#my writing which hasn't been properly proofread like always

[pomefioredove]

having a crush on you

summary: how they would act having a crush on you type of post: headcanons characters: pomefiore (vil, rook, epel) additional info: reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, not proofread, hi I'm insane and I love pining, I NEED to write another fic but with rook. might write this same prompt with other dorms

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

don't take his calm and collected facade as apathy

he's slowly losing his mind about this

"pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, falling asleep thinking about you" kind of losing his mind

it's my personal belief that Vil hasn't been in love before this

hasn't even really thought about it

so when you enter the picture it kinda throws him off balance

and with the exception of Rook, no one can even tell

he is an actor, after all, he can play the part of "totally platonic friends with room for Jesus"

(maybe a little too well)

but Vil isn't entirely emotionally repressed

he keeps things to himself, yes, but he's quite conscious of his own wants and needs

so when he realizes he's been craving your presence more than usual he does acknowledge it

in his head

and then does nothing about it for months

...what? he's busy

things like this can wait for him, and he doesn't want to put a rift between you two in case it might be a passing feeling

well... it doesn't pass

he becomes keenly aware of how much he wants you around him, how much he thinks about you, how much your very presence is enough to make him happier than he's ever... really felt

and you know what?

he is totally cool about it.

just kidding. he drives himself insane trying to think of the perfect way to confess, something that will impress you and meet his standards

he's dropping hints left and right and you don't seem to be picking any of them up

which again, just makes him crazy

(some days he really wants to ask you how oblivious one person can be, but he restrains himself)

I mean, how many times can he send you red tulips before you finally get the hint? he's practically spelling it out for you!

there is... a tiny, little part of him that worries you don't reciprocate

is he not your type? are you interested in someone else? perhaps he'd been too harsh on you, after all...

the fact that one little potato can make him so worried absolutely drives him mad

he is the vision of poise and grace and you are ruining him

and this sort of mood comes and goes in waves

just when he thinks he's pulled himself back together, you'll smile at him or say something cute and suddenly he's back to square one

(you're so adorable it's annoying -_-)

while he's sorting out a good way to express his feelings properly, he'll be spending all his free time with you

you need some new things? he'll be glad to take you shopping

you came over to see Epel? oh, well, he's not here, but you should stay for some tea, anyway!

your afternoon is free? he has some new lip gloss he's been dying to test out...

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

contrary to popular belief, I don't think Rook would be so open about it

he still compliments you, of course, and sings praises of your beauty and elegance, and has little regard for personal space, as always

but he's like that with a lot of people, so it's hard to really tell when he likes someone

the truth of the matter is that Rook Hunt can be just as reserved with his feelings as anyone else

when he really, really likes someone, he keeps it to himself

why?

he's hunting you he's learning more about you before making his true feelings known

he feels it's necessary to have an adequate amount of information on his target before making a move, after all

for reference: you catch his eye at orientation, and do not have a single conversation with him until after winter break

(of course, after that, you start mysteriously running into him everywhere)

is he kinda weird about it? uh. yeah.

this is Rook we're talking about

on the other hand, he's completely lovesick about you and it's almost cute

he's definitely the type to write your initials in a journal with a glitter pen while kicking his feet back and forth and giggling

seeing if you would sound better with his last name or he with yours...

definitely has a very weird photo collection of you somewhere in his room

along with stacks of poems, pressed flowers, and little gifts he intends to give you once he's won you over

(when, not if. Rook is nothing if not patient)

you may find a rose left outside Ramshackle every so often

or a few cans of tuna for Grim

all while acting like the same old eccentric Rook, no discernable difference

except when you can feel his eyes on you at random places in the middle of the day

Ace and Deuce call you paranoid but you can't shake the feeling

though, every once in a while he'll get a little grumpy

Rook is easily jealous, and while that sort of possessiveness never extended to untouchable idols like Vil and Neige, he's already decided that you're his prey

and he'd kindly ask everyone else to find their own, thank you

he hasn't exactly planned the confession yet, but just know it's probably going to be the sweetest and craziest you've ever heard

