#next chapter is the aftermath of this and it's my favorite

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SEVEN

in which you come to a few realizations while remembering the very first night you'd met eddie. a phone call with steve leaves you with more questions than answers.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, heavier angst this chapter but all will be well soon, two uses of y/n, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ word count: 4.4k+

→ a/n: shorter chapter today but the focus here is the memory! finally making some progress haha. also trying out something new with formatting/the summary situation. if i hate it, i'll probably change it. <3 also, italicized portion is a memory.

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◁ previous part, next part▷

7:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: [image attachment]

DINGUS: y/n just texted me this. we’re not getting an update this hour. 

BIRDIE: what the hell happened?

DINGUS: she hasn’t said yet, as you can see in the photo, robs. 

ARGYLE  😎: what do we THINK happened? 

BIRDIE: my best bet is fighting? 

ARGYLE 😎: lover’s quarrel? Makes sense. 

BIRDIE: i’m adding nance back into the chat

BIRDIE added NANCE to the groupchat.

BIRDIE: @NANCE explain what you meant earlier please. we’re having a code red. the bad kind. 

DINGUS: there’s a good kind of code red?

NANCE: Oh God, what happened? 

DINGUS: y/n texted me saying she fucked up, and we’re assuming either she’s finally murdered eddie, or they’re fighting again.

NANCE: I can call Eddie, if you guys want?

JOHNNY: So does this mean we’re all $500 richer?

BIRDIE: @JOHNNY if you still think this is about the money, you’re a fucking idiot

—

HOUR SEVEN - 10:00 PM

There had been a time in your life where you believed you didn’t hold a single mean bone in your body. A time where you were soft-spoken, a time where you overflowed with kindness and dotted out compliments to random strangers. There was once a version of you in this lifetime that worked so fervently to be the type of person people liked and enjoyed the company of. You always swore to always treat others with the same grace as you would prefer to receive as well.

A year ago, that version of you had been sidetracked. 

You stare at the wooden frame of Eddie’s door with blank eyes. He wasn’t going to open it any time soon. You’d tried knocking multiple times, calling out to him in a soft voice, begging and pleading and begging and pleading. His response continued to be silence. 

“All I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

With the haze clearing, in the midst of the aftermath and sour clarity, you wish you would have corrected him. Eddie and you had surely hurt each other countless times, but it is not all he’s ever done. 

You can remember the better moments clearly now. The time you’d tripped walking up the steps of one of the bars on Main Street, and Eddie had been the only person in your friend group to stop completely, reflectively reaching out to catch you from embarrassing yourself. The night of your birthday, in which he hadn’t come to the party due to “work” as Steve had explained, but had sent a card along with your friends that contained a gift card to your favorite coffee shop. You hadn’t even realized he knew your favorite coffee shop, and you’d come to find out that he didn’t even ask a single one of your mutual friends for it. You’d brushed it off as a lucky guess. And there was the time you’d forgotten your wallet during a brunch with the group, and he hadn’t hesitated to pick up your bill with his own. He didn’t even give Robin the chance to argue; he’d simply snatched your bill from across the table when you’d paled as you dug through your bag, and didn’t say a word about you paying him back. 

Small moments. Glimpses of kindness, bandages on wounds that you’d been ignoring to keep up a war between the two of you that you’d always assumed he’d started. 

Eddie Munson wasn’t the enemy, and the first night you two met was never a red herring; it was a glimpse into who he actually was. A clear look past the armor he hadn’t formed yet when it came to you. 

—

A YEAR AGO

“They’re going to love you!” Robin insists as she continues to shove you from behind through the entrance of the bar. Steve is ahead of you, guiding you through the rough crowd to the table the rest of the group had already snagged. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, reaching up and grabbing the hand that Robin rested on you, “You don't know that. What if they hate me? What if they think I’m the worst person they’ve ever met?” 

Even as you wore a smile, there was a truth to the fear in your words. You were petrified that these strangers, strangers who meant so much to your only friends on campus, would turn their noses to you. There was nothing Robin or Steve could do to extinguish the fear. It was already a terrible knot in the pit of your stomach, tying and untying itself like a nuisance as Steve started to wave at a brunette who had been scanning the bar as if waiting for someone. 

She’s pretty. Wavy hair barely brushing her shoulders, sharp features accentuated in the shadows of the busy location. The moment her blue eyes locked on Steve, all the concentration on her face faded to be replaced with an excited smile. 

