#me obliterating their door off it’s hinges

[gay-cripply-scientist]

[redyarns]

resist much, obey little (ch 1)

Alastor had a noose around his neck.

There was only one person who could loosen it.

--------

Temptation had never strung Lucifer along. He was an angel of Heaven no matter what anyone else said, and he had never fallen whim to any of the sins that humans were so eager to do.

And Alastor, a demon and a sinner who had fallen even further after death, was the most forbidden fruit of all.

He was the very embodiment of blasphemy.

But by God, did Lucifer want him.

--------

Knock-knock.

Lucifer let out a weak groan as he slowly let his arm slide off his eyes and off the side of the couch. Red starlight drifted through the torn curtains of a nearby window and nearly blinded him even with his eyes closed, and he had to squint and blink half a dozen times before he raised a hand and scrubbed at his face. 

Knock-knock. 

“Give me a second,” he called to the idiot who kept banging on his door. 

He felt like, well. He felt like someone had take a grinder, stuffed him inside, made him into a sausage, and then shoved said sausage into all their orifices. 

He hadn't felt this tired, this pained, in a very long time, and he liked to think he had a high pain tolerance. Nothing had hurt him quite as much as the Fall, or when Lilith left, or when he had to acknowledge his subjects, but he still couldn't quite shake the bone-aching exhaustion as there was a small rustle beside him along with a coo. 

Knock-knock-knock. 

“I said in a minute!” Lucifer barked again, the infuriating sound pacified at least for now as his tone shifted into something far more gentle while he curled around the small bundle of warmth that he had fallen asleep with. “My little princess, did you sleep well?” 

Charlotte Morningstar was the apple of his eye and she was all the more beautiful because of it. She was tucked carefully in between the solid back of the couch and his own body. There was no one in Hell or even the Heavens that would try to defy him and dare to harm her, but it quelled at least some of the constant anxiety in him to know she was near him. 

She waved her chubby fists in the air, her eyes already crinkled at the edges with her delighted smile, and he couldn't help it as he gathered her even closer and buried his nose into her soft, beautiful hair and inhale the smell of baby powder. 

“Well, starshine, I guess it's time to see who wants to bother our peace so early in the morning,” Lucifer sighed. 

Honestly, what kind of fool knocked on anyone's door this early, much less the devil's himself? He dreamed of strangling the idiot who was standing outside his house; maybe it was a stupid imp who wandered somewhere they shouldn't have, or Asmodeus coming to whine to him again, or even worse, Lili - 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK. 

“How dare you disturb your king's slumber?” Lucifer roared, now fully enraged as he ripped open the door so forcefully that it was torn off the hinges completely. 

Bits of wood and debris rained around him as his tail lashed in anger, his horns spontaneously grown out of the crown of his head, and he was only a second away from turning this worthless demon into a husk, only for a piece of paper to suddenly be shoved into his face. 

“What the - “ Lucifer said, and he squinted to read the blurry text, a result of staying up far too many nights in a row and refusing to do anything about it. 

Hey, Idiot! 

Want a job no other can fulfill? Do you want some light shed in your otherwise pitifully empty life? 

Are you capable of destroying the very atoms who dare to disturb my own? 

Then this is the job for you! 

Your King of Hell is in need of assistance! 

(Fail and I will rip out your intestines, stuff them with your liver and kidneys, and make you eat your meat sausages while gouging out your eyes to prepare you jelly on toast.)

Details include: 

-Changing and checking diapers

-Feeding and napping at appropriate times

-Obliterating anyone who dares to harm Charlie or make her cry 

-Entertaining her and keeping her away from that blasted thing called a television

-Keeping me, your boss (and overlord and King of Hell) updated on every activity she does

-Schedule appointments and calls accordingly

-And anything else I ask you because I said so

Contact the number below to get in touch with me, Lucifer Morningstar, to schedule an interview today! 

666-666-6666

Lucifer had to read it once, twice, before he managed to dig up some fuzzy memory from about at least four months ago. 

He remembered it in pieces; how exhausted he was as he tried to cope with the loss of his wife and the sudden gain of a child; his madness as he tried his best to coax Charlie into sleep, even as she refused and wailed; his internal grief as he tried to understand what to do or how to do it. 

He had summoned a succubus and demanded that they put up all of his haphazardly made fliers all around hell. In complete honesty, he had forgotten all about it as soon as the papers disappeared from his desk, as Charlie had proceeded to vomit over his button-up and was wailing again. She'd developed a fever and the night had dissolved into a frenzy to better her as quickly as possible. 

He hadn't expected anyone to read the flier, much less even give it a second thought, and his horns and tail slowly disappeared as he pushed aside the paper and glared at the demon who dared to show up right at his doorstep. 

The demon was a sinner. He had a soul unlike the hellborne, and seemed to enjoy it, too. He grinned too widely and seemed way too into the dress-red-for-Hell theme, and when he spoke, his voice crackled with the poor frequency of an old timey radio as he said, “well hello to you, my liege! I suppose I might have troubled you this morning, but I’m here about your curious job offer!” 

“Why are you here at all?” Lucifer snapped, balancing Charlie on his hip and bouncing her when she began to fuss. She drooled on the lapel of his jacket, but as long as she wasn't crying, that was fine by him, so he allowed her to continue as he snarled, “the flier says to call me at the number on the bottom! Are you as blind as you are disobedient?” 

The demon's grin widened just by a fraction of an inch, and he bent down into a deep, sarcastic bow. “My apologies, Your Majesty. That was not an oversight on my part; I just don't have a fondness for those… things.” 

“Things?” 

“Cellphones,” the demon said slowly, like the word was clunky and ill-fitting in his mouth. He rubbed his chin with clawed fingers in thought and said, “I'm rather old fashioned, you could say, and those little devices with their tiny buttons are beyond my time.” 

“Huh,” Lucifer grunted, less than a little interested in whatever the demon was saying. He had most of his attention on Charlie, who was now gnawing on his finger with her gums, and he said, “yeah, whatever you say, grandpa. If you want an interview then come in. But touch anything and I'll kill you.” 

“I wouldn't dream of it, sire!” The demon trilled happily as he stepped over the threshold and, bizarrely enough, summoned a microphone staff and used it like a cane. 

This demon was an unusual one, even among Lucifer's bunch of vile and annoying little shits he called his subjects, and he wondered if he made a mistake letting him in as he pointed at the now broken pieces of the door and said, “that's your first question. If you really aren't illiterate and you read that flier, then you know I don't want some useless little wimp. Show me how powerful you are and then I'll - “ 

Magic swelled in the air like a sudden puff of air, and Lucifer blinked as the door was suddenly fixed and placed back on its hinges. Why, the smug asshole even decorated the damn thing with little carvings of microphones all around the edges. 

“You didn't let me finish,” Lucifer snarled. 

“No need to, Your Majesty,” the demon said, looking rather pleased with his handiwork as he observed the wood. “What kind of assistant would I be if I couldn't at least predict your basic wants or needs?” 

Lucifer stared, tilting his head slightly.

The demon didn’t say the words in contempt. In fact, he seemed excited about it, which further solidified the idea that he was a weirdo. 

Lucifer was the leader of the Pride Ring, after all, so he was excellent at evoking hilarious reactions by poking at people's sensitive prides, but this demon didn't seem at all offended over the demeaning job of being an assistant. 

And to think a powerful demon like this existed at all… his magic from just now was similarly no joke. It was the kind of stuff that tingled across Lucifer's skin and nearly down his back and to his wings, which rustled restlessly when he thought too hard about it. 

He always had them tucked away for several reasons, but to think a sinner had the ability to create enough power to have him move even a single feather was… impressive. 

It was impressive and he was annoyed about it, which probably showed on his face as he clicked his tongue and said, “show off. Fine. Charlie has to have breakfast now, so come on.” 

Lucifer ignored the way the demon's smile crinkled at the edges as he turned on his heel and marched to the kitchen. 

It pinched the edge of his mind to see just how destroyed the place was. Various toys, baby contraptions, clothes, and uneaten food littered the place. 

It also smelled vaguely like baby powder and oil, and Lucifer himself probably looked like an actual disaster with how his hair was unkempt and he hadn't changed his clothes in three days, but he was too tired to care as he stepped over a mountain of stuffed animals. 

The kitchen was no less of a messy tornado than the living room, but at least the high-top was clean. 

Lucifer cooed to his daughter as she kicked her legs and squealed in delight when he lifted her into the air and kissed her bare belly, distracting her from destroying yet another piece of furniture. 

“She doesn't like sitting,” Lucifer sing-songed, keeping his voice as high-pitched and sweet as possible while slowly starting to lower her into the cushion of the chair. “But as long as you keep her distracted, she can do it with minimum fuss! Right, Charlie? Right, starshine? My wonderful wittie bittie girl, look how good you are!” 

Lucifer let out a huge, admittedly rather relieved sigh when she let her chubby legs stick through the opening of the high-too while she bashed her tiny fists onto the table. She only made small, little displeased noises when he tied a bib around her neck and she blew a raspberry, but that was it. 

This was turning out to be a great morning, then. 

“Go on,” Lucifer said, turning around and crossing his arms as he tried to look as intimidating as possible. It was then that he realized the demon was at least a foot taller than him; the audacity! “Feed her. That's your second question; if you really want this job, you should know how to take care of a baby.” 

“Hmm,” the demon hummed. He didn't seem at all perturbed by the hostility nor the near harassment of demands, and he merely waltzed over to the fridge, opening it and bending at the waist to observe what was inside. 

After only a moment of looking, he reached in and grabbed several apples, all bright red and crisp. He took care to avoid any of the ones with spots on them, Lucifer realized, and the demon whistled a cheery tune as he juggled four apples easily and then threw them all up at once. 

He snapped his fingers and a blender popped into existence, taking the fruits with ease and floating in the air as it blended them into a sauce. 

“There,” he said, smug and satisfied as the blender poured out several mini jars of perfectly liquified apples. “Nutritious and well-processed to avoid any chunks.” 

“Anyone can blend apples, smarta - smarty-pants,” Lucifer snapped. “I mean feed her. I don't give a shi - crud if you’re powerful and if you've read every single parenting book in the realm. If she doesn't like you, I’ll crush you here and now.” 

That was the barest truth of all of this. Lucifer was the most powerful of them all, could destroy any single one of them into dust if he truly wanted, so what did it matter if this single demon was slightly stronger than average? 

All demons had the potential to grow just as much as he had, but Lucifer didn’t give a flying rat's ass about that. It simply boiled down to if Charlie liked them. 

He refused to have someone be her caretaker if she hated them. She needed love, warmth, compassion - all the things no regular demon could give. She deserved those things, and Lucifer had already given his whole heart to her, but he knew it wasn't enough. 

For the first time since he got there, the demon hesitated. His smile waned only by a centimeter, but it was noticeable enough, and he eyed Charlie apprehensively. 

After another second of contemplation, he approached her slowly, and Lucifer watched from only a few feet away, his wings threatening to burst out of his back from how tense he was. 

He didn't know this demon, couldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, and if there was even the slightest chance that he would hurt Charlie, Lucifer had to intervene and make him eat his own intestines. 

Luckily, the demon didn't do such a thing. 

He set aside his microphone, leaning it against the counter, and he bent slightly so that he was eye-level with the baby. 

Charlie gurgled, a noise of curiosity more than apprehension or fear, and she drooled a little as she stared at him and blinked in question when he curled a finger and a jar of applesauce floated towards him. 

“Your Highness, although I know it must be very early in the morning for you, it's imperative to a young demon's health to eat well in order to grow and ascend to their rightful place,” the demon said. “In your case, it's your throne. It would be a tremendous help if you didn't make a fuss.” 

Lucifer watched in bewilderment. 

This man talked to his Charlie like she could understand a word that he just said. On good days, she could comprehend basic commands of no or stop , but that was the absolute limit. 

She didn't even know what her hands were, or had any sort of object permanence! How could this stupid demon expect her to understand any of that? 

But instead of flinging applesauce into his face like Lucifer expected, Charlie merely popped her lips, grumbled for a few seconds, and then opened her mouth obediently. 

Lucifer's jaw dropped as the demon laughed from his throat. 

“Well done, Princess,” the demon said, his eyes crescent-shaped from how pleased he was. He even spoon-fed her with his hand, not his magic, and he continued to speak like she was a grown woman instead of a baby who dribbled most of the applesauce down her chin and to her bib. “You are exceeding my expectations already. I have no doubt you will continue to do so.” 

He hummed as she continued to eat, slowly making her way through the jar of fruit. Anytime some of the sauce spilled out of the corner of her lips, he patiently wiped it away with a summoned handkerchief, and he even allowed her to grip onto one of his fingers as he fed her. 

Charlie loved grabbing things. It was her way of seeking comfort or validation when she was doing something new, and she had never eaten apples before this. She always loved to tug on Lucifer's hair or his clothes with an iron grip, but she seemed completely at ease as she licked at the spoon and smiled gummily at the demon when he tutted. 

“Your Highness, etiquette is important to proper young ladies like yourself,” he said, but his voice was gentle and not admonishing as he rubbed at her cheek again with his napkin. She beamed at the touch and giggled. “Yes, yes. You are forgiven. Now, let's make sure you don't regret your breakfast, shall we?” 

Before Lucifer even had a chance to say anything, the demon scooped Charlie up and out of her chair. Her legs kicked like she always did whenever she realized she was about to be carried, and she snuggled against his shoulder as he properly secured her to his chest and began patting her back. 

He was burping her. 

He had managed to feed her, soothe her, indulge her habit of grabbing things, and he was now burping her. 

Lucifer felt like a puppet whose strings were just cut as he sagged suddenly against the counter and had to grip it tightly to make sure he didn't crumble to the ground. 

