would be too nice to say no. Give him a call." Tim said and Lucy nodded and headed off to call him as Tim started to instruct on exercises.

6 minutes later Nolan was rolling up to the field with his fiancée Bailey Nune. You loved them both and were so happy to have them here. Tim gave him the run down and practice was started. Tim had tried not to be a hard ass because that's how his father was but he was organized and your team was really good. He wasn't surprised and neither was Lucy, Nolan, or Bailey because they had seen your team play and man were you guys good. You were only 5th graders and already good your goal was to play throughout middle school and high school.

Now that there was an extra person to help real practice began. You, Millie, and Samantha went with Tim to start practicing passing. Three went with Lucy to start batting. The last three went with Bailey and Nolan to start pitching and catching. Once the amount of time your dad thought was needed for each was up the groups switched. Breaks were given in between if needed.

Practice went really well. Some parents showed up and some had to work so they got a ride with a friend. Tim was afraid that he was going to need to be a hard ass but it turned out that was not the case and he knew that deep down but he was still afraid. "Alright girls! Bring it in!" Your dad yelled and everyone came in. "For the last few minutes of practice we're gonna run some plays. I'll be batting and Y/N will be pitching. Then we'll be switching it up and I will be hitting the ball to certain parts of the field." He added and everyone nodded.

"Got it!" Everyone said and you all were heading to your positions. Lucy, Bailey, and Nolan all stood to the side and the drill started. You started to pitch and some of them he could hit and others he couldn't and he was proud of that. After a few minutes of that it was time for him to hit the ball to different positions.

"Outfield!" He yelled and hit the ball and it went to the outfield and Amy got it threw it into Millie and it was a hard and fast throw and Lucy was impressed. "Good work!" Your dad yelled out and you smiled. "Alright infield!" He yelled and hit it directly at you and you got it then you passed it to, Christine, first base and then she passed it to Jennifer, third base, and then she finally passed it to Elizabeth, second base. Then the ball was passed back to you. That drill was practiced a few more times and different ways and then practice was over. Everyone huddled in.

"Great work guys. I'm impressed." Lucy said and everyone smiled.

"Thank you." Everyone said

"Next game is when?" Nolan asked

"Friday. Noon. Here." You replied and he nodded. More information was given and then everyone was breaking for the end of practice. You couldn't wait for the next game. The team you were going up against was at the same level your team was and it made you nervous but you had faith in your team and knew everything was going to be great.

On the ride home your father had stopped at your favorite place to eat and got you lunch/supper and then you both were headed home. "You did great. Everyone did great." He said and you smiled.

"Thank you that means so much to me and us. We work hard and we love the game." You said as he pulled into the driveway.

"That's what makes the game fun. I know it is a way for you to cope from when your mom left and I'm sorry for that." He said as he killed the engine and you shook your head.

"It's not your fault she loved being undercover more than her family. You don't think she'll show up do you?" You asked

"Do you want her to?" He questioned

"Would it be bad if I said not really?" You asked and he shook his head and smiled at you sympathetically.

"No, Sweetheart. Not at all." He said and you nodded "Lets go and eat and then spend the evening together binge watching our favorite show together." He added and you nodded and hugged him.

"Thank you, Dad." You said and he smiled.

"Anytime, Sweetheart." He said and kissed you sweaty head. "On second thought maybe you should take a shower after you eat. You're gross." He said and you slightly hit him.

"Rude." You said and he laughed.

"I was just joking. Seriously though you need to take a shower before after we eat." He said and you chuckled.

"I know." You said and the both of you went inside and ate. You then took a shower and then spent the evening together watching your favorite show together.

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

Friday came around and it was game day and you were nervous and felt that something was going to go wrong. You didn't want to bring this up to your dad because he had a lot going on right now and you knew that he would overreact. So you put on a brave face and got ready to go to the field.

When you got to the field some of your teammates were already there. Once you got there the rest of the team arrived along with Lucy, Nolan, and Bailey. Your dad had you guys practice some. Once he thought you all had enough it was time to rest and get ready to play. As you were resting and talking with your teammates you saw Grey, Luna, Angela, Wesley, Harper, James, Celina, and Aaron show up and you smiled and waved when they saw you. Your dad, Lucy, Nolan, and Bailey saw them too and they walked over. Everyone greeted each other and chit chatted and then it was time for the two teams to take the field. First up to pitch was your team.

You pitched and struck most of them out and the ones that got a hit were caught or tagged out. That feeling of something going wrong was pushed to the back of your mind and you were focused on the game. There had been a few close calls but you either ducked in time or caught the ball. You caught the ball in some fancy ways and everyone was impressed.

You had just pitched the ball and the other team hit it. The ball came back at you and you got it backhanded and then threw it. There was a player on first and when you pitched the second pitch they started to run the ball came to you and you caught it high and spun around and threw it to Christine, everyone cheered and you smiled. The third pitch was contacted with the bat and once again came to you and it was low so you dived for it and caught it and while still on the ground you threw it to Christine making sure the batter was out. That was three outs and it was your team's turn to bat. Your dad had been supportive and loving all the plays that were happening. As you headed to the dugout to change out gear and grab your bat. "Damn Tim you got yourself a real star there." Wesley said and that made him smile.

"I sure do." He replied

"I have to admit that you're really good at coaching." Harper said admitting defeat.

"He is amazing. I think he should keep coaching when he can." Lucy said and your dad laughed.

"This is a one time deal. I would rather be on the other side of the fence." He said

"Oh come on. You have to admit this is a little fun." Nolan said as he tended to the team with water bottles and words of encouragement.

"It is really fun." Bailey said

"Yes it is fun but I know that I'll just push it to far one time. I don't feel like ruining that relationship with Y/N/N.

"That's understandable." Grey said and Luna nodded and hugged his side.

"I have a bad feeling that something is going to happen." Celina said

"Everything is going to be fine." Aaron said but she was still apprehensive about it.

"I'm sure they wouldn't put these kids in danger. Right, Tim?" Angela asked

"That's right their priority and safety comes first but accidents do happen." He replied

"They're doing great." James said and your dad smiled.

"That they are." He said and then it was time to get back to the game. The other team may be good but your team was better. Each pitch was hit and runners were on base. Before you knew it the game was 4-0 with your team leading. It was your time to bat and you were nervous but you had to do this for your team. You took a few practice swings and could hear the parents and the others cheering you on. The ball was pitched and you swung, your bat made contact with the ball and it was out of the park giving you a homerun and sending the player on base home. The score was now 6-0 with your team leading.

Finally it was your turn to pitch again and the game was coming to a close. You threw a few warm-up pitches and then it was game on. The first few pitches were good and nothing had happened but that feeling something bad was going to happen came back. You threw the pitch and the other player hit the ball and it was a line drive to you and you tried to catch it but it hit you in the face and took you down. The crowd made a noise of hurt. You were grabbed the ball and threw it to Christine even though you were in pain. Then you were collapsing in pain and was close to blacking out and as your dad arrived with the others and the other coaches you were out cold and not moving. Bailey jumped into action. "Y/N can you hear me?" She asked but got no response.

"Y/N. Sweetheart." Your dad said but again no response.

"Call 911." Lucy said looking up at anyone.

"Already on it." Grey said as he had his phone to his ear. He walked slightly away and in a few seconds came back. "They'll be here in 2 minutes." He said.

"She's breathing and has a strong pulse." Bailey said but you still hadn't woken up and that sacred your dad. There was blood running down your face. "It looked like she got hit in the temple." She said and everyone nodded and agreed. "She was conscious enough to throw the ball so that is good." She said.

"I think she hit her head going down too. It would explain the blood." Angela said. The others had gone out to get direct the paramedics to you and they had just rolled in and onto the field. They assed you and Bailey gave them the run down and then they were loading you onto the gurney and taking you off the field and into the ambulance. The umpires called the game and your team ended up winning. Now it was a trip to the hospital. Tim rode with you while everyone stayed back to wrap things up and then they would be meeting you at the hospital.

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

They had taken you back fairly quickly leaving your dad in the waiting room. About 10 minutes later the others were joining him. "Any news?" Harper asked and your dad shook his head.

"No they took her back to run some tests but she hasn't woken up." He said

"Oh man. This sucks." Aaron said and everyone nodded.

"She's going to be ok." Grey said

"I agree. Have you seen who her dad is?" Lucy asked smiling and everyone chuckled.

"Thanks guys." He said

"Anytime." Angela said and just about that time your doctor came out.

"Bradford?" He asked and your dad was standing up and fast.

"That's me. I'm her father." He said and the doctor nodded.

"I'm Dr. Tango. You have one strong little girl. She's awake and just has a concussion. It seems like she passed out because that is how her body was dealing with the stress. I want to keep her overnight and check in on her in the morning. She's awake now and she can sleep but she'll need to be woken up every few hours and asked questions and monitored for any signs of change in how she looks or acts." Dr. Tango said and he nodded.

"Can we see her now?" Your dad asked and Dr. Tango nodded.

"I'll have a nurse lead you to her room." He said and he did just that. When they reached you, you looked so out of it but when you saw your dad you lit up.

"Daddy?" You asked and he smiled with tears in his eyes and he walked over to you.

"Hey, Sweetheart you scared us." He said

"I'm sorry." You said and he shook his head.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It wasn't your fault. Accidents happen." He said

"I knew something bad was going to happen but didn't want to tell you." You said and he smiled and shook his head "What?" You asked.

"Celina had a feeling something was going to happen to." He said and you looked over at her.

"I knew I liked her." You said smiling and everyone chuckled and she came over and hugged you. "Thank you everyone." You added as she pulled away.

"For what?" Bailey asked

"For being there at the game and helping me." You said

"We would've done it even if you weren't playing. You're our everything." Angela said and you smiled.

The rest of the day/night in the hospital was filled with games, food, chit chat, sleep and yes being woken up every few hours and asked the most simplest questions it was annoying but you knew it was necessary. When it was time for everyone to go home it was just you and your dad. You yawned and he smiled. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when I need to." He said and you nodded and laid down. As you were drifting off to sleep your mind drifted at the love and support you had and that made you feel good inside and smile.

"Dad?" You asked and he looked up from his phone.

"Yes, Sweetheart?" He asked

"I love you." You said and he smiled and leaned up and kissed you forehead.

"I love you too." He said as you closed your eyes and leaned into him. Yeah you had a pretty good support system and you weren't letting them go any time soon. No matter what the world threw at you.

Tag list:

@callsigns-haze

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@talesofreading 

@callsign-revenge

[the-froschamethyst4]

When You Tell Them About The Older Men You Liked

————

COD Men Headcanons

————

König

Legend of Korra: Tenzin

"HE'S A CARTOON!" König yells.

"I know."

"WHY!? AND HOW OLD WERE YOU!?"

"I don't know why? I think I was...13?"

"Scheiße, Baby (shit, baby)." He curses under his breath.

"Yeah, I think that's when I knew I liked older men."

König was still speechless. He learned something new now, how you like older men, and the reason why you two are together because she like him because he was older and larger.

The topic was brought up due to him saying one of his daughters favorite cartoon character was a bit hot, so it was only right you brought up an old crush of yours

————

Ghost

Robert Downey Jr.

"I mean that makes sense," Ghost says. "Could have been worse."

"How worse?"

"You know, I'm not gonna say, but I get it. I mean it's fucking Iron Man, of course a lot of people are gonna like him, like fuck, I fucking like him, love, I will marry him if I could."

Honestly you learn that Ghost is basically secretly gay for Robert but I mean come on, agree with the man here.

The topic was brought up because you asked him, if he a celebrity crush on a older person and he said Julia Roberts, so it was only right she said Robert Downey Jr.

————

Price

Hugh Jackman

"Do not get me started," Price says.

"I mean you saw the movie! His body, come on now, John."

"I know, love, I saw it, and I saw how you looked at him, you like Hugh? I fucking love Hugh, baby." Price says, he was jealous that you told him Hugh Jackman was hot and sexy, and how you had a crush on him

"Baby deep down, I gay for Hugh," Price says, as you laughed and lightly tapped his shoulder

The topic was brought up when Price and you saw Deadpool and Wolverine and the part where Hugh had his suit shocked off him and you see a clear view of Hugh's body and his hairy body, he became a bit jealous

————

Soap

Gravity Falls: Stanford Pines

Honestly, I would say don't ask but the topic was brought up because he said the assistant from PowerPuff Girls was sexy, so you pulled the 6-fingered Grunkle from Gravity Falls

"JK Simmons has a tight hold on me." You tell him.

"Seriously?"

"You said Sarah Bellum was hot, so it only fits I say, Stanford Pines is hot."

"HE'S 60 YEARS OLD!"

"You're point? SARAH DOESN'T EXIST!"

"NEITHER DOES FORD! AND I'M PRETTY SURE HE'S MARRIED A TRIANGLE!"

