#never will be sorry for being kept in the dark and blindsided

[clownattack]

soz the idea of lurkers reading everything i post is actually so funny i hope it feels great opening that tab

[dfortrafalgar]

Catch Up

Law x Fem Reader

You might have met your soulmate while intoxicated, making out with him in a dark broom closet. But the only thing you left with was his first name.

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT, MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!, reader is meant to be over 21, bar crawl setting and responsible alcohol consumption

--

A/N- I'm still (still!) working on requests, and posting un-posted fics from my google drive in the meantime. I'm hoping to have my inbox open once again at the end of the month, or perhaps early June, now that my work/life balance is adjusting properly since starting my new job! I'm really sorry to those who have been hoping for consistent fics from me, i really wish i could write as much as i was recently but i'm still trying really hard!

[Also posted on AO3]

Chapter 1

[Next]

It was hard to convince yourself that you weren’t just the slightest bit tipsy as you kept your head lowered and channeled all of your focus into making sure your feet walked in a linear path.  How many bars had you gone to again?  Four?  Five, maybe?  Your body swayed slightly with your gait as your mind scrambled to catch up with the last drink that you had.  It was only a cocktail, as all your other drinks from your bar crawl were.  Was it mango-flavored?  What street were you even on now?  You blindly followed the two women in front of you whose voices were gleefully mocking the words you had said some hours before the sun had gone down.

“‘I’m not a lightweight, never have been!’” chided Ikkaku, eyes crinkled in a smile as she poked fun at your previous confident statement.  She tossed a glance over her shoulder where you walked only a few steps behind.

“I’m not a lightweight!  My voice isn’t even slurring yet!” you fought back, increasing your speed to keep pace with your best friends.

“And what was the last drink you had?” Nami asked, pulling her phone out of her bra to check her map.

“A mango margarita,” you confirmed.  “With a little lime wedge and a mint leaf for a garnish.  The place was called Elgia Lounge and it was on–”

“Okay, okay, you’re not drunk!  We surrender!” laughed Ikkaku.  “I’m glad you’re not, though, because this next place apparently has some of the best pineapple daiquiris in the entire city.”

Your mouth started watering immediately at the thought.  You were always a sucker for sweet cocktails, arguably some of the most dangerous drinks due to the way the tangy, sour mixers completely blocked the taste of any alcohol added.  Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if there even was alcohol in the glass, but with the way you walked, there was obviously more than enough from your previous locations.  You hadn’t quite passed the threshold into drunk territory yet, but the image of a sweet and tart pineapple daiquiri might just be the thing to completely inebriate you.

Nami stopped dead in her tracks and looked towards the congested buildings immediately to your right side, scanning the signposts in the dark and looking for a specific one.  Tucked in between two sports bars, with absolutely zero signage on the graffiti-covered door, the red-head nodded her head toward the unmarked entrance.  “This is it.”

“Nami, you’re going to get us killed,” Ikkaku murmured, eyes squinting at the door to spot any indication that this was indeed a speakeasy and not a hidden trap house.  

“Am not, I swear this is the place!”

The three of you approached the steel door, Nami confidently being the one to ring the doorbell that was attached to a small intercom system.  It took a few breathless moments of mild worry before a voice filled with static came through the speaker.

“Password?”

You and Ikkaku were both blindsided as Nami crossed her arms over her chest and loudly proclaimed, “Suck my big, fat cock.”

Another few seconds of silence followed before the lock on the door clicked open and the same voice from before spoke, “Come in.”

“What the fuck,” you muttered in shock.

“Told you it was legit!” Nami chided with a giggle.

“A place that makes you say, ‘Suck my big, fat cock,’ as a password doesn’t seem very legit to me, but I’ll take your word for it,” Ikkaku mused as she followed Nami through the door and down a flight of stairs only illuminated with blue and pink fluorescent lights.

Graffiti completely covered the entire interior of the stairwell, leaving no part of concrete untouched from colorful ink.  Even the ceiling above you was marked in elaborate, incomprehensible swirls and zags of paint of all different colors, made even more colorful in the odd lighting.  The stairwell seemed to last forever as you followed your two friends down into the underground, clutching the steel railing for dear life as your tipsy vertigo fought with your ability to walk down a flight of steps.  You finally reached the bottom to another door, this time lined with a soft, cushiony leather fabric.  Nami pulled open the door and greeted a black-clad man standing in the small room directly behind it.

“IDs,” he grumbled.  Straight to the point.

The three of you fumbled through your purses for your driver’s licenses before handing each of them over to the man for a review.  He clicked on a pocket flashlight, scanning each card, handing them back to you with a hum.  “Enjoy the night, ladies.”  His large hand pushed open another door that was hidden in the wall itself.

The room that was opened to you was unlike any of the other bars you had entered, both during your current crawl and in your entire adult life previous.  The room was cloaked in a sexy blue and pink lighting, decorative art of pin-up models framed on the walls along with retro-inspired neon signs and liquor branding.  Groups of people filled the tables nearby, laughing and drinking through the booming music that flowed freely through the space.  It was crowded, almost overwhelmingly so, but you squeezed close to Ikkaku’s back as you pushed your way through the other patrons to get to the bar.  Your hand accidentally grabbed Ikkaku’s ass as her shoulder bumped into your breast, both of you wheezing out surprised laughter.

You popped through the stream of people to the bar which was, unsurprisingly, completely filled with every seat taken.  Two men worked tirelessly behind the counter, filling shakers with liquor and mixers, bitters and juices.  A bin of assorted fruits sat open in front of patrons, allowing the bartenders to grab their garnishes quickly and decorate their glasses with expert precision before passing them off to elated, tipsy customers.  You, Nami, and Ikkaku squeezed yourselves into the far corner of the bar, between the counter and a booth of patrons.  

“At least we can stand here!  It’s a bit crowded but it’ll do for now,” the red-head yelled through the shaking stereo that sat nearby.  

One of the two bartenders waved his hand in the air to attract your attention.  Long, spikey auburn hair framed a sharp face and crooked nose.  You were confused at the angular sunglasses that covered his eyes, but paid no mind in the end.  His voice cut through the music, but was clearly worn after a long night of screaming at people because of the volume.  “What can I get for you, ladies?”

Nami handed the man her credit card, explaining that she was going to close out after one drink for each of them, which he gladly accepted and placed in a secure box by the register.  Your eyes frantically scanned the illuminated menu above the bar, the raunchy, debauched names of the signature cocktails revealing absolutely nothing about their ingredients.  

“What the hell is a ‘Fuck Me Sideways?’” you shouted towards your friends.  

The man behind the counter cackled.  “That’s a pineapple daiquiri!  It’s sour as fuck, hence the name!”

Your mind flashed back to your conversation from the street, mouth once again salivating at the thought of the tangy, delicious concoction.  “I’ll get that please!”

The man memorized your three orders and immediately got to work.  You watched idly as he nudged his coworker’s shoulder and alerted him of the order so he could help with making your drinks.  It was then that your eyes trailed to said coworker.

All sound in the room faded into a muffled nothingness as your eyes narrowed on the other bartender, pupils dilating.  Toned, tanned arms and hands were littered in elaborate, grungy tattoos, and you could tell with the way his worn t-shirt dipped below his collarbones that he had another large piece on his chest, defining his pectorals even from beneath his clothing.  His jawline was sharp, a small goatee defining his chin, black sideburns framing his perfect face as intense, golden eyes focused on his work.   His tongue poked out from his thick lips slightly, revealing a tiny glimpse of a stud pierced through the muscle, and giving his intimidating appearance a sudden adorable qualm as long, deft fingers poured shots of liquor into his metal shaker cup.

You barely noticed the fingers snapping in your face.

“Hey, Earth to Apollo!  Can you read me?” Ikkaku hollered directly in your ear, shaking you out of your trance.

You jumped in surprise, music fading back into your consciousness as the sound of Nami’s laughter brought you firmly back to reality.

“Looks like someone’s got the hots for the emo bartender over there!” sang the red-head, leaning against the wall and making a very lewd gesture with her hands.

You grumbled.  “Do not!”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Ikkaku chuckled in response.  “He is pretty cute… if you don’t make a move I might.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growled, making your best friends roar in laughter.  A rush of blood filled your face with an embarrassed heat.  “He probably already has a partner, a guy as hot as him can’t possibly be single.”

“There’s only one way to find that out, and it’s to talk to him,” lectured Nami.  “Come on, you’re on a bar crawl, you’re drunk, you’re hot, your pants make your ass look fucking amazing.  I would look the other way if you dragged that hunk to the bathrooms.”

“Nami!  Shut up!” you screamed, thoroughly embarrassed now.  It’s not like anyone could hear your conversation amongst the intense volume of the room, but the subject matter still made you flush from your tailbone to the crown of your head.

The conversation dissipated into enthusiasm about the location, the three of you taking note of the sex-positive decor and how good the playlist was.  Every once in a while, your eyes would dart back to the raven-haired man with his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he filtered a cocktail through the metal strainer and into a slim, iced glass.  He reached forward into his box of garnishes, procuring a thin lime wedge and expertly slicing it down the middle to perch it on the rim of the glass.  As you were staring at him, his eyes darted up directly meeting yours.  Your face flushed red hot with embarrassment, but before you could yank your gaze away, he flashed you a grin that had your legs quivering.  He held up the drink.  It was your’s.

You pulled away from Nami and Ikkaku who hardly noticed your movement as you approached the bar and reached between two peoples’ shoulders to grab your cocktail from the man who kept his deep, golden eyes on your form the entire time.  An elated, cold sweat ran up your spine and you flashed him as good of a smile as you could through your ceaseless embarrassment that he had caught you staring.

Once the drink was in your hands, he tossed you a wink.

You hobbled back toward Nami and Ikkaku who were already holding their own orders, sipping idly through their conversation.

“You look like you got spooked by a ghost or something!” giggled Ikkaku, squeezing your left cheek with her fingers.

“Ikka, that hot emo bartender gave her her daiquiri!” Nami replied for you, making the curly-haired girl gasp in excitement.

“Did he say anything?  Did you say anything?”  The questions rolled off of her tongue faster than your heart rate.

“He just winked at me, and smiled, I guess,” you stated through nervous breaths.  

Your best friends dragged you into the conversation that had developed in the short time you were away getting your drink, but when you tossed another glance over your shoulder, you once again locked with golden eyes that froze your feet to the ground.

—

You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed over all, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour.  You and your friends finished your drinks, closed out your tab, and proceeded to the dance floor to burn off energy under the neon disco lights and pounding music.  You let your mind stray away from the bartender’s piercing glare while you moved your hips against Nami’s, the two of you poking fun at Ikkaku from afar as she found herself in an awkward dance with a random man who was far from her type (that is to say: not a woman).  The room was dipping slightly around you, the sweet pineapple daiquiri definitely making you tipsier than you wanted to be.  You didn’t have to pee at that moment, but you figured it would be worth a shot to sober you up even just slightly.  With a nudge against Nami’s shoulder, you pointed to the bathroom, mouthing your intentions, and waved to her as you walked toward the back of the room through the sea of happy, alcohol-fueled patrons.

The bathroom was situated behind the bar past a few rows of small booth tables, and the further you walked from the center of the lounge the more the music faded to a much more tolerable volume.  The walls remained lined with graffiti, which you trailed with your eyes as you walked, marveling at the tantalizing swirls of colors and personalized messages and names memorialized forever on the concrete.  You finally rounded the corner into the small corridor where the two single bathrooms were found, along with a single broom closet that was kept closed with a padlock.  Your feet blindly led you towards one of the bathroom doors that was cracked open.

“You know, those pants make your ass look phenomenal.”

A husky voice stopped you in your tracks.  A million thoughts rushed through your mind within an instant.  Who was talking to you?  Did you get followed to the bathroom?  Were you being watched?  Were you in danger?  Should you have brought your purse with you instead of leaving it with Nami?  Were you going to make a run for it?

Fighting against your flight, you turned around to face the voice that cut through the muffled music.

Intense, golden eyes, raven-black hair, and a sly, toothy smirk.

“Sorry if I scared you, I promise I didn’t follow you back here,” he added, his face morphing from a flirtatious, mischievous expression into a more apologetic one.  “I had to take a piss, too.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, really!” you replied, inwardly wincing at how your voice involuntarily quivered with excited anxiety.  The Hot Emo Bartender was standing in front of you.  Had he just complimented your ass?  “And, uhm, thank you!  For my ass.  I mean, for saying I look good.  Or, phenomenal, I think?”  You pinched your lips shut forcing yourself to cease your drunken rambling, but your reaction only made the man’s mouth curl into a grin as a laugh bubbled out of his throat.

“Go sober up in there, princess, then we’ll talk.  I’ll wait for you out here.”  The man ended his sentence by entering the second unoccupied bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

You quickly did the same.  The bathroom had the exact same aesthetic and lighting as the rest of the establishment, the mirror completely covered in graffiti and leaving little room to view your current appearance after you finished your business.  You gazed through the dried ink, fixing your hair with your fingers and pushing your boobs into place under your top, blowing an encouraging huff out of your mouth before washing your hands, drying them, and exiting the bathroom into the corridor once more.

The man had indeed waited for you, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with one leg up checking his phone.  He was tall, much taller than you, and his legs were long and skinny, complemented beautifully by his tight, bespeckled jeans.  The spots were definitely an odd aesthetic choice in your mind, but you couldn’t complain.  Somehow, they suited his vibe perfectly.  He picked his head up and looked you up and down, that charming, mischievous grin once again returning to his lips.

“Feel better?”

“Absolutely, I didn’t think you’d actually wait out here,” you confirmed.  Somehow, your voice had evened out from the anxious drunken stupor you sported before.  Maybe pissing out the alcohol did have its merits.

“Good, I wanted to talk to you but needed to see if you were too drunk first.  Those pineapple daiquiris are really something,” he explained.

You were very quickly gaining more comfort in his presence, isolated from the club beyond the corridor in the dim lighting that accentuated his cheekbones and gave him the sexiest aura you had ever seen.  You swallowed your pounding heart and returned his grin.

“Talk to me?  Out of everyone here?” you questioned, putting on your charm.

“I don’t just talk to any random bar patron,” he responded.  “In fact, I barely talk to anyone here at all.  But how could I pass up such an alluring face?”  He stepped across the corridor to you, reaching out a hand that smelled like the generic brand soap in the bathroom.  His callouses tickled the fine hairs of your cheek and chin.

“And ass?” you asked innocently, clearly enjoying the little game you two had initiated.

“And ass,” he repeated.  “Though…” his eyes trailed up and down your body from his closer angle, eating you up through your clothes.  “You’re definitely the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen, all around.”  His golden eyes met yours once more.  “You have beautiful eyes.”

He had done it now.  You were beyond flustered, convinced that your entire body was glowing red and steaming like a geyser from your anticipation and embarrassment at his tender compliments.  A part of you still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t the type to talk up every woman at the bar, but Nami’s words from prior bounced through your skull.  You were drunk, you were hot, and damn it, your pants did make your ass look good!  You only live once, right?

With alcohol and adrenaline fueled courage you never experienced before, you closed the narrow gap between your bodies and pressed your lips against his, standing on your toes and grasping his shoulders to steady yourself.  The anxious voice in your head told you he was going to push you away, call you some horrible slur and leave you in the dust to regret every choice you made leading up to that moment.

You were very pleasantly surprised when his lanky arms looped around your waist, clutching you close to his sturdy form as he moved his lips against yours.  You weren’t an expert kisser by any means, but something about the way his mouth moved told you that he wasn’t actually used to doing this, more of a smooth-talker than a do-er.  He was reluctant to open his mouth to allocate for your tongue, instead simply pursing and unpursing his lips against yours.  The feeling made you pull away, failing to suppress the giggle that followed.

Before you had the chance to make any snide, lighthearted comment, however, a tattooed hand traveled down your arm and gripped your hand, dragging you toward the broom closet.  He fiddled with the padlock on the door without letting you go, shoving open the entrance with his shoulder and pulling you inside.  The door slammed behind you, now almost completely muffling the music blaring from within the club.  The two of you were now free from prying eyes that might wander into the corridor to use the bathroom, completely unaware of the actions taking place just one door away.

In the stark darkness of the closet, the man’s hands found the collar of your shirt and pulled it down as best as he could, encouraging you to slip your arms out and pull it over your head.  His lips pecked at your jaw, your chin, your neck, and the dip of your breast as you unhooked your bra and let it flop to the floor.  Your own hands grasped his ratty t-shirt and yanked it over his head, its loose fit making undressing his torso much easier.  Your fingers now had access to his bare skin, your breath hitching in your throat as you blindly felt around firm abdominal muscles that met a lean yet supple chest and broad shoulders.  Even through the lack of light you could tell just how attractive this man was.  A smattering of coarse hairs covered his chest and stomach, but for the most part he was well trimmed, save for the patch of hair that you felt at his naval.  You heard his breath catch in his throat as your fingers followed the dip of his pelvic bone and trailed along the belt of his jeans.

“Wait,” his airy voice muttered.  “I need to know your name.”

You laughed, divulging your information.  You felt his lips smile against the skin of your neck.

“I’m Law,” he added.

“Law…” you exhaled his name on your soft, aroused breath.  “Can you fuck me, Law?”

A low groan rumbled through Law’s throat as his hands now played at your own waistband.  “Anything for you, princess.”

[hollowwrites]

Ominis Headcanons

🔥 This is my dumpster fire of Ominis 🔥

Burn with me.

I’ll refer to MC as Evelyn throughout this cause she’s my ship with Omi. This is basically my notes page. Things my conflict. Who cares? If anything grabs you please ask about it. You guys inspire me for way too much of my stuff 💚

I’m just gonna mix NSFW stuff in with this so 🔞MINORS DNI🔞

~

Fifth Year Ominis is too caught up in Sebastian’s bullshit to notice if he was going too far. He clings to any niceties afforded to him. You need help finding your class? Sure you can hold onto his arm. You’re aching from the Crucio ordeal? You can lean against him and have a nap with him. You become his coping method of losing Anne and Sebastian. He can forgive himself for opening up a little too much…he’s gone through a lot.

Sixth Year Ominis is straight denial. No they’ve always been this close they had to be because of Sebastian. Not that anyone else knows that. You just showed up and you’ve both been inseparable ever since. You’re just very good friends.

Seventh Year Ominis is determined, will stop at nothing until Evelyn is his (See Blindsided for evidence!!!)

Can touch his wand to things to see colour. Found out after he fell into Sebastian one time and jabbed him in the ribs. The Olive green of his waistcoat flashed across his eyes. Only discovered it that late in his life because by the time he’d gotten his wand he’d already become estranged from his family so kept away from them.

Has advanced Proprioception, the sense of knowing where your body is in relation to it parts. It extends to people around him so when he’s sat with his friends he doesn’t always need to have his wand out to know if they’re moving around. His wand extends and enhances it

His favourite subject is Defence Against the Dark Arts. He’s ridiculously good at it. I’ve wrote about good of a duelist I think he is here but I think it extends past that. He’s overheard so much at home he knows how to combat a lot of it. Good knowledge of curse both Unforgivable and otherwise. Probably caused a lot of tension in fifth year between him and Seb. Contributing factor to their iffy relationship because let’s face it they don’t really act like best friends.