She returns the wave, and the boys surrounding her at the table all glance in your direction. 

You’re still half-hidden behind Steve as the three of you approach the group. Robin bounds out from behind you, scooping the woman you assumed was the famous Nancy into a barrelling hug. Your eyes flickered to the boy sat to Nancy’s right, shaggy hair flopping against his forehead and smile creases exposed as he nods to Steve and holds up his drink in greeting. Beside him, another man sits, long and shiny hair flowing over an outrageous Hawaiian print shirt and topped off with a baseball cap that looked to be the merchandise of a pizza shop. His smile is welcoming – something comforting in the relaxation of it. 

You’re almost completely captivated by the warmth that bled from the group when Steve and Robin are suddenly taking their seats. Robin sits beside Nancy, while Steve takes the seat across from the man with long hair. 

The only seat left open was between Steve and a man who’s back was turned to you. 

His hair is in a loose bun, unraveling against the nape of his neck.  You could see each and every defined curl. His broad shoulders stiffen beneath a leather jacket and denim vest, and his ring-clad hand cradles a short glass of something dark, something fizzy. 

“Alright, everyone!” Steve announces, turning and beckoning you to take this seat. Your stomach twists again, realizing you’d be sitting beside a stranger. One who had yet to even spare you a glance, “This is Y/N.” 

There’s rounds of greetings and introductions as you brush shoulders with the stranger to take your seat, and try as you might to keep up, all you can focus on is not looking at him. 

You’re guess was correct – the pretty girl that Robin had hugged was Nancy. The boy with floppy hair at her side was Jonathan, and the man with long hair told you his name is Argyle. His tone of casualty matches the comfort of his smile as he holds a hand out to you across the table, both your elbow and his brushing against empty baskets once filled with bar food as you shake. 

Finally, you turn to look at the stranger beside you, Steve reaching around to clasp his shoulder. 

“And mister oh-so-welcoming here is Eddie.” 

Eddie. He finally turns to look at you, with doleful eyes and a tight-lipped grin, and you almost forget how to breathe. 

He was intimidating. All broodish glances and stand-offish energy. But then Argyle cracks a joke, and suddenly, it all fades. The air in the room crackles frantically as you watch him chuckle slowly at first, until he finally descends into cackles with Steve and Jonathan alike. 

That’s when the first vine sprouts. 

The second one does when the conversation becomes overwhelming, and you find yourself lost amongst the sea of new friends. They’re nothing but friendly, trying to learn more about you but easily falling into well-established inside jokes at times. When you descend into silence as you watch them recount a story of a time that Argyle snuck them into his job after hours, you suddenly feel Eddie lean in closer to you.

“I think they tell this story every time they get drunk,” he whispers, tilting his head so that the words only reach your ears, “I’ve probably heard it a hundred times by now.” 

You bite back a smile, “Just tonight, or the entire time you’ve known them?” 

“Both.”

You have to fight hard to swallow down giggles, Eddie hiding his with a sip of his drink. A waiter who had taken your order nearly ten minutes ago arrives with your own drink. An amaretto sour. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says as you taste the drink. Its citrus bursts across your tongue and you nod.

“So Steve mentioned.” 

“Yeah, but I felt bad for not introducing myself,” he shrugs. You were facing him fully now, no longer trying to stick vehemently to Steve’s side. “I didn’t want to seem like a dick, just… had a long week.” 

You knew all about long weeks.

“I get it,” you assure him, “Are you in school, too?” 

“Night classes,” he supplies with a wave of his hand, “Midterms are a bitch, especially after working all day.” 

“Tell me about it. I think I’m about ten seconds away from getting fired at my current gig,” you joke, and Eddie laughs. It occurs to you that you’d probably do just about anything to hear his laugh more, and already begin to conjure up terrible jokes to pull that sound from him once more. It’s even more comforting than Argyle’s friendly cadence, than Steve’s elbow knocking yours to remind you he’s still there.

“Why would you think that?” Eddie’s nose scrunches, more curls falling against his cheek. Your drink is immediately forgotten. 

“He caught me talking shit,” another laugh falls from Eddie’s lips at your deadpan, more reserved than the previous but just as melodic, “I give it a week. He was already looking for a reason to send me to the chopping block. Says I talk too much to customers.” 