AN: This is off topic (sort of) but he also voice acted for Tenzin (in case you didn't know).

————

Alejandro

Keanu Reeves

"Have you seen him in John Wick?"

"Yes. mi amor, I know." He chuckles. "He's a badass."

"Exactly, like Jesus, he can kill me all he wants to as long as I get to look at him."

"God, amor," he chuckles again.

The topic was brought up because you two finally had the time to sit down and watch the John Wick movies and now you understand why middle aged women love Keanu Reeves

————

Gaz

Shemar Moore

You two talked about Criminal Minds, how you love Spencer Reid but you mainly loved Shemar Moore the most, and how it feels like every time you watch something he's always in the movie or show, and you like it

"I see it," Gaz says. "Jesus." In the show, Shemar didn't have a shirt on and Gaz finally understood.

"See what I mean."

"You've definitely have a type, hot men," he says through a laugh and you light punched his arm.

————

Alex

Bruce Wayne

"Bruce...Wayne..." Alex says.

"Yep."

"Are you...Are you okay?"

"Definitely not," Y/n says, in a serious tone.

The topic was brought up after you two discussed comic books and which characters you two thought were hot or sexy, he brought up Selina Kyle which who was suppose to be Bruce Wayne's girlfriend/Fiancé.

[simp-ly-writes]

Lasting Pictures: When We Are Together (pt.8)

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Reader

Summary: John and 141 discover more about your whereabouts alongside the secrets you have been hiding from them. The lies, the cold shoulders and sleepless nights come swinging back in your face with vengeance yet never have such sweet words been shared in spite of it all. Your future awaits on the horizon, now it is up to you to decide who you are sharing in it.

Warnings: 6180 words, slowburn, swearing, mentions of blood, injury and torture.

A/N: I can't believe its already been 85 pages of this story, thank you all for the support! I hope you enjoy the sweet ending of this chapter!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

Back in London at Base

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN- KATE” Price shouts in the office space. An assistant shakes from behind the door with the force these words are projected with, doing their best to not eavesdrop from the hallway was a hard task as the rest of the task force… calmly waited in the hall while glaring daggers their way- not being allowed entry. 

Back inside the room, Laswell shakes her head as it drops into her hands, her elbows resting against the table as her usual bun falls out- her hair acting as a shield. “I don’t give a shit about what any General has to say- that is my squad member, my responsibility so do tell me why the FUCK they are in a differnet country operating outside of our military?” Price shouts out once more before taking a step back from leaning over the station chiefs desk, now walking in circles just in front of it and tossing a hand through his hair. 

Taking a deep breath, Laswell tries her best to formulate an answer without giving away too many details yet the Captain notices this change in her personality. “No- you do not get to hide answers away from me Kate. I have gone off the books, committed atrocities in the name of good- I deserve to know why at least. Or what about this- Kate,” The Captain stills, looking up at the ceiling for another ounce of patience as both of theirs were wearing thin. The boys in the hallway could be heard from through the door, piling question after question on the poor assistant.

Price turns his head towards Kate, casting his chin down- his eyes pointed, “Why was I NOT acknowledged when Dice was Injured on that last mission, why was I not noted on that interrogation- Christ, Laswell-”

“No John. You do not get to make these demands of me in MY office, on my base- I am not a secretary, I am not a doctor, and I am not going to tell you the answers when you integrate me, Captain. You could have had those last two answers if you got your jealousy issues over with and asked the damn lieutenant,” Laswell retorts while closing her laptop, she was taking herself off the clock early for today. Grabbing her coat, John blocks the door with his arms crossed as Laswell reflects the same- eyebrows furrowed. 

“Maybe me and the boys would not be having such jealousy issues if the guys were not here on base to begin with- they had no reason to be originally- and they definitely have no reason to be off with MY squad member,” John restates his points with a more leveled tone, his mouth twitches up into a smirk as he watches Laswell internally battle herself- knowing that the guys just outside would make worse demands than he. 

Laswell sighs out, throwing her coat on a nearby chain before motioning John back over to her desk where she turns her laptop around and shows the thread of emails shared between herself, Shepard and Graves. The shadow company CEO demanded for Dice to be stationed with their team, a token that their contract would be upholded. As the missions dragged on, Graves became more restless-  John shakes his head at this new information, refusing to read anymore.  

“This is why I didn’t show you John. I know you are not a fan of these side-deals but-”

“BUT what Kate, but what. With their background, it is absolutely disgusting that you would make them do this-”

“Well they did agree to it?” Laswell states but comes out more like a question. 

“Did they know? Well maybe with someone of their past, they couldn’t imagine saying no- working themselves to the bone. Fuck, we barley saw them and when we did,” John takes a moment closing his eyes as his voice comes out softer, “I looked past my jealously Kate, I saw that they were healing those memories with em’ but I will not look past them being used. I know where they're coming from, when the higher-ups keep shouting in your ear, demanding more of you until you become a husk. I couldn’t look at them Kate, I-I couldn’t look and see that version of myself reflected again. The rest of us we-” Price stops mid sentence as the door is thrusted open and shut, the assistant now fleeing the scene. 

“We were feeling a load of shit- Laswell. You try and watch someone you care for gradually slip away, burying themselves in work because they ‘apparently’ didn't do enough- and when you do try and see them again, they look past you and to someone else- looking happier than ever,” Johnny states while leaning against a wall, looking out the window and onto the training grounds all those months ago. “Sure it is jealousy, yes we did give the cold shoulder but there is no worse feeling than being replaced and everyone was feeling that in one way or another,” Soap finishes as Ghost only nods in reply. 

Gaz speaks up next, “If we are sharing then, I know Graves is trying to recruit them, Kate. We all knew it- saw it, and it became all the more disheartening when those shadows appeared in our own personal space and then next week- BAM! They are off without a word- I fucking wonder we were having sloppy work recently, there is only so much we can get done while functioning in the dark.” By the end Kyle is out of breath, taking a bottled water from the minifridge and sitting in one of the armchairs across from Lasswell's desk. 

Ghost shakes his head before commenting, “So they worked their ass off, fearing they would be replaced in some way or better yet when another devil comes whispering in your ear, complimenting your good work, showing you friends and pleasures of the craft yet we were stuck doing time-consuming work for no use? What fucking plan is that- no actually, a useless plan that is.”

‘Well then boys, it is a good thing I am sending you off to join them tomorrow if you are done? I apologise, that's the best I can give you now with what I have been working with. I can’t do much if I got fired from Shepard- John. And the best strings I could play was ensuring that they would at least be working with people they knew in the area- I’m sorry for what this has caused. I,"Kate takes a moment, a shaky breath exiting herself, “-I see what they were starting to mean to you all and I am sorry that I was the one who had to take that away from you. But it is up to Dice in the end if they end up signing that contract- we all can only hope they do not.” 

“Like fuck they won’t,” Johnny states, a smile gracing its way across his face as he pulls Gaz up and hugs the man, throwing in a hand for Ghost to join them who only rolls his eyes in reply. John shakes his head, the energy in the room having a noticeable difference as he checks his watch. The next day was not far off in the early morning hours they were in now, deployment was soon and soon was when they would make it their personal mission to have you stay with their team. The past meeting the present, and the present overtaking the past as it should- in theory. 

--

↳ One Week Until Mission “Spill”

When the boys touch down on the tarmac, they initially do not see you leaned up against the back of Alex’s truck as you and Farah share drinks out of a water bottle. “Gorgeous!” Johnny calls out once spotting you as he shoves himself in front of a very confused Alez who pats him on the shoulder. “Hey man, it's been a long time since we last saw each other- how have things been?”

“Been better but we have work to do,” Soap replies while wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he practically drags you to sit beside him in the back of the truck. Farah waves you goodbye as she goes to talk to Price who sends you a solid nod in recognition of your presence. You look at the side of Soaps mohawk with confusion, Why are you back to being so touchy all the sudden? 

As if knowing your very thoughts he gives you a wink before squeezing your shoulder and strapping you into your seat with a grin. Horangi slides in on your otherside as Alex turns the engine on, Köing rushes to shotgun, mumbling about more legroom as you kick his seat and blame it on Horangi who curses out loudly before lightly punching you on the thigh. You wince, gripping your pant leg as you invite Soap in on the backseat chaos. 

“Oh my god! Is that blood!” he yells out with exaggerated gasps as Horangi tries to choke back laughter and Alex politely asks for everyone to, “shut the fuck up.” While readjusting the rear view mirror, double checking that you were not in fact hurt. 

--

Once back at the house, the squads are gearing themselves up as you double check your notebooks on all the information you have collected thus fall, helping Farah and Price to outline the ever-growing team you all had established here. 

“And drinks are on me afterwards!” Matthew announces as the crowd cheers, a few members of Farah's group had appeared half-way through the debrief that you had never met before. You giggled to yourself as quite a few eyed up Horangi and Köing, pulling on their sleeves to get their attention, you pointed like gossip girls to the people who were looking for company. 

 Köing turns a bright red, “Maus-I don’t know…” “Oh come on! Doesn't have to add to anything- you don’t even have to fuck, get your head out of the gutter Horangi- I know that look better than anyone,” you tease out but your eyes hold utmost seriousness. You kept thinking about your talks with them earlier in the week and the aftermath of these next few missions, everything was hanging in the air with this departure's success and yet you couldn’t help but want for everyone here in this room to have something for when they arrived back- in whatever state they would be in. 

Seeing your eyes fog over with the depth of your thoughts, Simon brushes his shoulder against your own, nodding along to Farash speech as you snap out of your trance, glancing up to him with a thankful smile as you point to various entrance points you discovered while scooping out the place through public architectural blueprints. 

With one last slam to the table and a battle cry being placed, Price requests to speak with you outside as you follow suit, Gaz in tow. He keeps his back to you while walking, ensuring that you all are a good ways away from the house before he starts to speak. “Before we go out on this mission, Dice. There are a few things I need to come clean about, and a few answers I would like from you in return.”

You process his words, eyes darting anywhere but his own as your palms sweat, You were not reading to make your decision whether to stay with the military or go after Spill- Please don’t ask about this, please don’t. You nod once as Gaz crosses his arms beside Price, “As your Captain I am disappointed you did not come to me for support when you needed it and I don’t just mean work, love. In that disappointment of mine, I directed it towards you rather than at myself, I misplaced my actions while addressing your old squad as did the rest of the boys. I cannot speak for their shite but what I will say is that, I’m sorry Dice. I was an arse,” Price says while casting his eyes down to his boots, he grips his vest, swinging on his feet and you cannot help but cast a smile at his actions. 

“It’s alright, Price. I-I get it, I was in a downright terrible position and I should have gone to the team but when the guys came around-I… I just got lost in the memories, you know? Those good feelings came back but with the more nights we spent talking to one another… the more it wore off and the more guilty I felt knowing that I left you all without a word…” you sigh out in relief that the dreaded question did not get asked yet Gaz takes that sigh as the start of tears as he races up, encasing you in a warm hug. You smile into his skin as he chuckles at the feeling. John decides to make this a group hug as you groan at the weight of gear being toppled on you before an anxious Alex is screaming from the backdoor like a worried mother, “We are on the road in six people, get your shit together- we have deadlines to meet tonight.”

--

Hopping out of the trucks once more, you find Price standing on a stump as he counts heads and ultimately addresses the crowd. Soon lines are being formed throughout the treeline and comms are declared silent, you could see your first objective as part of the abandoned factory. 

Distant echoes of metal grinding in on itself as trees swayed and groaned in the wind provided an eerie atmosphere to the rising tensions in your shoulders. Standing against the wall, with your NODs on, you nodded towards Gaz as he clipped the lock and you entered the room, to what would be a series of offices. Casting yourself against the further wall to your side and making your way to the centre to meet up with Soap he signals for you to unlock the next door. The first and second room were found empty. 

Yet as you move deepering into the facility, through the various offices that have used coffee mugs and papers scattered across their tops, the sound of running feet can be heard echoing down the hall on the outside platform, connecting the offices to the greater factory and mining pit beneath. Turning your head to see Ghost already holding up his hand, you all pause and hear as the steps get closer. 

Raising your gun to your face as Gaz does the same. You hold steady as the door handle jiggles, Johnny takes cover behind a tipped over desk, resting his gun against its side as he tries to squint through the blinds from a distance, unable to identify the possible target. A few shouts in another language can be heard as they fumble for their keys and drop a flashlight, it rolls across the metal platform as they swear out into the night air and another voice soon joins their worries. 

Ghost stares at the door, gun raised in wait as he eyes you all to hold position. The door soon flies open, you all still hidden in the darkness of the room- observing their actions as they shut the door behind themselves and lean against it- panting out. 

Ghost steps towards the window light, motioning them to lay flat against the ground with his gun as he orders with a strict tone, “Hands and Knees on the fucking ground. On the fucking ground now.”