For the first time ever since Charlie's birth, he had a moment of freedom, a moment to breathe, and he inhaled deeply as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and hysterically thought to himself that he now had a chance to shower.

“Demon,” he commanded as best as he could, but it really sounded like he was on the brink of toppling over as he continued to watch the pair. 

“Hmm?” The demon replied, never stopping as he continued to pat Charlie's back while walking in a circle, bouncing slightly with each step so she wouldn't grow bored. 

“Your name,” Lucifer said. 

The demon grinned at him. It was a disturbing smile, really, and Lucifer had half the mind to wipe it off his smug little face for daring to look so triumphant, but he refrained. 

After all, the demon seemed to understand the hidden meaning of his question, and when he spoke, his voice crackled at the edges of his pleasure as he bowed slightly and said, “Alastor.” 

“Well, Alastor,” Lucifer said, hauling himself up to his feet and trying to blink away the spots in his eyes. “I hope you know what you're getting yourself into.”

Alastor purred. 

“I look forward to working with you, Your Majesty.” 

[quietwingsinthesky]

hi, for the rarepairs prompts, can i request a s5 dean/sam/lucifer/castiel/gabriel stopping the apocalypse? thank you! :3

the vibes of this is. there is fluffy happening for the pairing. but its all filtered through the michael pov angst, which is how it came to me. alsjfkgksj hope you enjoy that.

Michael is in Stull Cemetary the fated day they’re meant to fight.

Lucifer is… not.

He waits, generously, a few hours. Lucifer doesn’t arrive. Michael gets antsy, enough so that even Adam notices in the corner of his mind that Michael’s shoved him into, a haughty little snort at Michael pacing through the graves before Michael shuts him out.

It’s not like his brother is hard to find. Archangels are beacons to each other. He lands-

He lands outside a cabin. He blinks at it. The lights are on inside, snow piling on the porch and against the windows. The curtains are drawn to keep anyone from seeing in. Michael trudges up to the door, considers tearing it off its hinges, and reluctantly knocks instead. He waits, suppressing his vessel’s instinct to shiver.

His brother answers the door. Michael takes a step back.

“Huh,” Gabriel says, “guess it’s that day already.” Michael stares at him, unable to process his brother’s voice for the first time in thousands of years. He should be dead. Michael thought-

“Who’s at the door?” Michael’s head snaps to look behind Gabriel, but he can’t see his true vessel, only hear him.

“Family!” Gabriel calls back. “Well, come on, out of the cold, Mikey.”

Mikey?, Michael mouths, too disorientated to argue.

Gabriel shuts the door behind him and heads back deeper into the cabin. Snow is melting off of Michael’s hair as he stands at the entrance. Lucifer is here. He’s so bright that being this close to him makes Michael’s grace ache.

How could he miss Gabriel? How did he hide? He has to chase after him to know, but in the next room, he finds his brother already flopping back onto a couch with his true vessel, kicking his shoes off as Dean tries without much effort to shove his head out of his lap.

Michael can’t come up with words. (His lungs hurt, his heart hurts, everything in his vessel’s chest hurts, just looking at Gabriel’s comfy wiggle into Dean’s space. Is there something wrong with Adam? Why is it so hard to exist here?)

He pulls his gaze away to the room’s other couch. First, he spots Sam Winchester, uninhabited, and beside him, wrapped under heavy blankets, Castiel, the rebel. Michael should obliterate him now, but he’s frozen watching Castiel lean into Sam so casually and sigh. One of Sam’s hands wraps around Castiel’s waist, and the other…

Michael follows his arm down to the archangel sitting on the floor between Sam’s legs. Lucifer’s head is tilted back as Sam massages his scalp, a rumble of pleasure rolling out of him at each of Sam’s touches. Castiel nudges Lucifer with his foot, and Lucifer loosely wraps his hand around his ankle. His eyes are shut, pure bliss spread across his face.

(He hurts. Looking at Lucifer, relaxed and happy, is worse than anything he’s ever felt.)

“What?” is all Michael manages, voice borrowing a crack from the body’s owner.

Lucifer’s eyes open heavily. He drags his gaze over to Michael, head tipping against Sam’s thigh. Sam doesn’t stop, just slides his hand down and presses his fingers into the muscles of Lucifer’s neck until he groans quietly.

“Hello, Michael,” Lucifer says. “I’m sorry. I’ve decided not to end the world. You can go home.”

From across the room, Dean snorts (and it sounds a little like the way Adam did earlier in Michael’s mind.) “‘Decided’,” he says. “Like it didn’t take all four of us to convince you.”

Lucifer should snap at Dean for that, for the scoff and the injury to his pride. Michael waits for it. A sleepy smile spreads over Lucifer’s face instead as he sits up straighter for Sam to rub more of his neck.

“You wore me down,” he says, fondly. His gaze eventually drifts back to Michael. “You won’t change my mind back, brother.”

“You can’t.” Michael sounds helpless, and he hates it, and why is his vessel so tense? Why won’t his throat let out the words he needs to say to force Lucifer back into his role? Why does he want to run and never remember this warm, cozy place that isn’t his?

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Take my free will up with God,” he says, with the first familiar sliver of cruelty Michael’s expected.

“Lucifer,” Castiel says, and Lucifer’s eyes go soft again as he looks back at the angel.

“You’re right,” he murmurs. Kinder, he turns to Michael a final time. “It’s my gift to you, too. You can do whatever you want now, brother. We’re free.”

Michael can’t bear it. He leaves. He does not look back.

[sacredwrath]

P3. Are you ok?

Panic attack, paranoia, ptsd, referenced past torture, comfort!!

Jesse lays awake on their favorite overstuffed yellow sofa, staring out the large floor to ceiling windows in their living room. They couldn't face their old bedroom. At least not yet, but even here, they're still struggling to calm down enough to sleep.

They know if they let their eyes close, they'll be back in their cell, Morgan standing over them, kicking them awake from this impossible, perfect dream. They can almost hear his voice in their head.

"Thought you escaped me, Jes? Thought you were home safe with your family? How sad. Poor Jesse. You really are losing it, aren't you?"

They shake their head, violently ridding themself of his voice before they start to panic.

Outside, trees sway in a gentle breeze. Beams of moonlight stream in illuminating the living room and Isa's familiar form curled on the next sofa. They watch her easy breathing.

She is real. She is here. They are here. They are home.

The gentle rhythm of her breathing relaxes them and their eyelids droop.

"There you are."

Their eyes fly open, heart stuttering in their chest. That was him. His voice, clear as day. Sitting up in a panic they search the room, too terrified to look towards the window. They know they'll see him standing there. Grin on his face, knife in hand. Their heart races

Just look. He's not here, he can't be here. It's just your mind playing tricks. It's fine.

They force a peek.

Nothing, but swaying pines.

They try to relax, breathing deeply, their heart begins to slow.

A soft click at the door obliterates their calm. They're on their feet, falling, crawling somewhere safe. Anywhere.

Maybe they imagined it.

But then they hear the soft creek of old hinges as the heavy door is eased open as quietly as he can manage.

He's here, he's really here! He's going to take me again

They drag themself across the floor to the kitchen, only a few steps away around a long breakfast bar. They reach the sink just as the door clicks shut.

He will not take me again, he will not take me again, he will not take me again, he will-

Their fingertips scrabble across the counter trying to find the knife block.

Quiet footsteps in the hall.

They spin, knife clenched in trembling hands.

"Woah" the word is a startled breath. Moonlight shimmers off golden hair not dark and his hands are raised, but in surrender not attack.

It takes them a moment to register what they're seeing. Then their eyes dart around the room, scanning every corner and shadow.

Slowly they lower the knife a fraction.

Logan takes a tentative step closer.

"Hey, it's ok Jes, just me... I'm sorry I scared you."

"Logan?" The terror still lingers, but they feel their rational mind trying to reassert itself.

"Logan" they repeat more confidently "I- shit, I'm sorry!" They look down at themself, huddled trembling against the cabinets, large kitchen knife in hand. How did they even get here? "I- I don't know what happened, I was on the couch and..."

"Hey it's ok, don't worry about it." He comes closer, seating himself in front of them, reaching out to take the knife.

Instinctively they jerk it away, clutching it close to their chest

"Woah, ok, be careful, I won't take it."

Their breath is still coming too fast adrenaline zinging through them like rocket fuel.

"Here, come on, let's just take a couple deep breaths ok?"

They nod

"Ok, close your eyes-"

"No, no I can't, I can't!"

"Ok, ok, that's alright, that's even better, just watch me then."

Their eyes roam the corners, again looking for any sign of that telltale silhouette, dark hair, the scent of clove and cedar always just failing to mask the sour, metallic tang of blood.

"Jesse?"

They snap back to Logan, crouching on the floor in front of them. Logan.

"It's ok, just follow my breathing, in..."

Air doesn't want to fill their lungs.

"...and out..."

They force it out anyways.

"...in..."

More air this time.

"...and out..."

It's Logan sitting in front of them.

"...in..."

Logan is safe.

“...and out…”

They are safe with Logan.

“...in…”

They lose themself in the rhythm of his words.

"...and out..."

Focusing entirely on the feeling of their lungs contracting and expanding.

"...in..."

They don't know how long it goes on, but eventually, they feel the panic releasing them. Each breath loosening its hold a little more. Tears well in their eyes. Noticing, Logan cuts off his chant.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better..." the word sounds weak and uncertain, their eyes are drawn back to the corners

"Can I get closer to you?"

They nod.

"Is this ok?" Logan wraps an arm gently around their shoulders pulling them in close.

Another nod

"Good, I've got you. You're safe now" his hand rubs slow circles on their back, careful to avoid their injuries. "I locked the door behind me. No one's here, but you and I... well, and Isa on the couch." His lips quirk against their hair. "You're safe."

"I-" They stop, not wanting to fall apart again, but the words feel like fire in their throat, now that they've come they'll burn a hole through their windpipe to be spoken. "I haven't felt safe in so long I can't... I can't even remember what it feels like." He grips them tighter, so tight it hurts, a good kind of hurt.

"You're safe now. You're home. Nothing and no one on earth will hurt you like that ever again." The words are good, but Jesse doesn't believe them, after all, how can Logan stop someone like Morgan? Someone who's ripped out parts of their soul and left them bleeding on the floor of that cell. They feel like a rag that's been worn down to nothing but a tangled, dirty pile of thread.

“Logan” they whisper. More words they don't want to speak. “I think… I don't think… what if… what if I can't fix it?”

“Fix what?”

“What he did to me. What if I'm- broken…” they trail off again “permanently damaged.” they whisper.

“That's not- Jesse. You aren't broken. You are still the same person, You're still-”

“Stop!” They snap, pulling away from him. “You don't understand. Logan. You don't know what he did-” they stop. “He changed me.” They watch him intently, looking for any sign of misgiving. He swallows.

“I know Jes.” He takes their hands, gentle fingers carefully avoiding their crooked fingers. “It doesn't feel right to tell you everythings going to be ok, at least not now, not right away, but…” he meets their eyes. “But Jesse, I promise you. I’ll do everything in my power to help you feel ok again. No matter how long it takes, no matter what he changed, no matter what. You are the strongest person I know, and you are surrounded by the other strongest people I know. You will be ok again, and we’ll all be here to help support you till then.”

His words bring more tears to their tired eyes and they let themself be soothed. They don't know if they believe him, but as they lean into his arms, feeling ok again doesn't seem impossible.

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Tag list:) @whumpacabra

[dnangelic]

he’s about to tear the door off it’s hinges !! how dare dai do this to him , does the cardinal not realize katsu is but a sensitive love bird ?! “DAMMIT DAI GET OUT HERE BEFORE I DRAG YOU OUT !! WE ARE GOING TO GET ICE CREAM AND THEN A NIGHT TIME MACABRE ASS WALK IN THE PARK WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT !!!” he doesn’t need this , he has fan girls for gods sake !! *rattle rattle*

@deathonate

SCREAMS . ' --- LEAVE ME ALONE !! '

aah , he's sick to his stomach ! he's scared out of his mind ! pressing his back against the door with all of his might wouldn't end up with it getting completely obliterated behind him , would it ?! the knob violently jiggles as bakugou shoves and kicks on it , but he can't , he can't --- !

he's so embarrassed he could die !!

' why right now ?! why like this --- ?! ' and why him , anyways ?! the word date felt more like doomsday , and this sensitive love bird had the temper of a live bomb . even if bakugou's fist crashed through the door to yank and drag him outwards , he still would have left long claw marks on the floor all the way out to the sidewalk . ' i'm just a loser , so go without me --- !! '

he already knew who bakugou was ! someone who fascinated all sorts of fans , admirers , ten my-hero-illion follows on just about every website ! in comparison , who was he supposed to be ?! ( nevermind that he had already transformed , and anybody else would have just as readily recognized him as the world's greatest phantom thief . )

' isn't there some girl you like instead ?! ' come on , get serious ! be real ! be reasonable !! if the other knew even the slightest of his life at azumano , and just how everyone treated him at school ; how he was always the last chosen for just about everything , readily decided no good , laughed and whispered over and called an idiot for falling off cliffs or being the only one to almost drown , for all he knew --- bakugou might not have even wanted anything more to do with him out of shame , and daisuke wouldn't have blamed him , either !

' i --- i'm trying to help you , you're making a big mistake , bakugou-san --- ! ' so quit ! pushing ! on ! the door !

[segnisacfessis]

Me: Wow I'm having so much fun writing this is so great and I'm glad that I'm keeping things reasonable with only one muse Ann, Junpei, Minako, Yuko, Chie, and a whole army of other muses knocking my door off it's hinges therefore obliterating it from existence: Did someone say something???