Was an UNREAL seeker in third year. Won every match because he could hear the snitch from across the pitch. Imelda banned him after matches ended too quickly. Was completely unbothered, only joined because Seb begged him to

Tallest of the boys but doesn’t look it due to his posture being awful (Seriously why does he slouch so badly) (Does mean when he fully stands up he’s HELLA TALL)

Has little crescent moon shaped scars along his palm from clenching his fists in his sleep.

Really good friends with Garreth. I’ve wrote so much for those two I just can’t help it. He reminds him of Sebastian before his sister was cursed.

Has a really good relationship with Hecat. She told him stories in First Year about Professor Black from back in Hogwarts so he wouldn’t be scared of him telling his parents things. Probably why he’s not scared to talk to him.

Only speaks Parseltongue when he can’t control himself. When he’s angry, or in Pain or…other times 👀

Nicknames

Only uses terms of endearment as an insult. King of the ‘Oh Sweetheart’ in a smarmy way…still kinda hot

I don’t imagine he calls anyone by anything other than their full name. Sebastian is always Sebastian Never Seb.

Except Evelyn, she is everything but her full name. Unless he’s mad at her. Eve, Ev, V, Evie.

He’ll only call her pet names if the time calls for it i.e. I saw someone’s fic where he calls her Hummingbird and I LOOOOVE that (Sorry can’t remember who that was but THANK YOU!)

‘Be honest with me, Little Hummingbird. Your heart is so fast, I know you’re lying’

Liberal use of ‘Good Girl’ in the bedroom but only after they’re comfortable with each other.

‘Be a Good Girl and get on your knees for me’

🔞 NSFW Headcanons 🔞

He’d be the best to lose your virginity to. He would absolutely be tender and sweet. I love Dominis as much as the next gal but he would be so sweet

He’s either planed the whole thing and everything perfect (Undercroft all lit up with candles and blankets and VERY STRONG locking charm on the gate) or it’s the most wonderful spontaneous event (piled up breathless on the floor of the prefects bathroom)

Speaking of one or the other, Ominis is either the sweetest most gentle man on the planet or he is absolutely insatiable ravenous filth.

Likes choking, spanking and biting. Like pulling the little gasps and moans and hisses from her.

FOREPLAY KING he cannot see! You cannot tell me he doesn’t love hearing how worked up she gets until she’s begging for him (Loves begging too)

No guy is good at fingering but…👀 he is. It just touching and fingers THATS HOW HE GETS AROUND ON A DAY TO DAY BASIS HE IS GOOD AT THAT SHIT!!

Hates whenever you have to be quiet. Almost makes it a game to see if he can force her to make a noise.

Other posts where I spout waffle about Ominis here and here and here

Masterlist

[jaredsbf]

How do you feel about John Winchester

I think he’s okay. They don’t ruin him as much as Mary (at least, they haven’t yet but I’m on season 13 so I don’t think the show will manage to ruin him in two seasons.) But he was never really good in the first place. I think he’s at his best in the early seasons when he’s clearly someone who was so blindsided and traumatized by the supernatural that he failed to even be a functioning person after Mary’s death. But then… they add in that his father was a MOL and Mary was a hunter and I start feeling less sorry for him being in the dark about stuff. If they kept it to him being completely in the dark about everything and showed how much it can rock someone’s world to find out about the supernatural (which the show handles horribly for every new character in later seasons), then I’d feel bad for him and say that he did the best he could. I mean, his house burned down and he basically had to start over. He wasn’t in a good mental spot and with something as unexplainable as Mary’s death, it probably just led him to keep tripping over himself and falling down a deeper hole of mental anguish.

[janetbrown711]

"Yakko is so going to kill me," Wakko? Lol

It had been 28 years since Queen Angelina the First died.

21 years since Yakko became king and married Max.

16 years since Wakko had become an uncle.

and 15 years since Wakko had decided to travel the world and become a "representative" or diplomat of Warnerstock.

And Wakko was happy with that. He loved getting to travel and go on diplomatic missions for Yakko- it made him feel important. Plus, he was one of many so if Wakko wanted to stay home and hang out with his nieces and nephew, he could. It was pretty sweet.

Sure, he was more than a little hesitant at first, but he had grown a lot in the last 24 years in therapy with Doctor Scratchnsniff. He was a lot better at socializing, as well as knowing his own limitations. He wasn't perfect, but he was a lot better.

And happier.

Wakko was a lot happier.

He was on such a diplomatic mission in the town of Millstone- a poorer town he was supposed to report on so Yakko could send them what food and supplies they were in need of.

Well- that was the main task at hand, but he also knew there was an excellent woodworker in town and he wanted to get a little something for his nieces and nephews (even if he knew they would find it a little lame).

And so there he was, walking through the town market on a brisk but not snowy winter's day. He browsed through stall after stall of trinkets, with guards not too far behind him (he liked his space but knew guards were necessary). He looked over trinkets and other interesting things as the salespeople offered him deal after deal upon recognizing him (not a lot of people wore bright red hats like his). Wakko refused most (except a few desserts just for himself as a treat for a hard day's work), as he still hadn't found the woodworker he had come into the market in the first place to find.

Eventually, he did spot it and was about to make his way over, when he bumped into a stranger on the street.

"Oh- I'm sorry, I-" he immediately went to apologize, but the stranger had already moved quite a bit away.

Wakko shook his head a moment before continuing on to the stall. To his surprise though, when he reached his hand in his pocket, he found that all of his money was gone.

"Halt! Thief!" One of Wakko's guards shouted from far behind, and Wakko immediately turned his head to see the stranger he had bumped into weaving through the crowd of people and getting away from the guards as fast as they could in whatever way they could. Leaping over boxes, climbing onto tops of stalls, whatever needed to happen, they did it, alluding the guard's grasp. It was quite impressive, if Wakko must say so himself.

One of the guards eventually turned and saw Wakko just standing around and watching the escape unfold and ran over to him.

"S-sorry, your highness. We'll get your money th-theif in no time," The guard huffed a moment.

"Great," Wakko sighed as the guard went back to being just a bit behind him as he's supposed.

"Yep," Wakko had no doubt they would, so he went back to continuing to browse the fine handy work of the woodworker.

"They won't catch them, you know," The woodworker, a gruff-looking tiger, said.

"What do you mean by that?" Wakko asked, looking up.

"O-oh your highness, I didn't- well..." The tiger stammered. "I meant to say that they're rather... difficult to capture is all."

"Do you know where they live?" Wakko asked. The woodworker shook his head.

"Like I said- they always avoid capture. They probably live on the outskirts or deep within some alleyways or something."

Wakko pondered that a moment.

"Thank you for your information... when I get my money back, I'll be sure to return to make my purchases," Wakko nodded at him, before going back to the guard.

"I've decided I'm going to take a stroll rather than wait around in this busy market, wait for me by the carriage," He said.

"Y-your highness, wouldn't you rather I stay with you for your protection? It's clear this town isn't safe," The guard said nervously.

"Relax, I'll be okay," he smiled. "Plus, according to that tiger over there, the most dangerous criminal in this town is already being pursued, so I've nothing to worry about."

"Well, I- uh-"

"I order you to wait for me at the carriage," Wakko rolled his eyes, not really comfortable with it, but knowing it was necessary. The guard nodded, and went on his merry way, leaving Wakko alone to search for his thief.

Wakko took the tiger's advice and searched every alleyway he could find or any place a hideout could possibly be. Granted, he didn't have much in terms of street smarts about these things, but he had read some books about secret hideaways. Still- his search was mostly unfruitful, and before too long he noted that the sun was starting to set and the wind began to blow harder, meaning he didn't really have that much time before dark, and people would start to head to their homes (something he ought to have been doing too). However, he was determined to bring them back some of those special carvings no matter what, so he kept looking.

As he predicted, the wind did get stronger as he continued on his way, making him clutch his jacket closer to him. He really should be heading back to the carriage, but now it felt more like he had to see this through. He couldn't just- not bring something for everyone, that's rude.

And well... not only that, but there was something off about his pocket-thief he just couldn't put a finger on. He barely caught a glance at them but they were small- short and skinny. Wakko wanted to figure out how to help them somehow, ask for some advice on what to put on the report? Who knows. He just wanted to see them, talk to them probably.

After walking a bit more, a larger gust of wind blew through, so strongly that it shifted the debris of an alleyway nearby. It piqued his interest, so he decided to invesitage, moving the pieces of wood and boxes and crates that blocked it off, before finding a makeshift covered in dirt, rainwater, metal sheets, and all sorts of garbage, with an old tattered quilt as a possible doorway.

That had to be where they were.

"Look, I know you're awfully clever and did completely blindside me, but I think it'd be nice to have a conversation, wouldn't you?" Wakko asked, leaning against the top of the shelter, before it shifted and he quickly stepped back.

"We could go somewhere nice and warm, get you some food or something with that money..." Wakko sighed.

"Look, I want to help, okay?" He said, waiting to see if he'd get a response. When he didn't, he frowned.

He then heard a very weak, very long cough come from within.

Wakko bit his cheek.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

No response.

He debated with himself quickly before deciding to open the blanket door to see what was the matter with his pocket thief.

To his surprise, the robber was no more than a teenager, all curled up on the filthy floor shivering almost to death. Their fur was matted and curly, their clothes filthy and torn in places, though they sure had a sense of style... oh, there was his money.

However, most concerningly, their face was a bright shade of red and they looked very, very weak. He felt their forehead- burning hot.

They were most likely dying- if not now, then soon.

"How could someone go from running and leaping around to suddenly sick and dying in a matter of an hour?" Wakko thought to himself, before shaking his head and debating as to what he should do.

"Well... I can't just leave them to die. Look at them for crying out loud- they're a child."

"Well duh, but like- what do you know of childcare? What are you even supposed to do-? How would you even explain this??? 'Oh hi Yakko, here's this random dying kid I found who robbed me blind, can you make them not die?'"

"I can't leave them though..."

Wakko sighed, taking off his coat.

"Yakko is so gonna kill me," He said, wrapping the teenager in his thick jacket before scooping them up and away from their little shelter. Good god, they were a sickly little thing.

Quickly he made his way back to the carriage, and when the guards opened their mouths to question what on earth Wakko was doing, he silenced them.

"Just-.... take me home, alright?" He sighed, letting himself in to the carriage.

"O-of course your majesty," The guards took the orders well, closing the door behind Wakko as he sat down.

The thief in his arms grumbled and opened their eyes a little bit.

"If you're asking me what I'm doing, I have no idea," Wakko sighed, looking out the window as the carriage began to move back home to Warnerstock.

He never did stop by that woodcarver stall again.

Oh well, looks like he was bringing something else home, whoopie.

...

Yakko was so going to kill him.

Part 1

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year.��

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

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

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[moonflower-31]

I Won't Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 28

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Self-Harm and talk of stalking, talk of breaking and entering, extreme self doubt.

Tags: @dra-reid @eevee0722 @ceeellewrites @anotherr-fine-mess @ssahoodrathotchner @egg-boy03 @helena-way07 @l0ve-0f-my-life @serendipity-imagines @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @thatsonezesty13 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @rewindlr @lilithknight1111 @xoprincessmel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sleep was impossible for the two of you for the rest of the night. Spencer didn't even try to sleep, he was busy calling Hotch and the rest of the team. His mind had been racing back and forth, the adrenaline having left traces of itself in his bloodstream. All he cared about was keeping you safe, making sure you were alright. He knew he couldn’t do it alone. He didn’t understand emotions as well as someone like Hotch or Morgan. Derek would be the better agent and better friend in this situation for you to have around. Not him, as much as he wished he could be.

You found yourself laid silently on your borrowed side on Spencer’s mattress. Tears silently fell from your eyes as your mind trailed off. Laid just outside the bedroom door was the man who had tortured you endlessly for years. The man who had harassed you, thinking you were his property. The man who had violated you again and again. And now… he was just gone. It was over and there was no longer a threat to be afraid of. It still seemed surreal to you. He was dead. He was gone. But why did you still feel as if he was going to walk through the bedroom door and take you again? He was dead. But your brain just wouldn’t accept that.

Your hand was clutched on the pillow that very quickly became drenched with your slow tears. You didn't know exactly how much time had passed for you, all you knew was that Spencer had eased you into your position when the sky was still dark, and now there was light shining into the bedroom where you lay.

You watched the wall, almost unblinking. You should feel better. Relieved even. But you don't. You feel no change. You thought Peter's death or incarceration would bring you peace and serenity. But it hadn't.

Why?

After what felt like an eternity of re-reading the titles of books that were shelved along the wall, you slowly began to pull yourself together. You began sitting up, barely able to focus on the task at hand. You took it one step at a time, gripping the edge of the nightstand for support, scooting yourself to the end of the bed. You gently began lifting your body weight to a balance where you stood, taking a quiet moment to readjust.

You felt like you were re-teaching yourself the basics. How to walk, how to stand. You just hoped you didn't have to re-teach yourself how to speak.

Once you were finally standing, you began to make your way to the door of the bedroom. With each step came more and more anxiety that Peter would somehow resurrect himself and lunge at you once the door was opened. Your mind knew that was impossible. The logistics of that happening were ridiculous. Something to laugh at. But it seemed that your heart was taking over your brain for now. With an extra hand on the faucet to trigger tears at a moment's notice.

Your hand reached out and felt the cold, harsh brass of the door handle. You hissed in surprise and pulled your hand back. You held your hand to your chest, trying not to cry on instinct.

You let air rush into your lungs and rush back out again a few times before you attempt to open the door again. You gripped the handle, your heart pounding against its jail cell inside your chest.

As you began turning the knob, the sounds of your surroundings finally began to play. Almost like a record. You heard the shutter of cameras, the flip of a sheet being shook out and laid on the floor, and the loud and bustling sound of chatter. There was too much noise all at once. Paired with the bright light from the living room window, you were blindsided.

You let out a pitiful squeak of surprise and quickly went to rub your eyes. You could feel the instant each and every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at you. You knew you were indecently dressed, but not enough to show anything private. It still felt daunting, having the entire room staring at you in your undergarments while you struggled with the urge to cry.

"(Y/N),"

Instant, although trivial, relief washed over you. You let your hands fall at the soft tone of Spencer’s voice echoing from somewhere to your right. You turned your head and found him exactly where you knew he would be; right beside you.

"Spencer…" you whispered quietly. "W-what-"

"I'm sorry, (Y/N/N). Hotch couldn't keep the coroners from coming this morning. The police already came and questioned me. I told them they shouldn't bother you about this right now." Spencer’s eyebrows shifted upward in a half pitying look. You felt more relieved as Spencer took you into his arms and held you close. You laid your tired head against his chest, listening to the gentle thumping of his heart. He took the loose blanket that had been laid out on the sofa and wrapped it around you in order to maintain your decency.

Spencer held you silently, kissing your head gently. He sighed heavily, looking around at the chaos that surrounded the two of you. At least it would all be over soon, he thought. At least you weren’t in danger anymore. You could finally recover. No fear.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying your hardest to block out all the background noise. It felt nice, to be held like you were his lover, however your body felt cold. Even with the warmth of Spencer’s arms wrapped securely around your frame. You shivered, the image of Peter on the mahogany stained wood with blood pouring out of his head flashing in your mind. His green eyes had laid open, dull and lifeless as they seemed to stare into your soul. Like he could still watch you even in death. Like he could stand up and live again just long enough to grab you.

“Reid, (L/N)”

You slowly open your eyes at the familiarity of the voice. Once you open them, you see the similarly familiar face that belonged to Rossi. You ease your body up, moving away from Spencer’s comforting embrace. He still kept a hand on your waist, something you were thankful for.

“Hey Rossi…” Your voice felt like a dull echo as you spoke. Like you were just repeating something that had already been said. You clutched at the blanket, fidgeting with your hands as your feet grew cold. Rossi’s eyes found you quickly, smiling warmly.

“Hey kiddo. So, Reid, you finally found him.” Rossi turned to Spencer, stealing a few wary glances towards you in case he was upsetting you. You couldn’t help but let your lips curl into a small smile at his consideration.

Spencer nodded, looking back towards you. "He came in last night. I believe he broke in through the door. I think he picked the lock somehow." He replied, squeezing your side for a brief moment. You bit your lip for a second, swallowing the collected pool of saliva in your mouth. Nervous. That’s what you felt. Nervous. Very very nervous. Even when there was nothing to be nervous about. Was this normal?

“He could’ve bought the key off of someone. He did have the money for a bribe.” Rossi suggested. The mere idea of someone adhering to Peter’s sick games and his desires made you sick to your stomach. They reminded you of your parents. Namely your mother. The effect wasn’t much different for Spencer, who could feel his stomach twist into knots at the thought of someone taking money and giving Peter the key to his apartment. If the person was that easily swayed, then what’s to say that they wouldn’t bend to the will of a bribe again?

“He might’ve. But they haven’t found any keys on him. That subtracts that possibility. But gets us no closer to an answer.” Spencer evaluated, earning a nod from Rossi.

“Right, they would’ve found something on him to indicate that he had anything to break in with. But that still raises the question of how he made it in here otherwise-” Rossi began to brainstorm, sighing softly as he tried to find an answer.

“Excuse me, Dr. Reid? Agent Rossi?”

The three of you all looked towards the source of the voice. The head coroner held up an evidence bag with something long and narrow inside it.

"This was found on Mr. Calvin's person. Given the broken lock on your front door, we believe he shoved this flat headed screwdriver into the lock and turned it. We also have found an 8' inch blade and a large amount of rope in his pockets. Seems like you never gave him the chance to use them, Dr. Reid."

You swallow harshly, feeling your stomach drop just from the verbal assertion that he had intended to take you again. That he had brought rope. A knife. And a gun that Spencer had managed to get away from him. All to be able to grab you. To haul you away from Spencer and force you to be his. To marry him and have his disgusting children.

Spencer looked turned towards you, widening his eyes at your paleing face. You begin gagging, racing forward and clutching the trash can they had pulled out to inspect. You clutched the sides tightly, tears welling up into your eyes as you gagged further.

Spencer followed you without a second thought, rubbing your back as you dry-heaved into the previously empty trash can. He gently moved your hair from your face, sighing softly as he encouraged you to finish. He held the blanket in place for you, allowing you to just focus on throwing up.

Rossi looked down at you, unknowing of what to do. He looked towards Spencer, who gave him a reassuring look in return. Rossi nodded in understanding, walking back towards the door. He turned towards the kitchen for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey kid,” Rossi spoke, not looking away from a singular spot in the kitchen. Spencer looked up from where he was knelt next to you on the wooden floor. His eyebrows furrowed as he was called upon, a brief moment of annoyance passing over his face. Before Spencer could speak up to reply, Rossi raised his hand and pointed towards what he was looking at. “When did you have a camera installed?”