Gaz dashes over to secure them both, moving them against the back wall where Soap and you wait. Equipping the flashlight on your gun you focus in on their faces and kneel to view their badges as Ghost stands behind you, reading to move in if they pull any fast actions on you. They were cousins to the working family who ran this frontal tree-logging factory where in actuality this is where they produced their newest explosive weaponry. 

Both scientists refuse to meet your gaze before you grab one of their chins, ensuring their eyes meet your own. They portray confidence, yet their shaking knees tell otherwise, “I need you to tell me who else works here.”

The scientist to the man you currently hold shakes their head violently, thrashing their hands in the restraints as Soap places a boot against their body, stopping their movements with a stubble bit of pressure. “Do not try to look at your friend. I will not ask you again, you tell me- or you meet our other friends in the woods- your choice,” you speak in a clear, even tone.

The man simply spits in your face as you drop your hold on their chin and instead force their body upright, their feet slipping against the floors in an effort to hold themselves up. “What a shame, your cousin here will get to go first- let your lack of information help their screams,” you pressure them further as their eyes go wide- believing in your hold to words. 

“They-they are 42 of us here, 10 in staff today- I do not know elsewise to their location. Please believe me- do not hurt her” the man shakes underneath your grip, their shirt slightly tearing as you press them into the wall- it creaks from the weight. 

“That's a start, where are they, where are the 10?”

“I-I will show you,” the scientist counter-offers as the lady nods her head in agreement, “yes, we will show.”

“No showing necessary, you will tell me now- I will be taking your badges.”

“Yes, of course! Of course,  t-they are meeting with accountant in west wing,” the man stumbles to answer. 

“Who is this accountant? Where are they from, who do they speak to?”

“I-I do not know, you will have to ask. They only come to see we do the work and leave afterwards. They are not from here, foreign looks. That all I know, please.”

“Good, thank you,” you offer the man a tight-lipped smile before dropping him to the floor. He groans out as you search his jacket for the mentioned ID and destroy the SIN card in his phone as Johnny examines the woman's handbag and empties it across a desk. 

Finding the other ID and her notebook, he stashes them in his vest before enabling comms for another team to keep watch of the two scientists in custody- they would be needed in court afterwards. 

--

After a few moments and adjusting your gear, you hold up your gun abruptly to the sounds of rushing boots. The knocks sounded at the door follow the prediscoled pattern as you sigh out in relief and open the door for the squad to enter, Simon presents the information gathered as they radio back to base while staring down at the two scientists who refuse to make eye-contact once more. 

The squad leader gives Simon a nod, signaling your exit as you all make your way towards the west wing. Greeting other squads that you find along the way as Gaz stays behind to help dress one of their wounds. 

The metal stairs that you deascened for moan in the wind and shift with the building as you enter down into the west wing. A set of double doors greets your faces as you each take a side, readying to enter the space with a sudden burst. All the lights are on inside the large meeting hall as various guns are pointed up at your face, shouting for your compliance. 

Setting your weapon down in your hands as Johnny and Simon do the same, it was squad 3-5 that stood in the room, already holding a tight control over those yet to be interrogated in one of the private meeting rooms or holding the exits. 

Laughing out as horror exits your system, you hear the all-familiar sounds of John's investigations as you enter the room as Johnny and Simon wait outside. Price does not face you, his knuckles bloodied yet the accountant's face looks a whole lot worse, or well at least what you assume to be the accountant in their… disturbed appearance. 

Letting out a low whistle, the Captain chuckles in response before leaning over. He presses his hands snuggly into their shoulders, forcing them to almost break the back of the wooden chair as he whispers into their ear, eyes flicking upwards to meet your own as he speaks, “Nice of you to join us Dice, maybe you have something to help move this investigation along. Any bargaining chips potentially?” 

The accountant stays silent, only glaring into your eyes as you blink twice back at them, “I know that you murdered thousands with the numbers you love to play with back at that office of yours, just outside the city right? Women, children, awaiting fathers, it's all the same to you- isn’t it? Your wife-” you chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as you saunter around the room, “we had a splendid time after the Charity Gala together. Her moans never sounded so sweet while being stripped of that silky red dress,” you humm afterwards as if thoughtfully remembering the scene. 

John keeps his eyes locked onto yours as the account begins to shift in their restraints more. He moves a gloved hand, forcing them to look back up at you as you walk closer to stand in front of their sat form, smiling down. 

“She told me of how you couldn't make her fulfilled in bed. How good my hands felt in her hair, trailing down her neck of diamonds and right to her stomach…” you tisk the accountant, brushing your hand against John's shoulder before continuing, “then she told me how you had to sell your own manliness to women who only were bought for your attention, sick bastard you are truly. So much so that she found herself in the sheets of not only me, your enemy who made her feel more than you did in 20 years- but the oligarch you work for as well. How wonderful is that- no?”

“You tell lies-”

“Why would I waste my words on a man like you if not only to tell the truth? You are pathetic really…” you trail off while Price smiles, he knows that you both are almost there to crack this man's facade. 

“You are pathetic, your little mind games serve as dull knives.”

“Then what will be said of you whatever would your boss think when he finds out you have been tilting the numbers yet again, but are stealing your fortune to pay off that mistress of yours- hm?” you retort with a large plaster across your face as John whistles out, giving their cheek a good pat before coming to stand by your side. 

“Decision is yours, I have a member of death's door waiting, like seeing the reaper himself if you want a pre-show to your fate or you could choose to put your dick back into your pants like a good ol’boy and wag your tail for your boss- we would love a chat,” Captain Price teases out, his voice filled with grovel from all the yelling he had done today.

A low nod of the head is all you need for evidence of his acceptance before John is signaling through the window for someone to handle the accountant. And by the time you both exit the room, the accountant in cuffs walking out with another squad member before you and all of his people who laugh at his appearance. You notice as Ghost refuses to make eye-contact with you, instead shifting his feet when you ask if he’s doing alright. When turning around to face Soap, he gives you a strained grin, his gun lower than usually positioned by his core as he tilts his head, signaling towards Price, signally for assurance.

A cough can be heard as you all turn to face Gaz who stands with his arms outstretched as you walk over to give him a hug, your gun dangling across your chest as you both shimmy around one anothers gear with a laugh. With your face plastered into his side, he gives a wink towards Simon and Johnny- a look of understanding for their current state as messages are shared throughout the facility- it was time for exfil after a mission well served. 

--

A shake of your shoulder as your eyes snapping awake, you did not mean to have a nap. Blinking your eyes clear, you notice as a corporal shakes you awake then points to the Captain. Price’s eyes scan your own in a restless search- but for what? Tilting your head towards the Captain to signify your confusion towards his actions he patches himself into your radio system while holding your gaze. 

“Do you know if your shadow friends will be joining us for the next objective?”

“Unclear sir, I have yet to hear from their intelligence crews” the title you state becomes knives to John’s ears, cutting their way down to his lungs as he takes a breath in trying to calm himself, already worked up from the earlier mission as you blink none-the-wiser to your word choice’s impact. 

“John or Price, your choice Dice…” John replies with a more flat tone than usual that has your head topping to the side. “Sorry Price, still wearing off the adrenaline from the mission, brains a bit scrambled as of current,” you state with a sloppy smile as he casts a tired one of his own, closing his eyes with a humm, extending his boot to touch your own as you lock your ankles around it. 

Soon Ghosts voice comes through your headset as you look around to find where he was seated, five seats down, the masked figure stared down the aisle to look at you and his Captain while moving his mic down to his mouth, “Had to hold Johnny back from that Horangi guy a few days ago, same can be said about Gaz and Köing. Mop-masked was holding Kyle in a death stare in the meeting room.”

Johnny pipes up to conversation beside Simon as he notices what is being discussed from the reactions everyone is displaying from throughout the aisle, pulling down his radio system. Simon grips his thigh, as if warning him of doing something that has your eyes narrowing in mixed confusion, concern and irritation- what were they keeping from you?

“Al’right, that Horangi fucker. What is his deal, gorgeous? Really had to share some harsh words with him after what he said about you. Can’t fucking believe that you would say he’s your best with the alligations he presented,” Soap rants while rolling his shoulders, as if preparing himself for a fight. 

“Is that why you were being so touchy in the car ride? You only had to ask, quite like your hands,” you ask with a teasing tone, blood still pumping through your body as you watch as Johnny's cheeks flush, the adrenaline from the mission has him on edge as your little stab has him falling back in embarrassment before he rounds his own fireback. 

“Love hearing my name on your lips, may have to come over there so you never forget it,” he teases right back with a large wink as Simon whispers for you all to “tone it down,” as he looks at the various eyes looking between our squad- trying to understand the conversation happening between you all. 

“If I remember, there were some other names you wished me to call you as well but first, do tell me about these allegations,” you press forward. Gaz now joins, offering his side from an unknown place in the plane. “Simon patched me into what's happening. Köing rubbed me the wrong way with his looks, as if he knew something I didn’t.”

Johnny presses the topic further, adding, “Said that I would never know what you really needed from a ‘team’. I don’t regret my actions, Y/N, I will tell you that now. But when they say those kinds of things, and you leave for those weeks when they arrive- leads me to conclusions I don’t wish to face. We acted nice in front of you, Dice. But I need you to tell me before we land, are you a part of our squad or not?”

“Always,” you answer before your brain can keep up, “I talked in parts of this with Simon one day but… you guys are it for me I think. I cannot say for sure after this mission but… I got what I needed off my plate these past few weeks with the past and now I can promise that you have only my attention,” you state with a raised chest in pride. 

“I better have all of your attention,” Johnny comments back, “Alright you,” Simon voices over, taking off Soaps headset and placing it out of reach as you howl with laughter down the line, waking Price up from his temporary drift off, flashing you a smile as you wince out an apology. 

Shaking your head down in your laugh to calm down, you pick your microphone back down to continue speaking, “Look, I apologise to you all for my shitty behaviour, their equally shitty behaviour- really all around shitness that has happened. You all have become my truest friends since meeting Gabby in elementary and friends is a term I do not use sparingly- I must hold my thanks. I will do better to come to you all when I am struggling,” you promise watching as Soap manages to sneak back his headset while Simon sends you a warm stare that has you flashing him a smile, enjoying how beet red he gets underneath his gear. 

“Just, Friends- hm?” Soap questions with a small frown flashing across his features. 

You smile and nod back vigorously, not knowing how to place your thanks into words in a better way than actions. Failing to notice the tone in which the word was replied back in as he leans back against the divider and out of sight with a contemplative humm. 

Simon chuckles at your answer, the deep sound causing your heart to race and our lungs to flutter. How you wished to hear the sound again as you watched his chest rise and fall with the actions while underneath that tight black vest. As Gaz and Price remain silent to the conversation. 

A few moments go by as you all allow the words to sink in. “Do you have a thing for masks, Dice?” Johnny questions in a serious tone while leaning into Simon's side, doing as he does best- lightening the mood. 

You choke on your own spit at the accusation being presented as you stutter for an answer, brain firing on multiple fronts from the whiplash of a conversation. 

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? I think the lack of air is getting to my head.”

Johnny merely smiles before restating the question as calmly as before, as if asking for your favorite colour or season. “Do you have a thing for people in masks? Notice you know many people that wear em’”

“I uh…” your voice trails off as you contemplate your answer, eyes slowly drifting towards Ghost who stares down your form intently waiting to hear your answer. Yet as the seconds tick by, the lack of answer eventually forms one in itself as you hear Gaz chuckle down the radio before turning himself silent and the Captain coughs a few times, turning red underneath his own mustache as he refuses to meet your stare. 

“Do you?” you question back, partially curious and the other seeking a slight revenge from playing your in this blushed-filled and nervous state. 

“Oh, definitely” he replies quickly before you all burst into laughter and the landing sign is singled moments after, it was home time. 

--

Once back on base, a few days of paperwork are filled out as the days and hours clock down to your next departure. You do your best not to think about it as you ask Gabby for clothing recommendations in your room, she asks you to spin with a wave of her finger as you do so with a groan of frustration. You had been stuck in this endless cycle for nearly two hours now and you had told Gaz you would be meeting him in the lobby in three hours. 

You had gone through your whole closet before you outwords protest, unable to keep to just your facial reactions as Gabby hides behind a pair of shoes she found at the back of your closet between the dozen pairs of work-boots. “It’s not even a date, Gabs. We are just making up for lost time with some coffee, nothin’ more nothing less-”

“And I know where my dad went-okay?! If this is not a date, I do not know what else is sweetheart. Treat yourself~” she sings out before throwing another pair of pants for you to try on. She claps her hands together, fixing the buttons on your shirt as she frizzles your hair. “Have fun, you look like a million dollar baby!” Kicking your butt on the way out she quickly turns around to place the mess she created of your room as you lock the apartment door behind yourself and Gaz pulls you into a hug once meeting downstairs. 