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently.” 

For a moment, in the smoky bar, it’s just you and Eddie. All knotting nerves have been replaced by the weight of the vines that surge higher and higher in your chest, growing at impossible rates. They don’t strangle you like your fears of the night had; their weight is a comforting hold, something solid to reach out for in the unfamiliar territory of new socialization. Without the mask of intimidation, Eddie feels like an old friend. 

You assume that everyone else is distracted by their own conversation, but Robin catches the way you lean into him as the two of you joke. She nudges Nancy subtly, and they both share a look when Eddie blushes at you being impressed as he tells you that his battle vest is hand-sewn. 

Your vines are not as hidden as you assume they are, certainly not when the first bud of hopefulness begins to grow. 

“So how long have you known Steve?” you ask him quietly, still under the guise of the two of you having created your own small bubble of a moment. 

Eddie downs the last of his Jack & Coke, something you caught onto by smelling it on his breath when he had gotten particularly close to you during conversation, “Too long. We all met in high school, actually.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” you groan, and your forehead dramatically falls into his shoulder without second-thought. He stiffens beneath the connection, “I’m infiltrating a friend group that’s stood the test of times? I’m doomed.” 

You nearly lift your head from his still stiff shoulder, afraid to make him uncomfortable, when he brings a hesitant hand to pat your back jokingly, “There, there. I think you’re fitting in fine.” 

“Just fine? Ouch,” you finally lift your head as you had planned to, just as Eddie had begun to relax into your touch. His hand doesn’t fall too far from your back, resting on the back of your chair. His shy grin is impossibly charming, “You could have just said I’m crashing and burning, you know?” 

The night carries on like that, you and Eddie lost in private conversations only to be occasionally dragged back in on whatever debate the group is having. It’s a spring reaction; once one or both of you have given your two cents, you return to one another, finding solitude in joking and Eddie updating you on the group’s ‘lore’, as he puts it. Steve shoots several glances in your direction, always prepared to offer comfort in what should be an overwhelming situation, but he never has to. Every time he glances at you, Eddie is already taking the lead of entertaining you, qualming all your anxieties into non-existence. 

Your vines decorate with buds of hope. Every laugh you pull from Eddie, every fleeting touch that passes between the two of you, every new inside joke he decides to make with you rather than indulging in ones set in stone already with old friends - they all whisper of new friendship. They whisper in potential, in new beginnings and coming home after long weeks. 

By the time Nancy announces she has to go to the restroom and invites you and Robin, you’re in full bloom. You’re convinced that Eddie is a friend. And you can see it in his eyes – he’s convinced of it too, looking nervous when you stand and agree to go with Nancy. He looks like a child about to lose their social crutch, and it has potential to be devastating.

It’s almost enough to make you ignore your bladder, but you need to pee, and you need to socialize with more than just Eddie tonight. 

You’re not sure what happens at the table during your trip to the bathroom. But something surely does happen as you giggle with the girls under the humming lights of the restroom, as you all stand in the mirror side by side and fiddle with your hair and makeup and Robin makes a comment about how terribly cliche the moment is. Nancy slaps her on the arm, mutters something about the importance of girls bonding, and when you return to the table, you see it immediately – Eddie’s mask of indifference has returned. 

His cheeks are flushed, and all the boys are sharing nervous glances between one another as you all sit down again. 

There’s no more fleeting touches. You sip on your now watered down drink, and you try and pull Eddie out from wherever he’s ventured in your absence, but it’s no use. A conversation was had while you girls had been in the restroom, and it left Eddie in his head, out of reach. The buds of hopefulness quiver on their vines, and you try to reassure yourself that it’s nothing personal. It’s nothing personal when he clearly holds back any laughs at your jokes you lean into his space to whisper to only him, it’s nothing personal when his arm never rests on the back of your chair again, it’s nothing personal when he won’t meet your eyes the rest of the night. 

It’s nothing personal, but it’s sorely disappointing. 

You end the night, everyone splitting up, Eddie heading off towards his motorcycle. He hadn’t even mentioned driving a motorcycle during the night, and you curse the way you watch him straddle the seat as he secures his helmet over his tied-back hair. You desperately wish to know what was said while you were in the bathroom, what had happened to make him retreat so far from you after spending the entirety of the night tending to the greenery that had grown attached to your ribcage. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Robin teases at your side, bumping shoulders. 