You groaned in discomfort, but still tried to stand up on wobbling legs to see what Rossi was talking about. Spencer caught you in his arms, straightening you as much as you could tolerate. He wrapped his arms around you, wrapping the blanket around you in the process. His hazel eyes traveled upwards to where Rossi was pointing, and almost immediately felt disgusted.

Up in the corner of the kitchen, right under the corner-cabinet, was a small, and easy to attach camera. It was extremely small, almost miniscule. But it was there. Having gone undetected by the two federal agents in the apartment for an undisclosed amount of time. Who knew what was on it and how much.

Suddenly a rush of anger pushed through your veins. You turned behind you, all while clutching the blanket around you with one hand, grabbed an evidence bag from one of the coroners that had been packing up, and ripped the camera from the wood. It didn’t have any cables or wires coming from it, and seemed to have a small battery. Spencer had scrambled to try and stop you, but had been just a second too late. After grabbing the pest, you very quickly sealed the evidence bag and gave it to Rossi. You took a deep breath before walking back into Spencer’s room without another word or utterance.

Rossi and Spencer shared numerous glances as you left the room, mostly looks of concern and confusion. Spencer’s eyebrows seemed cemented together as his concern for you grew. Where was Morgan? Where was Garcia, or Hotch? Even Gabriel? Why couldn’t they be here to talk to you?

“Reid,” Rossi spoke up after a long moment of silence between the two men. Spencer turned his gaze from his bedroom door back towards Rossi. “I’ll talk with Hotch and get the two of you some extra time off. Until then, go make sure she’s stable. I’m not going to even suggest okay, because I’m certain she isn’t.” Rossi informs, speaking slowly but full of care and concern for the two youngest members of the BAU team.

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t understand it, Rossi. I knew his obsession stemmed from his narcissism and his unhinged desire to have everything that he believed that he deserved. But why install a camera? Especially when he knew he was going to break in to kidnap her again?” Reid asked, stopping Rossi from leaving with an outreach of his hand. He looked at the man he saw as a father, seeking his guidance as he scrambled for clarity on this already confusing situation.