He opens the door for you, helping you out of the car as well and orders you both two teas with an assortment of small snacks for lunch. Conversation flows between small hand touches and the linking of shoes from below the table. You rest a hand against his thigh, watching as he chokes down his glass of water as you cast the man a wink. 

The check slamming against the table has you both stumbling out as dinner time nears, “How about I treat us to dinner?” you say while looking up nearby restaurants on your phone. “Sounds good, love,” Kyle states while wrapping an arm around your waist with a cheeky smile as an elderly couple look towards you both with disgust. 

Gaz watches as your smile falls slightly and you back away. He still walks near you, arms brushing against one another in hopes that you would feel more comfortable again, casting him a thankful smile as you both walk down another block to the small Turkish restaurant. 

You both sit beside one another, sharing food off each others plats as you ignore the endless stream of messages that Gabby sends you, excusing yourself to the washroom- you open your text messages and cough out in shock, “I’m sorry for spamming, you two are probably fucking right now- next time I want in, have fun! Tell me how he is~” Blushing bright red, your fingers rush across the keyboard, scolding your best friend before splashing water across your face. 

Once returning back to the table, Kyle holds his arm up, allowing you to become wrapped underneath its calming pressure, “you doing okay?” he asked you in a hushed tone, lips right against your ear as your blush extends to your ears now. “Just peachy.”

--

When you leave the restaurant and pick the car back up, you invite Kyle back to your place, “It is closer to here and it would be best to not wake the rest of the lads up,” you comment. “If you want me more to yourself- you can just tell me sweetheart,” he teases while running circles into your knee as he makes a turn into your block. 

Leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek, your voice becomes more hushed as you unlock your apartment door and rush up to Spoons. Who looks as happy and healthy as ever, note to self, the elderly neighbour gets a gift. Kyle leans down, giving your pet a quick past before yawning and stretching out of their boots. 

He trails down the hallway behind you, hands on your waist as you open your bedroom door, throwing yourself on the bed with an overtired giggle. He follows suit as you roll over, giving him enough space, noticing this he pulls you underneath the covers and against him. “Thank you, Kyle Garrick,” you whisper out, hoping him to be asleep already. 

“What for?” he asks out in an equally delicate tone, feeling as your heart races against his chest. “For staying with me, for understanding…” you start to cry, unable to find the right words as he kisses the top of your head, brushing some hair from your forehead. “Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. I am always here, alright? Never question that.” 

He feels as you nod once more and chuckles when Spoons snuggles themselves in the empty space at the foot of the bed, emitting a few purrs as you all drift off into the world beyond.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @ashy-kit @lilliumrorum @kaoyamamegami

[idontknowreallywhy]

The Last of Them

Not quite sure what this is… it started as a little tribute to David Graham who, while maybe most famous for voicing Parker twice, also brought original Gordon to life.

Then it developed a life of its own and I’m not entirely sure what it became - by its very nature it refers to multiple major character deaths but they are all very old. So I hope it is ok. Maybe don’t read if you’re feeling fragile!

I put them in order of the VAs passing because that seemed right in the circumstances. Apologies if that means it is The Wrong Order for how you imagine it.

💛💛💛💛💛💛💙💚🧡❤️💛💛💛💛💛💛

He never expected to be The Last.

They’d all lived to a good age. They’d all achieved what they wanted to achieve.

But even Tracys didn’t live forever. And Gordon had not expected to be The Last.

Virgil had been first. He was never first at anything and this had been absolutely the last race Scott ever wanted to be beaten in. He took it as a personal affront that the universe seemed to want to run the curtain calls out of order.

Secretly, Gordon believed it had been a stroke of luck. In retrospect, he had been relieved. He knew his tender-hearted brother would have struggled the most at having to say goodbye to one of them and carry on. Gordon knew more than any of them, more than Scott, perhaps even than the man himself, how heavily Virgil carried the burden of attending Scott’s first (thankfully premature) funeral and that his darkest fears had always been centred on doing that again. Perhaps that had been why he’d refused the more experimental, increasingly desperate treatments Scott was lining up. He’d said he was happy, he was content and wanted to face the next adventure at home with his family, ALL of his family, not in a bubble in San Francisco.

Even now, when he closed his eyes, Gordon could still feel that last hand squeeze. Could still hear that rumbling voice telling him he’d done good today. He’d had his brother’s last little throwaway gift - a sketch of a grizzly bear with a squid clinging to its face - engraved at 5x scale on to a steel plate.

As time passed, the voice in his memory became younger, the eyebrows darker.

Scott himself had faltered, hard. But eventually, with the assistance of a horde of grandchildren and great grandchildren, had refocused and thrown himself into the role of patriarch that he’d been reluctant to embrace since Dad had passed. He’d lavished all his vast stores of energy on the subsequent generations as if determined they would know how much he cared before it was too late.

Scott hadn’t expected to outlive TinTin, John or Penny either. But the universe kept shuffling the deck of cards until Grandpa Scott finally gave his last cheeky salute and went to find them.

And then there were two. And Gordon was the oldest. Which had been weird, although expected.

Alan had always hated being the last.

When Gordon had poked his head around the door as the doctor left, his baby brother had been serious, staring out of the window. He’d swallowed and walked quietly over to his bedside but as soon as Gordon had been within reach Alan had turned and punched him in the shoulder and smirked that same irritating little brother smirk he’d smirked for over eight decades:

“Tag!”

Gordon had blamed the tears on tiny, weedy child-knuckles faintly bruising his broad, masculine shoulders.

Alan had just cackled.

Gordon had never expected to be The Last.

But so it had been.

Sometimes the media people dared him to reveal his secret. As if somehow he’d achieved something his brothers had not… As if they had missed a trick… he would look them dead in the eye and swear he’d spliced his DNA with a bowhead whale. At which point they’d usually smile awkwardly, check their notes for references to dementia then back away from the stupid, stupid questions.

He had never expected to be The Last, but as The Last, he had become all of them.

When four generations sat round and told stories of the Tracy family, he was the guardian of the old ones. The original ones. The ones they all knew but pretended not to notice him embellishing. How Scott was faster, Virgil stronger, John more all-knowing, Alan more daring every time the tales were retold.

To the world at large he was a kind of talisman. Whenever IR was mentioned in the media, it became Gordon’s image that was used. Despite having never been in command of either IR or TI, it was his comment people wanted. So he would give one, often irreverent or purely nonsensical and with the same wink his eldest brother had been famous for. It was genetic, after all.

He played unpredictable and eccentric old billionaire nearly as well as he played crazy sentimental Grandpa.

As long as they didn’t ask the stupid questions. He had spent a little while in the pool, gently washing off the lingering taint of today’s holo-interview appearance on some news show. He always did them when asked, the Tracys positive reputation enabled the family to do a lot of good on a global scale and cute old guy Gordon apparently helped. It wasn’t a lot to ask. Scott would have done it, so, therefore, did Gordon. And he would carry on, as long as he had all his marbles. And then maybe just a little longer… to wind them all up.

He sighed. However he might suggest that stricter pre-screening was going to be needed in future.

“So, Mr Tracy, how does it feel to be the last of the old guard?”

He’d swallowed the bitter “How do you think?” The questioner had looked about twelve, they had no idea. No idea how it stung. So he’d called it an honour. Then shifted quickly to the agreed script about their campaign to make Safety and First Aid a compulsory part of the school curriculum in many countries.

Yes, a little more consideration for the ancient squid-man’s lonely heart wouldn’t go amiss. EOS would sort it. He liked EOS. She still got his pop culture references and she hadn’t locked him out of anywhere for years.

His minder for the pool excursion - one of Scott’s great grandkids… or possibly John’s… he was beginning to lose track - patted him on the hand and left him tucked up warmly in a fluffy robe on a lounger to watch the sunset.

Goodness he was tired.

He yawned and wriggled a little, then smiled to himself at the sound of the kids coming out on to the deck arguing about something or other. Alan’s traditional shriek as Virgil yeeted him into the pool was followed swiftly by the combined laughter of the elder trio who claimed the loungers beside and behind Gordon. A count of five, then the littlest bro had his revenge by leaping atop Virgil and soaking him before stealing half of Gordon’s robe and the majority of his elbow room.

Too contented to really complain, Gordon slung an arm over the soggy teen and let his brothers’ voices surround him as he drifted off to sleep.

[drnikolatesla]

The Burden of Genius: Tesla’s Battles with Memory and Perception

Nikola Tesla was a towering genius whose remarkable intellect often intersected with profound psychological challenges. His extraordinary mental abilities created a unique interplay between reality and imagination, which evolved significantly as he aged.

Tesla’s eidetic memory was both a remarkable gift and a source of distress. In his autobiography, he explained that during his youth, his vivid memories often seemed to overlap with his physical vision and reality, creating intense anxiety. For instance, recollections of his brother’s funeral would vividly reappear before his eyes, causing him significant distress. Tesla described these experiences, noting that his sisters frequently had to help him distinguish between reality and the projections from his mind.

Over time, Tesla mastered his memory, using it to perfect his inventions mentally before physically constructing them. This mental rehearsal allowed him to refine his designs thoroughly, ensuring that when built, they were as flawless as he had envisioned. This innovative approach was a cornerstone of his engineering process.

There’s a story about Tesla where his cleaning lady would find him sitting in a chair in the middle of his room, seemingly asleep. In reality, he was deep in thought, mentally exploring complex ideas, solving problems, and even working on his inventions as if he were in his laboratory. So immersed was he in his mental work that he could visualize wear on his apparatuses—all within his mind. Tesla would enter a trance-like state, appearing physically at rest while his mind was intensely focused. He believed these periods of mental immersion were crucial for his creativity and problem-solving. While others might think he was napping, his mind was actively refining his inventions and theories.

However, in his later years, the line between Tesla’s imagination and reality became increasingly blurred. His intense focus and stress began to distort his sense of what was real. In a deeply personal 1934 letter, Tesla recounted a profound and emotional experience involving his mother. He described his experience as being in New York in the early 1890s, and as he said, “I experienced an exquisitely painful longing for something undefinable” and was driven by a desire to see his mother, which was intensified by his inability to clearly recall her features. After rushing to her bedside, he saw her alive one last time. He then went to another building to rest and thought that if she died, he would feel a disturbance in the ether letting him know so. Sure enough, he had a vivid vision of her and was later given the news that she had passed. Out of nowhere, he realized with shock that he was back in New York and his mother had died years earlier. Tesla reflected, “My sufferings had been real though the events were but imaginary reflections of previous occurrences,” attributing the experience to a temporary “numbing” of his brain’s faculties from intense concentration. This incident highlights how deep focus can distort one’s grasp of reality.

By this time, Tesla was in his late 70s, and his mental state showed signs of decline. In John O'Neill’s biography, there is a poignant story about how Tesla believed Mark Twain was still alive and even wanted to send him money, only to be informed by his assistant that Twain had been deceased for 25 years. Tesla was adamant that he had met Twain just the night before. This anecdote underscores the growing blur between reality and imagination in Tesla's later years. Despite this, interviewers still described him as possessing grace and articulating his thoughts with both wit and intelligence.

His confusion over Mark Twain’s death and his intense, often troubling experiences reflect the toll that age and stress had taken on his mind. Tesla’s story reveals a man who grappled with the boundaries of his remarkable intellect and the increasingly blurred line between imagination and reality.

Tesla’s experiences remind us that even the greatest minds are not immune to the complexities of the human psyche. His life offers valuable insights into the delicate balance between genius and mental health, illustrating how the same qualities that fueled his innovation also led to profound personal challenges.

[kyleetryme]

FULL INFO OF THE HAMILTON WEEKS AU!

--

background information

Washington leads a corporate law firm specializing in police detective work, where a team comprising Alex, John, Laf, Herc, Aaron, Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, Charles, James, Thomas, James R, and Maria is engaged in the investigation of the Levi Weeks case, who stands accused of murdering a woman. Unbeknownst to them, this solitary suspect, is connected to a vast mafia organization that they could not have anticipated. Alex and Aaron serve as his defense attorneys, while Thomas and James take on the role of prosecutors. The remaining team members are tasked with various detective and espionage duties across different sectors, collaborating effectively to apprehend the perpetrator. The ensemble experiences emotional turmoil, financial struggles, and a series of unexpected developments that significantly alter their circumstances. Samuel serves as King George's chief aide and assistant, tasked with traveling to the United States to provide George Washington with documents concerning Levi, who is under suspicion for multiple crimes and significant fraud in England. King George retains his royal authority in this matter, and both he and Samuel arrive in the US to collaborate with Washington and the ham cast, as the situation has implications for Britain as well as the United States.

relationships

Eliza and Alex were in a relationship until Eliza became pregnant at the age of 14, which led to their breakup due to parental pressures, and eventually, they lost their feelings for each other. They remain good friends and are on phenomenal terms. And Phillip goes to Eliza' and Alex's place equally. After finding out what Alex did to Aaron(scroll to the other ones you'll find out) she immediately finds hatred and finds out GeorgeE shot Phillip after Alex told Phillip to be a man and yell at Eackcer. After Phillip's coma ends, she sees Alex's true intentions and saw how misunderstood he was and how he ulitimately caught Weeks and his organization she forgives him (past hamliza and hamliza friendship)

The situation was similar for Aaron and Theo Sr., who had Theodosia when they were 14. Their relationship ended due to Theodosia Sr. having a boyfriend at that time, a fact that Aaron was unaware of. They are currently not on good terms and Theo's mostly with Theo sr since Aaron's working most of the time. (past theoburr)

Dolley and James maintained a romantic relationship throughout their college years and briefly at the law firm during the case. However, James discovers that Dolley is employed at the Levi organization after their breakup and has consistently displayed rudeness towards Thomas, so he immediately breaks up with her.