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

first of all he's going to fight you for making him like you so much

second of all he's going to beg for a chance

maybe not in that exact order

Epel is constantly at war with his own emotions and having romance thrown in the mix is. uh. not optimal

not only does it ruin the stoic, strong male persona he's been trying to build, but it's also making him feel all soft and gushy

suddenly he cares about looking nice

(much to Vil's approval)

and now he wants to do nice things for you?

he's gonna bite you

how dare you make him think about kissing and holding hands!

don't you know he's supposed to be above all this romantic stuff? what is he, Rook?!

then, after his initial temper tantrum, he starts coping. hard.

he might be able to stomach the idea of being an item if he gets to wear the pants in the relationship

...yeah, right? right.

if you let him be the man, if you let him protect you...

he might be okay with it!

obviously he starts trying to show off his manly strength (seriously) every time he sees you

starts making comments about how tough practice was on him

will literally never let anyone else carry anything for you ever again

he even provides for you (in payments of apple juice)

obviously this backfires 'cause the second you do something that gives him butterflies he's back to giggling

(you'll have to ease him into the idea of being soft and romantic together, but he'll get there)

but, to his credit, he'd be the first out of all the above to confess

super suddenly and out of nowhere (and he ends up shouting it cause he didn't want to sound chicken) but it's sweet in its own way

[modern-oedipus]

I FINISHED WRITING CHAPTER 21!!!

I either think about writing Conflict and have a writer's block or I binge write all of the chapter (both Norman and Ray POVs) continiously without taking a single break. It has always been like this. I did want to write Conflict today but I didn't expect myself to actually be able to get into the mood... because it doesn't happen often. Woah! What a journey!!

It really was one of my 2024 goals to update Conflict regularly, and I am so grateful that I can properly take action on that. I receive comments from old and new readers and honestly-- for a fic that hasn't been updated for two years, and for a fandom almost dead, I am so grateful that I still found people to share this story with. I didn't know what to expect when I posted, but I am so glad I did. ❤️ Even if we may not be as crowded of a fandom before, this is my heartfelt gesture to keep telling their story and I am beyınd happy to have company through it. ❤️

The problem with Chapter 21 is... The "Event 1" took actually the whole chapter (~4,000+ words) and I ended the chapter in a conclusive spot. But I had more on my mind for that chapter. I wanted to post on Valentine's Day, and I want to match the theme to something more romantic. I am mostly loyal to the plot I had in 2019 (I think the only difference is that, Norman fell for Ray faster, but again I think we all waited long enough in real life timezone so I am speeding things up a bit, updating and slow burn is already making things slow, I can't let Norman use more time budget, we all got shit to do 😂) so it kind of was naturally going to be a romantic chapter anyway...

But like...

I feel like this chapter is exhausting enough as it is now and the Valentine's Day themed chapter should be the next one.

But there are??? 12 days until Valentine's Day? Which will be very intense for me irl as well. I don't know if I can write ANOTHER chapter until Feb 14. I was planning to write and edit this chapter in advance so it is ready by Feb 14 to post (SEE I DONT DO THINGS LAST MINUTE ANYMORE I HAD CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT) but like... I don't want this chapter to be the one I post on Feb 14.

So I could proofread this chapter and post it TOMORROW and POSSIBLY WRITE ANOTHER ONE in 12 days but, ,,,?

The inspiration may not hit and I may not have the time and availability to write another chapter...

SO WHAT DO I DOOOO

Its a gamble 😭

I might post this tomorrow and get gratification but there is no guarantee I can pull out another chapter in 12 days. I have so many things laying ahead this week, hence why I wrote this in advance...

Or maybe I could keep writing Chapter 22 tomorrow, ensure it is ready for Feb 14, then post chapter 21.

BUT ITS NOT FUN TO WRITE NEXT CHAPTER UNTIL I READ THE READER COMMENTS AND SEE THE KUDOS AND BOOKMARKS

Because I LOVE IT WHEN ITS INTERACTIVE

BUT I REALLY WANT TO DELIVER A BETTER GHING FOR FEB 14

But realistically speaking I may not have more time to put aside to write Conflict

Or do I just??? Say "fuck it" and make Conflict a priorirty and skip some social meetings or something to write it??