Something aches in you. The thrill of meeting someone new, of getting along, of finding them cute and endearing, is beyond your grasp. 

He didn’t even say goodbye. 

“I did,” you whisper softly. A reverberation of past-tense, an exhale of worry. 

You did. But he didn’t even say goodbye. 

—

Eddie still hasn’t opened the door. But to his defense, you haven’t tried knocking again. 

That ache from that night, the feeling of a delicate rush of possibility taunting you from a distance, still remains. Even amongst now rotted vines, even as petals fall from your hopeful buds. It never really went away. With each group hangout that followed, it echoed louder and louder, demanding to be heard and demanding to be felt as Eddie grew colder. You were an idiot the first few times; you’d still gravitated to him, falling right into his orbit and begging for his attention. You’d still seek him out in every room, craving to find the warmth that had once sparked in his eyes only to find them averted from you entirely. And when you couldn’t take the hint, when you wouldn’t leave him alone when Steve and Robin left you to your own devices at the hangouts, he became mean. 

You took it as a joke at first, but six months ago, something inside of you finally wisened up – it wasn’t a joke. Eddie Munson hated you. Somehow, he hated you, and yet he also swore to protect you. He hated you, and yet he would still pay for you without you asking him to. He hated you, and yet he still remembered your birthday. He hated you, and yet, he still knew your favorite coffee shop. 

He hated you and yet. 

You stand, unable to take your racing thoughts anymore, moving to pound on the door again, “Eddie. Open the door.” 

You’re not asking anymore. 

You don’t care for answers any more. In this moment, you truly believe you could let it all be water under the bridge. Right this second, if you looked into honey brown eyes and goddamn dimples, you’d forgive him. 

“Eddie,” your voice cracks, and you scorn yourself. 

All I ever do is hurt you. 

Even in locking himself away, he’s hurting you. Putting that distance, choosing to not work this out like adults, is hurting you. 

“Can you- I don’t know, at least let me know that… that…” you trail off, huffing in frustration and finally smacking a flat palm against wood, watching the door shake on its hinges from your force, “Just let me know you’re alive, Jesus Christ, Eddie. We still have to take the stupid fucking photo for this hour, and we-” 

Mid-tirade, the door swings open to reveal Eddie. He doesn’t look irritated, he doesn’t look mad. He looks tired. 

The war between you two has weighed heavy on him, too. He doesn’t look like the same person you met a year ago. The battles raged, the fights lost, the victories celebrated through bloody teeth – they all show on the shadows of his face, a clear mirror image to your own. 

“Take the photo,” he says in monotone, hardly leaving the door cracked enough to catch a proper glimpse of him. 

“What?”

“The photo. Take it. For the chat, so you can get your money when it’s all over.” 

You’re stunned for a second. The money hadn’t even crossed your mind; you had just been rambling, hoping to find the right thing to say to get him to unlock the barrier between you two. 

Who the fuck even cares about the money anymore? 

You do. You’re supposed to. And so is he. 

You sigh and pull your phone from your back pocket, and turn your back to him before lifting the camera to capture the two of you. The door creaks open an inch more. 

There’s no fun pose. There’s no smiles. There’s nothing. It’s even more lifeless than the first photo taken. You can’t stand to look at it longer than necessary as you send it off to the group. 

Just as you turn around to face him again, to try and talk to him, the door shuts again. You can hear the soft click of a lock. The ache is heard, the ache is felt, as you refuse to look back at the wood that still separates you physically, at the emotions that separate you mentally.

You don’t really know why you do it. But you walk out to the living room, deciding against sitting outside the door any longer and continuing to make yourself miserable. Your feet carry you straight to the sliding door of his balcony, and you press outside into the cooler night air, shutting the door behind you. 

What happened when I was in the bathroom that night? 

The thought haunts you, a new ghost that had been lingering and gathering dust since that night. You never asked anyone, certainly not Eddie, and refuse to overthink it until now. But after tonight, after practically reliving your first encounter with Eddie all over again, the deja vu and the curiosity are winning over. 

You dial Steve’s number.

“Hell-”

“Why do me and Eddie hate each other?” you blurt out, cutting off Steve’s greeting. 

“I- What?” Steve’s confused, understandably so, “How should I know? I don’t keep a list of every time you rant about him to me.” 