[lokisasgardianvampirequeen]

To Those Who Time Forgot

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Vampire!Female Reader, Sam Wilson

Words: 2137

Warning(s): Violence, Swearing, Medical Abuse

A/N: All characters are property of Marvel I’m just borrowing them. Please do not use or repost my work elsewhere. Much love and I hope you enjoy!!!! Reblogs are immensely appreciated ❤️

Chapter Thirteen

The van came to a screeching halt. The soldier wasted no time exiting the van, nearly taking the door off its hinges. Sam trailed closely behind, neither men missing a beat. "Torres, stay here as lookout and keep your eyes and ears open" commanded Sam through the comms. Sam took to the sky and took out the henchmen posted on the roof with ease, promptly joining the soldier back on the ground. The two men shared a quick look of apprehension before breeching the doors to building. The soldier was force to behold and held nothing back. He had no remorse, no sympathy and made sure anyone at his hands met a brutal and bloody end. "Penance for their crimes" he thought. One by one he took his merciless revenge, sweet vengeance befitting of you. The room alive with a cacophony of gunshots, breaking bones, and shouting. His blows were precise and true. Indestructible vibranium fluidly crushing and obliterating anyone or anything in its path. No one left behind. No benevolence for the harbingers of pure evil and death. It ends here and now.

All the years of depravity, torture and mind control torrented through his thoughts, like a raging hurricane. He was the ultimate perfect storm. Sam fought along side the soldier. Although he should have been shocked, maybe even disappointed or disgusted he couldn't bring himself to be, he couldn't deny his friend his recourse. He would never be able to fathom the depths to which it felt to be stripped of your mind, your will and autonomy. To be wielded as nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction. A small part of him hoped that after this was all over, today would provide some much needed closure and end a chapter of his life that the soldier no longer needed to be trapped and suffer in. He prayed the soldier would finally walk the path of forgiving himself, since he had long proven his redemption.

With the main room cleared the soldier and Sam made their way below. Dim fluorescents buzzed over head. The soldier crouched and motioned for Sam to halt. He focused his senses and listened intently. A few rooms away he could hear mindless bickering. Then he heard a familiar voice, one that caused bitterness and bile to collect in his throat and his rage to boil. He could smell the potent stench of iron and it hit him in his face like a ton of bricks. "Six people, about 5 doors down. They may be soldiers as I am. One is a doctor. Do NOT touch him, he is mine!" the soldier growled lowly. Sam nodded and the two men made their way further down the hall. The soldier wasted no time kicking in the steel door at such velocity it took down one of the henchmen inside. The others looked on with a marked look of shock upon their faces before the fighting ensued. The soldier bolted straight to the doctor, picking him up by his throat. "Помнишь меня свинья? Я бы внимательно посмотрел, потому что я буду последним лицом, которое ты увидишь, прежде чем я отправлю тебя обратно домой, в ад, где тебе самое место! (Remember me pig? I would take a hard look for I will be the last face you see before I send you back home to hell where you belong!)" he snarled. The doctors face began to turn a lovely shade of purple. The soldier released him and handcuffed him to a nearby beam. He still had other things to deal with. He would make the doctor bear witness before ending him.

While Sam managed to hold his own taking down two men, the soldier was left with the remaining three. He adeptly took out the first two men. The third however was a super soldier, enhanced the new serum. The only flaw was that as enhanced as the man was, he lacked the training and skills the soldier possessed. Looking to Sam the soldier shouted "Find Y/N now!". Sam wandered further into the room spotting a table, a body splayed out on top. He held his breath unknowingly as he crept slowly in the direction of the table, afraid of what he would find. It was then the scent of blood permeated his nose.

As his eyes landed upon your form he was horrified. Your disheveled body, the burn marks from the acid that marred your torso, the slur burned across your sternum. The sounds of blows and grunts lingered in the air. Sam was at a loss to what to do. He noticed the machine hooked up to your body, how pallid and almost translucent your skin had become. In normal circumstances it was simpler, his army medic training was clear. Check the patients breathing, pack any open wounds, administer CPR, if that didn't work, a shot of adrenaline to the heart and then attempt defibrillation. Sam turned grabbed a scalpel from the neighbouring counter. In a last ditch effort he reached over, removing the mask from your face and gently opened your mouth. He cut sliced open his wrist, holding it over you open jaw, guiding the blood flow into your mouth. He used his free hand to massage your throat hoping to mimic a swallowing motion. After a few minutes he stopped, tearing a piece of his undershirt and tightly wrapping his wound. He waited for you to stir, to show any sign of life. Nothing happened. So caught in his motions he didn't notice the soldier come up from behind him and roughly push him aside.

The soldier stared in disbelief and shock. He has seen many atrocities in his time but never one that was this planned, this personal. "Buck" Sam said solemnly. "No, NO!" shouted the enraged soldier. He strode across the room picking up the now cowering doctor his feet. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER! FIX IT NOW! WHATEVER YOU'VE DONE FUCKING REVERSE IT!" he screamed angrily. The doctor errupted in mirthless laughter, almost unphased by the soldiers hostily. "Nothing can be done, Krovopiytsa is no more, and good riddance to whore rubbish!" he spat back, laughing once more. Sam attempted to remove the doctor from the soldiers ironclad grasp, met by his enraged cerulean stare. "Go to her, be with her, we done have much longer before the DOJ catches wind of us being here" Sam reasoned.

The soldier dropped the doctor to the floor and returned to your side. A scream of pure agony escaping his lungs. He couldn't begin to comprehend a future without you in it. Not when he just found you. Not when he briefly learned what life could be like with you in it. Not when he was connected so intimately and intrinsically with your very soul. He had nothing to left lose now. With rigor and chagrin he removed all the tubing from your body. Grabbing a fresh tube and 2 cannula needles he jabbed it into his carotid artery, repeating the action with more care on you. He watched as the blood siphoned through the tubing and began to enter your body. Like a hawk the soldier studied your form. After what felt like an eternity he saw your eyelids minutely flutter. He was beginning to question his own sanity, was it in his imagination? Then as almost imperceptibly as before it happened again.

He gingerly removed you body from the table, sitting on the ground and pulled your body against his own. Relief ever so slowly began to make its way throughout his body. "At least the serum is useful for something" he thought hesitantly. He continued to whisper honeyed sentiments into your ear, hoping to guide you back, to come back to him, for him. Your burns gradually began to knit back together. Your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck, enveloped in his rich scent. On their own accord your fangs descended, the distinct click not missed by the soldier. "Возьми, что тебе нужно, котенок. Все, что я есть, твое. Только твой, навсегда твой. Вернись ко мне, моя любовь. (Take what you need, kitten. All that I am is yours. Only yours, forever yours. Come back to me my love.)" he breathed into your shoulder quietly. Carefully with his flesh hand he guided your head and mouth flush to his neck, inviting the stinging pressure that followed. He closed his eyes welcoming of the pain and slight pleasure that followed. He sighed contentedly.

Instinctively your body began to feed. The predators need for survival taking over. You drank deeply in long, languid sips. It was unlike any blood you'd ever tasted in your long life. Your arms wrapped around and tightened their grip upon your prey. The taste so sweet and so intoxicating you wanted to savour it for as long as possible. Whispered thoughts started to float on the periphery of your awareness, barely there and hard to make out. The inflection and tone of the words however sparking subtle recognition. You willed yourself to listen more intently as you continued to drink lazily. With renewed clarity your eyes shot open. "Bucky!" you thought, "my soldier!"

Your fangs retracted instantly. Worry consuming you as you pulled back and took his face in your hands. You couldn't bear the idea that you so greedily took from, especially if it was unwillingly. Yes you were a vampire, a monster, but you still had morals. You inspected the soldiers face, running your thumb across his cheek. His hazy eyes and lopsided grin not escaping your gaze. He reached up and removed the cannula from you and then himself. He pressed his lips to your own, tentatively at first, then with searing demand. The need to feel you pressed again him, the promise that you were here with him, you were not lost forever. Multitudes of emotions swam within the kiss. Both of you clinging to one another with a vice grip.

A throat clearing drew you both out of your reverie. Reluctantly you pulled back from one another, the soldier glaring up at a relieved looking Sam. The soldier stood pulling you up with him. "Sam we're going to have company very soon so whatever your doing you need to wrap it. The DOJ is about 10 mins out" Torres warned in the comms drawing the soldiers attention as well as your own. You began making your way out of the room, the soldiers arm wrapped around your waist for support. You noticed a white hunched figure on the ground handcuffed to a beam. You halted your movement causing the two men to look at you questioningly. You begrudgingly made your way over to the doctor who was making his way to his feet to meet you eye to eye.

"Looks like this is your ending, doc. Is it all you imagined? All you had hoped it to be?" you mewled sarcastically. " The doctor kept his mouth shut this time, opting to grin at your sardonically. You drew back your fist and punched him in the mouth, effectively shattering his some of his teeth. Still he grinned, blood dripping from his mouth. Mirroring his expression back to him, you plunged your hand into his chest and grabbed his heart, a look of disbelief flashing before his eyes as you ripped if from his body. His body crumpled weightlessly to the floor like a ball of paper as you threw his now lifeless heart into the nearby garbage can.

Strong arms wrapped around you from behind and began to guide you back to the door. "We have to go now, котенок." Without warning the soldier picked you up bridal style as you all ran towards the van. Torres was leaning against the hood, keys in his hand. He nodded at you before looking to the soldier and handed him the keys. "You two go, get out here as fast as you can" he said. Sam placed his hand on the soldiers shoulder and spoke. " Do you remember my cabin on the outskirts of the city. Head there and don't stop for any reason. There are go bags hidden under the floorboards underneath the chest in the closet if you are found. In them there are passports, money, and a small cache of weapons. I'm going to try and meet you there in 2 days time, hopefully with transport to get you two safely out of the country while I clean up my mess."

The soldier gave him a curt nod before putting you in the passenger seat and then getting in the driver's seat himself. He sped away with you in tow, hoping to put as much distance, as fast as possible between the two of you and the next threat on the horizon.

Tags: @mochie85 @theaudacitytowrite

<Chapter Twelve

Chapter Fourteen>

[askthechronoverse]

Chapter Nine: What Lies Behind the Velvet Curtain

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

The cat grabbed the jar again, the expression on the little Doctor Fox drawing her in. What was this? Who left it for her? The Score Creeper said it wasn't Rex. Who else did she know that liked nerdy stuff? Did it matter at this point? This represented answers. Real answers she wasn't getting anywhere else.

"I'm not going to get involved. Just tell him that I have to reschedule our Castles and Kitties session to next Tuesday because someone invited me to a party and he needs to get on Brick-a-gram or something so I don't have to keep telling him about session changes in person." The wraith returned to his work as the cat walked out and sat on the curb with the jar in paw.

"Whoever left this wanted me to see it… but also didn't? What even is this thing?" She thought out loud as she opened the jar.

She reached into the jar and grabbed the small Doctor Fox. Her pupils shrank as her mind went far away from where she was.

She was in darkness. The feeling of disassembled pieces on her back made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't move. Her eyes flicked over to her left, where she saw Hawkodile, who was half buried in a pile of rubble and totally motionless with a look of burning rage on his face. Next to him were the scattered pieces of Eaglator. The closest one, his head, was set next to Hawkodile's head like he was whispering a secret to him. With a flick to the right, she saw Puppycorn. The little dog looked like he was crying for an eternity, a look in his brown eyes like his heart had been ripped out, then obliterated. His body, like Hawkodile's, was motionless. She looked down and saw that her own "body" was deep in the rubble as well.

"Hey. Can anyone hear me today?" A weak monotone sounded from somewhere behind her. She could feel her heart soar.

"I'm still listening, Rick." Doctor Fox's voice came out of her mouth, the sound like a rusty door hinge. There was a long, heavy silence.

"It would appear we have lost Puppycorn. He hasn't checked in," Richard was cut off by a fit of coughing. "in a while now."

"Rick, this isn't good. It's just us left and I have no idea where we are or how to escape. Please tell me you remember something. You know everything about folklore and legends, right?." The Doctor Fox voice was on the verge of panic.

"I… don't. I keep going over old legends in my head and the only thing remotely close to what happened to us… is Armommageddeon. It doesn't explain what happened to Eaglator or how to get out of here." Richard's voice was fluctuating in volume, like he barely remembered how to use it anymore.

"Armommageddeon? That old fairy tale about how the world will end?"

"Yes. It's an ancient legend, passed down for generations. I'm worried this may be the Bin of Storaj, the place where all things… die." Richard's voice almost choked the last word out.

"That's impossible, Rick. There has to be a scientific explanation… science has never let me down before…" The voice sounded childish and petrified.

"Explain why Puppycorn and Hawkodile won't respond to us anymore, Doctor Fox! Explain what happened to our home! Tell me where my little girl is!" Richard was starting to cough heavily between sentences, his voice panicked and harsh. "There's no scientific reason for what happened! The world ended and they're gone!"

"Rick… You can't think this is the end. That would be…"

"I can't keep having this same conversation with you! They're gone, Doctor! Our world is gone! The princess is gone! I tried being a supportive brick… and I don't have the energy anymore to keep being optimistic and I don't want to keep facing this reality." That broken voice shook. "Again, have science explain this! Why are we all that's left?"

"I think your being supportive is why you haven't gone silent yet, if I'm being honest. Puppycorn was inconsolable and Hawkodile just kept talking to Eaglator like he wasn't in pieces. You stayed grounded." Doctor Fox sighed. "I… I'm not sure, though. I don't want to commit to this theory."

"Maybe." His voice was a hoarse growl. "I'm tired. So tired."

"What… what can we do now, Richard? You have to have a plan." Unikitty felt herself look down into the rubble.

"There's nothing we can do now. This is the prophesied end of everything. We're all that's left of the Unikingdom." His voice popped and cracked like the broken record his words made him sound like. "There's probably nowhere to run."