But sometimes I hit writers block even if I intentionally make timr to write Conflict, so there is no guarantee that it putting time aside equals a chapter

Alright I'll figure it out tomorrow good night. If worst comes to worst we still have one full chapter full of conflict (pun intended)

👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you for still checking up Conflict, reading and commenting after all these years! 🙏🏻✨ I am drafting Chapter 21 and I want to post consistently in 2024 (at least once a month). 💖

[lilliputianmerriell]

For @rayofimpendingalcoholism who requested nicknames!Sledgefu.

The pet names had started out innocently enough. Or innocent as far as borderline harassment goes anyway, Eugene supposes.

Snafu has always had this tendency to belittle the new recruits with all sorts of embarrassing nicknames according to Burgie. It was his way to test them, to see if they could stand the heat by naming them all sorts of embarrassing thing, so Eugene doesn’t think he is anything special when Snafu starts calling him ‘boo’ and ‘sweetheart’ and shit like that. Eugene always just attributes it to Snafu being Snafu, who is a bit of a dick and needs to compensate for his small, scrawny stature by asserting himself in some kind of way.

It is the natural assumption to make when another guy starts calling you all sorts of endearments, right?

Eugene begins to suspect that he might have been wrong though as time progresses and the name-calling doesn’t stop. Not when Eugene hauls Snafu off that airfield. Not when they lost Ack-Ack and Hillbilly on Bloody nose ridge. Not even when Snafu nicknames him ‘Sledgehammer’ in front of everyone which Eugene really thought was Snafu accepting him into the group and would be the end of it. It’s a constant influx of degrading, imaginative pet names that Snafu purrs at him mockingly while wearing that infuriating smirk on his face.

“Alright there, sugar?” Snafu asks when Eugene is knocked on his ass during a grappling session at Pavuvu. He is standing above him, hands on his narrow waist and a smug look on his face, and looking like he shouldn’t possess the strength to beat Eugene with those weedy arms of his.

Eugene can feel his face going an angry red. “Don’t call me that. I ain’t your sugar,” he bites back, glaring hard at Snafu. He knows it’s pointless to fight with him, but Eugene’s getting tired of the name-calling. They should be too old to resort to that kind of shit behaviour.

Snafu seems to chew on Eugene’s words for a second. “Maybe you’re right. Ain’t much sugar with that hair colour, Sledgehammer.” He pauses dramatically and leans forward to breathe a hot breath into Eugene’s ear. “Thankfully, there's plenty of other stuff that's equally as sweet, honey.”  

“That ain’t funny, Snaf’. That’s the kind of shit you’d call your wife.”

Snafu only laughs as he walks off, leaving behind a flustered and angry Eugene who is already plotting how he is going to get back at the arrogant Cajun.

While not aware of it at the time, an opportunity presents itself when Eugene is startled awake to a wet gasp about a week later.

He pushes himself up in his bed, wild eyes trying to orient themselves in the darkness and locate the source of the noise in the darkness. The other guys are asleep in their bunks, except for one, and Eugene just manages to catch the sight of Snafu’s back as he storms outside their small tent before the tent flap shuts behind him. It doesn’t take much contemplation before Eugene is quietly climbing out of his own bunk to follow after him into the night.

“Snafu?” he calls softly when he is outside, afraid to alert anyone else who isn’t Snafu of his presence. No one else needed to see Snafu in the kind of state of mind Eugene suspects he is in judging from that cry he’d heard. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to search for long as he finds Snafu leaning against the tarp on the other side of their small shelter. Snafu is in the process of light a cigarette when Eugene approaches him.

“Fuck,” Snafu curses as he struggles to ignite his cheap lighter with unsteady fingers. His hands holding the small container doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with him as there’s a visible tremor there making it difficult for Snafu to hold them steady.

“Here, let me,” Eugene says, his quiet voice making Snafu jump as if he hadn’t noticed he was there. Eugene pretends he doesn’t notice though as he extract the lighter from Snafu’s hands and lights it, holding the small flame up to Snafu’s cigarette.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Handing the lighter back to Snafu, Eugene leans against the tarp as well, looking up at the stars above. They were so clear here compared to back home.

“I don’t have nightmares often,” Snafu admits after a long moment of shared silence. His voice is steady, but his hands are still trembling with unspent adrenaline from whatever images haunt his dreams at night. “But when I do, it just feels so real, y’know? Like I can actually see and feel the life of everyone around me get sucked out of them.”