Eliza developed an immediate fondness for Sam upon his arrival in the United States; however, Samuel initially had feelings for Angelica. Over time, he recognizes that Eliza is a more suitable match for him, appreciating her kind nature and their shared intelligence and interests. (samliza!) WARNING; rairpair

Angelica despised Charles during their high school years due to his constant confrontations with the hamilsquad, whom she regarded as her own children. However, as they collaborated on the case, she began to recognize his misunderstood nature, and some things unfolded about him, leading to the development of mutual feelings between them. (changelica!)

John and Peggy have had limited conversations, yet John has harbored feelings for her since elementary school. The hamilsquad often teased him about this, particularly in light of Alex's previous relationship with Eliza. However, during the recent case, Peggy begins to reciprocate his feelings. Washington subsequently assigns them to collaborate on various aspects of the investigation, leading to their eventual romantic involvement. (jeggy!)

Aaron and Alex have consistently been academic rivals, all throughout school and harboring mutual hatred for one another. However, circumstances in Washington made them to serve as co-defensive attorneys for the Weeks case, the two men Initially resistant to the situation, they eventually confide in each other about their struggles to be exemplary fathers. This shared vulnerability fosters a connection between them, leading to a romantic relationship. However, Maria manipulates Alex into cheating on Aaron with her, and since everyone in this firm are famous and substantial members in the economy and government, Alex publishes the affair, titled the 'Reynolds pamplet' which brings severe hurt and loss of money and sales at the law firm. Leaving Aaron helpless and devastated. As he realizes what Maria did and the surrounding events. He eventually forgives Alex and Alex treats him how he should be treated! (hamburr!!!)<3

George and Washington have been acquainted for some time through governmental duties, yet their relationship did not flourish until George and Sam arrived in the United States. George often teases Washington as a means of concealing his true feelings, which initially frustrates Washington; however, he eventually develops an affection for George. Despite George's obliviousness to this change, they ultimately engage in a heartfelt conversation that leads to love. Washington's rare gentle demeanor is primarily reserved for George, his students, particularly the Hamilsquad, and mostly Alex! (cause they have this father-son relationship!) (georgesquared!)

James and Thomas have maintained a close friendship since childhood, with Thomas harboring deeper feelings for James while dating others to conceal them. Throughout high school, James was in a relationship with Dolley, which ended due to her disrespectful behavior towards Thomas. This incident intensified Thomas's feelings for James. Recently, James has observed unusual behavior from Thomas and finds himself developing reciprocal feelings during their time together while assisting their jobs as the prosecuting attorneys. Their emotional tension culminates in an unexpected romantic encounter(hookup) at a party, which blossoms into a deeper connection. (jeffmads!!!!!)<3

James Reynolds and Maria have long been regarded as the OG power couple, having been together since their middle school years. However, during the AU, Maria has an affair with Alex, whom she had manipulated following weeks of harassment from Weeks.(levi basically forced her to manipulate alex for his own gain) which caused significant distress and devastation for James during when Alex writes and published the affair to save himself. Initially devastated by her betrayal, James eventually comes to understand the circumstances surrounding it, and why Maria did what she did. Once the firm becomes aware of the situation, Maria reassures James of her deep affection for him, leading to their reconciliation.

Lafayette and Hercules have been a couple since their high school days, experiencing occasional conflicts yet consistently demonstrating resilience in their relationship. Their attractiveness and romantic involvement often evoke envy among their peers. Additionally, they work as detective partners, and during the case, Laf is shot, prompting Herc to heroically rescue him, which further highlights the depth of their bond.

Ariana"Bullet" and George Eacker share an established relationship and no one knows that they have been working for Weeks' organization the entire time. During a park hangout with Theo, Phillip overhears George disparaging Alex and the firm, prompting him to inform Alex. Misinterpreting George as just another kid troublemaker, Alex encourages Phillip to be a man and yell at him. This confrontation leads to a tragic outcome when George shoots Phillip, leaving him in a coma. Ariana, who holds a deep affection for children, is furious with Eacker, and both ultimately recognize the gravity of their actions, especially after their arrest.

Theodisa and Phillip, who are best friends, eventually enter into a romantic relationship as they grow older. Theo was present with Phillip at the park when he overheard George Packer disparaging the company, and she is heartbroken upon learning that George shot Phillip. Throughout his coma, she remains steadfastly by his side, and once he recovers, their bond deepens significantly.

Alex and Phillip have consistently shared a strong bond, and upon learning that Phillip had been shot due to his own actions, Alex fell into a profound depression, unable to forgive himself. However, once Phillip recovered, he comforted his father by affirming that the incident was not his fault and expressing his admiration for him, stating that Alex's parenting was more than sufficient for him. (Alex and Phillip bond)

Burr and Theo have maintained a strong bond, yet their interactions have been very limited due to Burr's work commitments. And he is unaware of the extent of Theo Sr.'s mistreatment towards Theo JR., Burr provides comfort to Theo during her emotional devastating regarding Phillip. As Burr uncovers the troubling things which have been happening between Theo and Theo SR., he successfully advocates for her, ultimately securing full custody. This victory deepens their relationship, as Theo holds a profound affection for her father.

John and Alex have maintained a close friendship since their elementary school days, with John consistently serving as Alex's steadfast companion through various experiences, including the pamphlet incident and matters concerning Phillip. Throughout their journey together, John has been an unwavering support for Alex, who, in turn, holds a profound affection for his best friend. (platonic best friends lams)

this is everything I've got so far! and please everyone,

ASK QUESTIONS!!! and I am open for suggestions as well!!!

[spiral-man]

Hey dudes,

Just wanted to wish everyone a happy-

Hello Jon,

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.-

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, John?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. (cruel laugh) Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. (cruel, cruel laugh) Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

[endless-ineffabilities]

MORE MARQUIS MOREEEEEEE I LOOOOOOVED IT, L - O - V - E - D ITTT!!!!!!!

le marquis et le moineau - (ill)fated

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

synopsis: one of several short stories, set up as a prequel to this oneshot of le marquis et le moineau. This is set in the early days, depicting the beginning of what would turn into a dangerous mutual infatuation.

more of moineau: le marquis et le moineau ▪︎ first dance ▪︎ other works

word count: 2.5k ▪︎ themes/warnings: slow burn, mentions of violence (it's the John Wick universe ofc), language

"Welcome to the New York Continental. How may I be of service?" Charon asks in his flawless genial manner.

You stand behind him, his shadow in training. After only 3 short months as the 'Assistant to the Concierge' - (a title you picked over 'Assistant Concierge', in reference to a certain beloved TV series) - you've come to learn the ins and outs of the Continental.

What makes it tick. The demands of its peculiar crowd of usual guests. What is required to keep such an establishment up and running.

In truth, it takes a lot of fucking work. Much and more need to be swept under the rug so as to not attract attention. Guests need to be kept satisfied, their particular requests adhered to. As long as it is well within the rules of the High Table, of course.

The only thing separating you from the animals.

As if everyone in this sort of life has not already become animal. Well, isn't ignorance such bliss.

The man who introduced himself as Chidi says, "I have come ahead of my superior, the Marquis de Gramont. Needless to say, we must ensure that everything is well-prepared for his stay here in New York. Wouldn't you agree, Charon?"

"Of course, sir." Charon tilts his head. "I will personally see to that, don't you worry. Is he still set to arrive tonight at the planned hour?"

"He should be here at 6 this evening. I trust that the... agitator is being dealt with?"

Charon walks in front of the counter, taking a parcel from a bellhop. He keeps his gaze trained on Chidi. "With compliments of the Continental, sir. The proprietor has ensured that the liability will be brought to the penthouse of the Marquis."

"Very good." Chidi taps Charon on the shoulder once, before walking away, a satisfied sneer on his face.

"Just remember, sir," Charon calls out to him, making his stop in his tracks, "that no business may be conducted on Continental grounds."

"Hmm."

After a moment, you move to stand beside Charon.

"So, sir, what was that all about?"

He turns his head towards you fondly. "I'm sure you've heard of Marquis Vincent de Gramont."

"Well, I've heard that he comes across as a pompous ass, if that's what you mean."

Charon simply raises his eyebrows at you, already accustomed to your blunt, sarcastic manner of speaking. "Well, he will be staying with us for a couple of days, as he has some... business to deal with."

"I won't even ask."

He moves to stand in front of you, finding your eyes. "Dear child, might I suggest steering clear of the Marquis and his associates whilst he is in residence with us here? It would simply be for the best. His reputation does preceed him."

You can't help but smile at Charon's nickname for you, one that heralds back to when your family first moved across the hall from him in one of the High Table sponsored apartment buildings in downtown Manhattan.

You had been only 12, but you were already well aware of your father's line of work. One that required him to be away on business to faraway cities each month, and caused him to rub elbows with the dregs of the underworld.

Not all of them were bad though. You grew fond of some of his associates, namely Charon, of course. And the one they called the Baba Yaga, but to you he was just Johnny.

John Wick hated the name, but he liked you, so the name stayed. Him and his then wife somehow became your second set of parents, with your dad never around and your mother usually drowning in her fancy liquor.

More than a decade later, your father met his end on one of his jobs. One that was only supposed to be "quick and easy". He promised he would be back to you in no time, with a box of your favourite chocolates from Paris.

But he never came. And neither did the fucking chocolates, which truthfully, you now hated. Your father lost his life in that city, so you grew to loathe everything about it.

And now comes the Marquis, the man practically in charge of all of Paris. Not to the public eye, of course.

If Charon asks you to steer clear of him, it must be for good reason.

But you've never been good at following orders. Or staying out of trouble. Or keeping your mouth shut.

"Whoever this Marquis is, I can handle him," you say determinedly. "I'll just act normal, do my job, go about business as usual."

Charon takes a deep breath, resigning himself. "Very well. Just try not to catch his eye." A tenant raises her hand, demanding his attention, so he starts to head her way.

"You know me," you call after him, an impish grin on your face. "I'm only a shadow."

The Marquis de Gramont stands in the ornate lobby of the Continental, surrounded by his posse. Clad in an impeccable three-piece cream suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, his polished shoes gleaming to the naked eye.

He is never beating those pompous ass allegations. You can't help but smirk from your post behind the concierge desk.

You look down briefly, smoothing out invisible creases on your black button-up shirt. Don't laugh. You roll out your shoulders. Compose yourself.

Winston and Charon had greeted his entourage upon entering, and they've been hashing out the details of his stay for the last minute or two. Apparently, the Marquis has some very specific demands. Of course he does.

Those in the group exchange some final words, nodding to each other, seemingly satisfied. Charon raises his arm, directing the Marquis. "Right this way, if you please."

Hands on his hips, the Marquis makes his way over to the private elevator. Which only means that he will have to pass by your post.

You try to keep your head down, as a practiced sign of cordiality. Also, so that you don't let out an impromptu sneer. But you can't help it. Right when he passes by, you raise your head.

And he is already looking straight at you.

The corner of his lips is in a downturn, as if he is judging you where you stand. Pompous prick.

You don't let it faze you. "Welcome to the Continental. We hope you enjoy your stay," you greet him, eyes not leaving his in some sort of defiance.

"Hmm." He walks by, slowly, and you only want to urge him on. But just when he is clear of the reception desk, he turns on his heel.

"What is your name?" He asks, a perfect brow raised in anticipation.

You answer him, keeping your voice steady. You've learned a long time ago not to allow men like him the chance to intimidate you.

A momentary pause, before he repeats your name. You want to hate the way he says it, as if he testing it on his tongue, seeing how it tastes.

But hell, that French accent can make anything sound heavenly.

"Is there a problem, monsieur?" Charon has moved to your side, wary of the attention from the marquis.

Marquis de Gramont barely acknowledges Charon with a sideways glance, before looking back to you. "Non, no problem at all."