"If you're starting to lose hope, I'm not sure what hope I have at this point. I've been trying not to panic for Puppycorn's sake, but with him gone…" She paused, taking a breath. It was clear from her voice she was close to crying out in despair and complete panic.

"I… The painful truth is…. deep down, I haven't. I still want to believe that this can be fixed. I just… I'm getting too tired to feel hopeful."

"You genuinely can't be blamed at this point. This is a dire situation: the worst case scenario to end them all. You have been showing true leadership. I wish I could be that strong."

"You may… have to be strong without me soon. I've been…"

Unikitty could feel the concrete of the sidewalk on her paws now. What was that? Another vision? The place they were in looked like the Bin of Storaj. That place sometimes haunted her dreams, it was so… hopeless in there. If this was another vision… she had to wonder where Rex was now. Her paws started running again, this time toward the castle. The face looked like Doctor Fox. She had to have some clue. She can at the very least help her find her missing friends.

"Doctor Fox!" Unikitty rushed back to the lab. When she found the fox, she was at her supercomputer. On the display was a picture of Rex and various statistics and graphs. The statistics seemed to show him in some form of distress. She turned and smiled at her friend.

"Hello there, Unikitty! I was hoping you'd come back!" She pushed a button and the information about Rex was gone before Unikitty could ask about it.

"Can you tell me what this is?" She put down the jar and Doctor Fox snatched it up. Her pupils became slits as she searched for some meaning behind her cutesy doppelganger's gaze.

"This may be the answer to a mystery I myself have been attempting to unravel." She shuffled to the Memory Machine, which was on and had the following on the display:

Please provide authorization code…

You have made (THREE) attempts…

(ONE) attempt left before Redaction Protocol activates…

"Redaction Protocol?" Unikitty scratched her head.

"To redact something means to remove text before a publication." Doctor Fox's tail whipped around, her paw on her snout. "I believe this protocol will censor certain parts of this Project Lotus if I get this code wrong."

"That doesn't sound ideal." Unikitty frowned.

"I have tried my usual passcodes, but nothing is working. I'm having a program on my computer search for possible passcodes to try from the database, but I'm stuck on this screen. I can't risk the data loss." The fox almost growled this in pure frustration.

"There has to be a clue or something."

"Well, if I type the project name into my Database of Probable Disasters… it has an entry." She shuffled over to the supercomputer and pulled this database up, showing Unikitty the entry:

Probable Disaster: PROJECT LOTUS

This entry requires passcode verification to access.

Please enter passcode to continue with instructions.

"Whatever Project Lotus is, I had thought it was dangerous enough to include in the database. I just don't remember this project at all." Doctor Fox's face fell into total seriousness. "And I get a very bad feeling when I try to remember it, like it's gone for a reason and it's something almost otherworldly." She shook her head after a moment with her mind in outer space. "That doesn't really matter to me right now. You look terrified and I need to solve this mystery for you at the very least."

"Do you know the password for the database?" Unikitty looked down at the small Doctor Fox head in the jar as she spoke. What would this do to solve this mystery?

"I haven't tried anything of my usual passcodes on that yet." She grabbed a pair of thick black rubber gloves, put them on, and opened the jar, taking the little head out of it. "I'm hoping this little gal has what I need for the Memory Machine first."

"What is it?"

"I've seen a description of something like this in the instructions for the Memory Machine. I believe it represents a memory."

"A… memory?" Unikitty backed away from the fox one step. "How is that a memory?" Doctor Fox lifted an eyebrow.

"Did you touch it, Unikitty?" She grabbed the instructions and flipped to a specific page. "The notes mention that you can view the memory if you touch it. What did you see?"

"I…" She wanted to shove this down like everything else. The memory was terrifying and it was making things make less sense. She was having visions of the future and this lined up with them. She saw all of those friends fall into the holes. "I don't know… Doc, I'm scared. How can that be a memory if it didn't happen yet?"

"That is quite a conundrum. A memory has to have already happened to be a memory. I don't remember a whole lot of things, now that I think about it. How did I get to the Unikingdom? Why do I feel like we've known each other for years when you and I only met last year during Queen Wa'nabi's welcoming celebration? It's been a feeling I've been having for a while now and I can't put my paws on the answer." The scientist put her paw below her muzzle, frowning. With each question, she paused unnaturally. She took a glove off and put both glove and notes down on one of the Memory Machine's three beds. "This may hold the key to this whole mystery."

"Doc… please don't. You may not like what you see. I know I didn't." The cat took a few steps closer, ready to pounce if she took the memory.

"The pursuit of knowledge is lined with ugly truths. I'm willing to take-" The fox was cut off by a brokenhearted and tired voice that seemef to echo through the lab.

"NO. STOP."

[mafiagirl2020]

Captain John Price’s heart raced faster than it had in any firefight as he tore through the streets of London in his jeep, his mind solely focused on one thing: getting to the hospital. The mission in Moscow had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline still coursed through his veins, fueled by the message he’d received just as he and the team had touched down.

**“There’s been an accident. Your wife is in critical condition.”**

He barely remembered the rest of the trip back to the UK, his thoughts only on Sarah. How could this have happened? They had survived so much together—his countless deployments, the constant fear of losing one another. They had always known the dangers of his job, but this…this was different. This was something he couldn’t fight, couldn’t control.

The tires screeched as he pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, abandoning the jeep haphazardly near the entrance. His boots hit the pavement hard as he sprinted inside, pushing past the double doors with such force they nearly flew off their hinges. His eyes were wild, searching desperately for anyone who could tell him where she was.

“Sarah Price!” he barked at the first person he saw, a nurse behind the reception desk. “Where is she?”

The nurse looked up, startled by the force of his voice and the sight of a man in tactical gear, still covered in the grime of battle. “Sir, I—”

“WHERE IS SHE?” he demanded, slamming his hands on the desk. He wasn’t in the mood for delays, not when his wife’s life was on the line.

The nurse flinched, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and concern. “She’s… she’s in surgery, Captain Price. But you can’t—”

“I need to see her!” Price’s voice was a roar, his usual calm and control obliterated by the sheer terror of the situation. He started toward the doors leading to the surgery wing, but the nurse quickly moved to block his path, holding out her hands in a placating gesture.

“Captain, please!” she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. “You can’t go in there. The doctors need space to work. If you go in now, you’ll just get in the way.”

Price’s fists clenched at his sides, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold himself back. He wasn’t used to this—being told no, being told there was nothing he could do. He was always the one in control, the one making the decisions, the one leading the charge. But now, here in this cold, sterile hospital, he was powerless.

“THAT’S MY WIFE IN THERE!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “You can’t stop me from seeing her!”

The nurse’s eyes filled with sympathy, but she didn’t back down. “I understand how you feel, but you have to trust the doctors. They’re doing everything they can for her. But right now, the best thing you can do is wait. Let them do their job.”

Price’s jaw tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to argue, to push past her and force his way into that operating room. But deep down, he knew she was right. There was nothing he could do for Sarah right now, nothing except wait.

He staggered back, feeling as if the ground had been ripped out from under him. The nurse reached out, as if to offer some comfort, but he pulled away, shaking his head. He couldn’t bear to be touched right now, couldn’t bear the thought of anything other than holding Sarah’s hand, hearing her voice, knowing she was going to be okay.

“Just… just tell me she’s going to make it,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please.”

The nurse’s expression softened even more, and she nodded. “We’re doing everything we can, Captain. The surgeons here are some of the best. You have to trust them.”

Price nodded numbly, sinking into one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him struggling to breathe. His hands trembled as he ran them over his face, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks, the dried sweat and dirt from the mission still clinging to his skin. He was exhausted, but the thought of resting was impossible. Not until he knew Sarah was okay.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Memories of Sarah flooded his mind—their wedding day, her smile as they exchanged vows, the way she looked at him with so much love and trust. The way she always waited for him to come home, no matter how long he was gone or how dangerous the mission was. She was his anchor, the one thing that kept him grounded, kept him sane in a world filled with chaos and violence.

And now, she was lying on an operating table, fighting for her life, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

Minutes turned into hours, each one stretching into an eternity as Price sat there, staring at the doors to the surgery wing. Every time they opened, his heart leapt into his throat, only to crash back down when it wasn’t someone with news about Sarah. The wait was unbearable, the fear gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a surgeon in scrubs pushed through the doors, his expression serious but not grim. Price was on his feet in an instant, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides.

“Is she okay?” Price’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but it carried all the desperation he felt. “Please, tell me she’s okay.”

The surgeon nodded, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Your wife is stable, Captain Price. The surgery went well. She’s going to be fine, but she’ll need time to recover. She’s a fighter, that one.”

The relief that washed over Price was so overwhelming, it nearly brought him to his knees. His vision blurred with tears he hadn’t realized he was holding back, and he quickly swiped at his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Can… can I see her?” he asked, his voice still trembling slightly.

The surgeon nodded again. “She’s in recovery now. The nurses will take you to her, but she’s still under the effects of the anesthesia, so she might not be fully awake.”

Price didn’t care. He just needed to be by her side, to hold her hand, to see for himself that she was alive.

The nurse from earlier appeared at his side, her demeanor much warmer now that the crisis had passed. “I’ll take you to her,” she said softly, leading him down the hallway.

The walk to the recovery room felt like a lifetime, every step bringing him closer to Sarah. When they finally reached the door, the nurse stepped aside, letting him enter on his own.

The room was dimly lit, the soft beeping of monitors the only sound as Price stepped inside. And there she was—Sarah, lying in the hospital bed, looking pale and fragile but alive. His breath hitched in his throat as he approached her, his legs suddenly feeling like they might give out beneath him.

“Sarah…” he whispered, sinking into the chair beside her bed. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, careful not to disturb the IV lines taped to her arm.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly at the sound of his voice, her fingers twitching in his grasp. “John…?” she murmured, her voice weak but unmistakably hers.

“I’m here, love,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she squeezed his hand weakly. “I knew you’d come.”

Price leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his tears finally spilling over. “I’ll always come for you, Sarah. Always.”

For the first time since receiving that awful phone call, Price allowed himself to breathe, to let go of the fear that had gripped him so tightly. Sarah was safe. She was alive. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

[bretongirlwrites]

The population of Harlun’s Watch discuss a new neighbour.

‘He’s a Dark Elf,’ says Aengvir with a sly look at the others, ‘I am sure he’s a Dark Elf.’

‘Slander and libel!’ cries Drarana, – who is one: ‘he’s an Imperial who caught the sun. As much in his brains, as in his skin.'

‘I noticed that he has horns,' says Deetum-Ja laughing to Aengvir: 'I wonder if he's a Bosmer.'

‘He is too tall and too dark and too stocky,'' says S'mirra; and, reasonable: 'I say we take him something. He is our new neighbour, after all.’

A surprising appellation, for a man two miles away, – but in Cyrodiil, a man two miles away might as well be encroaching on one’s doorstep; which according to custom, merits something fresh from the oven, as an excuse for a suspicious and prying glance. A man who lives two miles away is usually a farmer; but farmers do not often walk shouting among the hills; nor scorch their own earth. Derek, – whose name does not give away his race so much as mystify it, – is quite the new neighbour. 

All of them want to spy on him; not one of them wants to bake whatever will be necessary for such spying. They draw lots over drinks; S’mirra gets the short straw; protests that she was so kind as to make the suggestion, so it’s someone else’s job to make the cake. – When at last they all troop over, they are carrying some late leeks and a couple of overgrown marrows. They are more sure of their decision as they walk over the dry blackened ground, – Derek might be glad of fresh vegetables, – having apparently obliterated his last lot.

His house is tidily out of the way; but that is the only tidy thing about it. When they knock, the door, which is as black as the fields, almost falls off its hinges. There is a sort of rune inscribed in it, which glows in their shadows. The knock is answered first by a clatter, then by a shout from within, – or perhaps far beneath, – 

‘Who DARES interrupt me? Mortal churls!’

Aengvir shrieks and almost runs off; except that he now considers his leeks a hasty peace-offering. A guttural voice, – certainly not a Nibenese accent, – Deetum-Ja suggests Vvardenfell: he is only half joking, and that to defuse his own shudders. Whoever it is comes to the door, – ‘footsteps too heavy for one of my countrymen,’ says Aengvir, – and emerging, stares round at them all.

His eyes flashing and fiery, theirs pale dinner-plates. He a head above even Drarana; horns like a minotaur; tattooed head to toe in markings which by themselves look as if they might summon something. He called them mortal, – and there is something of the unnatural in him, – that stare, those eyes, hellfire, he is from Oblivion itself. Derek, – what a name for a dremora!

Deetum-Ja stammers out some apology. Aengvir almost faints. Drarana begins to protest that the man is the opposite of a Dunmer. S’mirra, – who has drawn the short straw again, – is jostled forwards; that she quite without meaning to pushes the basket of vegetables right into his demonic painted chest.

She looks up, at him. He looks down at her.

‘Mortal churls,’ says Derek, – by way of greeting, – as awkward as they are.

S’mirra squeaks.

‘Mortal churls,’ says he again: ‘I have learnt the ways of your world, – mortals are difficult to please; but I have studied them extensively; – therefore enter at your peril, – I do not mean that: I mean enter, – and I insist upon, –’

Raises a hand; they tremble; he lowers it.

‘I will not let you leave,’ says he, ‘until you have had a cup of harrada tea,’ and snarling in some imitation of kindness, ushers them inside.

---------

from @spacetime-storytime‘s suggestion that i write about a dremora who lives in cyrodiil

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Songbird Part 2

Part 1 here

Just remember… you asked for this.