Rossi turned his head and looked at Spencer, then down at the camera in his hand. “Because it wasn’t him.”

~~~~~~~~

Deep breaths. Right? In and out. It all seems so easy. So many people with PhDs suggested that tactic. Then how come it didn’t work?

Panic attacks hated you. And you hated them. They ruined your mental state and your days, seemingly coming from nowhere just when you thought you’d be okay. They made you vulnerable when you didn’t want to be and they made you feel like you were dying. Unworthy of the precious air your heavy lungs craved. And you could always remember every agonizing minute.

You hadn’t done this in a long, long time. You never thought you’d come back to it. It was just something you had done before to distract yourself when you couldn’t drown yourself in schoolwork. Especially during the summers between school years. Once you couldn’t look at another book or do another math problem without physically clocking out, the urges appeared. You couldn’t remember a time you had resisted. A time when you hadn’t given into the temptations of the blade.

Now definitely wasn’t going to differ.

You had curled up in the bathroom and in the glass shower, your salvation pinched between your thumb and your pointer and middle fingers. Why did you think you’d be strong enough? Why did you ever think you could run away and get away with it? Something always had to go wrong. Peter had become obsessed with you because you had decided you were worth more than to be sold like a lamb to the slaughter. Maybe that was your downfall. Not maybe. It was.

You stared down at the blade again, the drops of blood from the nicks it cut into your fingers slowly appearing onto the silver metal. Did you really want to revert back to this? You had been doing so well for so long…

You picked the blade up between your thumb and forefinger, exposing your wrist to yourself. Light, slightly raised lines remained of your previous attempts. You stared at them for a longer minute. This was overwhelming. Peter was dead. Peter had either been watching you, or your mother had been. They were the only two you could think of. You couldn't get away from it. Why did you ever think you could? Even with Peter dead, your mother would simply find someone else for you.

Your vision tunneled and your thoughts thinned out until all you could think of was adding more lines. You'd made up your mind. You brought the blade to your wrist and cut horizontally across. The stinging feeling was immediate, causing a wave of relief to wash over your body. You sighed softly, closing your eyes for a moment. You opened them again a moment later, adding another line. The blood dripped down the side of your non-dominant arm. The sight gave you relief, almost felt freeing.

Tears built up in your eyes as you cut, trying not to sob. You should be getting better. Not falling behind. But you could still see Peter's eyes when you closed yours. His words still echoed in your ears. You weren't worthy of anything. Not of your friends, not your job, not Spencer. Especially not Spencer.

You continued cutting, assigning each one a name, alternating arms as you did; Arthur, Gabriel, Iris, Morgan, Spencer, Garcia, JJ, Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss.

You'd failed them. All of them. You were supposed to be okay.

"Hey, what's with the lack of a party invite? Thought I was supposed to be notified if something happened to my bestie." Gabriel's voice echoed into the apartment loud enough that you could still hear him. You jumped in surprise, panic entering your bloodstream. He couldn't see this. The last time you'd done this he'd put you on suicide watch and forced you to go with him everywhere.

You thrust the handles of the faucet in the bathroom on and placed your arms under the cold water, hissing at the sudden cold. A loud knock came at the bedroom door, sending you into a frenzy to try and wash the blood off and answer the door with Gabriel being none the wiser.

"Heya Sugar, sorry I didn't get here sooner. Traffic was terrible, not to mention I couldn't get clearance to see you for like, 5 hours-" Gabriel's voice stopped as he stopped his stride in front of the open bathroom door. His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. He opened his mouth to say something, before shutting it again. He got closer, by this time you had turned to look at him. You sighed and turned the faucet off, holding out your arms to Gabriel.

"...I...I couldn't resist…" you whispered gently. Gabriel's held breath exhaled in a heavy sigh, looking around for a moment. He noticed the blade you had left on the sink counter, picking it up promptly. He pocketed it and lead you to the toilet seat. He stayed silent for a moment, closing the upper lid to allow you to take a seat.

"...Gabriel…?"

"(Y/N)... why?" Gabriel's expression was solemn and pensive, in disbelief. "You…" he sighed, hanging his head. "It's okay. It's alright. We'll get through this."

Gabriel's hands gently hand your arms out towards him, reaching back towards Spencer’s medicine cabinet. He pulled some gauze and peroxide from the cabinet alongside some medical tape. You looked away from him. You'd let him down. Of course he was disappointed in you. How could you be so stupid?

Gabriel looked up at your expression and snapped his fingers, making you jump. "Nuh uh, don't you start thinking like that cupcake. I am not, in any way, upset with you, understand?" You stared back at him unsure, biting your bottom lip. It quivered as you began to tear up again, feeling useless and shameful.

Gabriel sighed again, reaching over and turning your head towards him. His eyes were like whiskey in the sunlight, staring into yours intently. He gripped your hands tightly in his, making you look in his eyes. “(Y/N/N), you’re human. Perfectly normal to make mistakes. Mistakes are human in nature. This is just a setback. You’ll make it through. I’m not upset, okay? I’m not even disappointed. I’m just worried about you. That’s all.” Gabriel insists, his eyes filled with determination. You knew he was trying to make you feel better. But he was serious, and not like himself at all. It just rubbed you the wrong way.

Gabriel tightly wrapped your left wrist in a roll of gauze, making sure not to make it too tight as to cause pain. He bit the inside of his cheek in concentration, holding the end of the gauze in a hold against your wrist with his left hand while he brought the dressing tape to his mouth with his right. He ripped a piece off with his teeth and taped the gauze against itself. You watched him intently, wondering why he wasn’t freaking out on you.

“Sugar, I need your other arm too.”

You blinked in slight surprise, finding you had started to bite at your nails on the opposite hand. Hesitantly, you move your hand from your mouth and offer your wrist to your old friend. Gabriel repeats what he did to the other arm to this one, taping the dressing down against itself.

"I...I'm sorry…" you whispered. Gabriel remained quiet for a moment, standing up once he'd gathered the remnants of the tools he'd used. He looked at you and offered you his empty hand.

"I know." He spoke gently. "Let's get you to bed. I'll send Spencer in here with you when I leave. I'm not leaving you alone." Gabriel reasoned as you took his hand and he lifted you to your feet.

You clutched at the blanket around your shoulders, a chill running through your body. Gabriel put the items in his other hand away where he had found them and wrapped an arm around you. He guided you silently back to Spencer’s bedroom, gently leading you towards the bed in the middle of the room.

You sat down slowly, your mind exhausted from the day's events. If this is what today had to offer, and it was only morning, you didn't want to stay awake to find out the rest. You laid your head against the cotton pillow and let out a sigh. Gabriel sat down at the edge of the bed, looking over at you with worry.

"Maybe you should see a doctor. Doesn't even have to be a shrink. Just… a doctor. See what they think. This… (Y/N)... This isn't healthy." He spoke into the emptiness of the room. His eyes wandered to the bookshelves, swallowing nervously.

You remained silent, a single tear building up in your eye and falling against the white pillow case. Maybe a doctor wouldn't be a bad idea. A medical doctor, that is. As much as you or Spencer had studied Psychology, you weren't very good at analyzing yourselves for indications of any disorders.

Gabriel soon stood up, and quietly left the room, making you feel even more alone than you were. You knew Spencer would be joining you soon. He'd question the bandages. And then he'd have you on house arrest. Or he'd send you to see a therapist without a second thought.

You felt completely helpless and out of control. You had no say on what happened to you. You'd probably lose your probationary agent title and you'd be stuck with some field agent job, if you ever passed a psych eval.

Even in death, Peter still had a deathly grip on your life.

[ruzek-halstead]

there’s one thing on my mind (it’s all for you)

i didn’t have a wip for jatp fanworks appreciation week, so i made one?? but i got too into it and finished it in a few hours. thanks to @ourstarscollided for sending in the incredible prompt that led to this fic!! 

home didn't seem like home anymore for luke patterson, and so he was desperate to find a new place to write music. after an especially brutal fight with his mother, he finds himself in front of l.a. books. he isn't expecting to get much out of it, it was solely a last resort. but then he sees her, julie molina, and he ends up coming back every week just to keep seeing her.

bookstore au

masterlist

If three years ago, someone were to tell Luke, he would actively be spending his Friday night in a small, but cozy book store, he would have laughed in their face.

He was a rockstar. If he wasn't jamming it out at some club with his boys, he was doing something wrong.

But life didn't always work out in his favour, and it wasn't long before he decided he couldn't write out of his home anymore. Home. Sometimes the mere word made him laugh. Home was supposed to be warm, welcoming and loving, and he felt none of those things every time he walked through the front door. It was starting to take a toll on him. Not only on his mental health, but also in his creative abilities. The songs he was writing in his bedroom had taken a dark turn, so dark they felt more like a cry for help than anything else.

So, he decided it was time to find another place to write songs; somewhere that could get his creative juices flowing. When Reggie first suggested this bookstore on the corner of Madison, Luke pinched his brows, not understanding how that was a viable solution. Reggie defended his suggestion by saying bookstores were quiet and he would be surrounded by millions of words of inspiration.

Luke never took Reggie's suggestion until one brutal fight with his mom left him pulling at his hair, desperate to leave the house. He would go anywhere at this point, but his fingers were itching to grab his pencil and book; there was so much he just needed to get out onto paper. If he didn't, he would explode. So, he grabbed his song book, a few pencils and stuffed everything into his backpack before he hopped out his window. At first, he just started walking to nowhere in particular. In the back of his mind, he was intending to drop by Alex's, but instead he found himself standing in front of L.A. Books.

He walked in with the intention of taking one quick walk around and most likely walking right back out. He was pissed off at the world and he didn't think Shakespeare would solve his issue.

But then he saw her.

She was stocking a book shelf, putting up new books as far as he could tell. Her curls kept getting in way of her vision and she was continuously tucking them behind her ears. He could only see the side of her face at this point, but when she was approached by a younger girl to help locate a book, Luke quite literally forgot how to breathe. She was stunning in every which way; her soft smile to the young girl made an unconscious smile spread over his own lips. There was no specific thing about her that drew him to her, but for some reason, he was rooted to the floor. Even when she started moving in his direction, leading the girl to a new section, he couldn't even move just enough to grab a book and look like he wasn't creepily stalking her.

But she only sent him a warm smile as she walked by.

So, maybe Reggie wasn't so wrong about this place after all.

After that, Luke found himself stopping by at least once a week, maybe twice if things at home were really bad. It was a quiet establishment for the most part, and Luke found a corner table that was perfect for his writing. He knew his song writing was starting to take a hit; he knew that. But since he started writing in the bookstore, an obvious shift was clear in the words he scribbled down.

Even the boys noticed.

"What the hell is this?" Alex had demanded one late night after Luke handed him his songbook so he could filter through it. They'd mostly been playing their old originals while Luke worked on some new stuff, and he was finally starting to share.

Luke frowned, biting his lip nervously. "What? Is it that bad?"

"Reg, look at this," Alex ignored Luke, reaching over to show the other brunette. "When were you going to tell us?"

Luke merely blinked, gaze flickering between the two. Reggie, to his credit, looked just as confused, meanwhile Alex was fighting a smirk. "Dude, I'm so confused. What the hell are you talking about?"

Alex placed the book down in his lap, finally letting the smirk take over. "When were you going to tell us you were in love?"

Luke immediately started to sweat. "What?"

"If you're writing these love songs about me, I'm flattered," Alex teased, to which Luke could only roll his eyes and snatch the book back into his possession. "But you know I'm taken."

"I'm not in love," Luke muttered under his breath.

And he wasn't. He would stand by that.

But he'd be lying if he said he didn't stop by the bookstore solely to see his curly-haired goddess. Every time, he would look at her and a sudden burst of inspiration would blindside him and he would be writing into his book without even realizing. He wasn't going to tell the boys that, though.

After about a month of hidden glances and polite smiles, he figured it was about time to say something. He also figured it could only look a little strange, him being at a bookstore every week and never buying anything. To his credit, many others took advantage of their tables to work quietly; he wasn't the only one. But he was the only one who couldn't take his off the employee with kind eyes and a mega-watts smile. Sometimes she came over to organize the tables, or wipe them down, and so Luke decided it was now or never.

"Hi," he blurted one night when she came to grab a stray book someone had left on his table. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Her face broke out into a warm smile and he nearly broke his pencil from how hard he was holding it.

Luke's eyes dropped to her name tag. He'd never been close enough to read it (with the exception of the first time he saw her, but he was understandably starstruck and couldn't focus on anything).

Julie.

He debated saying something else, it almost looked like she was waiting for him too, but the words were caught in his throat. He merely sent her a pained grin as she retreated. God, that was awkward.

Over the next few months, his confidence grew some, but he was never able to hold a full conversation with her. He was working up to it, but in the meantime, he was content in his corner writing songs about the girl who had unknowingly captured his heart.

This week had been particularly gruelling. School had taken a lot out of him (every mark counted for college admissions) and his parents were on his ass about his grades. He knew he had to do well, even if he wanted to pursue music, he needed the grades to get into a good music program; he knew that. He didn't need his mom yelling at him about it every day. So, this Friday he'd spent the entire evening at L.A. Books, anything to just get away for a bit. He knew it was almost closing time; there weren't many customers left and he could see Julie cleaning up out of the corner of his eye.

He was trying not to spend all his time watching Julie, instead focused on his latest creation. So, he didn't see Julie apprehensively watching someone shove a few books into his backpack. He was young, but probably a bit older than Julie. Why he would want to steal some books, Julie had no idea, but it was the wrong day to mess with Julie Molina.

She hadn't had her best week either, and watching someone blatantly try to steal like he was, severely pissed her off. Protocol be damned, Julie stalked over to the individual and blocked his exit. Protocol insisted on not confronting the shop-lifter by any means, but Julie was too annoyed to care.

"Are you going to pay for those books you put in your backpack or can I have them back?"

Julie was impressed with how confident she sounded. Even when he met her glance head-on, she wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"What? Sorry, I think you're thinking of someone else," he replied, but after meeting her gaze the first time, he couldn't hold it as he spoke.

"Just give me the books and I won't call the police," Julie reasoned. She sounded exhausted, and that was because she was; this was honestly the last thing she needed this week, and yet, here she was.

But as soon as the man noticed her change of tone, his mouth twisted into a scowl. "I already told you, you have the wrong guy."

"I saw you put them in your backpack!" Julie argued, her anger crawling back up her throat.

"No, you didn't, because I didn't do anything!" He replied angrily. "Are you going to move, now?"

Julie stood her ground. It was probably quite comical, considering she was a full head shorter than him, but she wasn't moving. "No. Give me back the books."

The man let out a furious snarl. "Get out of my way, bitch."

His words didn't offend her in the slightest. Honestly, she felt sorry for him, that this was how he was raised to treat women, especially someone as young as her. But she was perceptive, and she could tell he was getting agitated and possibly aggressive. She didn't know this guy, she didn't know what he was capable of.

Luke had kept his eye on Julie the entire time, he always did. But as soon as he realized what she was doing, he swore under his breath. He tried to keep his distance, to let her do her thing, but the second the man called Julie a bitch, Luke was up and out of his chair, ready to throw hands.

There was a point in his life where he wouldn't even think about the consequences of his actions, but as he approached, he caught Julie's eyes and figured punching this random guy in the face probably wasn't the best course of action. So, he hung back, close enough to be noticed, but not enough to be considered a threat.

Or so he thought.

The man noticed Julie's eyes focused on something behind him, so he whirled around to see Luke. What with his height and obvious biceps (that were currently on display because what were sleeves anyway?), the man scoffed.

"Is he coming to your rescue or something? Need someone to fight your battles?"

Luke merely raised his eyebrows.

The fact that he was saying all this to a high school girl seriously baffled him.

When the man tried to step around Luke, he side-stepped to be in his way again. Luke didn't smirk, didn't show any facial emotion. It was enough to unnerve him.

With an angry huff, he reached into his backpack to pull out the two books in question. He slammed them into Luke's chest as he stormed past him, muttering, "I don't need this crap."

The moment they heard the door slam closed, Luke's eyes slid over to Julie. Her face was blank, but her eyes were stormy, angry even. He didn't blame her; that guy was a right dick. He hesitantly handed the books back to her. Her gaze flickered to the books and back to him. She probably had no idea how absolutely intimidating she looked.

But then she smiled. A proper, full smile that had Luke merely staring. "Thank you," she said, reaching forward to grab the books. He was hoping she'd say more, but instead she took the books and walked away to put them back in their place.

It was fine, because she had talked to him and he was so ridiculously happy about that. He had also helped her out in that less than stellar situation, but not overbearingly so that he treated her like a damsel in distress who couldn't handle herself. Julie definitely held her own, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her and he was right there sitting in his corner. Pleased with himself and how the situation played out, he skipped back to his seat in the corner, feeling more inspired than ever to finish the current song he was working on.

He glanced up one more time, surprised to catch Julie's sparkling brown eyes already looking at him. She immediately averted her gaze, mouth twitching as she held back a smile.

That was when he decided, no more pining around; it was time to officially ask her out.

What was the worst that could happen? She would say no. And he'd be okay with that, because it was 2021 and respecting women and their decisions shouldn't even be questioned. He'd be disappointed, sure, but for now, he was still holding out hope that maybe she would be into him too.

It was nearing eight, and Luke could tell when he saw the remainder of customers heading for the door. He spotted Julie making her way over too, getting ready to lock the door behind the last customer. He gathered up his things and shoved them into his backpack as slowly as possible. His heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were sweaty; he was actually nervous to ask Julie out.

How couldn't he be? She was absolutely gorgeous.

Luke made it to the door, taking a deep breath before he met her eyes.

Julie stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.

He stumbled in his step, grabbing onto the door frame to keep from toppling straight into her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, tucking a curl behind her ear. For the first time literally ever, Luke observed the tell-tale signs of her shy and apprehensive behaviour. She was always so confident, so in tune with what she seemed to want, this was unusual to him. Not only because of that, but he'd never been this close to her, and he was suddenly finding it extremely hot (and he was barely even wearing a shirt).

Luke tugged on his backpack strap, because he needed to do something. He needed to focus, or else he'd end up doing something stupid, like blurt out that he was in love with her. "No, it's okay. I actually wanted to ask you something anyway."

Her sparkling brown eyes widened for a split second. "Actually, I want to ask you something — are you free to grab a coffee?"

It was safe to say Luke's brain started to short-circuit.

"Uh, what?"

He was so intensely focused on gathering the courage to ask her out, he didn't even know how to reply when she suddenly flipped the plan on him.

He started to lose his mind even more when a soft blush spread over Julie's cheeks. "I'm just closing up, and I could really use a dose of caffeine. I'd really like if you came with me."

Luke can't do more than simply stare at her; his body was failing on him. Julie held his gaze, biting her lip apprehensively with a nervous smile because he wasn't saying anything, and she really hoped she didn't misinterpret his signals. But then he finally fights for control of his body again, and a soft grin spreads onto his lips. "Yeah. I'd really like that."

She matched his grin, closed and locked the door behind her. "I only have a few more things to do. Just a few more minutes."

"No worries," he replied, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Oh! I'm Luke, by the way."

Julie mulled over the name for a moment. "Julie," she responded.

"I know," he mumbled, eyes solely focused on hers. Even when she looked to him in surprise, he couldn't focus on anything but her eyes. God, she was so gorgeous. "Your name tag," he added, just to ease her fears about him being a stalker (I mean, he was there almost every week...).

Luke leaned against one of the tables as he waited for Julie to finish closing up. He watched her silently, unable to remove the excited smile from his lips the entire time he waited. When she told him he was ready, he diligently held open the door for her and then waited, hands dug into his front pockets, as she locked up behind them.

There was a coffeeshop right around the corner, and as they both started walking in that direction, there was an unspoken agreement, that was where they wanted to go. Luke hated himself and his weirdly awkward nature on their walk over. He couldn't find any words to say to her, none. He chanced a few glances in her direction, but she seemed content with just walking in silence, so he went with the flow.

Once again, he held the door open for her and smiled when looked at him with amused eyes. Julie headed straight for a table near the window, removing her jacket and setting it on the back of her chair. Luke followed, lingering when she didn't sit back down.

"I can go order," he offered, "What would you like?"

Julie looked up at him with a smirk, and dear God, his knees nearly buckled. "I invited you. It's my treat."

"Oh, come on," he nearly whined. "Let's not do this, please."

Julie pursed her lips. She was a very determined person, and if he didn't know that yet, he'd be quick to learn. "I invited you. It's only fair."

He ran a hand through his hair, shooting her the most charming smile he could manage. "Julie, I've been waiting to take you out for months. Please let me buy you a coffee."

All her determination died there and then on the tip of her tongue.

"Okay," she replied with a cheeky smile. She diligently took a seat. "I'll take an iced coffee, please."

Luke nodded, once again, skipping away from her for the second time that night. He ordered Julie an iced coffee (and a cookie because who doesn't like cookies) and a regular coffee for himself. He was already jittery enough but he could never say no to coffee.

"Here you go." He said softly, placing her treats in front of her.

Julie took a quick sip of her coffee and narrowed her gaze on Luke. "I want to hear more. You said you've been waiting to take me out for months."

Luke had never felt him blush so quickly before in his life. He nearly choked on the coffee he was currently drinking. "It sounds really creepy when you say it like that."

"I know you've been coming to the shop for months," she continued, breaking apart her cookie. She wasn't looking at him, and it honestly made Luke all the more nervous. She made him nervous. "And you've never bought anything, but you're always writing in a book."

"I needed a quiet place to write music and I found your shop."

Julie nodded along, humming. "I catch you looking at me a lot."

Luke scratched the back of his head. "Well, honestly, that's not entirely my fault. I can't help but stare at beautiful things."

Julie looked up at him with a smirk. "That was smooth. I feel like it's only fair I be as honest." She leaned her elbows onto the table, leaning in close. Luke started sweating again. "I always look for you during my shifts."