He finally walks away. But of course, of course he has to drive a chill up your spine as he calls over his shoulder, "Have her come up to me in twenty minutes."

You grit your teeth in an attempt to maintain cordiality. "Excuse me, sir?" He could have at least addressed me himself.

Nothing. He doesn't even look back at you as he enters the elevator, head dipped in hushed whispers to his security team.

"So much for your being 'only a shadow', hmm?" Charon echoes your sentiment, which has just been apparently disproven.

Winston draws closer, worried look on his face as he says, "Quite a conundrum, dear one. I'm considering sending someone else in your place, however, he did ask for you markedly."

Your stomach churned. "Maybe he just needs some attending? Room service? Basic cleanup? I don't know..." Basic cleanup being clearing the blood of the surfaces of his penthouse, especially after he deals with the man the establishment had caught and presented to him.

Deals with. But not kill. Never that. Not whilst on Continental grounds, that is.

Winston responds, "Perhaps so. I trust that you will handle it? I know you can, child."

You straighten yourself. "Of course I can. He's just some overgrown French brat."

But what the fuck does he want?

"If anything," Winston adds calmly, "and worst comes to worst, your dear Uncle Johnny would surely be happy to lend a hand."

Of course he will. Feeling much lighter, you shoot a smile at Charon and Winston, before returning to your post behind the desk.

18 more minutes.

The Marquis stays in the biggest penthouse of the Continental. The most exclusive part of the property, made even more opulent per his request.

New pieces of artwork are hung on the walls, requested from some New York Baron's private collection. Not that he had a choice.

The man - the traitor - known as Laurent had been staying at the Continental in the week prior, stupidly believing that he is free of the Marquis.

It only took one phone call, and of course, Winston had to relent. They kept Laurent in one of their best suites, lulling him into a false sense of security, all while preparing for the Marquis' arrival.

Then Laurent's room was filled with nitrous oxide, and he was tied up and taken to the Marquis' penthouse.

Laurent sits in a lone wooden chair, nearly unconscious in the middle of the drawing room as you enter, a gash of deep red on his temple.

Chidi sits directly in front of him, seemingly carrying out the interrogation. His superior, on the other hand, lazily sits on the plush couch on the far side of the room. Looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. As if there isn't a man being tortured right in front of his eyes.

One of his men announces your arrival, but you sense the Marquis has already noticed your presence.

You clear your throat. "You asked for me, sir?"

"Mmm," he hums, and tilts his head. "Tell me, what was so funny?"

"I'm sorry?"

"When you first saw me in the lobby," he stands, stalking over to you, "you smirked. I wish to know what it was that brought you to react in such a manner."

This is why he asked for me? Because I smirked? Oh, for fuck's -

He steps forward, closer. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No, sir, I... I must admit, I don't quite remember what you speak of. I smirk to myself all the time. I've got plenty of inside jokes and all that."

"To yourself?"

"Yes."

"Are you... well in the head?" He twirls his fingers beside his temple. The bastard.

"Yes, Marquis." You take a deep breath, but you can't help yourself. "But I assure you I'm just as demented as you are."

A gloom falls over his face, and you sense his security team tense up. Preparing for him to say the word.

Your eyes trail around the room, and continue, "And everyone else in this world of ours."

The Marquis stares at you. Half-indignant, and dare you think it, half-amused.

His lips twitch, fighting back a smirk of his own, and his eyes rake your figure. From your uniform shoes to your hands to your lips. Then back to your gaze.

"Fair point." He shrugs, and the room settles once again. His men look away from the pair of you.

He turns, beckoning you to follow. A few feet in front of Laurent, he asks, "What do you make of this?"

Of this? You mean of him? The way the Marquis speaks, as if Laurent is merely a thing to be dealt with and not a person, bothers you. But such is the way of your world.

"Laurent Castillon. French-Italian sommelier. If I understand correctly, he cheated you out of what would have been successful dinner plans."

Sommelier, an arms dealer. Dinner plans, whatever you can concoct with the use of guns. You're more than accustomed to the language, having picked it up over the years.

"Excellent." The Marquis clasps his hands, pleased. "Now, what do you make of this? What would you do, if you were in my shoes?"

He is testing you, prodding you on. Seeing if you would curl back in your shell or flinch.

Is there a wrong answer here, or is this all just some game?

"I would set things right, I suppose."

"You suppose?" He repeats, dissatisfied. "We don't deal in half measures."

"I would - ," you look him directly in his eyes, "I would make him pay."

Something sparks in Marquis de Gramont's eyes. Recognition? Appreciation? Excitement?

"Won't that be a waste?" He takes a step closer, eliminating the space between you.

Stand your ground.

You shrug, "Such is life."

He smiles, "Indeed, petit moineau."

In a flash, without breaking your gaze, he takes a handgun from the inner lining of his jacket and shoots Laurent in the knee. He keels over, screaming.

The familiar sound rings in your ears, making you dig your nails in the flesh of your palm.

The Marquis does not even flinch, does not even look at Laurent who is writhing on the floor in pain.

"And what now?" He rubs an eyebrow with his thumb, still holding his gun carelessly with that hand.

"That depends." What the fuck did he call me? Moineau? "How gracious do you feel tonight?"

"Why?"

"Well," you say carefully, knowing the wrong word might set him off, "you could let the fool go. You've already taught him a lesson."

A long, torturous pause. He does not seem to like that suggestion.

"Take him away." He gives a sudden order, and all his men rush to obey. Seconds pass, and Laurent is out of your sight. Only Chidi and two other men are left hovering in the corner.

"Leave us," the Marquis finally says. Well, shit.

The door shuts behind the men, and you are left alone, with one of the most notorious men in the city. Perhaps the world.

"What's going to happen to him?" You find yourself asking, to fill the silence and also because you're genuinely curious.

He looks at you in confusion, as if the answer is the most obvious thing. "He dies, of course."

You swallow, a picture of forced composure. "Of course."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure, not here on the Continental and all that nonsense. But it does not matter. He dies anyway."

He dies. He says that so easily, like a life means nothing. It probably means nothing to him. Your father would probably have only been another life to spend, just another one in the roster, in his eyes.

"I hope you aren't busy," he says, walking to the other room.

"What did you have in mind?" Why can't he just send me away already?

"We shall dine together. I could use the company."

You grumble under your breath, "So much for being a shadow."

"Pardon?" He asks, just before reaching the archway to the dining room.

"I said, it would be my pleasure."

"Hmm."

Two can play at this game, Marquis.

And even more to come - taglist open!

Next in moineau...

More Marquis, just as it should be.

My HotD series works are not going to be discontinued. The next part to fire like yours will be up next, but don't hold me to it 🖤😉

[agentmarvel]

Pairing: John Price/Reader

AU - Professor!Price & TA!Reader

MDNI - 18+ (minors and ageless blogs will be blocked)

Part 1 of 2

Summary: in which professor john price is head-over-heels for his teaching assistant but cannot reconcile the risks until he's faced with the thought of losing you entirely

Read on ao3

♡

“Would you mind handing these back, please?” John asks softly, handing you the stack of essays due for return. You give him a sweet little smile and nod, taking them from his hands and brushing against his fingers in the process. His flesh is alight with want, and he can’t help but curl his hands into fists beneath the desk in an effort to stop himself from reaching out and touching you again.

“Yes, sir.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong, and John knows it.

He never meant for this to happen; the plot of his plight is typically reserved for bored housewife fantasies, a semi-interesting arc for a television series, or the shit romance novels that Kate reads and tries to hide (poorly, might he add) whenever someone walks into her office. It’s not something that happens in real life, and it’s not something that happens to men like him.

When it was suggested he take on a teaching assistant this semester, John was skeptical. He wasn’t quite so sure that his courses would benefit from having someone else pouring over every facet of his work, and frankly, he was a bit incensed by the notion that he’d even need help; but in casually surveying the department in passing conversation, he realized that he was the only educator in the English department without a TA.

Enter: you. Your application was impeccable, and you came to the department with such glowing endorsements from your undergraduate instructors. Pack that in with the essay you wrote and the accolades decorating your previous work study, it was a no-brainer. John tossed every other application he received without a second thought.

The two of you began to exchange emails shortly after he agreed to taking you on. He quickly found you to be whip-smart, wicked funny, and absolutely wonderful. Looking forward to your replies became a new hobby of his as he jumped to check his phone every time it buzzed. He looked forward to putting a face to the name every day until that day finally came. Then, he knew he was doomed.

You strolled into his office the day before classes began and introduced yourself with a scintillating smile, holding a hand out to shake his. He swallowed hard and accepted your greeting in kind, a bit taken aback by how goddamn gorgeous you are. The image his mind constructed through the internet didn’t hold a candle to what stood before him, what with your doe eyes and pretty smile and the shape of your hips and… wait, what’s that? The smell of your perfume made his brain stutter; something akin to cedar and coconut milk with a smokey vanilla note like a cherry on top. It still has the same effect on him, honestly.

Over the first few weeks of the new semester, he grew to adore you in your entirety, learning all the subtle nuances that previous exchanges didn’t convey properly. He digs every shade of your personality (especially when you’re being snarky and teasing him, even if you don’t know how much of that teasing goes straight to his dick). You engage him in conversation and listen intently to what he has to say, usually with that red pen of yours tucked between your teeth. Drives him crazy when you do that, but there’s something so inherently innocent about the way you look at him; boulders of shame pile on his chest until his ribs cave in with an airy exhale, and he’s crushed beneath the weight of the reality that you’re untouchable.

He’s the professor; you are the student. It’s far too risky, even if he didn’t already know you’d reject him on the spot.

Entranced, he watches from the corner of his eye as you lean over another student’s table, pointing out something on the graded tests you were handing back. The edge of your cute little skirt rides up your thighs just enough that he swears he can see the gentle curve of your ass beneath the hem. How he wishes he could bend you over further, pull those barely-there panties to the side, and fuck you to within an inch of your life.

But this certainly isn’t the most opportune time for him to think about that. No, not with a classroom full of students that could, at any moment, point out the flush creeping high across his cheeks or notice the massive tent he’s sporting in his slacks as he strategically moves to the podium to begin his lecture.

He isn’t sure how he makes it through, truthfully, not when he’s stealing glances at you in between parts of his notes. You’re sitting at your own table on the far side of the room, legs crossed demurely with your laptop open in front of you. Those pretty, manicured fingertips click and clack away at the keyboard, making detailed notes of your own, and he struggles to keep the image out of his mind of those same nails gripping his shoulders while he’s buried inside you.

It doesn’t help that you’re looking back at him every single time his eyes flit over to you, focused so raptly like you’re hanging on his every word. You seem so enthralled by the most minute details, watching him with that darling doe-eyed stare. Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks with every blink, and god, he just wants to know what it feels like to touch any part of you.

You’re the kind of woman Shakespeare wrote sonnets about; a beauty so overwhelming that it’s hard to decipher in ordinary thought. It requires prose, grandeur, and sophistication. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for him to find an eloquent way to speak when he’s sharing space with you.

It’s embarrassing, the way he keeps almost losing his place and fumbling his words like an absolute moron. He can’t help it, though. Not when his heart skips a beat every time you catch his wistful gaze and give him that gentle, supportive smile that reassures him he’s doing well, even when you can hear as clearly as everyone else how much he’s fucking up. He swears he keeps hearing snickers sprinkled across the classroom, but maybe his mind is playing tricks. Not a single student presents anything other than a straight face, save for the brunette in the front row that’s always making eyes at him.

He wonders if you’d be the jealous type, if another girl looking at him would spur you into a fit of marking him up and reminding him who he belongs to, something that could take all night if he played his cards right. The thought of finding all the bruises and love bites and claw marks on his body (and the subsequent downward rush of blood again) further serves to remind him: you’re not his, but he is yours.

♡

John sighs as he digs a bottle of Tylenol out of his desk drawer. He takes three and chases them down with his cold tea, ignoring the bitter bite on his tongue.

Office hours can be absolute hell with the wrong students, and boy, did he pick a list of winners today (sarcasm, full sarcasm). After hours of students passing the buck and making excuses for missing work or seeking extra credit because of said buck passing, he finds himself corralled by Abigail Briarton, the bright but conniving brunette from 20th Century Lit. Another odd scenario, given the feedback he’s gotten from you on her work. You’ve told him more than once that she shows immense capability in her writing, and yet, she always seeks John out, presenting concerns that she doesn’t quite understand the material.

He’s not stupid; he knows why she schedules office hours. She has a little crush on him - daddy issues, no doubt. It’s clear in how she approaches him, wearing low cut tops, short skirts, subtle (and not so subtle) hints that she’s of legal age and unattached. Their interactions are strictly professional on his end, and after today, he’s remanded her to seeking further clarification on lectures from you.