@im-a-wonderling and @shieldmaiden-of-gondor thanks for all your advice and letting me break your hearts on this one ❤️

TW: implied violence, blood, general angst

—————

12:54pm- Villain abandoned Hero to Supervillain’s mercy, his ears ringing with her final taunt: I had a canary once… had to clip its wings.

1:17pm- Villain burst through the doors of his lair, shouting for Sidekick and his henchmen to gather for a rescue mission.

2:25pm- Sidekick physically restrained Villain to keep him from going after Supervillain plan-less and powerless.

2:32pm- Villain contacted the Hero Agency, demanding immediate action in rescuing of one of their most valuable heroes.

4:58pm- A letter arrived informing Villain that Hero was no longer an employee of the Hero Agency due to blatant disregard of Agency orders concerning the destruction of a certain superpower-duplication device, and as such was no longer their concern.

4:59pm- Sidekick and 5 henchmen pinned Villain to the ground before he could attempt to obliterate the Hero Agency. He gave two of his henchmen a bloody nose with his flailing limbs before they convinced him that storming the Hero Agency’s base while he was powerless would do nothing to help Hero.

5:28pm- Superhero appeared at the back door of Villain’s secret lair, murder in her eyes as she ripped the Hero Agency’s message to shreds and demanded to know what the plan was.

5:49pm- Superhero crossed out 90% of their plan, insisting that henchmen casualties were still casualties.

6:31pm- A mutually satisfactory plan was agreed on by all parties. A plan that depended on Villain regaining his powers.

6:54pm- Superhero and Sidekick ran the plan from every angle, trying in vain to distract Villain from the thought of all Hero could be suffering.

8:09pm- Villain felt the first thrumming of power in his fingertips.

8:14pm- Superhero set their plan into motion as she attacked Supervillain during her business dinner across town.

8:17pm- Villain blew a hole in the roof of the research and development building on Supervillain's base.

It had been seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen and a half seconds since Villain had abandoned Hero to Supervillain’s mercy.

And six seconds since Villain had re-entered the prison block to rescue his songbird.

Blue emergency lights flashed along the ceiling as Villain strode through the halls of the prison. He ignored the panicked henchmen that streamed around him, racing for the exits as the radiation sirens blared throughout the compound.

Superhero had been adamant that Villain only create enough radiation to set off the alarms, but if Hero wasn’t alive—he almost choked on the thought—he would make enough radiation to melt the entire block. If there was anything left to melt after he destroyed Supervillain’s nuclear reactor. The last few stragglers darted past him, either not registering who he was or not wanting to become the target of his wrath, as he slammed open the final door that stood between him and the cells where he’d last seen Hero.

The white row of cells glowed eerily as the blue lights continued to flash. He darted to the cell where he’d left Hero.

It was empty.

The air burned in Villain’s lungs and he grasped the bars, closing his eyes to block out the sight of a dark stain shining black in the dim light, partially obscured by a discarded blanket. The metal began to melt beneath his fingers as his head fell against the bars, the rage within him building to explosive levels.

Then, in the silence between the alarm's blaring, he heard it. A small shuffling sound, the rustling of feathers. His eyes flew open, desperately scanning the bright walls and dark shadows.

There.

A tiny ball of feathers and blue-black hair was burrowed in the shadows beneath the shelf-like cot.

Hero.

His eyes flicked back to the dark stains before returning to the quivering form.

Barely aware of his actions, Villain melted the lock off the door and nearly wrenched it off its hinges in his desperation to get to Hero.

He skirted the dark stain and crouched beside the cot.

“Hero.”

Wide dark eyes blinked up at him, tears of fear and pain mixed with blood in messy streaks across too-pale cheeks.

Hands that had melted solid metal now gently pulled his songbird from her little nest. He cringed at her whimper of pain as what must have been her broken wing caught against the support.

When she was finally free, her eyes found his. Her voice was a rasping whisper. “You came for me.” Her thin arms wrapped around his neck with surprising strength and hot tears soaked into his shirt as she clung to him. “You came for me.”

It was difficult to pick up Hero and stand upright at the same time, but Villain managed it. But the movement cost him a cry of pain from Hero that ripped at his soul.

He turned to face the door, but looked down at the thought of tripping on Hero’s long wings.

Villain’s stomach churned as he gazed down at the place his boots had disturbed the blanket on the floor. But it wasn’t a blanket. It was a pile of midnight-blue feathers.

“Hero—”

She shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut against the reality of her long dark flight feathers scattered across the floor.

The sirens cut off and the device in his ear chirped, forcing his attention away from the ruin of Hero’s wings that lay scattered on the floor.

Sidekick’s voice in the earpiece cut through Villain’s horror and fury. “Supervillain is on her way back.”

Villain narrowed his focus to the task at hand. Hero’s safety was his first priority.

“ETA?”

“6 minutes.”

Villain was already out of the cell and heading for the door, trying not to acknowledge the reason he had no need to worry about tripping over Hero’s wings.

“Sidekick.” His voice was ice.

His right hand was instantly on alert. “Yes, boss?”

“Make preparations to revert to Plan A.”

“Superhero’s not going to be happy.”

Villain studied the ragged ends of Hero’s wing feathers. The dark tips were completely gone, leaving only the smaller pale blue feathers coating the bones and muscles of her wings. Feathers speckled in blood.

“I don’t care.”

————

A black van skidded to a stop in front of them as soon as they crossed through the outer doors of the prison. Sidekick poked his head out the window, his face hardening as he took in Hero’s trembling form. “Get in.”

Later, Villain would have words with Sidekick about the chain of command and who gave the orders.

Now, he slid open the side door as he asked, “How many are left?”

Sidekick checked one of his devices. “A dozen maybe? They’ll be clear in a minute or two.”

Villain lifted Hero into the van. Or he tried to. Her arms tightened around his neck when he attempted to set her on the bench seat.

He reached up and gently tugged at her grip, needing her to let go, but unwilling to force her. His efforts simply made her shift closer, burying her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry, but you need to let go. I have to go and—” Her head shot up, catching him sharply on the chin.

He jerked back and Hero’s hands finally released him, only to twist themselves into the fabric of his shirt. Though she didn’t utter a word, her thoughts were plain as day:

You’re going to leave me again?

The sharp pain in his chest at the betrayal in her large eyes fought against the molten rage coursing through his veins.

Everything was in place. The compound was empty. He simply had to touch the nuclear reactor he’d created for Supervillain and her base would be no more than a bitter memory.

Sidekick would get Hero to safety, and with any luck, Supervillain would be caught in the blast.

Hero’s slender fingers fell away. Her head was down, her shoulder-length black hair forming a curtain around her face as she shrank down on the seat.

Villain glanced around the deserted base. Then with one quick flick of his wrist, the door of the van slid shut.

Villain settled onto the seat next to Hero, ignoring Sidekick’s surprised eyes in the rear view mirror as they sped off into the night. Hero’s arms found him again, and he pulled her into his lap, running his hand down her hair.

Villain’s words were a quiet murmur in Hero’s ear as they streaked through the darkness.

“I came for you.”

Master Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000 @selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @coolninjavoid @canigetanamenforbritney

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off:)

[hellogoodbye14]

Veiled Silhouettes (Part 7) - Gwynriel

The update that took a while! But here we are with perhaps one of the longest one’s. Enjoy a spying duo, an revenge ready IC, some baby nyx fluff, a hot hallway make out session and angst (dont hate me for the angst, this fic was fluffy so far, it had to happen😂)

Azriel took the lead as they kept close to the wall, using the shadows as cover. Gwyn guessed he was following the voices they could hear.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” growled Kai, Koschei’s second.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” Azriel’s eyebrows popped up. It was the sound of Beron’s second son, Riven. He sounded cool and collected, but the shadows informed him of his nervousness.

Gwyn found the door ajar. Staying within the shadows, Azriel moved to the opposite side of the doorframe while she peeked through the gap near the hinges of the door. Riven was flanked by two Autumn guards and over six of Kai’s men were present.

Pacing, Kai sniggered.

“You said Eris knew the whereabouts of Rhysands family. Had access to them.”

Riven nodded, “I know he does but he is careful to cover his tracks. Anytime I try to follow, he manages to evade me.”

“You had your men search an entry to the Night Court and couldn’t find anything?”

Azriel could see Riven gulp.

“Their spymaster is good Kai, no spy that I have sent into the Night Court has ever returned.”

That was when Kai took a hold of the nearest vass and smashed it into the ground.

“Do something! I need the child, he is the key to unlocking the portal.”

Gwyn’s heart stopped. Nyx. They wanted Nyx.

Riven implored, “Rhysand and his mate have kept their son safe. It is impossible to get the child and even if you did, there is a shield around their son.”

Kai moved and wrapped a hand around Riven’s throat.

“I will deal with that. You just get me the whereabouts of that child.”

“They will kill you.”

Kai smirked, “His blood, blood which sings the power of all of Prythian will unlock the portals to the other dimension. We’ll have an infinite army that will perish whatever power they have.”

“But- but he’s just a child.”

Kai simply raised an eyebrow, “Does it look like killing that little bastard will bother me in the slightest.”

Azriel’s temper flared his siphons. He would kill them, kill them all.

He felt Gwyn’s hand on his arm, she squeezed just a bit. Her teal eyes imploring him to stay grounded.

He nodded, and ushered her towards the dark hall. They had all the information they needed.

Azriel and Gwyn made their way out of the stronghold without anyone being the wiser of their infiltration.

Azriel stood near the lake, wondering how he was to break this news to his brother. They wanted his child, an innocent soul which had just come into this world.

Gwyn kept pacing and cursing at Koschei. Azriel’s eyebrows raised at some of the harsh expletives she was using.

“This is madness, Nyx is just a child.”

“People with a mentality like they do never care for such things.”

He laced his hand with hers and she stopped pacing. He could see the worry in her eyes for the little guy who owned all their hearts.

A ferociousness entered her eyes, “We can’t let anything happen to him.”

Azriel couldn’t help but admire the protectiveness she felt for his nephew.

“We won’t.”

————————————————————————

The news hit the Night Court Circle as he expected it to.

Rhysand’s power had rumbled instantly and caused a landslide in the barren mountains, a large distance away from Velaris.

Feyre’s eyes carried a protective storm and she looked as if she’d winnow straight to Kai and cut his throat off.

Nesta and Mor were cursing a blue streak and demanding they obliterate Koschei’s army tonight, Cassian was trying and failing to calm both of them down.

Amren sat in the distance, watching the sky outside in silence. Meanwhile, Lucien looked at her as if she would decimate Prythian in half a second.

“Why Nyx? Why not me? If its the power of every court they seek in blood, they could have picked me.”, questioned Feyre.

Rhys sat down, a calm killing eeriness entering his eyes.

“Because you’re trained and in control of your powers. It would be easier to capture and use a toddler.”

“What do we do?”, demanded Nesta.

“They can’t get their hands on Nyx”, added Mor.

Rhysand simply laid back in his chair, Azriel already knew his High Lord was scheming something.

“They won’t lay a hand on Nyx. They try and I will obliterate everything.”, Rhys said with deadly calm.

Feyre nodded in agreement, her hand squeezing her mates tense shoulder. “Seems to me they need a reminder of what we can be capable of.”

Gwyn tensed, the power thrumming between the High Lord and Lady was something she had never seen before. She knew in that moment, that if they wanted to, they really could obliterate everything with the power they held. It amazed her how they were good rulers who never abused such power, but to protect their child, they’d go to hell and back.

Amren turned around with a devlish smile, “How big of a reminder are we talking?”

Feyre smirked, “Very big.”

————————————————————————

After the the insane plan had been concoted, it was also decided that Nyx would be protected in Velaris at all times. He would only ever be with his parents or anyone looking after him from the inner circle.

Rhys and Feyre sat on the living room floor playing with their son. Nyx laughed as small water wolves lept around him playfully and wisps of Rhys’s night kissed shadows tickled the toddler.

He felt Gwyn move closer, “They are an adorable family. A little bit insane for what they just came up with but adorable nonetheless.”

Azriel chuckled, “Yeah.”

“So looks like you and I will be camping out in Autumn a bit longer.”

He tilted his head, “Sick of me already roomie?”

Her teal eyes glimmered in amusement.

“You? Never.”

Azriel couldn’t help but inch closer, “That’s good. Wouldn’t want that now would we.”

The pupils in Gwyns eyes darkened and she whispered as her gaze landed on his lips.

“No. No we wouldn’t.”

Someone coughed and Gwyn and Azriel instantly shrank back.

Nesta stood there, her gaze pinging between the two and a smirk forming.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever that was but I wanted to speak to Gwyn before you both left for Autumn again.”

Nesta dragged Gwyn away and the priestess offered a quick wave before stumbling after her.

Azriel felt Cassians arm drape across his shoulder, “Didn’t know you could blush that hard dear brother.”

Azriel shoved his laughing brother away.

————————————————————————

Azriel couldn’t help himself, he moved in the hallway towards the guest room Gwyn was staying at tonight. Over the past couple of weeks, he was used to them playing a game of cards and bickering that it seemed wrong to go on without this new tradition.

He was just about to turn when a lithe body slammed against him. He quickly grabbed Gwyn’s shoulders to steady her.

“Ow!”, she said rubbing her head.

He snickered, “You alright?”

“Probably got a concussion stumbling into concrete but yeah otherwise I’m okay.”

“Where were you off too?”

She looked up at him, a rosy blush staining her freckled cheeks.

“Oh, umm. I was actually looking for you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Me?”

“Yes, unless you forgot it was my turn to decimate you at cards?”

He snickered, “Dream on Valkyrie, you’re not going to win.”

“I will. I have a few tactics to use you see.”

He leaned against the wall. “And pray tell what are these tactics?”

She shrugged, “I find distractions to be very successful in defeating an opponent.”

He leaned closer, “And you would distract me how?”