It was as if the air was entirely knocked out of his lungs. It was the reassurance he was looking for, the acknowledgement that his feelings weren't one-sided, but it was a lot to take in at once.

"You're the reason I come back every week," he admitted, the words flowing freely out of him now that he knew with certainty she felt something for him too.

Julie leaned back in her chair. Her eyes tracked his movements, mostly because she didn't know what to say next. Where do they go from here?

Who makes the next move?

"I'll keep dropping by. But under one condition," Luke reasoned, hiding his smirk with his coffee mug.

Julie found herself leaning in again. There was something about him that was so alluring, always drawing her in for more. "What's that?" She didn't want to give her real answer: anything.

"I'll keep coming by if you give me your number," he told her, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "Maybe go on another date with me?"

Julie didn't reply at first; she kept him waiting until he looked at her with curious eyes. She kept him on the hook, just enough that for a moment, he wavered in his confidence. "I'd love to give you my number."

He let out an obvious sigh of relief. Julie was definitely going to wreck him in the most beautiful of ways.

"And that date?"

Julie clicked her tongue, monitoring the way his eyes absentmindedly dropped to her lips. "I'll decide that after you walk me home. But your chances are looking pretty good."

A delicious smirk crawled over Luke's mouth, and now it was all Julie could focus on.

"Then I guess I should up my game," he winked, shrugging as he added, "Just in case."

When Luke walked Julie home hours later, she confidently latched onto his hand, mostly just to give him an ego boost because he acted like the perfect gentleman all night. And when he lingered at the door, unsure whether it was too soon to kiss her or not, she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss dangerously close to the corner of his lips.

"How's next Friday night?"

It took Luke a moment to form the words after that, but he was anxiously waiting for her response.

"I'm off at eight, you know where I'll be." Even with all the coy flirting, she couldn't help but shoot him an excited grin.

Luke stuffed his hands back into his front pockets and started retreating down her walkway. "I'll, uh — I'll text you."

Julie leaned against the front door. "I'll be waiting."

And somehow, after months of pining on both ends, all it took was one attempted theft to bring Luke and Julie together.

It would take a lot more than that to separate them now.

x

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[getyouasenju]

Drivers License

Inspired by miss Olivia Rodrigo's "Drivers License"

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Maybe spoilers?? Angst, some suggestive themes, oh and you might not like it lol.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – :

“I got my driver's license last week Just like we always talked about”

I let out a sigh of relief as the arms around me squeezed tighter as I recalled my day. I was nervous when Lord Sixth had called me to his office. I almost vomited when I stepped and was surrounded by a sea of Jōnin. Then my legs were jelly when he called me forward. The silver headed mans gaze felt like a laser. He paused for a moment before he spoke. “Congratulations (Y/N), you’ve been promoted to a Jōnin!” Giving me his signature closed eyed smile and wave, he giggled at my expression. My jaw was on the floor, a Jōnin. wow. I hear an applause as I turn to see the other Jōnin clapping for me, Lord Sixth stood to offer me my official Jōnin vest. I reach my hands out, bowing my head as I accept the new position.

So, there I was outside with three pairs of arms wrapped around me, squealing. “S-sakura, Hinata, Ino! If you squeeze any tighter I won’t make it on my first mission as a Jōnin. Laughing, they both loosened their grip and let breath. “Sorry (Y/N), We’re just so excited for you!” Ino exclaims. Nodding her head in agreement and clasping her hands together Sakura speaks excitedly to me “Yes! It’s all you spoke about. You worked so hard, I mean you and Shikamaru spent so much time training and going on missions for this!”

Shikamaru.. Everyone got silent as Sakura realized what she said. “I-I.. (Y/N) this is your moment, I didn’t mean to mention him, It ju-” I held my hand up smiling softly “It’s okay Sakura, I know you meant no harm.” I reach out grabbing her hand as she returns my smile. Hinata suddenly rests her hand on my shoulder, grabbing my attention as she spoke in her soft voice, “Celebratory ice cream?” she suggested. I smiled widely “Oh absolutely! Wow, Naruto is lucky I like him, ‘cause if I didn’t I’d steal you for myself!” Launching myself at her we lock arms and lead a giggling Ino and Sakura to our favorite Ice cream shop.

“'Cause you were so excited for me To finally drive up to your house”

I got my regular cone and sat at the cute table with my friends. Sakura might have brought him up, but believe me- he was already in my head. Ino was telling a story and from the looks on Hinata and Sakura’s faces, it was a good one, but I was long gone from reality now. Should I go tell him about my promotion to Jōnin? I think back to what Sakura said... He spent so much time helping me to be the shinobi I am today. Countless nights of working, training, and helping me on missions so they would be successful. I promised him he would be the first one to know about the promotion... but he was the advisor for the Hokage, he would know already, right? Did he know before I did? My head was getting foggy. I felt my ice cream dripping onto my hand, snapping out my day dream and jumping back into conversation with my friends.

“But today I drove through the suburbs Crying 'cause you weren't around”

Hugging and waving each other goodbye outside the shop Ino spoke up, “(Y/N), are you sure you don’t want one of us to walk you home like the usual?” I shook my head as I pointed to my vest. “I’m a Jōnin now! I can handle it! Next time though.” I confidently replied. Giving everyone one last squeeze, we wave as we all turn off in our separate ways. Usually I would love to have a walking partner, but I was too busy thinking of one in particular. I sigh to myself, how pathetic could I be?

I walked by my regular route, opting to take the longer way home. I wanted to clear my head, but I couldn't. The memories wouldn’t stop coming to my mind and they were hitting me hard. All of my firsts flashing in my head, all of them were with him. The worst part was that I wouldn’t trade them all for the entire world. Sighing and kicking a rock down the street I looked up at the sky and noticed it was getting darker. I should probably get home soon. Wrapping my arms around myself I slowly came to a stop on the side of the street as I tried to stop myself from sobbing. Thanking god that the streets seemed to be empty tonight. I started to walk, staggering to the side. Grabbing the nearby fence for support I violently rubbed at my eyes trying to stop my tears and ease my breathing.

Hearing a noise behind me, I quickly jumped up to a rooftop. I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me like this. I was never like this! I felt like my world was crumbling, but how could it be? I had just gotten something I worked my ass off for, the recognization I deserved, I got to share the moment with three of the best friends in the entire fucking world and yet here I was. Crying my eyes out on a rooftop, ways from home because he wasn’t around to share it with me.

I took a seat on the roof and took a deep breath, my memories flooding me as I internally begged myself to stop. I remember the first time he kissed me. It was after he taught me to play Shogi.. and then proceeded completely blindside me and whoop my ass in it the same night. I should’ve seen it coming from the lazy genius. I was pouting the entire night until he suddenly kissed me and told me I looked too cute pouting about something so troublesome. My cheeks get warm as I think about our first time... but then my mind goes to why he’s not here celebrating with me today.

“And you're probably with that blonde girl, Who always made me doubt. She's so much older than me, She's everything I'm insecure about”

I remember the day she came to our village, at least the first day I saw her. He had known her before, they met in the Chūnin exams. I knew at least that much. I was a year below him, I didn’t know him then, but I could tell from the first glance he gave her at the gate. I knew there was more to their story than that. Their gazes lingered far too long on each other for my liking.

I was jealous when she was chosen to go on a mission with him. She was drop dead gorgeous with her sandy blonde hair and shimmering teal eyes, while I was just plain old me. Not to mention she came from a line of Kazekage, along with being a strong Kunoichi and strategist herself. They were more alike in ways I couldn’t compete with, hell I just became a Jōnin today. She had her back to us as Shikamaru kissed me goodbye at the gate that day, looking down at me, smiling and promising to be safe. I returned his stare stroking his cheek one more time. As I watched them walk off together, I knew I was just counting the days left with him.

“Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs 'Cause how could I ever love someone else?”

I was freezing now sitting on that roof, It was fully dark outside now. Wiping my eyes, I thought to myself. “Am I crying for him or myself?” I just felt so withdrawn. I gave him everything, what else was there possibly left of me to ever give someone else? It was all Shikamaru’s, I felt sick to my stomach as my wrapped my arms around myself and jumped down off the rooftop, proceeding to walk towards my home. Maybe taking the long way was a mistake, I seemed to be making a lot of those recently.

“And I know we weren't perfect, But I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine, How you could be so okay now that I'm gone”

By all means we had our differences, but that’s what made us great. He liked to cloud gaze and I liked to take walks. We compromised by taking a walk and then laying down and watching the clouds when were tired. He liked to play Shogi, so I learned even though he beat me every time. He was reserved and I could be as hyper as Naruto somedays. He would say I was a troublesome woman, but that life would be a drag without me. But what is he doing now, huh? is life such drag without me now? When he was the one who left me in the dust? This is just as embarrassing as it is heartbreaking. I bet he was having the time of his life with his lucky lady.

“Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me.”

I thought back to when he told me he saw a life with me, how much he proclaimed to be in love with me, how he fights his best to come home from every mission for me and laughed. I just laughed to myself. How naive of me, I was just a holding place for Temari. Scoffing and speeding my pace up a bit I look up to see the moon shining brightly that night. Making my way further down the street as a horrid smell hit my nose. Cigarettes..

Then I remembered why I always took the shortcut home. Why I always avoided this route. This was his street. I don’t know what compelled me to go this way. Maybe my mind was subconsciously calling out for him. I was frozen in my spot, arms wrapped around my myself staring back at him. He looked at me, the moon lighting the way, his eyes lingering on the Jōnin vest I was wearing. Flicking the cigarette down on the ground and stepping on it he opens his mouth and calls out to me.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here alone?”

But I just turned my back and kept walking. 

“Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street...“

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – :

Hello! I did do a little part Part two, you can find it here- “Red Lights”

Yes. I am on Olivia Rodrigo Tiktok. Hope you enjoyed, Didn’t do the full song, decided to cut one verse out :) Also Calculus is kicking my ass!

Masterlist

 Until Next Time! xxo (▰∀◕)ﾉ

[newswcanonprompts]

Children Fall AU

Padawan Anakin with a group of initiates all ‘Falling’ at the same time

Maybe a Gathering gone wrong or something. Everyone is captured. Pirates or bounty hunters or just awful people.

No knights or the knights are killed.

Anakin is trying to protect the younglings.

Sacrificing himself if he can.

Falls in the process.

The kids are too young. They're not supposed to be in the field yet. There's a reason you're supposed to be a certain age before field missions. Before being chosen as a Padawan.

They can't handle their emotions.

They try to save Anakin right back but Fall, too.

Maybe they get overwhelmed by Anakin's Falling, since he is a supernova? And their shields aren't enough to protect them?

They survive and everyone is dead or dying but Anakin stands among a group of children, all with eyes of gold and he doesn't know what to do.

I want there to be like a noble reason for it?

Maybe but that definitely doesn't help the situation.

Maybe he remembers the tales of the Sith and executions.

He takes the kids and runs.

He doesn't know what he'll do, he just wants to protect them.

Maybe he Falls because he can't defeat the pirates/bounty hunters otherwise

They are kids, they can't be that dark, could they Fall by a Coruscanti Jedi point of view? Not so much Dark as too much attached, multiple Force Bonds attached? The question is more along the lines of Anakin knowing that, though.

They are holding each other together so closely that they would break if you tried to separate them? The pieces make a coherent whole together, but otherwise they would just be broken?

What if the younglings fell first and Anakin fell so that they wouldn't be alone.

Like the idea that the younglings would be hunted or at the very least isolated and he couldn't let that happen (Bariss and Ahsoka could be part of that group, they are in the right age range, right?)

He promised to protect them and he kept them alive but ultimately failed in the way that matters most to the Jedi.

It also could be about healing and building far away from what you used to know and considered home.

So the situation is too much too soon and they all fall. And Anakin with his too big heart and shields that still don't block emotions as much as they should is overwhelmed and he could fight it but…

But these kids need him. They're scared and terrified and he knows that they aren't going to risk heading back to the Jedi, not with the horror stories told about Sith and Dark Side users.

He can't leave them. They need someone, anyone. Even if that's probably him.

You could have them pick up other Force Sensitives kids in bad situations as they flee and protect each other. Like a travelling clan of Forces Sensitives.

The use of the word clan makes me wonder if this version of Anakin would look into alternative Jedi philosophies, like Vizla.

And the Jedi mourning Anakin plus the Initiates because they think they're dead.

The Jedi eventually track down the pirates, but the base has so much blood and darkside surrounding it that they assume that the pirates were blindsided by a dark force user/sith and the children were taken. The Jedi finding the building and feeling the overwhelming about of dark side energy that was used there.

Privately the Council almost hope they're dead because they think that it would be a kinder fate than to be tortured and broken by the Sith.

Quinlan not being able to get a read on anything because it's so heavy with pain and dark side energy.

All he sees is gold eyes and screaming.

He doesn't notice that it's more than one pair. Doesn't realise that they're each filled with tears and oh so young.

Obi-Wan is convinced that Anakin is still alive because the bond didn't snap but it might as well have because it's never been so solidly closed to him.

Anakin was always leaking emotions and thoughts through the bond and now all that meets Obi-Wan is a durasteel wall.

Also, Anakin becoming a bounty hunter to make sure the kids get enough food

If he looks into the Mandalorian Jedi, as a way to teach the Fallen kids, he could become Mando and do the bounty hunting as a way to take care of them. Just an idea, though.

What if they all become bounty hunters and no one realises that they're Sith or Dark Side users? Until a fight ends in a helmet being knocked off.

I like the thought of the kids forming a new Order of nomadic Force Users, you could fit so much Force worldbuilding here as they figure things out away from Coruscant.

What if dar jettii Ani and his gaggle of kids has a run in with Jango Fett. Depends on canon or fanon interpretation really.

I would imagine that Jango would absolutely adopt this smol child (teenager) and his band of even more smol children.

Wouldn't that be hilarious? Jango with 8 new kids?

One sullen teenager that refuses to trust. And then he plops Boba in Anakin's arms and Anakin just freaking melts and it's all over from there.

So, this Jango has his hatred of Jedi balanced by his love of children?

Or is it part of his plan against the Jedi to encourage Force users to create an alternative that won't make the same mistakes the Jedi did that led to the slaughter of his people?

I don't know since Anakin & Co. here aren't exactly Jedi. Though I think this Jango would have his hatred of Jedi balanced by his love of his 8 foundlings.

Jango as the Mand'alor.

Anakin pitches a fit when he finds out about the clones and Jango doing right by them

And all eight new kids have lightsabers, but they're not Jedi, so..........Boba/Jango might get the Darksaber in this!!!

Anakin finds out that Vizla has a Jedi artifact and just gets it back.

Hands it to Jango: “Like what? You needed this, right?”

Jango is a tired new dad. So Anakin is just like running around doing whatever and causing his dad stress.

What if Jango adopted them and didn't tell them?

Like, he said the words and Anakin didn't understand. The others did too, because they had that class, but Anakin didn’t

I mean Anakin would jokingly call him "buir" or "dad" at one point or another and Anakin is like "why do you even care".

He gets it eventually.

When he sits the fuck down and stops running around trying to protect everyone and puts the time in to sort his shit.

Read: When Jango gets the kids to sit on him when he starts looking like complete shit.

Yeah, Jango absolutely enlists his siblings' fellow former-Jedi to get him to slow down and relax.

They have it out at some point that Jango adopted him probably when he's gotten himself injured and doesn't understand why Jango won't leave him

and Jango's like "You kriffing di'kut, you're my son" and Anakin's like "?!?!?!? What?!?!"

Anakin can speak several languages but not mandoa. Jango tries to teach him, but his accent is atrocious.

Anakin can understand Mando'a and he sometimes uses some words, but he can't speak it.

Plus, he sometimes crosses Mando'a with another language or several and it just becomes an incomprehensible mess unless you understand all the languages he's crossed Mando'a with.

how about Mando'a's too close to something else he knows.

He keeps getting it super confused with another language.

Like french and spanish, but there's no cross meanings, so it might sound the same, the meanings AREN'T.

At this point, everyone just goes "you need a translator droid if you want to speak with Anakin"

However, he will offhandedly speak in another language or start writing in one language and end in another no matter how fluent he is.

And his accent is still atrocious. The closest comparison is the bastard compromise between Texan and Yorkshire.

Anakin is that one person who will use words from whatever languages are the best to speak about any given subjects.

Or whichever language he associates with a given subject. That's why he learned how to speak binary in the first place.

Boba becomes fluent in binary before speaking fluently in Mando'a.

I wonder how the discovery of Kamino would pan out in this.

Anakin accidentally starts a clone rebellion, and oops, it looks like there might be a Revolution on Kamino.

Slave rebellions are always very very good.

Dex: Ah yes Kamino, or how the Mand’alor got his groove back. Outer Rim politics got wild a while back let’s just say. Long story short, the Mand'alor adopted eight new children, one of them pitched a fit about clones, and things devolved from there.” 

The Clone Wars are going to be a wreck.

There’s an army missing!

Sheev running around his office like: “Now, where did I put that”

He is furious because there's an army missing, his future apprentice is missing, his future apprentice has a stable support system

basically, his plan just collapses.

Obi-Wan starts to cry because oh thank the fucking force they’re alive but Anakin and the kids misinterpret it.

Anakin's just like "I'm sorry, I wasn't going to let them be hurt anymore! I wasn't going to let anything else happen to them!" Obi-Wan: "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

[marueonmain]

Sun Would Be Good ~ ImAllexx (1/2)

Summary: Y/N tries to help Alex out during a difficult time. 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language. Themes of Self-Deprecation. Depression Talk.

Word Count: 1.5k

Y/N unlocked the front door to her boyfriend’s apartment using the one copy of the key Alex was ever given. He said he would not need it for himself as George was always in.

“Hello? Alex?” Y/N called out. She looked to the undisturbed sofa and glanced into the empty kitchen as she walked through the familiar space. Closing in on Alex’s bedroom, she thought she would have heard something like his presentation voice as he spoke to a camera or the electronic fanfare of a video game or dialogue from a Harry Potter film like he had her watch with him a hundred times before.

There was no such sound – none at all.

KNOCK. KNOCK. Y/N opened the door to Alex’s bedroom. It was about the same as it always was: trashed: wrinkled clothes sat in heaps on the floor and on his desk were plastic cups half-full with flat drinks and frappuccinos with just a few centimeters of whipped topping left at the bottom. His bed bore crumpled sheets and a balled-up duvet hiding every part of the young man save a socked foot dangling off the edge and his button nose poking out for fresh air.

Yes. It was about the same as it always was; still, there was one small yet stark difference. It was dark. Alex was never one to rise in the morning, and yank open his curtains to the bright sun outside. But he did usually have his ceiling light on during the day – however dim and horribly yellow-tinted it was.

Y/N crossed to Alex’s bed. On the low and narrow table near his headboard was his phone plugged into a short charger. Y/N turned it over in her hand. It read: 15:20. And under the time were all the notifications of her messages to him – unnoticed and unread. He had switched his phone to silent.

Y/N considered that maybe Alex had slept in that long because he needed to; he stayed up so late, so consistently. She debated the idea for another minute until she found she simply could not convince herself that it was just a normal lie in. Alex was not even asleep – or he was not anymore – as he retracted his foot, tucking it back under the duvet, and released a not-so-quiet groan of discontent.

Besides the rustling of sheets and their collective breathing, there was another sound – running water. Y/N put the phone back face-down on the table and left for the ensuite. It, too, was trashed. Y/N flicked on the light. All the stuff Alex kept out of sight – toothbrush, nail cutter, polish, unopened tin of hair balm – were strewn about. A thin line of water fell from the tap. Y/N turned it off, and when she did, she noticed a razor without its disposable blade lying in the sink. She took a step back. Looking around, her eyes landed first on the empty towel rail, then the disposable blade sat on the floor in a splat of shaving foam.

Y/N picked up the blade, ran it under water, reattached it, and left the razor on the counter round the sink. She returned to the bedroom and to Alex, who was still hiding under his duvet in the middle of an unkempt bed in a dark room.  

Y/N spoke for the first time since seeing him. “Alex, love. Are you awake?” She knew the answer already.

The lump in the middle of the bed did not move; a voice came from within it. It was faint as if carried on a breath rather than pushed out with intent, “Yeah.”

“What’s happened in there?” She tipped her head in the direction of the ensuite despite knowing Alex could not see the gesture before sitting gingerly on the end of his bed.

“All I wanted, yeah?” Alex interrupted himself with an exasperated sigh then started again, this time sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth, “All I wanted was to shave. I couldn’t— I thought I could shave, but no. I didn’t leave the shaving foam where I always leave it, and it took me forever to find it. Then the razor breaks the second it touches my skin. And I couldn’t find the blade to put it back together. And then it’s like, who cares at that point? I’m not going out anyway, nobody cares if I shave, nobody cares to see me. And now I’m saying it all out loud, and I sound so stupid, but I just wanted to be able to do one thing – that’s it – one fucking thing!”

Y/N made a closed fist and tapped it against where she figured her boyfriend’s legs were hidden under the duvet. She cleared her throat. “How about you get up, huh? We can go out for breakfast.”

“I can’t go out right now.”

“You don’t even have to brush your hair or anything,” she said as her eyes scanned the floor; she spotted his black TikTok bucket hat. “You can just throw on a hat. I look a mess anyway.”

Alex waited, then whispered a gentle plea, “Go away, Y/N.”

“I know, ok? I know it’s difficult.” Y/N’s throat tightened. “It’s difficult, but it isn’t helping you to sit in the dark with whatever is going on in your head right now.”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe breakfast is a lot to ask. I don’t mean to be pushy; I just—”

Underneath the lump, Alex shifted from lying on his side to his stomach, as evident when his voice became muffled like it was being filtered through a pillow. “Leave me alone.”

“I want to be able to help. Could you help me to understand what I can do?”

“I want to sleep.”

“Do you think you could sit up? Nothing else, no going anywhere, just sitting up.”

Alex ripped the duvet off himself, throwing his arm out with a hard and quick movement like he was trying to rid himself of the appendage; it was a wonder he did not dislocate his elbow. Y/N got her first good look at his face: messy hair weighed down with grease and eyes so bloodshot that she subconsciously scratched at her own to relieve some phantom irritation.  

“Fuck off! Alright, Y/N? Is that clear enough for you?” As the last accusatory word left his mouth, the regret was already plain on his face. His features softened, and he pulled into himself.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.” Y/N tried to keep her composure because she still understood despite how blindsided she was at the outburst. She understood the potholes in the road to recovery and management; she understood a depressive episode. And how Alex might not have recognized he was in one.