“What about him?”

“Okay, you know I love you, but I’m not a mind-read-”

“What about a list of every time he rants about me?” 

Silence buzzes through the line, and you glance up at the night sky. It’s a cloudy black. The city pollution hides most of the stars, and from Eddie’s balcony, you can’t locate the moon. 

“I also don’t have one of those.” 

“Why not? Because, Jesus Christ, Harrington, I have questions-”

“Because he doesn’t rant about you. Especially not to me, but Nancy says he never talks about you usually either,” Steve explains in an even tone, still not sure how his answer should be helping you. You are the one, afterall, with Eddie right now. 

Even if he is locked away in his room right now, refusing to speak to you. 

“That makes no sense,” you sigh, exasperation creeping its way into your bones, “I rant about him all the time. I’ve bitched to you and Robin more times than I can count about him. He should be doing the same.” 

Steve says your name softly, “Why are you asking me this?” 

You laugh humorlessly and shake your head, even knowing Steve can’t see you, “It’s stupid. Forget it,” It’s not stupid to you, and you can’t forget it, but this doesn’t concern Steve, “Can I ask you one last question, though?”

“Shoot, babydoll,” you can’t help but grin at that nickname. Steve pulls it out at random, every time he’s trying to make you feel bad. He knows that neither of you can take it seriously. 

“Um, that night you introduced me to everyone,” you begin, stepping up to wrap your free hand around the iron railing of Eddie’s balcony, letting the cold seep into your palm, “At the bar, you know?” 

“Right…” he encourages, “What about it?” 

“Me and Eddie got along,” you spit it out, letting it tear from your chest and score your throat on its way out, “We… we were getting along at first, and then I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he…. He…” 

He was gone. The Eddie I’d first met had vanished. Where’d he go? Why’d he go? 

“Shit, your memory is way better than mine,” Steve chuckles, sounding nervous, “But, I mean, I kind of remember that. You two getting along, at least. Guess that’s why we all were really confused when you started hating each other. But I’m still not understanding the question - are you asking if I remember the night? Or if he’s ever talked about it? I was a jock, you’re gonna have to spell it out for my pea brain.” 

“Stop insinuating you’re stupid,” you scold on instinct, scowl settling along your features as you lean onto the railing and glance down. It’s only two stories, but the ground feels impossibly far as you ask, “What happened when all us girls went to the bathroom? When we came back, he acted differently. Did he mention hating me that night? Did I leave a bad first impression? Was it all just a joke to hi-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. One question, remember?” you’re sure Steve can hear the panting in your breath over the line, the way your chest heaves in the memory, “I’ve gotta be honest - I don’t remember. I know that’s probably not the answer you’re looking for, and I don’t know what’s going on with you two right now, but I was already well on my way to drunk. I think Jonathan and Argyle poked some fun at Eddie, maybe teased him about something, but I really can’t recall what it was about. Maybe his hair? Who knows?” 

The answer isn’t helpful. It’s only more confusing, more hurtful. 

He stopped joking with you because someone made fun of his hair? You lost access to the warmth buried beneath his surface because his friends teased him? 

“Okay,” you sound defeated. You feel defeated – defeated by the weight of still feeling like an outsider, defeated by the barrier of some measly wooden door, defeated by the hurt in Eddie’s eyes as you admitted that he only ever hurts you, “Okay, thanks, Steve.” 

You hang up before either of you say goodbye. When you pull your phone down from your cheek and ear, you see your phone still open to the photo of Eddie and you that you’d sent to the group. 

You were wrong. There wasn’t only nothing. Your face may have been void of all emotions, but now looking at it, you can see Eddie’s isn’t. 

He’s looking at you and not the camera during the shot, face crestfallen, eyes nearly teary as the corners of his mouth tucked downward. 

He’s looking at you with regret, with sadness. He’s looking at you as if he can see the vines he’d planted in you, all rotted and dusting away, and he’s mourning them just as you had. 

It’s bullshit, or your imagination, or your innate need for Eddie to bleed the same way as you have over your entire situation with each other. You lock your phone and don’t bother to look at the photo again as you enter the living room, as you toss your phone onto the loveseat, as you curl up on the couch and don’t even bother to go to ask for a pillow or blanket. He probably wouldn’t answer the door, anyway. 