A fiery boldness swept through Gwyn as she stepped forward and laced her hand over his chest. Azriel was pretty sure he stopped breathing. Her other hand travelled up towards the back of his head. She played with the short hair at the back until pushing lightly.

He implored her silent request, his head bending down and his arm pressing the back of her waist closer to him.

Her lips brushed against his, “Like this?”, she whispered before kissing him.

Azriel groaned at her taste and bunched his other hand in her red-auburn locks. He deepened the kiss and felt Gwyn sigh. She pressed closer to him and he pushed her against the wall, his hand travelling down, grasping and lifting her thigh.

“You taste might fine Valkyrie”, he whispered in her arched ear.

She groaned at the contact of his hardness against her core and pulled him closer as he devoured her mouth.

She would have pulled him into her room close by had she not heard a surprised gasp.

Both of them instantly stilled and moved away to find a shocked Elain standing in the hallway.

“I’m- I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to-“

Gwyn quickly corrected her skirt and moved away from Azriel . She offered Elain a small smile. It was their fault for indulging in this out in the open. “No no it’s completely fine. It’s our bad actually.”

Elain nodded, her gaze drifting to a silent Azriel.

“Umm, I was just heading to my room.”

Gwyn nodded. Elain had just started walking again until her gaze landed on the necklace Gwyn wore. Recognition sparking in her eyes, Gwyn frowned. How would Elain recognise a necklace some unknown person had sent her?

Elain’s eyes traveled back to Azriel, “You gave it to her?”

Gwyn’s heartbeat quickened and it had nothing to do with the heated kiss she had shared with the Shadowsinger. A sick feeling entered her stomach.

Azriel simply nodded. Gwyn frowned, “Gave me what?”

Elain simply offered her a small smile, “Nevermind. It’s a beautiful necklace Gwyn. I bid you both goodnight.”

Gwyn turned to Azriel, “What was that about?”

He shook his head, a hollowness entering his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He looked into her teal eyes with longing and a deep sadness.

“Az..did.. did you give me this necklace?”

He nodded, his gaze not meeting hers.

“You gave it to her first?”

Silence and then a “yes.”

She flinched, “But- I don’t understand. What does it mean?”

“It doesn���t mean anything. This… I’m sorry Gwyn.”

She frowned, a hurt she couldn’t explain growing as he walked away from her.

It doesn’t mean anything…. the necklace? Or the blossoming thing they had?

It didn’t matter enough apparently. At least not to him. A silent tear tracked down her cheek.

To be continued….

Taglist: @vikingmagic33 @the-lonelybarricade @meher-sumedha @hlizer50 @amb3rpanda @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @sv0430 @shisingh @chubbygabs @trashforazriel @imsointobooks @kattykatpattywack @schnipperxdwrites @kneelingsince2012 @brieq @the-word-cas @gellybeangoogle @alexiaperdomo @earthoffemily @sydney-fae25 @camreadsum @imwritingthesewords @almosttenaciousmoon @nestaspegasus @buttoncup @smahesh87 @itwasalwaysaboutthetea

[heisenberg-simp257]

Hello! Have a good day! Could i request #111 and #112 from the second prompt list with Karl Heisenberg? Thank you a lot!

Of course!💖

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

The Dragon’s Keep

Lord Heisenberg saves you from Lady Dimitrescu.

#111 “I knew you’d feel guilty, but you do understand I would bear over a thousand wounds if it meant keeping you safe, don’t you?”

#112 “I swear to you, as long as you’re by my side, you’ll never be harmed.”

“That bitch should’ve known better...” Heisenberg growled under his breath as he stalked over to the one place he dreaded.

Castle Dimitrescu.

Apparently, he’s still trying to figure this out, Lady Dimitrescu stole you from him. It sounded wrong to place you as an object, but that’s how she saw this whole thing. It was just one big game to her, taking you away just to piss Heisenberg off.

Her or her daughters better not have harmed one hair on your head.

When he arrived there, he practically blew the door off its hinges. Of course, the big bitch was there to greet him. The smile on her face told Heisenberg all too well that she knew why he was here.

“Hello Heisenberg. What brings you here?” She asked politely. He took a threatening step forward.

“Where the fuck is Y/N?!” He yelled at her, and she just tilted her head in confusion.

“Who?” She played innocent, and that was enough to drive him over the edge. 

Cue metal flying everywhere as the claws came out. She got a couple swipes in on her, but he did enough damage to her home in order for her to fess up. Heisenberg, bloody but victorious, managed to get you out of that filthy dragon’s keep.

“Did they...do anything to you?” His swearing and rage calming down the more you guys got away from that place. You were clearly shaken up, but it was more from what just happened than anything prior.

“No but look at you!” You said in obvious fear as you saw the bloody scratches that Lady Dimitrescu gave him. He looked at them and shrugged, but you dragged him back to the factory in order to clean him up.

As he sat on the couch, he saw your guilt. You obviously felt bad for what happened to him as you brought over a slightly wet cloth to get the blood off of him and stop the bleeding as well.

“I knew you’d feel guilty, but you do understand I would bear over a thousand wounds if it meant keeping you safe, don’t you?” He told you sternly as he placed a cloth to his bloody arm. It wasn’t so bad, but you were still worked up over it.

“She could’ve done so much worse!” You shouted at him and he just laughed while picking up the cloth to view the wound before placing it back down.

“Yeah right.” He scoffed and you placed your hands on your hips.

“I’m serious...you aren’t immortal.” You said to him while moving to sit next to him on the couch. Heisenberg nodded, understanding your words. 

The next few minutes were silent as you helped him stich up any of his deep wounds. Lady Dimitrescu got him good in some places, and you began to feel guilty again. 

However, you knew he would scold you for feeling this way, so you kept your mouth shut.

“There. All done.” You told him with a slight smile, and he thanked you with a kiss to the cheek. Things were finally starting to calm down as you stood up to put away the medical supplies and bloody clothes.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” He suddenly said, interrupting the silence. You smiled at his words, turning back to face him. Heisenberg grinned back at you, opening his arms in what you viewed as him wanting a hug.

“I swear to you, as long as you’re by my side, you’ll never be harmed.” Heisenberg told you with a grin, bringing you in for a hug. You gladly accepted it, feeling safe with him.

“I know...” You reassured him, causing him to hug you tighter.

“If she ever takes you again, I swear I will obliterate her whole damn nest.” He hissed and you giggled slightly, pulling away from him to look him in the eye.

“But then she would kill me for sure.” You told him and he sighed.

“Fuck...you’re right.” Heisenberg said, knowing he would have to plot some other type of revenge. However, right now, he just pulled you back into his arms where you belonged.

But if his bitch of a “sister” ever took you again, there would be hell to pay.

He would make sure of that.

[endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus]

Part II; Love & Hate Are One In The Same

Part I of the series 

Word count: 1.2K 

Summary: after your confrontation with Jinx goes south you have a new strategy to get to Silco...

*Translation for the Romanian phrase: Time lost cannot be won again* 

The morning sun stretched its rays far and wide, awakening all of dear mother nature’s beloved creatures and creations. Buzzing bees went straight to work while delighted birds sang lovely tunes.  

“Monadine, my love, it's time to wake up.” she spoke with the sweetest voice automatically causing cavities and rotting your teeth to the core. 

You groaned and shuffled underneath the cozy quilt before peeping your sheepish eyes out, “just five more minutes pleaseeeeee.”

“Now, now, you know better.” her tone became stern and the weight of the bed shifted as she rose. After rubbing your eyes in hopes to see her, your vision didn’t clear and you could feel the panic in your chest spread, burdening your now numb limbs, “M-mom?” 

*“Timpul pierdut nu poate fi câștigat din nou.” the phrase reverberated in your mind; the angelic voice you knew and cherished so had distorted itself, plucking you out of this dazed disarray. 

You bounced between states of being; scraps of demolished planks atop you, nailing you to the cold floor. Distant chatter carried among the blazing fire and rubble of the currently obliterated warehouse, “If Jinx hadn’t finished her by now, this sure must’ve.”

Confusion infected your psyche, making you question every part of yourself; was this reality or another faint memory? This triggered a flashback -”Wait! Jinx!” You could visibly make out her holding two of her mechanical grenades, thumbs hooked into the clip. There wasn’t anything left to bargain with her, the decision was final. Folks always described “Oblivion” as following a light at the end of the tunnel; you were greeted with an owl. 

The crooked “Girl, Girls, Girls” sign rattled as the Owl masked savior nearly kicked the red door off its hinges. The unfortunate receptionist bared witness to the barge in, recognized you in his arms and promptly led the way to your sleeping chamber. You had an accordance with the owner - which you paid a pretty hefty amount for - who was now informed of your arrival. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Babette continued to interrogate the masked foreigner, “What happened to her?!”  She would never admit this aloud but she enjoyed your presence; as far as she was concerned, you were a paying patron who was caught up on payment. Nothing more was requested yet you took it upon yourself to assist with maintenance around the cathouse. Broken fixture? No problem. Some jerk doesn’t want to pay? He’s paying double. 

The Owl barked orders after setting you down on the plush mattress, completely ignoring Babette’s concern, “Make use and fetch me water and towels.” He unclasped his jacket, retrieving a small pouch that was tucked away. He spilled the contents of it on the nightstand beside him. Chunks of shrapnel were embedded in your skin; shredding your clothing due to the impact. The janky fragments trailed along one side of your body; “I see we have a common enemy.” He mumbled as he inspected the multiple lacerations. 

One of Babette’s staff returned with the urged supplies then was shooed away, the Owl required silence and that meant no company while he treated his client. Shiny instruments awaited his choosing; he started off with tongs to fish out the larger pieces. He sighed, rolling his neck - each tiny bone cracking with his movement - and began. 

Metal shards clinked as they dropped - you remained still, every few removals he would check for a pulse on your wrist whereas the more stubborn ones caused your face to wince. Though he wasn’t deemed a doctor he sure knew how to decently bandage your wounds. He swapped out tools choosing a small pair of tweezers; this ought to do the trick for removing the more difficult flecks. 

These suckers were buried deep; giving the Owl no choice but to dig them out. It was as if someone strategically positioned a rubber band against your thigh and pulled back one side as far as it would stretch and let go; the contact of the snap jolted you awake. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shrieked in agony - slowly coming back to the harsh reality. 

The Owl didn’t budge at your reaction; as he had experienced this enough times that he anticipated when it would happen. You were so shaken by the turn of events that you couldn’t jumble together a coherent sentence. The masked Owl scooted back to give you the needed space to regain your composure, “Breathe. Look, you’re safe.” His voice was deep and electronic sounding coming from the vocoder on the inside of his mask.

Over the course of a few days Babette kept a close eye on your progress; her staff waited on you hand and foot while you recovered. She even hired a doctor that she smuggled in from the City of Progress to treat you after the Owl had vanished. It had been almost a week since the “accident” occurred, “The doctor ordered for you to be on bed rest missy,” Babette let herself in; ushering the medical professional to his usual spot on a small stool. 

You sighed and swiveled around on the chair you were seated in, propping up your swathed appendage on the nearby unmade bed. Gingerly, the quiet Physician unraveled the gauze to reveal that your once afflicted leg had miraculously healed itself - leaving behind scars that connected together as if you were struck by lightning.

From shock, the doctor dropped the cloth, “I-it somehow h-healed?” He gave you the most bizarre expression. You shrugged, unsure how to answer his boggling question. Your train of thought was interrupted by Babbette shoving the man out of her way to witness it for herself, “IT HEALED!?” she hollered out just before she fainted. 

Impatiently you tapped the butt end of the pencil on the hardwood desktop; up until this point you had a clear image of how you were going to proceed forward but your brain short circuited by the millions of questions flooding in - it didn’t help either that you were constantly distracted, these damn walls are paper thin. 

Ding, ding, ding! The front of the house’s service bell restlessly rang, irritating you to the point that you almost yanked the door handle off as you fiercely swung open the door of your corridor. Your head whipped out, eyes narrowed and darted at the person causing the annoying ring, “Oh my stars! What do you want?!” You shouted over the ruckus of the busy establishment; You nearly bit down on your own tongue after recognizing who the culprit was.

The stranger stood stoically - a red cape veiled the left side of their body that swooshed as they pivoted in your direction; a half lit, hand rolled cigarette perched in the corner of their lips, “I hope this isn’t how you greet all paying clients.” 

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH8

one // two // three // four // five // six // seven

Warnings | 2.3k // 18+ SMUT (in other chapters), mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, character death, murder???, unforgivable curses. Happy? ending

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // well well well, we have come to a close. Writing this has been the best release for all of my feelings!! this really has been amazing and the support I've had has been unreal! a massive thank you goes out to every reader who made it possible and motivated me to get out! my special thanks goes out to the rose of my life @starlightweasley​ - possibly fake it’s biggest fan and the girl who has supported all of my breakdowns through this fic! This however isn’t a goodbye, just a see you later because I have a big announcement coming alongside the epilogue <33

‘I saw you and Fred just now.’

The words echoed through your head, trying to gauge what George could have possibly meant by his words. Fred must know, he must have some inclination as to what had set George over the edge so quickly. You were confused, George had refused to tell you what he saw. You knew that you hadn’t slept with Fred, hell you’d hardly spoken more than a few words to each other in at least a week. But now, you were walking up the concrete steps to the first floor flat, tapping softly on the pale yellow door. It swung open slowly, the whine of the hinges echoing through the stone stairwell, you were greeted by the tall, dishevelled man, he didn’t speak, choosing only to stare back at you blankly. 

“Look Fred I don’t know what the fuck is going on with George, he says he saw us together but I was at practice and-” He still stared back at you with absolutely nothing behind his eyes. Normally Fred would’ve at least looked away or cracked a smile or something, but a deadpan look washed over his face, his eyes burning into the back of yours with a stare so intense you felt like he was medusa and you were turning to stone. 