It must have been just as difficult for him as it was for her to realize when she had slipped. Her descent was always slow, gradual enough that she could normalize everything. Instead of thinking it odd she had not brushed her hair in three days, she would simply wake up on the fourth and ask herself: Why do it today? I haven’t the last three. Instead of reflecting on the unreasonableness of how one small thing going wrong caused her to scream out in unjust anger or caused tears to spring to her eyes, she reasoned with herself: I’m just sensitive, I know that.

Y/N empathized with how Alex’s episode was causing him to be disproportionately irritable and to respond inappropriately to not being able to shave, a little annoyance that he would otherwise brush off easily or not care about at all.

“Sorry.” Alex untangled himself from his sheets. It was slow going as he moved like it was not him controlling his body, like he was on strings. He dragged himself up into a seated position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Not meeting Y/N’s gaze, he said, with hesitation, “Sun would be good. I think. Would you want to go for a walk with me?”

Y/N smiled genuinely for the first time that afternoon. “Absolutely.”

“I need to change; would you mind grabbing my shoes? I kicked ‘em off last night near the sofa.”

Y/N nodded. She crossed the room and took two steps out of his bedroom – SLAM – she jumped at the sound of Alex throwing his door closed behind her. Y/N turned around and tried the handle – locked.

“You’re not serious,” Y/N muttered. She pulled harder on the handle as if her strength were the issue; she raised her voice, “Are you serious?! Alex!”

Surely not. Y/N let her hand drop limp from the door handle. Not Alex. Not my sweet boyfriend, the clingiest and softest man I’ve ever met. He hadn’t slammed a door in my face. No. Surely not. And if he had…? She stood there – at the door – not because she was waiting for Alex to open it. To laugh and call it a joke even though it was far from funny. No. She stood there because she just did not think to go anywhere else. Y/N was consumed in all her worst thoughts. It was just what she had tried to stop Alex from doing. And now I’ve failed twice.

[thecarrieonokay]

Season 6: Monica Macer’s TVLine Interview: My Ramblings

If you haven’t already read it, here’s the link: https://tvline.com/2021/04/30/macgyver-recap-season-5-series-finale-season-6-spoilers-mac-riley-desi/ 

Also, for those not already familiar with my particular brand of speech: Swearing included.

Episode 3 people!! WE ONLY HAD TO WAIT 3 MORE FUCKING EPISODES!!! *sigh*

To be honest, I always kinda figured that the writers were planning a ‘first kiss’ in the 100th episode (by my count that would have been 6x06 but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong!). To find out it could have been sooner than that… I mean, FUCK!! That would be really fast in my humble opinion. But, for the record, it’s not always a straight line from ‘first kiss’ > ‘full-blown relationship’. I kinda thought that there would be a bit of Macriley angst before that was fully settled… because, as we all know, MAC + THERAPY is the priority ship. They’ve all got emotional trauma/ shit to sort out. And Mac and Desi need a positive resolution. AND MAC NEEDS A MOMENT!! 

It’s blatantly obvious to fans of Mac and Riley that they belong together. In ep 3 it might have become obvious to Mac too… but I suspect that for Riley, it might have been harder to see. Prioritising protecting her heart and keeping her family’s functioning dynamic intact, Riley might have kept Mac at arms length for a while moving forward. Hence, a gap between ‘first kiss/ brief moment of passion’ and ‘we belong together’. 

That would be my prediction, anyhow. 

Of course, her loyalty to Mac would never waver and I LOVE the idea that Riley would go undercover in a Manchurian Candidate-style storyline. After all, Riley is the only one who has an idea exactly how violated Mac would be feeling. AND at Matty’s request, no less (because of course she knows Riley would risk everything to help keep Mac safe). 

Plus, WHAT an opportunity for a ‘dark Mac’ story arc.

Seriously though, this interview makes it sound like season 6 would have kicked off with a fucking BANG. They weren’t going to waste any time bringing back Evan and tumbling the fragile dominoes that are Mac and Desi’s relationship. The moment Evan was mentioned in 5x12, I could see how his being alive would be a slightly more ‘healthy’ device to break up MacDesi without causing enough trauma to split up the whole team. I honestly didn’t think they would do it though… it seemed too obvious somehow. But, hey. I’m happy to be wrong. And this angle would’ve given Desi a fully fledged arc that gave real meat to her backstory. 

As for the other elements, I think the treasure hunt is the one I’m most sorry to be missing out on. Sofia was a great addition. As a character she allowed Russ to expose his more un-trusting and flawed facets. She gave him depth. AND the idea of ‘the boys’ going on a treasure hunt is EPIC. I mean, let’s face it, ALL of our guys harbor a secret/ not so secret desire to be Indiana Jones, right? I can’t be the only one picturing Mac with that hat and whip… ?!

AND Bozer’s parents weren’t just a one-off. We were going to see more of them. HELL YES we were. This indicates to me that MM was putting an end to the previous era’s disastrous record of leaving promising story threads dangling in the wind.

If there’s one overarching thing this interview reveals it’s this: The trail was set. The foundation was all laid. Season 6 would’ve been Monica and her team’s first real opportunity to tell a FULL story. No shoehorning structure into old arcs. No trying to piece together a coherent picture from fractured puzzle pieces. Just a full season with a plan and the episode count to see it through. And I don’t know about you all, but I feel fucking CHEATED out of that. Season 5 was a PL era web of leftover threads that needed to be carefully untangled. It took all nine MM episodes to do it but we got there. AND THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR MORE!! 

No matter what happens with the #SaveMacgyver campaign (I see you all, I love you and respect you all, you total HEROES!!), I’m glad for this interview. I don’t feel ‘spoiled’. And that’s simply because I respect what Monica did here-- She made sure that the fans knew she cared. She gave us what little closure she could. And she confirmed that everyone was blindsided by the news (as we all suspected) and in a way that’s the greatest ‘fuck you’ to CBS that she is capable of making. Because, yeah: FUCK CBS. No matter how you spin it, the execs did MacGyver dirty. It’s unprofessional at best and cruel at worst. This basically confirms my suspicions about the network and my expectations about their reluctance to relinquish the rights to a valuable property. Because of this, I am managing my expectations for the future VERY carefully (I’m not being negative. I just don’t like being burned or blindsided). But this interview has definitely spurned my desire for a season 6 like nothing else could. 

So. In conclusion: Fuck CBS, Mac dressed as Indiana Jones would be hot as hell and ALL HAIL MONICA MACER!!

[jamiedc-they-them]

Clean Slate (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: A debt in your hometown comes back to haunt you and sends you and your best friend into a tailspin of credit cards, cops, running and shouting.

“We don’t have to do this.” Your older sister (not by blood) told you as she continued to drive you, passing the sign that said, “Welcome to New Orleans”. This was it, no going back.

Well, there was. But you knew how Daisy could be with dramatics.

“You didn’t have to come.” You told her, even if thankful she came.

“Of course, I was going to come with you.” She said, firmly.

“You don’t owe me anything, Daisy.” You responded with, looking away from the mirror and meeting her gaze as she turned her head to look at you for a moment before it went back to the road.

“This isn’t about debts. I know I don’t, just as much as you don’t with him.”

“I do. SHIELD fucked that up. Besides, I know what it’s like to be blindsided like that.” You were stubborn.

But so was she, “There’s more to life than just ticking off boxes for people that are never gonna fully be done with you.”

You closed your eyes as you let out a sigh through your nose.

Daisy knew a thing or two about owing people, a lot of people. But she was always one who knew that those debts would never fully be paid off. She knew it wouldn’t work; that whoever it was would never be satisfied.

Did she say any of that as she drove into where your home was? Fuck no. You were her friend, her best friend, and a younger sibling to her. She hated this but loved you. She’d go the ends of the earth for any of you; it was why she kept driving and didn’t mention any of it.  

She pulled up at what used to be your old house. It had definitely seen better days, it looked like a wreck.

“You used to live here?” She asked, looking at the dump of a place. Although, in your mind, she lived in a van, so wasn’t one to talk.

“You’re one to talk. I’ve been in that van now for what seems to be a lifetime.” You heard Daisy make a noise that was offended by what you said. She let it go, however, and let you go in and grab what you needed.

You walked into your home, being hit with a wave of nostalgia. You remembered yourself sat on the couch that was still rotting away, shoving a needle into your arm. Some would say that would be death you were putting into your body; you would call it life instead. It kept you going. It made you say “Yes, one day, I will get enough.” And yet SHIELD hadn’t given you a pay check so…fuck.

Still, you removed one of the floorboards, finding an old squirrel fund you had kept for a while. Somehow, no one had found it.

You then heard your name being called, and saw Daisy holding a phone, and an uneasy look on her face.

Your heartrate picked up as you approached her, taking the phone from her and putting it to your ear.

“There they are.” The voice said to you, and you could almost hear how glad he was to know it was you; and that you both knew where this was going to go.

“Marcus.” You said, trying to not let the fear show.

“Aye, lass.” But he could still tell how you were feeling about this, “Wee bird told me you came home. Thought I’d give my favourite customer a call. See how they’re doing.” You were surprised at how easy you found the thick Scottishness in his voice; Fitz had helped with that, of course.

You closed your eyes and took a breath, “What do you want?”

His tone went serious, “Fuck do you think, love? My money.” Of course. He didn’t give you a chance to respond, he only hung up.

You pulled the phone from your ear, turning to Daisy who was leaning her hands against the hood of the van, she rose an eyebrow.

“You can go, you know?”

She didn’t say anything, she didn’t move either, “Daisy, I’m serious. Go, I’ll meet you when I’m done.”

She spoke then, “Give me the phone.”

“Daisy –”

She moved over to you and held out her hand, “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“Daisy –” Your voice was more serious as you gave her the phone.

“I’m just…worried about you, alright? You came back here for a reason.”

“I need to do this Daisy. I have to make it right.”

Daisy sighed, “Not alone. And besides –”

“You’re my friend, Y/N. And I’m coming with you.” She said, in her tone that meant ‘this is final’.

You had no choice but to nod, “Ok, let’s save our asses.”

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

Your first stop was a bar. It was one that had a familiar vibe to it for you. And the person you saw tending it brought more than just a familiar vibe, it brought feelings to you. She still looked the same, still with her long burgundy hair, electric blue eyes. It was like she had never changed.

Then you saw the name she had on her name tag; it was different.

There was barely anyone else in this bar. It was just you, Daisy, her, and about 2 other people who didn’t seem to care of the new company.

However, she then looked up, freezing just as you had when you saw her. The pair of you were frozen, just staring at each other.

“Y/N.” She spoke. Daisy felt the atmosphere shift from cosey and inviting, to cold and distant.

“’Madison’.” You greeted back, reading the name tag she wore.

She looked at it and chuckled, “Yeah, well, desperate times and all that. You know how Marcus is.”

You took a step towards her as she came around from behind the bar. The two of you inched closer and closer…Daisy watched on warily.

“I know he wants his money back.” You said, bluntly.

“Ah, I bet he does. After that stunt you pulled.” ‘Madison’ threw back at you.

“That was SHIELD –” You never got to finish your sentence, as ‘Madison’ had struck you on the face.

You retorted with your own. The two of you then found yourself with two arms holding each other as you both threw yourself into the bar, heads colliding with the pumps. You both groaned at your less than stellar plan.

“SHIELD picked me up! You don’t think I wanted to come back!” You yelled as she smashed a bottle on the table.

“Then why didn’t you?” She asked as she attacked you with the bottle. You jumped back, before slamming your head into hers.

“I was trying to –” She counted with a kick between your legs.

“I had to change my name because of that bastard! And you come back!” She exclaimed.

“Then why are you mad at me?!” You said, on your knees, holding between your legs.

“…Because you left, and I had no idea where you were. I thought you were dead.”  She admitted, voice going quieter.

Daisy then made herself known, putting her arm under your own and helping you up, “Why not help us? We could use an extra pair of hands?” She asked, despite her first impression of the woman.

She looked from you to Daisy and back again. She then turned to other two customers, “See those two?” Daisy nodded, still holding onto you, “They’re new. They don’t exactly know the tricks we do.” Daisy saw where this was going.

“We got it.” Daisy assured her, checking on you one more time as you had seemed to be more stable now.

“You do?” Madison seemed almost surprised.

“Trust me, I had to do my fair share of that to pay for shit.” With that, the pair of you went over to the two. You sat next to them.

It was like you’d never left; and it seemed Daisy did have a lot of experience of this. It was a simple gig really: sit next to them, pretended to be their friend, chat them up about whatever they wanted and pretended like you cared. If you couldn’t get close without them noticing, then you’d have to improvise…like Daisy was. Still, whatever worked and got you close, worked and got you close.

As you reached into the pocket and found what you were fishing for as your man had passed out, you saw Daisy deeply kissing her man as she seemed to be on autopilot with getting the card and some money out of the pocket.

She seemed to be a pro.

When the two stumbled out, the three counted up the earnings the two of you had gathered.

Was it much? No, but it was a start.

“I can take some things from here, if we can get that out of our way.” At ‘that’ Madison pointed to a camera that was watching you.

“I got that, you take what you can and then we’ll go.” Daisy said, going to probably loop the footage of you all sitting there just moments ago.

That left the two of you.

“So,” Madison started as she poured you a drink and put it on the table, “What brought you home?”

“Something happened at SHIELD. Daisy had to get away from it all. I went with.” You answered as you took a sip of your beer.

“Why?”

“I couldn’t just leave her alone. She’s looked after me all this time I’ve been there, figured I’d return the favour.”

Madison sighed, “You’re a good friend.”

“She’s an even better one.”

There was a drag in the conversation following that. The only sound being you drinking, and her checking pumps and cleaning tables.

“I’m sorry you had to change your name.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s his. Besides, always kind of hoped you’d come back.” She said, stopping what shew as doing and turning to you, a light now in her eyes.

“You did?”

She smiled, “Yeah.” You smiled too.

 Daisy had looped the footage, and the three of you drove to the French Quatre. It was still as lively as ever.

And that meant opportunity, that meant money. That meant making it.

It led you all to an ATM, with cards upon cards. It was close to midnight, and all you three were doing was trying the cards you had gotten. Putting in pins and taking out cash.

You ran out of yet another establishment, this time chased by guards. As you ran, you did see Daisy relax a little, seemed she had gotten something out of this too.

Your feet slammed against the pavement, but you still heard your chasers. Daisy quaked up to the roof, while you and Madison dove right into a dark alley way, just around a corner from where your foes were coming from.

You had lost them.          

Daisy came down to join you. And, for once, the three of you laughed. You checked that the coast was clear one more time, before making your way to the ATM.

You did it, you somehow had just about enough. Daisy gave you a pat on the shoulder, while Madison gave you a peck on the cheek. You missed Daisy’s smile slip just for a second before it was back.

You then got out your phone, dialling the number that had called you.

Marcus answered almost immediately, “What?”

“I got it.” You said, proud of your actions.

He barked out a laugh, “Aye, you did? Well fan-fucking-tastic. Only, you daft cunt, you made a ruck doing it! You got coppers and what not looking for you. Aye, and little ol’ Jenny somehow come back to life, aye? I guess then, if you’re so fucking good at your job, you’d pay off her’s too, eh? See you at 3.” With that, he hung up.

Your smile was gone, “What is it? What’s wrong?” Daisy asked, concern now in her gaze and tone.

“He knows you’re alive.” You said, looking to Madison, who paled, “And he wants your share of the load.” She gulped.

Fuck.

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

“How much do you owe him?” Daisy asked as the three of you sat in Daisy’s van.

“Between us, or separate?” You asked, pointing between yourself and Madison.

“I guess separate.” Daisy answered.

You looked at Madison, the pair of your quickly doing some mental math in your head, “Well, we’ve gotten mine.” You reminded Daisy. She nodded at the answer.

“About 5 grand.” She then looked to Madison.

Finally, Madison answered, “About $36,200 between us.”

Daisy’s eyes widened, “What?!” She sounded like it should be a shriek but was a whisper instead.

“There was a deal. One we did before Y/N got picked up by your lot. Quite a big load of women coming in.” Madison looked to you.

You knew what she wanted; and so, you continued the tale, “We didn’t let it happen. Then SHIELD came and got me. And Madison here…well.” You knew what she did.

“What’d she does?” Daisy pushed.

“Went off grid. New name, same place. Safest place from a Whale is inside its own belly, after all.” Madison seemingly decided to give just enough information.

And it seemed to be enough for Daisy, “So, how long do we have?” She asked.

“With Marcus? He said a few hours –”

“That’s not long enough.” Daisy argued.

“It would’ve been longer if I wasn’t here.” Madison looked down a bit as she said that, like a wounded animal. You grabbed her hand, rubbing your thumb on her knuckles. She looked at you but couldn’t manage a smile.

“Ok. So, we can’t get out without being spotted, and we can’t get the money – well, that amount of money, without getting seen. So, what’s the plan guys?” As you said that, you all ducked down as you heard a cop car go past. Its sirens were blaring as it raced past, so you knew it wasn’t for you; still, couldn’t be too careful.

When it passed, you all slowly got back up, the lights from the street being your only source of light through Daisy’s curtained windows.

Ok, maybe you were starting to get an appreciation for the van life after all.

Still, you had to get the money. You had to have a clean slate. You had to get Madison out of this life.

You looked at Daisy, and she saw that you genuinely cared for Madison. And, despite her first thoughts on the girl, she had grown on her. She saw the light she brought to your eyes.

It was the same way Lincoln brought that same kind of light to her life.

She saw you look out the window, you had a face she had seen before; if this was any other time, she’d go along with whatever you were going to say.

Here, not so much.

“Y/N –” Her tone was tense, there was an edge to it. There was a warning.

“You two stay here and –”

“No!”

“Hell no!” the two women exclaimed in sync. Daisy the former and Madison the latter.

“Y/N, you can’t just –”

“Would you rather we all go out together and risk getting caught? Or splitting up? Look, Daisy, I’m sorry I dragged you into this, ok? Really, I am. But we don’t have a lot of time.” You said as you got a pistol out of your bag.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! The hell are you planning?” Daisy asked, grabbing the pistol and lowering it.

“Desperate time and measures.” You justified it as, putting the pistol in your back pocket, “Look, do you want to the bank, or am I taking it? There’s only three options we have here in the short space of time; and none of them good.”

You then looked to Madison, “I got the streets. Regular and all that.” You nodded, that left Daisy with another option.

She didn’t look pleased, “I’m doing the bank job,” She said, ripping the pistol from you and putting it in her back pocket instead, “You go to the bars we haven’t gotten before. But remember, low profile.” She warned, pointing a finger at both of you.

God, she seemed destined to always play big sister.

You gave her a mock salute, “You’re about to rob a bank, Daisy.”

“Yeah, but I have a name to go with that. If we get too much, we’ll use what we have left to help us against the Watchdogs.” Daisy said, getting out the back of the van before you could argue any further.

You and Madison looked at each other, a silent, “Be careful” being exchanged between you both. You shared one more kiss, before you went your separate ways.

 There was one more bar you hadn’t hit yet. It was a packed one, despite the time it was.

Still, you entered, looking for any sort of prey. Your eyes scanned the crowds, mainly large crowds in the area. Well, that could work in your advantage, but it could also be a hindrance.

Still, you went with “fuck it.” And walked further in, trying not to look like a desperate loser.

Your hand went into one pocket, and you got as far as the car, when a hand grabbed yours: a friend of his. He shook his head, and you put it back. He didn’t tell his friend, he only looked at you with bitter hatred.

That was enough of an arse kicking on its own.

So, no money, and arse kicking and a bar fight later and you were out. You made your way over to the van, seeing Daisy sat in the van, but laying low.

You opened the van back door, only to be punched in the face. Whoever had done that – not Daisy – had taken off running. As you readjusted yourself, your heartbeat rose.

They had the bag.

You got up, not caring about being careful anymore. Desperation ran through you.

You pulled the pistol, running after someone who would – whether they meant to or not – cause your death.

You pulled the trigger, and they went down. You ran, cars stopping and some screeching to a halt. You grabbed the bag the person had. You opened it –

And nothing was inside.

You then heard a van honk, and yours came careening around the corner. It stopped just next to you, “Get in!” Daisy called, with Madison pulling the side door open.

You were in, and you were gone the next moment.

 Either no one had called the cops on you, or they weren’t doing as good as you thought they were. You had gone back to Madison’s bar, and the three of you sat in it; you stared at what you had managed to garner as a three –

“$2,832. And it’s…” Daisy checked her phone, “2:51 am.” Her words came out slower, as she realised how fucked you guys were.

You stood up and started pacing, “I’m sorry, I should never have come back.”

Madison stood up, going to you and holding your hands in your own, “Hey, you know Marcus. Whatever you bring him, ain’t enough. He’d find a way to bleed you dry just like those cards, but he’d keep going,” She grabbed your shoulders, “Y/N, look at me,” You did so, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think…even if we got what he wanted, that it’d be enough. I mean, look at me; I had to change my name and what not. He just works people until they get shot, then calls it off.”

You looked at Madison, and you knew; you knew that she was right. You then looked to Daisy, “Put what we got in the van.”

She tilted her head in a questioning manner, “What you thinking?” She asked, as she pooled all the money with arm and watched it all fall into a bag.

For once, it was almost like old times, with that look on your face returning; and she supported it this time.

It was a face that told her you had a plan.

“We take that money, split it between us. He gets none of it.” You said, looking at your friends and seeing if they’d disagree. They shared a look and nodded in sync.

Ok then, here you went.

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

Daisy had taken the van away a bit, hiding it in a different location that wouldn’t be as easily accessible.

You all waited as the time ticked down. If anything, it seemed to slow down.

Still, after what seemed like 2 hours – but what was really 3 minutes – it was time. The clock silent struck 3.

And, right on time, he entered the bar. He hadn’t really changed, it seemed. Still an old man with a moustache that was well kept but everything else on him – clothing, hair, jewellery – was not.

“So, I’m here. Where the fuck is my money, lass?” He asked.

“We don’t have it. And, even if we did, you wouldn’t get a cent.” You said, standing tall.

He whistled, “Aye? And where’d all this backbone come from then, eh? Because last time we called, you were willing to suck my fucking dick dry to make amends. Now, here you are, telling me I’m not allowed to have my own fucking money?” His temper was rising.

“You wouldn’t be happy with that though, would you?” Daisy asked from where she stood, to your right and leaning against one of the backrests.

Marcus finally looked at her. He looked at a TV that wasn’t on, then back down to her. From her to the tv, from the tv to her.

“You must be the one on the telly, Quake? Or whatever the fuck they call you now?”

Daisy just held his stare.

“This ain’t your fight, lass. Just between me and them two cunts and what they owe, me.” He said, looking at you and clenching his teeth together at the last part of the sentence.

“It is my fight, when it involves my friends.” She said firmly, moving away from the rest and to your side, fists clenched.