“And what does that feel like?” Eugene asks carefully, his gaze still glued to the black canvas above, shimmering with small glimmers of light.  

“Cold.”

Eugene nods in understanding. He knows the feeling of waking up in a panic, heart racing, while your mind is telling you all sorts of terrible lies. More than once have Eugene woken up in a cold sweat, the dead bodies of his loved ones littered over a ruined battlefield while he is the only survivor. He wouldn’t wish those kinds of nightmares on anyone.

He wonders what sorts of horrors Snafu sees when he’s asleep.

There’s the sound of someone exhaling a shaky breath next to him and Eugene finally chances a glance at Snafu who is sitting with his head in his palms. Eugene’s heart clenches painfully at the sight, something about the image of a distraught Snafu not seeming right. An idea present itself to him then; an opportunity to cheer Snafu up and also get back at him for all those silly pet names.

Carefully, he shuffles closer to Snafu. “Hey,” he says and nudges him with his elbow. “Cheer up, buttercup. We ain’t dead yet, we might still make it home.”

It earns him a quizzical eyebrow before a soft smile forms around the smoke perched between his lips. “Ain’t nobody goin’ home, honey. Y’know that.”  

Suddenly, Eugene has some ammunition of his own as he starts mocking Snafu with his newly baptised pet name for him. Every time Snafu coos honey at him in a teasing tone, Eugene fires right back with calling him his little buttercup, so small and delicate.

Alone, Snafu smiles to himself when Eugene calls him that, seeming almost pleased with the childish pet name, but he doesn’t seem to take to the name quite so well when Eugene uses it front of the other guys, Bill’s roaring laugh turning Snafu’s face an angry, embarrassed red.

It continues like this for months, but the name-calling tapers off as the campaign stretches on in Okinawa. Eugene is so emotionless and distant then. When all is painted is black and red, it’s difficult to find joy in anything as silly as teasing your friend with silly nicknames. Besides, his head is so filled with horror and terrible images that he doesn’t even notice Snafu’s stopped calling him honey. It isn’t before he is sitting emotionally exhausted and broken on a bench outside a destroyed house with a shell-shaped hole in the roof and a dead family inside that he realises it is something that he has even been missing.

A warm figure presses up close to his side. “How’re you holdin’ up, boo?”

“Thought I was your honey,” Eugene remarks coldly.  

Snafu considers him evenly through tired, sad eyes. “Gott’a be sweet for me to call ya that. And not gonn’a lie Sledge, you’re more reminiscent of a ghost these days.”

For some reason, Eugene feels his heart sink at this. He swallows hard around the lump suddenly forming in his throat. “Well, ain’t going to stop callin’ ya buttercup if that’s your ploy here.” Eugene chuckles weakly despite himself. “They’re considered weeds, y’know? Persistent little things, can wiggle their way in everywhere. Incredibly difficult to get rid of too once they’ve taken root.”

An intent gaze is burning into the side of Eugene’s face, he can feel it, but his own eyes are trained on the wet mud underneath his feet where no flowers or plants would want to grow in a long time.  “I never understood why they were considered weeds though. I used to love picking them from mother’s garden as a kid, thought they were so pretty and delicate in the way they almost seemed to glow in the sunlight.” Eugene chuckles weakly again before his breath hitches and he dissolves into tears. He ducks his head in embarrassment. He hadn’t thought about home in such a long time and oh god he misses it, would give anything to be back there.

An arm drapes over his shoulder then. “Your mama’s garden sounds nice,” is all that Snafu says. But it’s all that he needs to say as he sits with Eugene until the lieutenant orders them to pack up their things and join the others who are digging foxholes for the night. Despite orders, Snafu stays close, not quite letting go of Eugene as he sleeps curled up close in their foxholes during Eugene’s watch, and Eugene feels lighter and more clearheaded than he has in a long while.  

Snafu doesn’t leave him alone after that and the name-calling seem to pick up exactly where they’d left off as they return to throwing them back and forth between themselves. Then, and at some point, it starts to shift from being mocking to being affectionate and loving, a secret shared between them. Eugene starts to think that maybe he is a bit special after all, at least to Snafu who kisses him at V-day, surprisingly shy, and then again later when they are alone under the stars.