It was only then that you noticed a perfectly manicured hand snake over Fred’s shoulder to his chest, the nails were a long, glossy red to match the name of the person whose hand it was. Cherry’s face came into view as her chin rested on the opposite shoulder of the man in front of her. Red lip gloss leaves its mark on Fred’s skin as she presses a sensual kiss to his ear as her sinister breath fans over his neck. “Come, Freddie, let her in so that the girls can talk, hm?”

Fred simply nods, moving to the side to allow you in, shutting the door behind you before walking over to the corner and just standing there. Your eyes following him as his expression still runs blank, like he was a shell of a human. “What have you done to him, Cherry.”

She laughs, smirk hanging off her lips, every word breath and sound that breached her mouth was dripping with malice and hatred. "Don't you worry your pretty head about that, he wanted this just as much as I do."

You cocked your head to the side, watching as Cherry pulls out her wand, you go to do the same but she quickly disarms you, leaving you helpless, vulnerable and open. Confusion washed over you more than anything. What could possibly be going so wrong that she needed to take it out on you, on Fred even. "You know, Y/N, Polyjuice potion is a fantastic thing, I just wish i could've seen George's face as he caught his twin brother fucking his girl right in front of him."

You finally understood. It wasn't you George had seen earlier tonight, It was Cherry. You finally got why George called you all of those horrible words, why he kicked you out, why he was so furious. Because you felt exactly the same, anger bubbling over like hot iron, the blood and rage reaching your eyes as you lurched forward. "You fucking bitch, I can't believe you'd do tha-" 

Your airways closed, you couldn't talk, nor breathe as you clutched at your neck, dropping to your knees as you felt what air you had in your lungs leave. Cherry released the magical grasp she had on you, causing you to exhale a deep breath, trying desperately to fill your lungs again, completely doubled over as the terrible pain crippled your lungs. Cherry's hand grasped roughly onto your hair, forcing you to look up at her, as she squatted down in front of you. "Cat got your tongue?" 

"Why…" you pleaded, looking up at her desperately as she pointed her wand at your throat, you wished Fred would intervene, stop her from what she was doing or at the very least speak up. "Why me? What do you hate so much about George and I being together?" 

"It's not about your stupid fucking boyfriend," the wood pressed against your throat a ittle harder as she got angrier, taking a deep breath. "You're a Murderer."

With the same breath you were protesting the ghastly accusation. You wouldn't hurt a fly, your anger reserved only for the quidditch pitch and when George had been particularly frustrating, but never in your life would you have thought about killing someone. "What are you talking about I haven't killed anyo-"

She cut you off with a sharp slap across the face. Sneering at you as she spat back her response, you looked deep into her eyes, clouded with anger and fury. "You are a cold blooded killer, the moment I found out it was YOU who killed my sister, I knew I was going to ruin your life."

"Your sister? I didn't even know you had a sister, please this must be some sort of mistake." You were begging her as you stared at her with pleading eyes before hanging your head in sorrow, causing her to scoff and pull away from you. “You don’t even realise the damage you did to my family when you killed The Bishop.”

Your mind flashed back to the war, a green storm swirling in your head as you’re brought back, watching from the side-lines, a ghost of the future as you watch your body contort in hideous ways and finally hear the spine-stiffening screams for yourself. You replayed the image of Maria Bishop’s body flying through the air and collapsing on the floor in a loud thump over and over again. Shock hitting you again as you realise that you’d taken a life, a life that wasn’t yours to take.

In Cherry’s mind she is taken back to the moment she found her sister’s cold body, splayed out across a pile of broken bricks and rubble, still wearing the expression she had been caught in; mouth open and eyebrows furrowed. Aveline Bishop was the youngest of her bloodline, with a surname destined to die, her mother never able to bear a son to her husband - that destiny loomed over the family of pureblood death eaters, making The Bishop, her sister, all the more of an inspiration to her. So now as the young girl was staring into her sister’s lifeless eyes, no longer shining a bright blue, but instead a cold grey, Aveline knew that she would avenge her sister’s death, no matter the cost. Aveline’s fingertips ghosted gently over her sister’s eyelids to shut them, embodying the new person she set out to become - Cheryl Jackson.

“And now, your family will know the pain that you put mine through.” Cherry had her wand out, the cruciatus curse falling from her lips with such ease and you felt that same surge of pain again. Like a thousand knives against your skin, twisting and turning. Her laugh rang the same as her sister’s, enjoying the look of pure torture etched upon your face. With every tear that spilled from your cheeks the pain grew harsher, you found yourself calling out for someone, anyone to help, realising that your pleading turned to Fred’s name, as it was grated through screams.

“He won’t help you. He’s going to watch the girl he loves die in front of him.” Fred heard it all, every blood curdling scream and every sob. He was internally yelling as he tried to force his legs to move, to help you, to be there for you and stop the tears from falling. Every minute that passed by you grew weaker, the screams turning to low sobs as you felt yourself fall in and out of consciousness. You thought that maybe death would come as the sweet release from your pain. “Freddie, if you can hear me in there, You tell George forever, you tell him I love him with all my heart, I’m sorry I brought you both into this.” 

Fred slowly felt his fingertips start to move, from him willing them to be moved. His love for you was breaking him free of the curse veiled over him. His fingertips were finally able to reach for his wand, using every ounce of strength within him to push himself to save you. He couldn’t just stand by and watch you die, not without giving it every fibre of strength he had inside him. It was like eerie silence to Fred’s ears as he blanked out the words he didn’t want to use but words he would use to protect anyone he loved. A brilliant flash of green left his wand as he aimed it right at Cherry’s back, the power of his spell obliterated the woman he once knew into dust, leaving you to collapse to the floor. 

In that moment, all panic washed over Fred, he was too late, too late to save you. He was scooping your body into his arms, as tears pricked the back of his eyes, threatening to spill from his eyes. He didn’t check to see your small shallow breaths, taking your lifeless body as the only sign, a sign that he hadn’t done enough. He took you to the only place he could think of, apperating in with a pop, before yelling through choked back sobs. “GEORGE!”

George runs In to see you being carried by Fred, your body limp and your arm hanging down. Thinking the worst already, he scoops you into his arms, but as he moves you he notices the soft rise and fall of your chest and realises that you are alive - you may be weak, unconscious and in pain, but you’re alive.

Fred had sunk down to curl his legs up to his chest, making himself as small as possible as he realised that what he had done was utterly unforgivable. George looks at him and sees the same shell of who you had been after the war attempting to piece together what had happened. George no longer cared about his feelings or what he had seen earlier that day. He saw the unconscious body of the girl he loved and his twin sat on the floor shaking. He walked over to sit next to his brother, back pressed against the wall. “Freddie what happened?”

Fred looked up, seeing the pleading eyes of his brother. He took a moment to compose himself, using what small voice he could to try and choke out his words. “Cherry- I she used Polyjuice to pretend to be Y/N and when she showed up at my house, she brought her in, she… was torturing Y/N and she had me under imperious… I tried to save her, Georgie, I really did.” George’s eyebrow’s furrowed, as his brother took another deep breath. “I killed Cherry, trying to save Y/N, and I was too late.” 

George pulled Fred into a hug. It was something that they hadn’t done, not in years, not like this. Not a hug that really mattered, that comforted each other. Fred immediately burst into tears again, the salty, wet tears soaking through George’s shirt, feeling vulnerable and numb in that moment. “She’s okay, Freddie, You did save her.”

You take a sharp breath as you wake up, finding it hard to breathe, like you’d been hit with a bludger to the chest. The sound causes the boys to snap their heads to the direction of the sofa. Your weak voice calls out for George and he is immediately by your side, pressing a gentle kiss and soothing your hand as he takes it into his. Whispering a thousand apologies to you as he presses kisses to your palm and back of your hand.

He sees that same fear behind your eyes that he had helped you heal once before and by the grace of god, he wouldn’t dare leave your side until he had seen you heal again. Watching as the fragile heart of the girl he loved whispered softly, pressing your fingers against his cheek “‘I love you, Forever, Georgie.”

“I’ll never let you down again. I promised to protect you and I couldn't even do that.” he hung his head in shame, you tilted his chin up to look into his eyes, while you shook your head at him. The small smile that clung to your lips through the pain and the fear was for him, to show him that it didn’t matter. George being with you in that moment was enough for you, because there was nothing to hide anymore. 

“Your love is enough for me, George.”  his heart leapt at those words, watching as you pushed yourself up tentatively before slipping down onto the floor, your arms wrapped around him, begging to be held. The desire to be near him in that moment was satisfied when his hand stroked up and down your back, rubbing small circles. You pushed yourself up so that his lips could press softly against his, the kiss was like magic, with the ability to take you away from the pain, take you from the moment of sadness. He was your forever, for everyone to see. You no longer had to fake it. 

/// TO BE CONTINUED ///

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[mggpleasedontlookhere]

it should’ve been you

summary: you and spencer never got along since you joined the bau, mostly because you made a mistake that costed the life of one of his colleagues. 

word count: 3,761                                                                                     reading time aprox: 15 mins

masterlist

“Mistakes are a fact of life. It is the response to error that counts.” said Nikki Giovanni. Although the expression only extends to the limitation of ending someone else’s life because of a mistake. With the existing dichotomy of religious patrons adherent to celestial beings and men of psychology claiming that trauma and fault can enhance cognitive development, the question still stands whether the slight improvement in the human schema is worth the life of an individual. 

Why is the essential nature of living ‘to flourish in someone else’s misfortune’?

Is it so, once they’ve experienced this misfortune they can be placed in the shoes of the fortunate soul, with the inability to recall their previous position; causing another individual to fall into the paradigm?

This philosophy is circumstantial, spontaneous even, pertaining to life itself no matter what socioeconomic standing you hold or religious scripture that you accredit. Regrettably, this philosophy stripped the BAU of an agent and the team, of a colleague. 

At its core, it was my fault. I was the lucky son of a bitch that flourished in his misfortune. 

Despite most of the team seemingly differing this proclamation, it was my choices that led a man to be deprived of the life ahead of him. The only other individual who didn’t side with the rest of the team was Spencer Reid. 

Agent Ryler, Darrison Ryler is was a single man who lived in his eclectic condo with the accompaniment of his golden retriever, Sam. He served as a confident to the team, specifically to Spencer according to my observations of their relationships prior to the incident.  

He died an honorable and ardent man, even in the most grotesque situations his concern only derived from the conditions of his partners. For 10 years he’s served the BAU, only for a rookie as myself to completely decimate his entire life’s meaning by killing him in the field. 

-

“Ryler, you and Morgan flank the left side, we’ll file in after” Hotch ordered signaling to a door with corroded blue paint chipping off that was located at the end of the hallway we were posted at. 

The supposed unsub lived in Manhattan, NY and was responsible for the homicide of five women that resembled his late wife. The unsub had been categorized as a sexual sadist in the midst of a psychotic break, deriving from denial. 

The SWAT team lingered behind us, awaiting orders from the team leader. The atmosphere of the situation penetrated my nerves, causing a natural sense of uneasiness from my parasympathetic, fight or flight, nervous system. Moonlight infiltrated through the ragged curtains that hung above a window at the end of the hall, which seemed to be slightly ajar; letting crisp air into the corridor. 

I could already feel the little fibers of hair on the back on my neck stand, an obvious indication of my apprehension. Despite that signal, I was determined to follow through with the decision I’ve fought for. To elaborate, it was me who had convinced Hotch to let me journey into apprehending the unsub regardless of my inexperience of being physically out in the field with the team. 

-

I was naive and selfishly driven to expose myself to such an atmosphere I thought I was ready for. I pushed and pulled to expedite my training in order to fulfill my hero complex. Nevertheless, I never consider the possibility of killing a man to satisfy that. 

-

Morgan had completely obliterated the door as it was now swaying from it’s hinges. Ryler followed him from behind, gun pointed at his surroundings as he announced he was FBI. 

The rest of the team filed in, SWAT included. Reid had entered after me as we both surveyed the perimeter. Hotch nodded at us, pointing Reid one way and me the other. As I left to inspect other areas of the apartment of the unsub, the shuffling of feet emitted from the loud stomps of the SWAT members increased my heart rate. I convinced myself that it was normal since it was my first time being out in the field. I swept the area, checking the master bedroom and bathroom with a few members of the SWAT, until we heard commotion in the living room. 

We hurried to the scene not wasting a breath to calm myself. When I had arrived the men that were with me had dispersed to shooting positions as I stood behind a wall that was directly adjacent to the unsub.

I had taken the opportunity to peek out, gauging the altercation and to my misfortune, the unsub had Agent Ryler in a choke hold with dagger lined up to the major artery in his throat. The unsub began spewing heinous accusations such as “you took her away from me” or  “you killed her, not me, you killed her you fucking pigs”. He screamed and shook, rationality draining from him as fast as the saliva gushed out from his lips. 

Hotch took the opportunity to calm the unsub down, playing at the factor of remorse he showed in his previous victims. Hotch sheathed his gun back to it’s holster, promptly raising his hands up in surrender while coaxing the violent man into dropping the weapon. 

Although these were fruitless attempts, the unsub grew to be more erratic as Hotch approached him. With this I made my presence known to Hotch, shifting to a better position to engage the unsub from behind. The rest of the team stood gawking at the entire scene with anticipation gnawing at their fingertips, agitating to shoot if necessary. 

I drew my gun out, my hands becoming slightly shaky from the anxiety that heightened when the reality of the situation came to mind. 