Marcus let out what seemed to be a scoff and a laugh all in one; and none having good connotations with them, “Loyal. I’ll give you that. Even if, in this case, not going to pay off the way you want.” He warned her.

The front door opened, with two of his goons coming in. Madison barely had time to turn before she was pinned against her bar.

“Hey –” Daisy said, going to step in, when Marcus waggled his finger.

“Told you.” He said, in a sing song kind of voice.

“Run.” Daisy advised, even pushing you in that direction.

You did, as fast as you could up the stairs to the toilets.

Marcus passed Daisy, “I so much as feel this building shake, and I will fucking kill you all, alright?” He threatened, before coming after you.

You found yourself in one of the cubicles, “You know, Y/N. I always wondered where you went. Then a man by the name of Phil Coulson comes knocking at my door, asking about an agent Y/N and Johnson. Course, I told them the truth…” As he spoked, you saw his feet stop by a cubicle and heard the door be booted open, “That I knew nothing of you. To be honest, thought you were dead. Would’ve been happy with that. Then you show up, and you left me no choice,” He kicked another open; you had nowhere to go, “But, maybe…maybe I can amend that now.” He booted in your door. And, despite your efforts and struggled, he slammed you into the sink. As you saw your own reflection, a cord went around your neck and he hoisted you up into the air before your feet touched the floor, but you were on tiptoes.

In his voice, there was no joy, “Don’t fight this, Y/N. Don’t fight it. This’ll fix everything.”

The door burst open, but he grabbed a pistol and fired at the entrance, “Take one more fucking step and I’ll blow their fucking –” He didn’t get to finish, as you hit him in the guy with your elbow. The cord went from your neck, and you hit him with your head and sent him back.

Madison was next, slamming him in the fist with her fist. As he spun around with the pistol, Daisy quaked it away, before quaking him into the wall. He slumped down.

The three of your shared a look.

Madison had a car – stolen of course – but a car and a home. The three of you carried Marcus’ body down the stairs and outside to the car. You slammed the boot lid closed as the three of you shared a look.

You looked to Madison, pulling her into a hug and putting your chin on her shoulder. You pulled away, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She said with a smile, but it was a sad one.

Daisy then hugged her next, “Thank you for your help.”

“Y/N is my…. friend, too. I’ll get Marcus here somewhere he belongs, then I’ll get a new ride. Heard there’s some good ones moving in.”

You pulled out a key in your back pocket, “Here,” You said, throwing it to Madison, “It’s yours.”

She looked from the key to you, “You serious?” She asked, excitement growing in her tone.

“Yeah. You’re my friend, might as well pay off the debt I can, huh?” She laughed, before hugging you again in thanks. She gave your cheek a kiss, before going to the car and driving off.

 You and Daisy saw the “Thank you for visiting New Orleans!” sign as you drove away. Your phone blinked with a text. Looking at it, you saw it to be Madison: “He’s with the NOPD now :D” The text read.

You looked to Daisy, showing it to her.

She smiled, before moving her hand over to yours and squeezing it and then going back to the wheel.

You were leaving your home, now in your new one for the time being.

But one thing you knew for sure; you had a clean slate. Just not in the way you would’ve expected.

[stargaze-sunflower]

(Not) Okay

Summary: After finding out that Dewey had been researching their mom on his own, Huey and Louie are surprisingly forgiving. Dewey doesn't think he deserves it.

Ao3 Link Word Count: 1737

Dewey didn’t usually have difficulty sleeping. Not like Louie, who’d always had more trouble than most, or Huey, who got caught up in his head sometimes and couldn’t seem to shake it. Dewey wasn’t like that. If he ever couldn’t fall asleep, it was most commonly caused by lingering excitement over an adventure they’d gone on that day, or the anticipation of an adventure they’d go on tomorrow. He was used to those types of jitters. He could handle it.

He couldn’t handle this.

It was late enough in the night that it was now classified as early in the morning, and Dewey hadn’t slept a wink. He’d been stuck tossing and turning and staring up at the bottom of Huey’s bunk for hours, at this point, and he was sick of it. He wondered if this was how Louie felt, when he was too restless to sleep. He wondered if this was how Huey felt, when he couldn’t quiet his mind. A little irrationally, Dewey wondered if he’d ever sleep again. Dramatic, he knew, but he was getting desperate, and he was so tired. A demon dog had chased him today, on top of the emotional typhoon he’d had to endure, and those things together tended to be exhausting.

.

(“How could you keep this from us?”

“I was trying to protect you from a potentially devastating revelation!”

“Or you just kept it to yourself so you could feel special. Classic Dewey. She’s our mom!”)

.

Dewey’s breath hitched as the scene played in his head for what had to be the hundredth time in the past few hours, and he brought his hands up to drag them down his face in frustration, groaning quietly. He tried to tell himself that it was over, that Huey and Louie had forgiven him for keeping secrets, but all he could remember was the looks on their faces when they’d found out what he’d been doing. All he could see whenever he closed his eyes was Huey’s hurt glare, and Louie on the floor cradling their mom’s jacket, smaller than he’d ever seen him.

God, he’d messed up so bad.

‘I messed up I messed up I messed up—’

The thought was echoing in his head, bouncing off the edges and coming back stronger – louder. It was all he could think, and his lungs were growing tighter and tighter, his breaths coming shorter and shorter, and he was blindsided with the worry that he was about to die, that this was his punishment for keeping secrets and hurting his brothers when all he ever wanted to do was keep them safe.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. All the moisture in his body seemed to be directed at the tears that he’d just noticed were rolling down his face, and he kicked his blanket off of his legs in a fit of panic, suddenly unable to cope with the feeling of it against his skin.

The rush of cold air that followed the removal of the blanket shocked him into being able to focus just enough to hear someone climbing up the ladder to his bunk. A new and different type of panic overtook him then, because the last thing he felt he deserved in that moment was sympathy. Or worse – pity. Whoever it was had been through enough today without adding Dewey’s little freak-out into the mix.

He wiped at his eyes frantically, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide the evidence of his fragile emotional state, but trying anyway. The mattress dipped next to him, and Dewey chanced a look out of the corner of his eye.

It was Louie, of course, because who else would it be. If Dewey was having trouble sleeping, then certainly his brother had to be struggling as well. Louie had issues falling asleep on good days. Still, though—

“Sorry to wake you up,” Dewey said, his voice shaky but not quite as obviously distressed as he thought it’d be. Maybe he could be an actor one day, after all. “I mean, did I— Were you—?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Louie said quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning against the wall next to him. He shrugged jerkily, and it tugged at something in Dewey’s chest. “I just— I dunno. Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Dewey repeated incredulously, still feeling very much like he’d run a marathon and was seconds away from passing out. “I should be asking you that. I’m the one who— I got us into that whole mess today! I’m the one who didn’t tell you about— I didn’t— I—”

.

(“Louie, are you okay?”

“You kept a secret about mom. That is not okay.”)

.

“Hey, Dew?” Louie asked gently, though with a slight tremor to his voice. Dewey hummed to show he was listening, though it was higher pitched than normal. “Can I— Is it okay if I touch you?”

Dewey took a brief moment to process the question, nodding his head almost immediately after. Louie grabbed his hand, and Dewey held on for dear life, forcing himself to reconnect with the present and keep himself grounded. It was only working a little bit.

A sob caught in his throat. He was tired, and he kind of felt like he wanted to go home, but he was already there. It was a confusing feeling.

What he really wanted was to feel safe, and whole, and loved, even though he’d made the worst mistake of his life. Even though he wasn’t sure if he’d earned it.

“You’re okay, Dew, I promise,” Louie said, and he sounded worried, scooting a little closer on the bed. “Breathe with me, okay?”

Louie brought their connected hands over to rest against his chest, demonstrating slow, even breaths. Dewey did his best to follow, and it took longer than he felt like it should have, but Louie never rushed him, and he didn’t seem angry with him.

Eventually, the vice around his chest and lungs seemed to loosen, and his mind cleared a little. All he was left with was his exhaustion, and yet he still didn’t think he could fall asleep. Regardless, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, avoiding Louie’s concerned gaze and yet still holding tightly to his hand.

Somewhere outside, an owl hooted.

“So, uh, do you want to talk about that?” Louie asked after a few long seconds of silence. Dewey could feel his younger brother’s heart pounding, and he felt a stab of familiar guilt. “I mean, panicking and all is never fun, so… I mean, usually I’m the one who needs the help, so I don’t know if I did it right. The helping part, I mean, ‘cause Huey usually does that. This kinda felt like the blind leading the blind, you know? But I hope you— I hope you feel better, and if you want to talk about it, I, uh, I can listen.”

Dewey blinked in surprise at the rush of nervous words that had just come from his brother, and he turned to look at Louie, who was looking back at him anxiously, but with care in his eyes. For some reason, it made him tear up.

“Why would you want to?” Dewey asked – blurted, really, because he certainly hadn’t authorized that coming out of his mouth. He could roll with it, though. He kind of wanted an answer, anyway. “I was terrible to you and Huey today. I’ve been hiding things for months, I—”

He cut himself off and looked out the window to pull himself together. There was no moon in the sky tonight, and that bothered him, for some reason.

“…I’m sorry,” Dewey finished lamely. It didn’t feel like enough. “I’m so sorry.”

“We forgave you, Dew,” Louie reminded him, squeezing his hand. “It wasn’t, like, okay, but I don’t blame you. Huey doesn’t either.”

“You should,” Dewey insisted, swallowing past the lump in his throat, staring at their dark bedroom. “I know it hurt you guys. I know I messed up.”

“I mean, yeah,” Louie said, though not unkindly. “You’re not perfect, Dewey. You’re gonna make mistakes sometimes. I’m sure Mom made mistakes, too.”

“But—”

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Louie continued, cutting him off. “It did hurt me. It still does, honestly. But I— I mean, I get it, I guess.”

Dewey stared down at his bed, feeling the pit in his stomach like a weight dragging him down.

“You were always the one who was asking Uncle Donald about mom. I knew it was important to you.” Louie pulled his knees tighter to his chest, still holding Dewey’s hand and not seeming keen to let go. “I guess I never really gave you much reason to think that it was important to me, too.”

“She’s our mom. I knew you cared about it,” Dewey said, and then he sighed. “I just— It wasn’t much, at first, but it went from 0 to 100 real quick, and I didn’t want to pull you guys into it. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, but risking yourself was fine?” Louie snapped, and Dewey winced. His voice softened when he kept speaking. “You’re my brother, Dew. I want to help. You don’t have to carry all this on your own.”

“I thought I could wait until I had good news to tell you,” Dewey said quietly.

“In this economy?” Louie asked wryly, and Dewey snorted.

“I guess it was pretty stupid,” Dewey admitted, his shoulders dropping.

“We’re all entitled to our moments of questionable intelligence,” Louie said, pressing closer to his side with a yawn. He lazily raised his free hand to poke at Dewey’s chest. “I forgive you. I’m not holding a secret grudge. I really don’t have the energy for it.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Dewey said, a smile tugging at his beak. “No more secrets, Lou. I promise.”

“Does this mean that you’re gonna tell me where you hid the TV remote?”

“Come on, let’s not get too crazy.”

Louie giggled quietly under his breath, and Dewey grinned, resting his chin on top of Louie’s head as his younger brother collapsed onto him.

“You gonna stay here for tonight?” Dewey asked, already beginning to draw his blanket over them.

“As if I’d leave,” Louie said, casual as ever, and Dewey’s grin fell into something softer.

Yeah, things were okay.

(This is a gift for @reesiereads Ily)

[hlizr50]

Revelations

Chapter 1: This is Wrong

Hawke eavesdrops on the Duke's lessons with Poppy and realizes what is happening within the walls of castle Teerman

Read on AO3

Casteel… Hawke… stared at the door as it clicked closed, the Maiden having entered the Duke’s office.

“Penellaphe, I am so incredibly disappointed in you.” Duke Teerman always sounded so haughty and condescending.

Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you. I –“

The Duke cut her off, “Do you even know what you have done that has disappointed me?”

Was this why she and Tawny had been so apprehensive of the Duke’s summons? A scolding? A dressing down? It couldn’t have been just that, considering how Penellaphe had frozen before the door.

He took up a position not too close to seem suspicious to the two men standing guard. No matter. He was Atlantian, and even though he leaned against the wall a few feet from the door he could hear every word spoken in that office. He didn’t know what he should expect.

“I don’t. But I’m sure whatever it is, I’m at fault. You are never disappointed in me without cause.” Her words were measured. Careful. And careful wasn’t really her style.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t be disappointed for no reason at all. But this time I find myself blindsided by what I have been told.”

Hawke had been her guard for barely a day, but he found it hard to believe that Penellaphe would have committed a crime so egregious to blindside the Duke. Although, if her escapade to the Red Pearl was any indication maybe she had.

“Remove your veil, Penellaphe. You do not want to test my patience.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we… we are not alone, and the Gods forbad me from showing my face.”

“The Gods will not find fault in today’s proceedings.”

They were not alone? His amber eyes narrowed slightly. Who else was there? Had he not experienced the meeting yesterday he would have also wondered why she was apparently hesitant to remove the veil. But he knew the Duke likely wanted to take the opportunity to comment on her scars.

“Lift your eyes.”

A pause.

“You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”  Hawke grimaced. His insides roiled at the thought of the Duke looking at her with those deep, empty eyes.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

The Duke made a cluck with his tongue. “Such a shame. What do you think Bran?”

It was Lord Brandole Mazeen, then. Gods above, what was he doing in there? His lust and depravity were well-known throughout Castle Teerman. The maids were often warned not to earn his attention, good or bad.

“As you said, such a shame.” The Lord answered.

“The other scars are easy to hide, but this? There will come a time where there will be no veil to hide this unfortunate flaw.”

How many years had Penellaphe been here? How many times had the Teermans and their lackeys taken an opportunity to cut her with those words?

“Do you know what that new guard of hers said? He said she was beautiful. Half of her is truly stunning... You look so much like your mother.”

Hawke had said that. He meant it.

“You knew her?” Penellaphe gasped.

“I did. She was… special. You do realize that the guard wouldn’t have said otherwise. Wouldn’t have spoken the truth. I suppose it’s some small blessing. The damage to your face could have been far worse.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed. It was difficult to for him to keep his expression neutral as the Duke continued to berate her. So he kept his eyes down, studying the stone floor of the hallway. It had likely once been rough and uneven, but the years of scuffing boots had smoothed the cobbles to satin.

“You do have such pretty eyes… And a well-formed mouth. Most will find your body pleasing… For some men, those things will be enough.”

He didn’t like the way the Duke paused between his backhanded compliments. Was he looking at her? Touching her?

“Priestess Annalia came to see me this morning,” Duke Teerman paused, as if waiting for a response. “Do you not have anything to add?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what Priestess Annalia would have to say. I saw her last a week ago in the second floor parlor and all seemed fine.” Penellaphe sounded confused.

“I’m sure it did, since you only spent half an hour there before leaving unexpectedly. I was advised you didn’t once pick up your embroidery set, nor did you engage in any conversation with the priestesses.”

So… this was the crime? She hadn’t completed any of her needlework? Penellaphe had sounded confused, and Hawke had to admit that he was, as well. With all honesty and due respect (which was none, if he was being honest), who the fuck cared?

“My mind was occupied with my upcoming Rite. I must have been daydreaming.”

“I’m sure you’re very excited about the Rite, and if this had been just one situation I would have easily overlooked your poor conduct. But I’ve learned that you were just in the atrium.”

“Yes, I was. I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t go often, but –“ she was interrupted again.

“Spending time in the atrium is not the issue and you’re smart enough to know that. Don’t play coy with me. You were speaking with two of the ladies in wait. You know that is not allowed.”

She had barely spoken two sentences to them! Who had run so quickly to report her to the Duke for that? The ladies had been too busy trying to get Hawke’s attention. He grinned at that, recalling the spilled rhinestones and fainting young women. But Penellaphe, who was not to have any interaction with, well, anyone… she had been in the atrium before anyone was there. The ladies had chosen to sit at the same table. Was she just supposed to just stand up and leave?

“Do you have nothing to say?”

“Such a demure Maiden.” Lord Mazeen’s words dripped like acid against Hawke’s skin. He did not have to know the Lord well to know that he would get an inordinate amount of pleasure in killing him. He felt ill knowing that Penellaphe was alone in that room, with those two beasts.

“I’m sorry. I should have left when they entered, but I didn’t.” He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone apologize so much in his life. What had happened to the woman from the Red Pearl? That Penellaphe was so full of heart and fire. The girl on the other side of that door was…

Defeated.

“And why not?” The Duke prodded.

“I was… curious. They were talking about the upcoming Rite.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that. You were always an active child with a curious mind that flicked from one thing to the next: something I’ve warned the Duchess you wouldn’t grow out of easily. Priestess Annalia has also informed me that she fears your relationship with your lady’s maid has become far too familiar.”

Good Gods, how many imaginary transgressions could there be? How was she not supposed to be familiar with someone who had literally been tasked to be at her side at all times?

“Tawny has been a wonderful lady’s maid, and if my kindness and gratefulness has been mistaken for anything else then I apologize.”

Hawke knew that had struck a nerve. Penellaphe and Tawny were close, and the Maiden was allowed so little in the way of… of anything that made life bearable.

“I know it may be hard to keep boundaries with someone you spend so much time with, but a Maiden does not seek intimacies of the heart or the mind with those who serve them. Not even those who are to become members of the court. You must never forget that you are not like them. You were chosen by the Gods at birth, and they are chosen at their Rite. You will never be equals. You will never be friends.”

He inwardly scoffed.

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. You were chosen at birth, Penellaphe. Only one other has ever been chosen by the Gods. It was why the Dark One sent the Craven after your family. It was why your parents were slaughtered. That hurts, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth. That should have been the only lesson you ever needed,” Duke Teerman had a talent for cutting words, Hawke noted. “But between your lack of awareness regarding overstepping boundaries, your lack of attention with Priestess Annalia, your blatant disregard today for what is expected of you, aaaaand the attitude you displayed yesterday toward me. What? You thought I wouldn’t address your behavior while we discussed Ryan’s replacement? You stared back at me as if you wished to do me physical harm.”

The Duke chuckled then. “The meeting would have ended vastly different if others had not been present, and we weren’t there to discuss Hawke replacing Ryan-“

“Rylan! His name is Rylan, not Ryan!”

There she was, that spirited woman that had so intrigued him.

“THERE it is! Not so demure now!” Lord Mazeen sounded… almost gleeful.

“You mean, his name was Rylan. And does it really matter? He was just a royal guard. He would have been honored that I even thought of him. Either way, you just proved that I must double my attempts to strengthen my commitment to make you more than ready for your Ascension. Apparently I’ve been too easy on you. Unfortunately, that means you require another lesson. Hopefully it will be your last, but somehow I doubt it.”

“Yes. Hopefully.���

Hawke sighed inwardly in relief. How long had been here listening to the Duke ramble on about imaginary transgressions and basic human interactions painted as crimes. They should be finished soon.

“I believe four lashes should suffice.”

He froze.

Lashes.

Hawke could barely breathe. This was no mere dressing down, no raised-voice scolding with some hurtful words.

“Are you sure that’s enough? I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you haven’t done enough.” Gods, Penellaphe’s fire roared to life at the worst possible moment.

“How does seven sound? I see that number agrees with you. What do you think, Bran?”

“I think that is sufficient.”

This was no “lesson”.

“You know where to go,” the Duke directed.

This was abuse.

“You’re not ready, Penellaphe. You should know better by this point.”

Hawke strained to hear. It was far too quiet. The Duke was waiting for something. Could he hear the soft rustle of fabric? His restraint was thinning by the second.

This was torture.

“This is for your own good. This is a necessary lesson, Penellaphe, to ensure that you take your preparations seriously and are committed to them, so you do not dishonor the Gods.”

This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Brace yourself, Penellaphe.”

He heard the faint whistle… then a crack… it had to be a cane that the Duke was using on her.

A cane. Sweet merciless, sleeping Gods.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Two. Was this the fitting punishment for not touching her embroidery set? For speaking a word to a lady in wait who needed to be put in her place?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Three. Was this the fitting punishment for daring to have a friend? For not cowering when the Duke had hoped to humiliate her the day before?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Four. His eyes were wide, but when he looked to the guards at the door they avoided his questioning glare, acting blissfully unaware.

This… this travesty…

It was as if…

As if this happened all the time.

Swoosh. CRACK

Five. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He was back there… in Carsadonia. In his cage. Made to bleed. Made to feed. Forced to take and be taken.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Six. The Blood Queen took pleasure from his pain. For decades. He couldn’t understand how any living being could be so monstrous.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Seven.

He let out an unsteady breath. It was over.

Penellaphe hadn’t made a sound.

How?

“I truly hope, Penellaphe, that this lesson… sinks in.”

His rage was white hot behind his eyes. He had to keep them closed. The guards would have been… disturbed… if they saw how they glowed with his ire.

Duke Teerman had signed his death warrant. And it was not going to be quick and painless.

Breathe. You have to breathe. You have to get ahold of yourself. This is not the time and place.

Hawke took a few measured breaths, and his heart began to slow. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d just witnessed.

The door clicked and his head whipped up, amber gaze falling on the veiled woman who gingerly pulled the door closed behind her. She looked up and saw him, and Hawke could see her entire body tense. He just stared at her, willing her to meet his gaze behind the veil. He could tell that she avoided it. Penellaphe then straightened slowly and did her best to walk toward him, past him, as if nothing had happened.

But it had.

Her breathing was labored and he could tell that every step she took caused her pain. He followed her down the hall, cursing to himself when the effort became too much for her and she started whimpering softly with each pace. They made it to the narrow spiral staircase that would lead them down to the main floor. He opened the door for her to enter, and she dared not look at him as she passed.

She was already attempting the first step, grunting with effort to lower her body down through clenched teeth, when he closed the door behind him.

“Penellaphe,” his voice was low. Cold. Raw.

She continued to work on the next step, acting oblivious to his call.

“Penellaphe.”

She stopped.

“How long?”

“What?” she tried to sound surprised, but he could only hear the pain lacing the word.

“How long. How long has the Duke been doing this to you?”

Silence. It hung heavy over him. He felt like he was being smothered, waiting for an answer that he knew would likely ruin him. He could hear her pain-laden breaths sawing in and out. It had taken such effort for her to go down two steps. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep, calming breath.

“Since Ian returned to the Capitol.”

Gods, why weren’t they somewhere with something he could break? Blood red rage roared in his blood. Hawke could feel himself trembling.

“That’s… that’s been years,” he whispered.