Those long, secret nights that they share in each other’s’ beds in Peking after that should be more than confirmation enough that there might be something more between them, but Eugene cannot help but feel that this is all just temporary. Something this good is bound to end sometime, either that they get caught or Snafu leaves, and Eugene doesn’t dare to think otherwise. It would make the disappointment easier to swallow when he wakes up one day and Snafu isn’t there anymore.

The thought of Snafu not being there haunts him from the moment it appears as a possibility in his mind. It makes him cling onto Snafu even more than before, staying close by his side all hours of the day and in his bed all night as he presses soft kisses to his chest, his stomach while he whispers about his little flower, his buttercup. In return, Snafu will thread his fingers through his ginger hair, muttering encouraging words to his honey until he is twisting underneath Eugene’s clever hands and mouth.

It is loving and peaceful, but not bound to last, and it is with a heavy heart Eugene steps onto the train that will take them all back to their old lives on the south coast. He is adamant to spend these last few hours with Snafu and not waste a single moment. And then, when he would get home, he would find one of the flowers in his mother’s garden and press it between the pages of his bible, preserving the memory of his little buttercup amongst the written words about him.

The anxiety and stress must have caught up to him though, as he peels his eyes open after having fallen asleep in his seat. The bright sun outside must have woken him up as it hits his face and casts his surroundings in a beautiful light, including Snafu who is sitting opposite him.

Snafu’s eyes are trained on a newspaper resting in his lap with a concentrated frown pinching his brows together while he reads makes Eugene heart warm before he feels a spike of panic. He’s wasted so much time, he should have stayed awake. Oh god, how much time did they have left together?  

“How far are we from your stop?” Eugene asks, trying to hide his anxiety by acting nonchalant and stretching out his long limb in his small seat, his legs gracing Snafu’s ankles underneath the table. He hates to think about parting from Snafu soon when the man has become such a constant in his life. A reliable comrade, a loyal friend, the person he trusts the most and cares about the most. Snafu’s wound his way into Eugene’s heart, and Eugene thinks he himself might waste away if Snafu was uprooted from his newfound home.

“We passed it a while ago,” Snafu says absently as his attention trails along the printed text of his paper. He doesn’t seem remotely fazed by the fact he’s missed his stop.

Eugene only looks at him bewilderment, not able to understand in his panicked state. He hadn’t been sleeping for that long, how did he miss that they’ve already passed New Orleans? And why was Snafu still here? Eugene just about manages to collect himself enough to voice his latter question out loud, earning a small quirk of Snafu’s lips before Snafu folds up his newspaper to give Eugene his full attention.

“Because,” Snafu says easily, the light outside hitting his tawny skin and making him seem deceitfully delicate and beautiful as he appears to glow in the sunrays. “Honey, you’re the one. Looks like you’re takin’ me home to your mama’s garden after all.”

[hotchley]

the green light of forgiveness

FIRST MENTALIST FIC WHOO!

Hi?

This is my first fic since March. Since then a lot of life has happened (as I'm sure you're all aware.)So my writing is a little rusty. And I've never written for The Mentalist so I don't really think I characterised anyone properly, but oh well. I basically watched Red John today and I kept waiting for someone to say something about Lisbon (the moral dilemma about Red John) was so interesting. So because I didn't get my line about Lisbon, we are now here.

I haven't actually watched the episode after. I got carried away. Anyways, I've been AWOL for ages so the writing is… questionable and hasn't been proofread (like always) and I will probably go AWOL with fics again, because I'm trying to keep this fun! So yeah! Title is from happiness- Taylor Swift. It's the best song off evermore and you can't change my mind /j

Let me know if I missed any TWs, it's 12:30am and I spent my morning talking to ten different children about multiple books and I am tired.

read on ao3!

All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness You haven't met the new me yet And I think she'll give you that

Thomas McAllister is grinning at Patrick Jane.

He can't stand it. How dare he. How dare this pathetic coward, who murdered an innocent woman and child and hundreds of other people, grin at him? He isn't smart. He hasn't won. He is just a man, who has fears and weaknesses. Now that his identity has been revealed, there are no cards left for him to play.