I might kill a man today

The unsub maintained his gaze at Hotch and the army of guns that surrounded him. “Fuck you, you fucking pigs. You killed her! You. Killed. My, Kerrie. Now one of yours will die!” He threatened, pressing the blade harder on Ryler’s skin earning a repressed wince from him. The men from the SWAT team cocked their weapons causing Hotch to command them to ‘stand down’. I met Hotch’s gaze again, a distinctive look flashed in his eyes, the hesitation clear on his face as he motioned for me to inch closer to the unsub. 

“Please, we just want to-” Rossi spoke up lifting his palm up as a symbol of sympathy, but in reality beckoned me to close in on the individual. 

“Shut up! Shu-shut the fuck up!” The unsub screeched, wiping his forehead with the arm that held the blade as he blinked rapidly. “Thi-this ends today, I-i, this is for my Kerrie!”

With one swift motion the unsub raised the knife to slice Ryler’s throat, but in a moment of weakness, Ryler was able to apprehend the man, overpowering his grip as he flipped their positions. 

“Y/N! NOW!” 

My surroundings moved in slow motion, similar to the speed of the slideshows Garcia would show us as she presented cases. My vision blotted, feeling every sweat droplet begin to dampen the palms of my hands. I felt every crevice of my body writhe in dread and apprehension, feeling the sudden weight of the weapon I gripped in my hands. I took in a breath, setting my eyes on the unsub. Finally, I squeezed the trigger, acknowledging the life that would be taken away. 

A loud bang and a grunt surged through the air

I closed my eyes expecting the gun to retaliate it’s force, yet I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to gauge at the scene before me, realizing that my gun hadn’t fired. 

-

I took a life that day, however it wasn’t the life I was expecting to take. Morgan had taken the shot to eliminate the unsub, but only after the unsub was able to plunge the dagger into Ryler’s pericardial cavity, nicking the side of his aortic wall. 

He bleed out on the scene. DOA.

I later figured out that my gun had been on safety the entire time we were infiltrating the, now deceased, unsub’s apartment. I could still hear Spencer’s cries of protest and disbelief when he grasped the gravity of the situation. But most of all, I can distinctively remember the menacing look he wore in his eyes as he fixated at me. The genuine enmity and contempt that swam in his pupils spoke the message that his lips couldn’t convey, it was an expression that you didn’t need an eidetic memory to recall. 

After that incident, Spencer did nothing but express his vexation at the very existence of my being. He ‘mindlessly’ knocks case files off of my desk occasionally, talks over my presentation of theories, and has undermined the suggestions I would pose during investigations.

It’s been approximately 6 months since the loss of Ryler and the mourning period seems to have curtailed over the course of the year. The heavy somber  air that was consistent in the bullpen began to dissipate and the fellow agents painted a more positive light on the life of Ryler, reminiscing on his various accolades. Despite this plateau, Spencer’s resentment hadn’t shown any modifications.  

We were on a plane routed to New York City, another homicide had taken place and there was evidence of the case being serial. Hotch was on the phone with the chief of the NYPD gathering new information that had surfaced about the unsub. Morgan wore his headphones loosely with his eyes closed, bobbing his head to 90s music while Emily and Rossi played a game of chess. 

Spencer on the other hand, had his nose in a book, his eyebrows furrowed as his long fingers dragged along the pages, scanning them at light speed. His bottom lip had become entangled between his teeth, chewing the muscle in deliberation. 

I sat across the jet, complementary to where Spencer resided. I fixated on the copy of Jane Eyre that I brought with me, although my mind had decided to overflow with a multitude of transpiring thoughts. 

“Okay, thank you very much chief, we’ll be landing soon” Hotch bid adieu, closing his cellphone and tossing the device on the table with a heavy sigh. “They just found another body” He announced, earning sympathetic and discontented stares from the team. “Kate Walsh, 36 years old, had a husband that worked in a law firm with two children. She was found dead at a Manhattan apartment on the Upper East Side” Hotch noticed the glances of the onlookers before him, although he spared a glimpse at a special brunette who practically harbored his face in a book. “It’s the same location where Ryler’s case took place 6 months ago” Hotch informed. 

Nobody dared to inspect the reaction that had been elicited from Spencer. Although his fingers grew noticeably rigid, imprinting the cover of the novel with discernible markings. His chest heaved as he took in the information, yet his composure remained cold and impervious to the circumstances. 

Morgan looked to Reid in equivocation before reverting his attention to Hotch. “Do you think there could be a connection to the case we worked there?” He inquired, sneaking another glance at Reid in the process. But to no avail, Reid remained motionless. 

“Possibly” Hotch returned, reciprocating the perturbed looks Morgan had directed. “This unsub has the same MO, same victimology, but different signature compared to the case we worked before” He reached over for the case files flipping through the images of the victims and laid them down at the table where he sat at. 

Emily had approached the table, looking over the images. “If you look at the stab wounds on the abdomen of the victim, doesn’t it look familiar to you?” She pointed to the punctures evident on the victim. 

“They resemble the wounds the unsub inflicted on women on the case we had with-” Rossi spoke, pausing mid sentence. “-when we worked that Manhattan case” His voice faded out, dwindling in apprehension to make any mentions of Ryler. 

“Yeah- and if you look at the depth of the wounds, they indicate hesitation marks-” Emily expressed. 

“Our unsub is remorseful” I butted in. 

“That contradicts with the excessive and deliberate overkill this unsub displayed” Spencer muttered, catching the attention of his teammates, although his immersion in his literature didn’t falter. 

“W-well, yeah, I’ll go to the station to start a geogra-”

“Actually, I’ll build the geographic profile for the case to ensure that more people don’t get killed by human error” Spencer disputed, directing his astringent words towards me without losing focus. 

“I guess I’ll go talk to the family of the victim” I stuttered, ducking my head behind my chair to avoid the questionable stares I knew were headed my way. An unrelenting hold tugged on my heart strings, my conscience spiraling in revelations of self resentment. 

“Actually, Y/N, me and Morgan had already contacted the family and said that we were going visit them soo-” Emily corrected, motioning to her and Derek with lamentable eyes. “But, if you really want you can-” She interjected, the tone of her voice exponentially growing to be amiable and motherly. 

“I think it’s better that you and Morgan go, Emily, so we can get an accurate profile on the guy. Maybe this time we can catch him early enough without going in guns blazing, it decreases the statistics for weapon mismanagement” Spencer suggested, this time laying his book flat on the seat next to him, peering at Emily as he insinuated the proceedings of last year’s case. 

“Reid” Hotch warned, a menacing tight lipped expression planted on his features. In defiance of the team leader’s cautioning, Spencer continued to antagonize the situation, justifying his response in order to cover up his personal agenda. 

Hotch sighed diffusing the latter of the interaction by distributing the rest of the details of the case and certain tasks that needed to be done. “Y/N I’m going to need you to go to the Coroner’s office and find out if there’s any new information or if any reports from forensics came back yet” Hotch ordered. 

I nodded in agreement, not meeting his gaze while I fidgeted with my fingers. Unbeknownst to me, the team, excluding Reid, shared a similar expression as they interpreted the tense atmosphere that encompassed the room. 

I picked at my fingers, pulling at various strings of loose skin at the bed of my nails. I bounced my knee in uneasiness, my thoughts beginning to revolve around the case we faced 6 months ago. The same memory of Reid’s apathetic eyes that were fixated on me replayed in my mind, making the feelings of self doubt resurface at the base of my skin. Anger flooded freely throughout my system as if it was welcome and well deserved. I clenched my fists around my novel, doing so in the same way Reid did. 

“At least this time she’ll be looking at dead people instead of causing them” Spencer mumbled under his breath. Despite his certainty in himself to be reticent, it didn’t seem to catch his realization that his chastising comment was coherent enough for the entire team to hear, including myself. 

“Okay, I get it, alright. It was my fault, it was my mistake that killed Ryler but you can’t just sit there alienating me from any case we work on-” 

“No, Y/N you don’t get it. You don’t get to justify you murdering Ryler because you couldn’t do your job” Spencer lashed out.

“Reid-” Hotch attempted to disrupt his malicious annotations, but was promptly shut down by Reid. 

“No Hotch. You always emphasized how important it is to be vigilant in our job, yet you let her inject herself in the investigation knowing she was completely incompetent in the field” 

“Spencer, I’m war-” Hotch was interrupted again by me this time. 

“I WAS TRYING TO BE A GOOD AGENT. Can’t you understand that Spence, I-” 

“Don’t fucking call me Spence” Spencer retorted gritting his teeth, venom practically dripping from his lips as he articulated his words. At this time he stood up from his chair with his chest heaving and hair tousled from running his hands through it. “You don’t get to call me Spence, Ryler called me Spence and you took that away from me, so don’t think you have any authority calling me that”. 

He began his stride towards me, only to be obstructed by Morgan’s arm that held him in his position. 

“Look Spencer, I know I can’t take back what I did and yes, I made a stupid decision-” I spoke coolly, dictating every syllable with an understanding and remorseful tone in order to diffuse the taut ambiance. “But, I’m sorry and I want you to know that I regret everything that I did” I explained. 

Spencer broke Morgan’s restraint on him, shoving his arm away forcefully as he took a few determined steps towards me. 

“Tell that to Mary Anne Ryler, Amina Ryler, and Timothee Ryler” 

“Spencer-”

He moved in closer.

“I had to walk up to their house and tell them that their brother/son had died in the line of work” He explained, setting his hands on the table in front of me. “I had to tell them that he died an honorable death and that he died protecting people” He stared at me with the same deadly eyes at the day of the incident, no sense of remorse palpable on his expression. 

“But he did die an honorable ma-” 

“NO Y/N! I LIED TO THEM” He slammed a firm hand on the tabletop, making the surface rattle as I did when the booming sound met my ears. I crouched down in my seat, feeling my silhouette diminish in his large shadow. 

“Now Reid that’s enough” Hotch bellowed, although he was unsuccessful in alleviating Reid’s onslaught of defaming words. 

“I WANTED TO TELL THEM THAT YOU KILLED HIM BECAUSE YOU DID FUCKING KILL HIM”. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth landing on the leather covers of the airplane seat. “YOUR MISTAKE KILLED HIM”

“IT. WAS. A. MISTAKE. REID” I retorted, feeling my blood begin to boil as Spencer scolded me. I stood up to his level, slamming my hands down to reciprocate the malicious gesture he had displayed previously. “I ALREADY BLAME MYSELF ENOUGH JUST BACK OFF!”

By this time, the rest of the team had readied themselves to intercept if our back and forth became violent. They were the audience of constant bickering that occurred between the two agents for quite some time now, but nothing has ever amounted or elevated to the dispute in front of them. 

“YOU BLAME YOURSELF?!” Spencer began to laugh in a patronizing matter. “YOU BLAME YOUR FUCKING SELF. That’s a fucking joke, well newsflash Y/N, YOU SHOULD!” 

“That doesn’t give you an excuse Rei-” 

“WELL YOU KNOW WHATS AN EXCUSE?” He pulled my chin with the tips of his fingers. “You. You’re a sorry ass excuse for an FBI agent” He whispered disdainfully through gritted teeth, butting my face away with an incredulous expression on his face. His eyes had completely blackened, the hazel hue that resided in his irises dissipating as they were clouded in animosity. 

My impulsivity became too much to subdue as my rising blood pressure took over what little rationality I had. Without thinking, my palm autonomously met Spencer’s cheek with a violent hit, causing him to stumble backwards with his face in his hands. 

The rest of the team jumped into action, separating the both of us. Morgan and Hotch coming to Spencer’s side as Emily and Rossi came to my aid. I maintained my attention to Reid, him doing the same, as we stared at each other with malevolent gazes. I noticed the pockets of blood surface on his cheek, a portion of his curls masking the prominent dark red tint forming on his visage. 

Emily asked of my condition, Rossi reciprocating the same questioning. I assured them of my state and encouraged them to believe that I was fine.

But I wasn’t. 

I could feel every nerve in my system rattle and shake. I felt every pore on my body excrete sweat from the hysteria that I experienced. My head pounded and my body felt like it was being pulled in numerous directions. I took a few shallow breaths to convince myself of a normal composure, but my eyes told the truth of my state. 

Emily wrapped a comforting arm around my waist to steady myself and to regain a sense of stability. Rossi maneuvered back to his seat, taking a second glance at Reid whilst shaking his head in discountenance. 

Silence engulf the jet, the hum of the engine combined with the shifting of the seats was the only sound to be heard. Soft murmurs came from the other side of the room where Morgan and Hotch spoke to Reid in attempt to console him. 

It had been a few minutes after the confrontation, the petulant air of the scene plateauing to a more reasonable space for conversation. I battled with the idea of speaking up, but something needed to be said. 

“Look Reid” I began, penance laced with every word that I spoke. “It was my fault, I made a mistake that costed Ryler’s life and I’m sorry. It’s something that I can’t take back and my job will always revolve around the mistake I made” I continued. 

No response

I took this as encouragement to sustain an explanation. “But with the mistake I made, I know that this will make me a better agent and that I’ll be able to save more lives out there” I sighed, feeling Emily’s hand grasp mine. “I’m sorry Spencer for all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you, but please let me do my job- or at least give me the opportunity to do my job” 

No response again. 

“I know you won’t forgive me, but I hope in time that-” 

“It’s you” He finally spoke up, meeting the line of my gaze. Although his was unreadable, expressionless almost. 

“What?” I ceased my apology, furrowing my eyebrows at him in confusion. 

Chills ran up my spine as I looked into the windows of his eyes. It was like staring into the mind of a serial killer. Uneasiness climbed it’s way back into my skin as I gripped on Emily’s hand. 

“It should’ve been you who died that day Y/N” He spat, disgust and hostility radiating off of him. 

“It should’ve been you”

part 2

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A/N:

yes there will be a part two, I’m just finishing up requests atm ❤️❤️