“If you’re struggling to connect with my lectures or our discussions here, I think it would be best for you to start seeing my TA instead. She’s got a different way of explaining that may be more relatable to you.”

You’re going to hate him for saying that, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it keeps him from being unbearably uncomfortable in his own office twice a week.

Speaking of, he wonders how you’re faring until he hears an exaggerated sigh in the silence that befalls both rooms. That seems to be a sign that he should really check in on you, especially since Victor Denley was your last meeting. The kid can’t put his phone down long enough to pay attention in class, so he imagines the scheduled session don’t go much better.

He tugs open the door separating your offices, hinges squealing in protest. Leaning against the frame, he folds his arms across his chest and lets his ankles cross, balancing his weight between the frame and floor. A sympathetic frown tugs at his lips as his gaze falls on you.

The bridge of your nose is pinched between your fingers, and your eyes are squeezed shut. He’s pretty sure you’re using whatever willpower you have left to stave off one hell of a migraine.

“You look bloody miserable, love. Everything okay?”

One eye cracks open, and the grimace on your face tilts into an adorable little half smile.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you answer, moving your fingers to rub at an achy spot on your temple. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“You’re not a good liar,” he laughs. “If you need anything for your head, I’ve got half a pharmacy in my desk.”

“Save it. You’ll need it more than I do.” He raises an eyebrow, imploring you silently to continue. “Mr. Denley is more focused on his phone than his grades, so I suggested he start scheduling his visits with you instead. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Suppose it’s a fair exchange then.” John shoots you a haughty smirk, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slack. You return his cocked eyebrow questioningly. “Oh, I’ve asked Ms. Abigail to start scheduling with you since she’s having so much difficulty grasping my explanations.”

“You’re violating my eighth amendment rights, Professor,” you groan.

“There’s nothing cruel or unusual about this, and you’re definitely not being punished.”

That’s only a half-truth. It is both cruel and unusual, given the fact that he’s awfully sweet on you and that girl is borderline insufferable, but it’s most definitely not meant to be any sort of punishment. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. He just knows that if he insists on her meeting with you instead, she simply won’t show up. Win win.

If you do want to be punished, though, he can think of dozens of more pleasurable ways to do that. Needn’t but ask, really.

“And for the last time,” he adds. “Please just call me John.”

“That just feels too informal.” You shrug. “You’re my boss.”

John scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes with a growing grin.

“We’re alone, right? No students?” 

You nod. He abandons the doorway and places his palms against your desk. He leans forward, arms bearing his weight, and he’s less than a foot away when he says, “Then there’s no need to keep it so formal, is there, love?”

“I guess not.” He can almost feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and he’s relishing the fact that he’s practically witnessing you getting all hot under the collar before you cheekily add, “John.”

John ducks his head, moving just a little bit closer to you, saying, “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh, it was awful,” you reply right away, pulling a facetious face of disgust. John chuckles, standing up straight. He scrubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m professional.”

♡

“Professor Price?” You poke your head through the doorway to his office, voice sweeter than honey. He hears you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He won’t until you call him by his name.

His fingertips plod away at his keyboard, the rhythmic tapping counting out the seconds until you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“John?”

“Yes?” he hums, hands stalling as he looks up, heart leaping into his throat. Your outfit is simple, nothing that should be getting him worked up; and yet, it is.

You’ve got on those pants that he loves, a hunter green, high-waisted number with large buttons up the front and a built in pair of suspenders that curve around the swells of your breasts. It accentuates your waist in a way that makes his palms itch with the want to hold you there while wide, flowing pant legs give way for your shapely hips. When you turn away, it gives him a full view of the fabric that pulls tight around your pert ass. The fact that you wear heels with them every time is just a bonus, but he likes to consider what you’d look like in just those heels; patent black leather stilettos with a pointed toe that just barely peek out beneath the hem. Neatly tucked into the waist is a plain, white button down with a lightly frilled collar and a black ribbon tied into a bow beneath the lapels, the perfect knot balancing the loops as to keep from looking lopsided.

You have no right to look that fucking good.

“Can you help me really quick?” He raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure if he’d even be able to stand with the way his knees are knocking together. “I’m having a little trouble deciphering this paragraph; it makes sense, but not in the context of the paper.”

“Yeah, bring it here, love.”

You move into his office, heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you approach him. Instead of sitting across from him in the vacant chair, you perch on the corner of his desk, crossing your legs as you set the stapled stack in front of him. Your finger finds the section in question, but John can’t focus with you sitting so close to him.

In his head, he reaches out and puts a hand on your thigh, slowly kneading its expanse from the curve of your hip to the outside of your knee and back, talking sweet to you about how pretty you are and how badly he wants to ruin you; in reality, your perfume is too overwhelming for him to make heads or tails of what he’s reading, so he passes it over three or four times before shrugging.

Looking back up at you proves to be a mistake. Your pillowy lower lip, coated in a neutral shade of lipstick, is trapped between your teeth as you eye him closely, anticipating a clearer explanation than what you could conjure yourself. It crosses his mind what it would feel like to have your lip between his teeth instead, the erotic noises you’d make when he tugs on it. He was halfway hard just looking up at you for once, but the thoughts have him at full mast. He scoots a little tighter to his desk, hoping to hide it.

“I see what you mean,” he finally says, eyes jetting back down to the essay before him. “Right thought, wrong context. Have you checked it in the system for plagiarism?”

You shake your head.

“No, but that’s a good idea. There’s another section - “ You lean down, moving closer to him as you flip ahead to the next page. It’s too much, and his resolve is crumbling by the second. “ - right here. It sounds very similar to a paper I graded this morning.”

You’d think he’d learn his lesson the first time, but not John. Never John. He glances back to you, and the two of you lock in a heated stare, faces only a few inches apart. Your eyes dart down to his mouth and back up. He wants to kiss you right now, so fucking bad, and it looks to him like you want to kiss him, too. Your head tilts just in the slightest; it seems like you’re leaning in…

A knock at his door yanks you away from him as you scramble off his desk, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in your slacks before moving to open the door. He can’t see who’s on the other side just yet, but he doesn’t care. He can’t move, frozen in place with shock and dismay.

“Professor Riley,” you greet politely. “How are you?”

Simon gives you a wary once over, addressing you by name in a stern but polite tone, and that’s enough to start flagging John’s erection right away. It’s the saving grace he needed in that moment to stop him from acting on an impulse you’d surely both regret.

Still, he wonders what would’ve happened if Simon had waited just thirty seconds more.

♡

Being sick by itself is fucking miserable, but being sick, alone, and having to stay sequestered in the house all day? That’s pure torture.

John hates taking sick days. Sure, the students appreciate an extra day of not having to listen to him prattle on about John Wyndham this week; there’s only so much they can take of discussing the underlying themes in the Day of the Triffids before they’re ready to pull their hair out. But it throws a comically large wrench in all of John’s plans, both for the day and for slightly longer-term, especially when he forgets his laptop in his office.

It’s only with a slew of curses, grunts, and grumbles that he manages to convince himself to go get it, crawling out of bed begrudgingly to throw on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. There’s no way he’ll get through the weekend without his computer, so he knows he has no other choice but to drag his tired ass onto campus to get it. If he’s going to take an unintentional long weekend, the least he can do is finish grading the previous unit. He doesn’t want to in the slightest, but the consideration that he may run into you puts a little spark in his step.

He’d texted you when he awoke with a sore throat and a nasty sinus headache, asking you to put a sign on both his office and lecture hall doors to let students know class is canceled (a group email was sent from his phone around 7 this morning, but he knows a vast majority of his pupils don’t check their damn emails). You texted him back shortly after with a simple affirmation and a sweet get well soon message. There was a pause, and then you texted him again, asking if he needed anything. He was sorely tempted to take you up on it, just because he wanted to see you before the weekend, but there’s no need now if he has to come in anyways.

It’s a quick jaunt, since John lives less than five miles away. He parks in the staff lot and sneaks in the back door of the building, cautiously optimistic that no students will see him. How he’s dressed falls far from the guidelines of professionalism, and the fact that he’s sick wouldn’t bode well for any sort of interaction, lest he spread whatever foul virus has crawled into his body this time.

He’s surprised to see an ‘Out of the Office’ sign hanging on your door, too. He thought for sure that you’d still keep your office hours as scheduled, even without him being around. It occurs to him that maybe you don’t want to hang around the office without him, but that thought, while very sweet, is certainly just wishful thinking. You definitely don’t share his vested interest, even if it did seem like you were about to kiss him yesterday.

As he pushes his key into the lock on his office door, he picks up the faint thrumming of a heavy bassline. He’s surprised he didn’t notice it before, considering it seems to be coming from his office. The light is on, odd since he’s obviously been out all day. Curiosity forces his hand to move faster, and what he finds awaiting him is far better than he could’ve ever imagined.

You’re in his office, standing on a chair, deftly dusting the old birch bookshelf behind his desk. All his books and knick-knacks are stacked neatly on a lower shelf as you wipe the top one. The music he heard is twice as loud as he would have guessed, and you’re rocking to the beat, hips swaying in time. It’s equally as amusing as it is downright sexy. The way you move is tantalizing, and John has to take a moment to catch his breath, swallowing a harsh cough before he speaks.

“Really? This is what you listen to when I’m not around?” he laughs as he closes the door behind him. You don’t seem startled as you throw a hazardous glance over your shoulder, your movements never once faltering, even with the sudden audience. You’re not embarrassed about being caught, and that impresses him. Shameless thing, you are.

“Please, Professor, Backstreet’s a classic.”

“Didn’t take you for the boy band type,” he counters, barely suppressing another cough behind a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. You set down the can of Pinesol and your rag and climb off the chair, leaning across his desk to turn the volume down on your phone.

“Good to know I can still surprise you then.”

“I was really hoping superior taste would prevail if you hung around me long enough.” The way your lips curve up at that feels like a match into gasoline. John isn’t certain if it’s you or the fever that’s starting to bead sweat along his hairline.

“You saying I have bad taste?” you laugh, arguably his favorite sound.

“I’m saying I thought you’d enjoy something a bit harder or faster than those bubblegum muppet boy types.”

“Faster doesn’t mean better, John.” The way you say his name (unprompted, might he add) sends a chill up his spine in the best way. Innuendo hangs on every syllable, and he considers how correct you are. He wouldn’t want to be fast with you, not in any sense of the word. He’d take his time, making damn sure that you’d remember every second for the rest of your life.

In conversation, however, he ignores the comment.

“What do you have against 90’s boy bands, sir?”

“Nothing, I just don’t quite get the fascination. Didn’t get it in the 90’s, either.“

“Can’t handle infectious melodies, huh?”

You’re so comfortable with him; he can tell. Much snarkier than usual in a less professional setting, dressed down, and he can’t help but think that this feels a bit more domestic. You’d act like this far more often in the privacy of his own home, wearing his t-shirt while you shuffle his things off the desk for a quick wipe down, calling for him when you can’t reach something. He loves the thought, honestly.

His pause is noticed and mistaken for hesitancy.

“Oh, I get it.” Your expression moves towards something of agreement as you nod, but it quickly falls right back into the same snarky little simper. “You can’t dance, can you?”

His mouth falls open in a silent objection, then closes, then opens again, like a fish out of water. He wants to argue that he’s a great dancer, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Sure, theoretically, he is, but he’s never really tried. He’s never really done more than a simple stand-and-sway at the odd wedding here and there. There’s nothing to it, though, right?

But that’s clearly the reaction you wanted, isn’t it?

You look at him so expectantly, rapt and ready.

He shrugs, “What, like it’s difficult? Of course, I can.”

“Right, because the hand jive totally counts,” you snicker, narrowing the chasm that separates you. “I almost forgot how old you are, Professor Price.”

Again, his mouth opens, this time in feigned offense.

“I’m not that old.”

“Oh, please! You’re practically geriatric! You’re, what, 58?”

“I’m 42,” he barks with a laugh. “We’re barely over a decade apart!”

“Then you’re still young enough to learn,” you answer with finality, putting your hands firmly on your hips. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your apparent cleaning day shorts as you pause, though he’s unsure if it’s due to nerves over what comes next or simply for dramatic effect. “Do you want to? You’ll be able to take it to the clubs.” Your voice gets sing-songy on the last sentence, and John can’t help but chuckle. As if you’d ever see him in a club, as if he’d ever be caught dead in a nightclub.

He contemplates it for a moment, the line between a professional and personal relationship blurring further with each passing second. It’s an interesting opportunity, one that he really should pass up, but he won’t. He gives you a noncommittal shrug with a fairly neutral expression, sighing, “If it’ll get you to stop listening to the bloody Backstreet Boys in my office, I’ll do whatever you want, love.”

You do this adorable little clap, showing off that sweet little smile he loves so much. It’s cute that you’d get so excited about something as simple as showing him some silly little dance he’ll have no need to remember (though he knows he’ll never forget the way your body moves; it’s already on a loop in his head that doesn’t end).