Jane knows he is a wanted man, but there is a dead body lying two feet away from him and he didn't put the bullet there. It will be selfish and unfair, but if he escapes, he can get to Lisbon and the rest of his family. He can get them out of whatever situation they are in. Because he knows something has happened to them. It's the same prickling feeling he used to get when Angela gave Charlotte a bit too much sugar before bed since she wanted to say goodnight to him, or when Charlotte accidentally spilt glitter on one of his jackets.

The point is, he is a wanted man, but Red John is desired. The FBI will let him and the rest of the team go if he leads them to their worst enemy, especially now the public is so aware of his existence. He has learnt, that for better or for worse, they will do anything to protect their image. And if that means letting him go because the public perceive him as a grieving man that simply wants closure, they'll do it.

Which means McAllister shouldn't be grinning.

"You shouldn't do it," he says, as though it's simply a conversation about a haircut.

"Shouldn't do what?" Jane asks through gritted teeth.

Red John has seen his full range of emotions without him ever intending to showcase any of them. Red John is his nemesis. Red John is the monster under his bed, the figure he sees out of the corner of his eye when he feels paranoid. Red John is undefeatable.

But Sheriff McAllister is a man who is afraid of death as all people are. Even Jane is afraid of dying. There are so many things he hasn't done. So many words he hasn't said. He hasn't told Charlotte that there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. Hasn't told Angela that he found peace. He needs to tell Cho that he's brave, tell Rigsby that he's going to be a good father, tell Grace that she must never lose that childish hope.

He needs to tell Teresa more things than is humanly possible. He needs to say sorry. That he's proud of her. That she is the most beautiful woman he has ever known. That she needs to loosen up. That he can't afford to lose her and that's why he always runs and leaves her behind. That he loves her.

So whatever reason he's about to be given for keeping him alive is going to be born out of self-preservation and it will be easy to rationalise it into something that means he can pull the trigger. But more than pulling the trigger, he wants his hands to end his life. He wants to watch as that pathetic man starts pleading, wants to make him as helpless as every other victim, wants to witness the light leave his eyes and the panic and realisation set in-

"Teresa won't ever forgive you if you do," McAllister taunts. 

Just for a moment, his hand falters. But then he thinks of her. The real Teresa Lisbon who loves with patience and laughs at his awful jokes and never rolls her eyes at the team with any emotion other than humour. He thinks of the Teresa Lisbon he loves, not the woman that has hidden her personality from so many people for her safety. 

It’s why his voice doesn’t waver when he speaks.

"You're wrong."

"Oh?"

"Agent Lisbon will find it difficult to reconcile the image of me with blood on my hands with the gun-fearing man I appear to be on many of our cases. She will understand that I likely acted in self defence and will eventually come to terms with what I was forced to do."

"And are Agent Lisbon and your sweet, darling Teresa two different people? She wears a wonderful perfume, I'll have to find out what it's called. And she looks so peaceful when she's unconscious. Likely because she isn't burdened with your shenanigans."

The image of Lisbon, breathing and seemingly relaxed, but Partridge’s blood on her face as she became another on a long list of Red John’s victims comes to the forefront of his mind. He made a vow that day. Never again was he going to wipe the blood off someone he loved because of something he had done. It made him even more determined to find Red John. Because nobody should hold the power to make Lisbon vulnerable unless she had already given it to them.

He had abused that power once. To make her annoyed, so she wouldn’t question where her birthday gift was. He hadn’t expected her to hurt, and the look she had given him- one of pure disgust, as though she had always believed she would be immune to his barbs- had stung more than he’d ever admit to anyone.

“Teresa is simply a woman who is a human. She’ll forgive me in the blink of an eye because she cares about me. And when she cares, she forgives. In fact, she’ll be grateful that I killed you. You abused so many people. You have used them and you have ruined lives and you do not deserve a jury or a trial. She believes in forgiveness. Lord only knows how many times she forgave her father and brothers in order to move on with her life.  She cares for me, and she knows this is the only ending to the story. Whilst she may not want to accept it, she will.”

“She loves you.”

“She loves many people.” He can’t afford to give into this game. Not now he is so close. 

“She loves you more. And I know you love her also. I wondered what you would do when you found out I hurt her. I was disappointed in your reaction. I was hoping for a more romantic gesture. Perhaps a declaration of love, given that you won’t ever get the chance again.” 

“I will. And she knows. This is your downfall.”