“It has.”

And then she began struggling down the steps again. As if that were the end of the conversation.

It wasn’t. Not even fucking close.

He practically leapt the three steps down to stand in front of her. “Is that all you have to say? Poppy this is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t call me that. Only my friends call me that.”

“Am I not? Do your friends know about this? How have your friends helped you?” Hawke spat, clenching his quaking fists at his side. “From what I can tell, I’m the only person who seems to give a flying fuck about what just happened. Tell me how that doesn’t qualify me as your friend.”

“There’s nothing that can be done to help,” she whispered and turned her head to the side, suddenly finding the stone wall quite interesting. He uttered a curse and reached for the chains that held the veil on top of her head.

“Take this Gods-damned thing off,” he growled as he pulled it away. He couldn’t stand trying to speak with her without seeing into her eyes, seeing her face. She was a person. Her emotions and expressions mattered. But she barely even flinched, keeping her gaze fixed somewhere near his boots. Her face was flushed and her eyes lined silver.

“Look at me.” When she made no move he reached her hand to her. He lightly traced his fingers over her left cheek down to her jaw, pulling gently so her face was lifted to him. “Please, Penellaphe. Look at me.” Her emerald gaze met his, shining with pain and sorrow and shame.

“I… I used to try. I used to do everything I thought I could to fix whatever it is that I’d done that had disappointed him,” she blinked, allowing a couple stray tears fall. “But it was never enough. No matter what I did, no matter how demure I was, no matter the eggshells I walked on and the dedication I tried to show… I realized eventually that my dedication was never the point. It was never about what I did or didn’t do. It didn’t matter how hard I tried. He would find anything-“

“Like not doing your fucking cross-stitch?”

She sucked in a breath and pulled away from his fingers. “How much did you hear?” the fire-haired beauty clasped her hands in front of her heart. He held onto her gaze and her eyes roared at him with hurt.

“Everything.”

She shuddered and bowed her head. Her hands trembled as she brought them up to cover her face. Hawke could feel humiliation rolling from her in waves and saw the tension in her shoulders. She was weeping before him.

“He will find anything that could possibly be an offense. He’s punished me for walking too quickly and breathing too loudly. And I have come to realize that… he only does it because he wants to hurt and humiliate me. He knows that his words make me flinch and his touch make me want to peel the skin from my body. And he relishes that. And I hate that he has that kind of power over me.”

Hawke’s ire sharpened into something cooler, more calculating and thoughtful. He had come to Masadonia to kidnap and ransom the Maiden, a symbol to all of Solis. He’d come to send a message using their precious prize, a privileged brat that was no better than those soulless creatures who had raised her.

He took a measured breath and ran a hand over his face in realization.

She was... innocent. She was a pawn, a possession. She was a victim, kept in a cage just as he had been, albeit far more gilded. And even though there was an illusion of life and choice, she was guilted, berated, and beaten into submission.

And Gods, she was still brave and vivacious enough to risk the Duke’s ire. Reckless enough to step into a brothel and send all of Hawke’s expectations straight to hell.

There is nothing that can be done to help.

There was. He could take her away from this. He had planned to do that, in a way, but now? How could he deliver her back to the Ascended knowing that this is what her life would be? And how could he convince her of the truth? She was smart, and Hawke knew that she didn’t agree with everything the Ascended ordained. Her reactions at the council meeting had been proof of that.

He reached out to her again, taking her hands in his and pulling them away from her tear-streaked cheeks. He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles and spoke her name to draw her gaze.

“This is wrong. You hold no shame in this. He has done this to you, and that is evil and terrible and monstrous. Tell me you realize that, Penellaphe,” he urged. She nodded softly. He gave an encouraging quirk of his lips and continued. “He does these things to make you feel weak and powerless, and you are neither of those things. He knows that you are curious and full of life, and he is afraid that you will be able to see past his façade and into his own weakness if he cannot keep you squashed under his heel.”

Hawke let go of her hands and gingerly held her face between them, using his thumbs to wipe away any remaining dampness that fell there. He looked down for a moment, and then brought his eyes back up, a burning golden stare.

“I need you to make me a promise, Penellaphe. Can you do that?”

“A promise?” she whispered.

“Promise me. Promise me that you’ll trust your instincts. Question everything. You are fierce and intelligent, so think about what they do and what they say. Think about it… you are the most important person in the entire kingdom. They should be worshipping at your feet, not taking a cane to your back,” he was afraid he’d said too much; pushed too hard. Would she be suspicious? Would she balk at his request? Her gaze was green as springtime, and her eyes stared into his, trying to process what he was saying.

“Can you promise me that?”

The knight endured her gaze for a few tense moments, her face still in his palms. She closed her eyes after a sigh and placed her hands over his, dipping her chin.

“I promise, Hawke.”

Thank the Gods.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and the Maiden inhaled sharply. Chuckling, he let her go and reached down to the discarded veil.

“I will make you a promise, as well,” he extended his hand with the soft fabric. She moved to grab it and he clenched her hand with both of his. Startled, she looked to him again.

“He will never hurt you again.”

She smiled wistfully then, and he could read in her expression that, as much as she wanted that to be true, she didn’t believe that anyone had that power. Then she pulled the veil from his hand and attempted the next step in front of her.

It would take forever to make it down the stairs.

“I have an idea,” Hawke smirked. “I think it will help. But you have to trust me.”

“I… I don’t trust you. Not when you have that look in your eye,” she laughed lightly.

“Here, if I squat down can you climb on my back?” he turned around on the step in front of her. He knew he was still much taller than she was, even on a step below. “It may be painful to get there, but if you can wrap your arms around my shoulders and your legs around my waist we could make it down much more quickly. And hopefully without too much strain on your back.”

Hawke felt a hand on her shoulder, but she hesitated. “That would be… incredibly inappropriate. What if someone sees?”

“You’re hurt. If someone opens one of the doors we’ll hear it and have enough time for me to set you down and throw that Gods-forsaken sheet over your head,” he scoffed over her shoulder. “Now wrap your arms around my neck, and I’ll grab your legs when I stand up.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue and her forearms crossed in front of him.

“Ready?” He asked, knowing the first time he lifted her up would probably cause her some pain.

“Yes.” Her grip tightened around him. She gasped into his shoulder as he stood straight, putting his hands under her thighs. He waited a moment, listening for her breath to even out as she adjusted to the soreness.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Hawke gave her legs a light squeeze. She nodded against his shoulder, and he started gingerly making his way down the stairs. He thanked the Gods that he was Atlantian, strong and light on his feet. He knew he could practically glide down without causing her any additional discomfort.

They reached the bottom landing and he gently set her down, heart constricting when he saw her wince as she slowly lowered her arms to her sides.

“Here,” he grabbed the veil from her hand and placed it over her head. He studied the tiny chains that were supposed to hold it in place, and he had to admit that he wasn’t sure what to do with those. A giggle escaped from behind the veil.

“Give me that,” she grabbed the chains. “It’s not far to my room. We should be able to make it there without it falling off.”

Hawke grinned and pulled open the door. “After you, Milady.”

They walked down the corridor slowly and silently. He would look down at her from time to time, wondering how she could possibly have the strength to be so spirited and brave knowing the consequences that could await her. What would the Duke do if he’d known about her little trip to the Red Pearl? He frowned to himself and looked forward. That had been reckless, but he understood her need for life. For freedom. She had wanted to experience things that everyone else in the world took for granted. They said she was Chosen, privileged. But she was also alone.

Well, no she wasn’t. Not anymore.

As they stopped in front of her door he turned to her. “Are you alright? Is there anything you need?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Tawny gets an ointment from the healer. It will help, but I may not be… I may stay in my room for a while. But I heal pretty quickly, and this isn’t the worst I’ve had…”

The anger roiled through him as she trailed off. Of course it wasn’t. Of course seven lashes for not touching her embroidery set and her attitude hadn’t been the worst that he’d done to her.

“I… he…” he swallowed and took two deep breaths. “I’m going to calm myself so I don’t do anything reckless about what you just said.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered quietly.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Penellaphe. None of this is your fault. I am simply… staggered by his cruelty,” he managed a soft smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Get some rest.” Hawke reached down and squeezed her hand before he opened the door and motioned for her to go in. He began to close the door behind her when she stopped.

“Hawke?”

“Yes?” he answered, looking for her eyes behind the veil.

“You can… please, call me Poppy,” she gave a shy grin and shuffled into the room. He pushed the door closed behind her and leaned his forehead against the wood.

He was shaking.

Breathe, Hawke. Breathe.

His ragged breaths seethed out from between his teeth. In for four counts, out for four. In… out… in… out...

After what seemed like ages of breathing exercises he pushed away from the door and stalked down the hall.

He needed to think. And talk to Kieran. He would be none-too-thrilled at the change of plans.

But plans would change.

Duke Teerman would die.

They would have to find another way to get his brother back.

Because nobody was going to hurt Poppy again.

[miss-choco-chips]

From Baby to Babe~

I once wrote this  https://miss-choco-chips.tumblr.com/post/190983954737/theres-a-point-in-all-the-rouges-gallerys-lives and @theturdis wanted a fic about it, so... Just remember, you asked for this hon. This ain’t my fault.

Tagging @animemangasoul who just told me to tag them the next time I wrote something. 

Fair warning everyone, I somehow did this in one sitting, and, I can’t stress this enough, there’s no edit whatsoever. Like, none. Enjoy, if you can ignore the eyesore of my multiple mistakes.

----.----

Bruce despairs in the knowledge of his sons growing up hot.

---.---

When Dick came back to Gotham as the new Nightwing for the first time ever… well. 

Bruce didn't like to think about the first suit, back then. All those feathers and glitter, the plunging V neck, the mullet… His son had insisted on it being the trend at the time. Bruce just couldn't grasp how was he supposed to blend into the night and take anyone by surprise. There was too much... everything, and not nearly enough stealth.

He was an innocent man, back then. He looked at a horse gift in the mouth and was completely blindsided when it raised on it’s hind legs and kicked him where it hurted.

When Selina approached him a few weeks after N had come to him with the blueprints of his new suit, he had been quiet relaxed. Or as relaxed as one can be when crouched like a gargoyle and looking over the city. He was just getting back on track after… Jason (it still hurted, and probably always would, to think about him), his new partner helping in ways he couldn’t foresee, violence tampered by Tim’s brilliant smile every time he came to Bruce with the answer to a particularly difficult riddle he had been having trouble with. He had to get his act together, because Tim was so bright, mind so beyond what Bruce could ever aspire to, and he was at such an impressionable age… If Batman allowed himself to fall deeper into despair, he would set a dangerously bad example to the kid, which could be really damaging… to the world at large. He was the kind of kid that B wanted on the side of Justice, because the opposite would be quite catastrophic.

So yes, he had been very distracted lately, merely glancing over Dick’s blueprints, noticing the lack of brilliantine and gold, and giving his wholehearted approval. 

Stupid, innocent man he was. He had needed Catwoman of all people to open his eyes.

(To this day, he still wondered about Alfred’s reason for not warning him sooner. Perhaps, and this was the theory he had running, the old butler had been just so delighted at seeing the Disco suit gone, he would approve almost everything in its place, and Dick’s virtue had never been his responsibility to preserve, so to hell with it.

Betrayal always hurted the worse when it came from those closest to you)

-Hey handsome.

-Cat.

She rolled her eyes, already beyond his brood, and just walked out of the light, joining him into the shadows with a sigh at his dramatics. 

-No theft today?

The woman grimaced a bit, letting herself fall at his side with as much grace as she did everything else. Diamond claws scratched at her scalp, carefully not tearing the frail skin, and Batman finally conceded and turned his head to look at her directly. She was never so hesitant.

-Look. I really, really don’t want to be the one telling you this. I would literally rather leave this to anyone else, but… it’s getting out of hand.

-What is it?

-Nightwing. Hadn’t you noticed anything about him?

That got whatever rest of his attention she hadn’t already caught. Speaking of his sons always had that effect on him.

-What happened to him?

-Nothing, just… He’s been out a lot, hasn’t he? I thought he didn’t operate in the city as much…

She was stalling, which was worryingly out of character for Selina. But since this was about Nightwing, he had to be patient and let her talk her way into whatever information she was going to lay on him.

-I’ve been… -training a new Robin, not that he could tell her that- busy, lately. He’s picking up the slack while I’m focusing on it -a.k.a helping him both patrol the streets and teach Tim. 

-I noticed the changes, yes, whatever therapy you’re doing is great for you -she encouraged, more honest than he thought her capable of. He could already see her deadpan when she figured out the reason for his change, his ‘therapy’ as she put it, was an eleven year old thrusting himself at this dangerous life of his.

-Hm.

-Well… Anything noteworthy about him lately? Crime Fighting related?

Since she was stressing the words so much, he gave them deep thought.

-He has been on a streak lately. A lot more arrests… What’s your point?

He could almost see the second she internally said ‘fuck it’ and just blurted everything out.

-That’s because his new suit is, and this is coming from me, B, indecent, and every criminal out there is focusing more on his ass than his punches and flips so he’s kicking ass easier.

Bruce kicked his way to the forefront of his mind, the father in him hip checking the vigilante out of the way so he could properly freak out.

What? He knew the suit was a lot more tight than the former one, but he’d been so relieved at it being mostly black he hadn’t given more than a cursory look… and he barely saw the man in it, often training together in workout clothes and coming and going to patrol at different times. He… wasn’t prepared for this.

-Excuse me?

-I’m sorry, someone had to tell you. Normally, I’d be completely on board with a suit change from boring to daring, and you know of my good relationship with leather, but I’ve literally seen that kid grow up. If I have to listen to Harley talking about Nightwing’s ass one more time, Ivy won’t need to worry any more about the Joker killing her, because I will do it myself.

He wanted to thank her for standing up for his son, but he was still busy internally screaming.

-You want to hear Riddle’s last work? While looking directly at N, he asked ‘is buttcheeks one word? Or should I spread them?’. And then he winked. Winked, B. At your eighteen year old kid. You need to get your ass on gear and make sure Nighting changes his. I mean, I’m getting used to it, but you’ve been doing great lately, violent wise, and I’d hate for you to relapse because you heard Zsaasz asking N to tie his ropes tighter and harder.

B… needed to go back to the cave and call N back early. They had to talk.

----.----

When Jason came back, the first thing to break past the ‘holy shit my son is alive’ wall surrounding his brain was just how tall he had grown. How strong, how broad, how big. The little boy he had picked up from the street, underfeed and hurting everywhere, had turned out almost bigger than B himself and twice as brave. The wave of pride he felt was massive, but the feeling was short lived. 

Jason was killing criminals, had even attempted to murder Tim. Even if the father in him could, in his desperation, try and overlook the first bit, the same side couldn’t get past the second. Tim was as much his as Jason, and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it.

The relief of him being back that overflowed from Bruce clashed horribly with Batman’s unbending morals, and the two sides warred for days for control. The attack on his youngest son had been the deciding factor in who finally won; Bruce couldn’t fight the darkness in him when he needed it to help protect Robin from his predecessor, as much as it pained him.

Theirs was a long road, a difficult path to come back together as a family after so many mistakes on both parts (more his than Jason’s, he knew, but admitting so was so hard…), but they had finally, finally came back together. All his children, sitting around the dinning table at the manor, throwing food at each other behind Alfred’s back, Dick failing to give Jason a noogie, Tim succeeding in elbowing his way past both of them to claim first picks over the brownies, Damian rolling his eyes while sneakily drawing in his notebook what B suspected was a portrait of the three of them, Cass and Steph laughing at their antics… His heart felt like it could give out.

Again, his mind was anywhere but in… that. Already used to the dirty looks aimed at Nighting, he focused his anger into strength behind every punch, taking care to kick specially hard when aiming at the criminal’s genitals as light punishment for the lust they aimed at his oldest, but not longer trying to essentially castrate them.

He had the hang of it, and it was just one child. He could do damage control with one, it wasn’t that hard. Stephanie wasn’t really his, just under his protection as a mentor, and even then, she was mostly Barbara’s; Cass could and would take care of anyone who dared look at her in a way she didn’t like, so she was also good. Seventeen year old Tim and thirteen year old Damian were babies, so they wouldn't be an issue for a long, long time.

And then. And then, Steph had opened her mouth.

-Why can’t Tim do this? -she had whined, raising the heels to eye level and studying them with profound distaste- I hate fighting on these. He’s much better than me at that anyway, and he makes a hotter chick than I when he goes full out on his undercover gig.

Red Robin, who was walking past her on his way to the training mats, high fived her.

Barbara’s voice came from the Batcomputer, Oracle’s voice filter not needed while they still were on the Cave.

-Because he and Jason can’t act like a couple for more than two hours before one of them breaks into hives or laughter, and this is an all night long gig. 

-Then why can’t Tim and Dick go? You just need a girl as pretty arm candy distaction, the guy is the one who’s gonna do the work, and Nightwing can take care of a few drug dealers himself.

-While Dick is certainly pretty enough to gain permission to enter this very private party -the man, stretching with Tim, stopped mid motion to give the computer finger guns. Barbara coughed to cover a laugh and kept going-, the goal is for him to be invited into the boss’s personal office, and we can only do that if he’s interested in what he sees. From what Tim gathered for me on his last recon, he favours… Jason’s body types more than Dick’s.

Bruce, who was just getting out of the locker room, suit fully in place except from the cowl, raised an eyebrow at that, stopping to analyze his second oldest. Tilting his head, and still as confused, he asked what would undoubtedly bring him an unhealthy amount of regret in the very near future.

-What does that mean? Jason’s...body type? You mean tall? Dick is also pretty tall.

There was total silence in the cave for a few moments. Dick and Tim got up from their positions, shared a look, and made a run for the showers, claiming they were ready for patrol (they weren’t, not warmed up enough, but he had other things to focus on now). Damian, already fully suited, tutted and dragged the hood of his cape over his face, almost completely covering it. Cass looked on impassively, and Stephanie seemed to be getting a worryingly amount of glee from whatever this was.

Jason himself was… blushing? What?

-Who’s gonna tell him? -finally asked Barbara, amusement breaking her professional facade.

-Oh, me, me! Let me do this!

Apparently still a naive man, he nodded at the blonde, ready for someone to clear this up for him.

He was regaled with a half an hour long rant about biceps, pecs, and thighs that could compete against tree trunks and win. It was supported by apparent citations from different criminals that ranged from appreciative to full on scandalous.

In the end, everyone left the cave, Batgirl with a notorious spring on her step, and Bruce had to stay home instead of going out, needing the night to fully process about his second son, almost twenty one but twelve in his mind’s eye, apparently featuring in multiple Arkham calendars. 

He came out of that realization a scarred man, to say the least.

-----.-----

It was barely a few months after his traumatic chat with Stephanie when it happened again. He’d like to say he was ready for this.

He wasn’t.

When Conner Kent found him, he was completely focused on his WE’s work. For once on the office, with the TV providing some white noise in the background, he was fully prepared for a day catching up. He couldn’t keep letting Tim take over most of the work, the kid deserved to have a normal (or as normal as any of them could achieve) teenage life.

He was of course notified the moment the meta breached the city’s limits, but figured he was here on Titan’s business or hanging out with Tim. The light knock on his office window was a big surprise.

-This is unexpected, Conner. What can I do for you? -he greeted after letting him in- Tim isn’t here today, he’s giving a press conference.

-Yeah, I know. I’m actually here for you. We, the team, heard from Tim you’re making the blueprints for his next suit.

This conversation was already going in a very confusing way. Why did they care about Tim’s gear?

-Yes?

-Well, you need to double check with us before you show anything to him -something akin to indignant surprise must have shown in his face, because the meta quickly raised both hands-. We don’t mean that as you needing our approval, of course you’d know better how to keep a non-meta well protected. We know jackshit about kevlar and armor. But it’s the… style, that has us worried.

He let the anger bleed out of him, replaced with puzzlement.

-What do you mean?

Conner looked down, as if gathering strength, then up and straight into Bruce’s eyes, a feat very few younger heroes could achieve. This was serious.

-Tim isn’t big like Jason, or as… stretchy as Dick, but he has… very, very attractive features. I won’t go into detail with you about how thin his waist is, how shapely his legs or cute his ass. That’s not something I need to say or you to hear.

Yes, it definitely wasn’t. Bruce was having an inkling as to where this was headed, and he didn’t like it. Tim was a baby! Barely eighteen and so damn small!

-But I do need to tell you, his ugly ass suits have been good at keeping that all on the downlow. We made fun of him for them, sure, but never encouraged him to change, because we know what will happen if he does. It would be awful. You think Nightwing and Red Hood have it rough? Tim has Ra’s Al Ghul’s undivided attention and appreciation. If we add attraction to it? Mayhem. Absolute mayhem. We can barely keep him from being kidnapped by older, nasty villains as it is. We don’t need the extra work, sir. I’m begging you on behalf of the team, don’t let him get anything that would look good on him. Like that Untranet suit he told me about, for example. That one would be so bad. Or the Red Robin one with tighter pants and a domino under the cowl so he can take it out and flash the world his luscious hair. 

Bruce fell back into his desk chair. Elbows resting on the table, he buried his face into his hands.

A long silence filled the room.

-You already approved and made one of those, right?

A small, shaky nod.

-...The Ultranet one?

A firm shake. 

-Fuck me. The Red Robin with tighter pants and domino?

Another nod. Conner sat abruptly on the empty chair in the other side of the desk, like a puppet with its strings cut.

-Well, fuck. 

Fuck indeed. 

Bruce despaired.

----.----

This time, he would be ready. He swore it on his honor, on his oath, on his parents.

So when Damian turned sixteen, growth spurt kicking in (he towed over Tim, and it wouldn’t be long until he left Dick in the dust as well), he made a thought but necessary call.

He phoned Talia.

-We need to talk. About Damian, and… sex appeal.

Her shock was evident even through the phone.

-Excuse me? My son is a child. He has no such thing.

He closed his eyes. Once, a long time ago, he’d been just as naive. Now he knew better. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, but she needed to. And quickly. Damian was growing faster than his other children. Time was of essence.

-Let me tell you what I wish I knew years ago, when Dick decided to change his Nightwing suit.

She was probably going to hate him for opening her eyes like this, but Bruce just couldn't do this alone. 

He could deal with Talia’s hate, but criminals lusting after his baby son? Hell no. He might actually go rouge.