Grabbing your phone off the desk, you scroll a few times before your face lights up again. The volume is pushed to full as you hit play and set it down.

John is ashamed of the fact that he recognizes the song from its first line.

“If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

He stands stock-still, eyeing the way you’re already getting into it. You’re dancing your way over to him, and the air in his lungs freezes when you stop close enough for him to smell the remnants of the morning’s perfume spritz. His head spins when you reach out and grab his hands, encouraging him to feel the beat and just let loose. It’s a little step-touch-sway at first, but you spin yourself under his arm, turning your back to him as you maintain your hold over your shoulder. It forces him to take a step closer, and a primal part of him urges him to bury his face in your neck, smother it with kisses and love bites, mark you up and make you beg for him to give you more. 

He ignores it. He ignores it very, very well… Until you bring his hands to your hips. The same place your palms once occupied are now covered by his, his fingers twitching against the barrier separating him from your soft skin. It’s taking every ounce of effort he possesses to stop himself from allowing his fingertips to dig into the fat around your hips hard enough to leave bruises, a small memento of how badly he wants you that will only ever exist in his mind.

“If you wanna make it last, gotta know just who to ask. Babe, it's gotta be the best, and that's me, my lady. If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

John has no trouble keeping with the music as your body’s sway guides him. The twist and swing of the hips beneath his splayed fingers dictate where to follow, and he does so mindlessly, focused entirely on keeping a gap between the curve of your perfect ass and his ever-hardening erection. He’s cursing himself profusely for opting to go commando under the sweats, but in his defense, he never would’ve imagined in his wildest dreams that this was something his day would hold.

“See? Not that hard,” you murmur, keeping your hands on top of his. Oh yes, it is, he thinks. You give him a gentle squeeze, and it catches him entirely off guard when you take a step back, pressing up against him. His brain starts screaming about how wrong this is, but when you tip your head back against his shoulder, everything goes silent. He can’t hear the music now, he can’t hear his thoughts, he can’t hear his own breathing anymore. It all slows down, feeling like delayed motion as you look up at him, still with that stunning smile painted across your mouth. You say something, but the words don’t reach his ears. His gaze locks on your mouth, and he’s itching to kiss you. That’s all he’s focused on until he sees the smile fade, and you gently pull away, turning in his hold.

“Price? Are you okay?”

He hums in question, narcostic. You repeat, and he processes it with a few blinks. His arms are still wrapped around you, and he can’t stop himself from meeting you in the middle. His forehead presses against yours, noses brushing. There are mere centimeters between his lips and yours, and he knows he can’t take much more of this. He needs to know if you want him as bad as he wants you.

“I need an answer,” you whisper, heated breaths washing over his skin. He nods almost imperceptibly, giving you a soft ‘yeah’. You close the gap just a little more, lower lip grazing his so lightly. It’s so tempting to chase after you, get what he’s so desperately been craving for the last three months, but the logical part of his brain finally catches up, redirecting him to the safest path; the one that protects you.

“You know we can’t do this, right?” he sighs, already regretting the words as they’ve formed. There’s a hope that you’ll tell him it’s okay, that you want this just as bad as he does and will keep this dirty little secret between the two of you. Reality, though, tips the scales, and John has to steel his resolve.

“Even if I really, really want to? Just once, and it’ll never happen again, I promise.” Your tone is pained, and he feels his heart clench. He doesn’t need to question how you feel about him anymore; he does, however, need to protect you.

“There’s no going back once we cross that line.” It fucking kills him to say that. He’s functionally just ripping out his own heart and throwing it on the tracks before an oncoming train, but it needs to be said.

You close your eyes as you let out a sigh matching his, and he feels your eyelashes crest across the apples of his cheeks. His grip on you tightens just briefly, fingertips digging in to show you he means it.

“John - “

He shakes his head. He can’t take that chance. If he kisses you, even just once, he’ll only want to keep doing it. That would be his undoing. It’s a gamble he can’t afford to take on your behalf.

“No, love. I’m not risking your education, your future, over one little kiss.”

You nod understandingly, creating a new space between the two of you. John can hear a shudder in your breathing as he lets his arms fall to his sides, and it leaves an ache in that hole in his chest, one that’s only furthered by the dejected look on your face. He wishes things were different so he could kiss that look away. 

He briefly wonders if it’s too late to change his mind, but you make it clear for him when you grab your phone from his desk, shut off the music, and climb back up on the chair, intent on continuing to clean like nothing just happened.

“Just so you know, I am sorry,” he says in a hushed tone as he grabs his laptop off his desk.

You smile at him softly over your shoulder, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can still see that hint of hurt in your expression.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Professor Price.”

♡

He can’t focus. Try as John might, he can’t draw his brain away from you.

The cursor on his laptop blinks impatiently at him as the blank document on his screen awaits its transformation into the following unit’s lecture notes. A white blanket does no favors in occupying his mind with things that are of dire need. His section on 1960s literature begins tomorrow, he’s feeling far better physically than the days prior, and yet he’s still wrapped up in the feeling of his hands on your hips, your touch on his heated skin, the look in your eyes when you said, “even if I really, really want to?”.

It’s not a question anymore, if you want him as badly as he wants you. He knows you do. And there’s something about the fact that he can’t have you that just makes him crave you more.

He’s not sure what about you is making it so difficult for him to keep his head straight. Obviously, you’re stunning. It’s impossible not to see that - even half the students that come in for your office hours are just stopping by to try their hand at flirting with you (he can hear it from his office; drives him up the fucking walls). But he had a more intimate connection with you before he knew how goddamn gorgeous you are, which also somehow doesn’t seem to be the solidifier for his borderline obsession.

He pushes himself away from his kitchen table, deciding a shower and some food might push you out of his mind long enough to get his notes prepared. Anything that can provide some sort  of distraction from feeling like such a colossal jackass, both for turning you down and for falling for you in the first place.

Stripping off his clothes, Price throws them in the hamper. He mindlessly guides himself into his en suite bathroom. The sunlight peeking through the window gives him more than enough light to abandon any consideration for the switch by the doorway. He cranks the handle on the faucet over, continually checking the temperature until it’s just right before pulling the lever and letting the showerhead spit to life.

Water just this side of scalding pelts his skin, and he feels his entire body relax, tension melting from his knotted shoulders. It feels good. It allows him to let go of everything in his brain and just feel. But that empty head doesn’t last.

John starts washing his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tip of his fingers, and a wave of warmth, warmer than the water, ghosts across his skin. He swears he can smell your perfume, and he imagines the hands in his hair are yours. He can practically hear your little giggle as he tilts his head back to rinse, whispering sweet nothings at a volume only perceptible to him.

It’s a constant struggle to block out the thought of you, even for just a few minutes. As he rakes a hand through his hair again, phantom hands follow behind. He imagines your fingers threading through, grabbing a fistful and giving it a rough tug. It’s enough to get him half hard, and he has to swallow the pleased noise in the back of his throat as he pictures those tugs while his face is buried between your thighs.

His hands map the contours of his body, lathering them up with the scent of leather, vanilla, and pine. He takes his time, picturing your hands running across his skin instead. His fingertips brushing across his hips sends a jolt through him, the image becoming far too vivid all at once. He can’t stop the harsh sigh he lets out, and he’s done pretending that he isn’t going to get off on this.

Not that he hasn’t been jacking it all weekend thinking about you. Honestly, if his math is correct, this puts him in double-digits since Friday night; it’s the third time today, even.

Wrapping a soapy fist around his cock, he allows himself a few short, quick strokes before squeezing around the base and slowing himself down. He’s going to savor this one because he is not going to be doing it again (that’s total bullshit, but let him believe it).

He imagines how pretty your mouth would look wrapped around him, those sweet doe eyes looking up at him as he nudges the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he sighs, picking up his pace a little. “Take it for me.”

His grip tightens around the tip as he twists his wrist, letting out a long, low moan. He likes to think you’d be making all sorts of saccharine little noises for him, sweet like your mouth is full of honey. There’s no way he’d finish like that, though. He’d reserve that for being so deep inside you, you could feel it in your stomach.

He throws his head back, wet hair falling away from his forehead, as he pictures having you bent over before him, bracing yourself on the edge of the tub as he runs his cock through your folds a few times. He’d relish how fucking soaked sucking him off would get you.

“Fuck, sweet little thing, is all that for me?” He thinks you’d nod, biting your lower lip as you look at him over your shoulder, wiggling that cute ass as if you’re asking for more. He’d give it to you. Fuck, he’d give you anything you want.

Again, his fist tightens around his dick. Even with as much as he’d work you up, Price still believes firmly that it’d be a decent stretch for you to take all of him (he’s not bragging; he just knows that he’s well above average). That pretty little pussy would be squeezing him so good, so he does his best to make his grip match.

“Your cunt feels so good, love,” he grunts, fucking his hand hard and fast. “Made for me, huh?”

You’d agree, wouldn’t you?

He licks his lips, adding, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Sweet little hole made just for me.”

He’d grab you by the throat, pulling you back against him for a sloppy, awkwardly-angled kiss while he fucks into you, on the verge of cumming purely due to the way you’re looking up at him. He’d be a gentleman, of course, offering to pull out, but he thinks you’d decline. He thinks you’d beg him to cum inside you. That’s what does him in.

“Want it inside me… Please, John… Inside… Fuck, don’t stop.”

With a stutter to his rhythm, Price feels the knot in his stomach burst, and he spills over his knuckles, hot, white streaks painting his fingers.

He doesn’t feel bad about it, touching himself, thinking of you; not when he knows without question that you want him just as bad.

♡

The changing of seasons comes far too soon, in more ways than one. As fall gives way to the bitter temperatures of the ever impatient winter, you, too, grow colder. 

You don't call him by his name anymore. No longer do you inquire after his weekend or surprise him with his favorite tea in the mornings or recommend books you'd just finished. You don’t smile at him through lectures, nor do you greet him in the hall with your standard enthusiasm. You're still you with everyone else, but only the picture-perfect persona of professionalism with him, and that hurts.

It stings. Thousands of yellow jackets prick the inside of his chest at all hours of the day, driving their thorny needles in as deep as they'll go. He gets no reprieve, awake or asleep. Every icy interaction is another pang of regret, and how curious, he thinks, that those pesky wasps have managed to hold out so long with the changing weather. 

As much as he'd like to, John can't blame anyone but himself. By all accounts, he did the right thing. If he would've kissed you, he wouldn't have been able to stop. It would become compulsive, habitual. Someone would find out sooner or later, and there's no doubt it would be cemented as part of your reputation. There's no telling what degree of damage that would do to your career. You've worked too damn hard to get this far; it wouldn't be right of him to take that all away for you over one moment of selfishness.

But is this not selfishness? The devil on his shoulder scolds him. It tells him it was never his place to make decisions for you, that you’re a grown woman capable of doing as you please, that you wouldn’t have practically begged him to kiss you if you didn’t want it just as badly as he did.

It isn’t until he overhears you talking with Johnny MacTavish, a TA from the science department, that he considers that little devil may have a valid point.

“I just feel so stupid, Johnny. One minute, I think he’s just about to kiss me, and the next, he’s turning me down. Did I do something wrong? Do you think I misread the situation? Or am I just gullible enough to think that someone like him would ever want me?”

“Oh, pish. I’ve seen the way that mook stares at you. Nothin’ wrong with you, bonnie; you’re the whole damn package. Seems to be him with the problem, aye?”

It breaks his heart that you’d think so lowly of him to diminish yourself in any way on his behalf. He has half a mind to intrude, to burst into your office and tell you the facts as they stand - that you’re the only thing he ever thinks about anymore, his only vice, that you are perfect to him, for him, that it is him who feels the need to address the issue at hand, that, as much as John may loathe to admit, MacTavish is spot-on (it’s nothing personal; he’s a good kid. Price just isn’t big on being called out for acting like a complete fool).

However, where Price hangs himself for this is the dichotomy of his apparent staring problem.

On one hand, he knows he chances a glance far too often for his own posterity. He catches himself looking in your direction time and time again during his lectures, hoping to catch you staring back, and has to remind himself how inappropriate that is under any circumstance. On the other, though, how is he supposed to just ignore the way you’ve been dressing as of late? It’s like you’re actively trying to kill him. His palms itch with a need to touch, fingers twitching with a want to squeeze, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like you were doing it intentionally. What better revenge than showing him what he’s missing out on?

It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you.

Just this once, he tells himself he should've been selfish.

[michaelmylove]

Hello, John. Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again? Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesise on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the centre of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organisation I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realised she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realised what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a linchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instil in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, John?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colours.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone.  Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

Oh my god you. You really did the whole thing. You did the whole damn thing. I don't know whether i should be deeply concerned or impressed or just afraid. Maybe a queer concoction of all three