“My love for love? Now, now, Patrick, let’s not be silly.”

“Your desire for theatrics. It makes you blind.” He only has a few moments to work with.

“Does it?” There is the cockiness he has needed.

“I need to show you something,” he says, and when McAllister smirks and leans forward, he acts.

The gunshot sounds unnaturally loud. Everything else happens too fast for him to process. All he can think of is the last time Charlotte smiled at him and the last kiss Angela blew him. Tom McAllister, not Bertram, not Red John, took them and so many others. It’s only right that he joins them.

He does doubt whether or not Lisbon will truly forgive him, but he can hardly focus on that when he’s so close to revenge.

He gets it. McAllister begs as much as he’s able to, and then it’s over. It feels shockingly anticlimactic, but he supposes he should’ve been prepared for that. After Lisbon finally arrested Walter Mashburn, she came and sat with him. And when he asked how it felt, she shrugged and said it was just another closed case.

He wonders if the feelings will kick in later.

He knows he needs to leave.

So he does.

In his first letter to Lisbon- he rewrites it several times, knowing that she’ll know but quite frankly not caring enough to send the first copy because there is too much and it is too soon- he details exactly what he did.

He sends four more letters with zero reference to the events that led to this method of communication. Because if nothing had happened, he would’ve been sauntering into whatever office she had and saying whatever he wanted regardless of who was there. He sends four more with zero reference because Teresa sent five with no acknowledgement beyond thank you.

Six months later, at the same time that she starts a new job, she sends a letter. It deviates from their usual pattern. 

He fears the worst as he opens the letter. He won’t go back unless he has to. He wanted that “has to” to be something like Cho’s wedding or because Grace and Wayne are expecting, but if Lisbon is writing early it’s unlikely it’s something good.

 But the letter is blank save for three words.

I forgive you.

He breaks down there. He clings to the letter as his legs give out and tears stream down his face because she forgives him. She forgives him, and even though he knows he had nothing to apologise for and that she would always grant him this, to see the words written in her own handwriting is like a weight lifted off his chest.

If Teresa can forgive him, then he will be okay. Because yes, Teresa is a forgiving person, but he hurt her again by running away. At some point, her mercy was going to run out. He assumed it would run out when he tried to bury a man alive because that almost jeopardised her career, and when she still let him use her for his vendetta, he knew he needed to be careful.

Teresa’s forgiveness feels much like her love. He doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to think about how beautiful she is. How much she’s changed, for better or for worse. Because the Agent Lisbon that let him look at the files wouldn’t have dreamed of letting him near Red John. The Agent Lisbon that still writes him letters despite saying she can’t has forgiven him for killing.

The first time she sees him, she flinches.

Patrick wants to make her hurt. He wants to shout at her. How dare she say she’s forgiven him if she’s going to look at him like he’s not her friend?

But then he thinks about it for half a second longer. She flinched because she was afraid of what she’d done to him. She was terrified that it was seeing how many criminals they caught walk free for one reason or another that drove him to the edge of a cliff you couldn’t come back from. She thought it was her fault he’d dived off it with no regard for the landing.

He wanted to say he’d desired revenge long before she ever said hello to him, and that she had remained his one tie to the world. That he’d started living- not just surviving- because she looked at him without pity and without sorrow. He wanted to say that he didn’t feel like there was any more blood on his hands because they’d done what they could.

But all those words died when she looked at him with those wide eyes and that slightly hesitant smile since she’d had a moment to compose herself.

So he said the words that said all of that and more. And he did the thing that proved he wasn’t lying.

“Lisbon,” he whispers, and then he embraces her with all the love he still holds for Angela and Charlotte, as well as all the love he’s grown to hold for her. 

She smiles, and in some strange way, she feels forgiven too. Perhaps it’s for waiting so long to write the first letter. Perhaps it’s for something she can’t remember she felt guilty about because Jane is back and she’s in his arms and he feels like home.

“Jane,” she replies, the same teasing lilt emerging.

And he knows then. It’s definite. It’s certain. There are now five indisputable facts for when he can’t sleep.

One: Lisbon loves him. Two:  they’re back together to solve cases and tease each other. Three: forgiveness is possible, even for people like him. Four: he can keep his vow.  And five: he is home, and it is filled with a brightness he has never seen before.