You don’t say goodnight to Eddie, just as he never said goodbye to you the first night, and wonder if he notices the absence of your salutation.

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[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Summary: Overnight, every single yeerk on Planet Earth suddenly dies. The Animorphs, and the former yeerk hosts, try to figure out what to do next in the aftermath of the war's abrupt end. AU that picks up between #19: The Departure and #20: The Discovery.

Cleaning up/building out my biggest AU and posting it as its own fic, because it's already 4 parts long and there's a 5th in the works. If you're the nonny who originally suggested "All the yeerks suddenly die" then drop me a line, because I'd love to credit/thank you for my favorite AU idea so far.

[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 04. ECHOES OF MADNESS

a/n: for some unknown reason, this man has decided to invade my thoughts again. between watching the batman again with @soulores and just fall making me long for this man again, this was bound to happen. i've been working on this chapter for months now, having started it well into april. but i'm actually feeling good about continuing. i've created a graphic for this story which i will add at the end of this chapter. hopefully this inspo sticks around for a bit because i'm excited for what's to come.

summary: funerals were a rarity in gotham, yet there you were at the most notable event of the year. few could truly get in...yet everyone was invited.

word count: 6.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, violence, blood, angst, rescue mission, canon compliant sorta, danger, tensions running high, bruce doesn't know how to interact socially, our favorite reporter is an idiot when it comes to safety.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Death seemed to shape the city of Gotham as the currents of a river would a stone. Wherever you looked, in every alleyway and around each street corner there was the stench of it. The way it seeped up from the cracked asphalt, spilled into the gutters, and leaked into the sewer lines. Tainting what good might have remained.

You couldn't remember the last time you attended a funeral. Yet people still kept dying. The call came early in the morning; Henry informing you—with a hoarse whisper of someone suffering a hangover—that you were to attend the biggest event in Gotham. Few could truly get in, yet everyone was invited.

The irony of the situation lingered like shitty burnt coffee on the back of your tongue.

From what Bruce Wayne told you briefly in his short but right to the point interview, this city once aspired to be something great. A beacon of hope for all those who needed it. But the only hint of that you could see echoed in the symbol that hung in the sky. You watched last night, a glass of wine in front of you and a scowl painted across your face, as dawn began to rise and the signal flicked off. Bringing another night of petty crime to a close.

Of course, you believed in what The Bat was doing; what he stood for. A call of vengeance to any piece of shit who tried to go against him. But at the end of the day you still witnessed the disaster that was left behind. The tarnished cold aftermath of all that he could not save.

The madness that stirred beneath the surface.

The click of your boots on the damp pavement was drowned out by the nonsensical chatter of the crowd. Reporters, photographers, anyone to capture this moment were corralled like cattle behind varying gates of different sizes. You almost wished you had a camera to solidify this moment in Gotham's history books. There you were, standing on the steps of a cathedral, a funeral for the mayor about to occur, and all people wanted was to see who attended. Who was on his personal friends list.

The bile slid up the back of your throat, burning your esophagus on the way. There had to be some irony to this situation. Some dark humor yet to be exposed. Maybe if you dug far enough...you'd find it.

"Daywalker!" You jumped at the nickname, your body on edge after the past two nights reporting. Flicking your gaze to the side, you caught sight of Martinez waving at you with a grin plastered across his face.

He took your grin as an invitation to join you on the steps.

"Quite an event huh."

Tugging your coat closer, you did what you could to wash away the chill of the morning air. "Anyone who's anyone is here."

He chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Who'd have thought they all knew the mayor."

"I guess he had friends in low places," you muttered, the wry smile on your face seemed to be all you could muster at this point.

The idea of the mayor being involved with Gotham's crime bosses didn't surprise you. In fact you probably would have been shocked if they didn't turn up. Dressed to the nines, dripping in jewels, and wearing grief as if it were stripped right off the runway.

Citizens lined the streets, their heads bowed in respect and in your mind's eye, they were the embodiment of a Baroque painting. Except they weren't worshiping the mayor as king. No, their eyes were cast to the cars that just pulled up. Mouths gaping in awe as none other than Carmine Falcone stepped out of his car, suit pressed and glasses hiding the truth.

You almost wanted to laugh.

A sleek black car pulled up to the line of cars, the rumble of the engine familiar to your ears. You turned, the collar of your coat blocking half your face against the cold air. Only to meet the gaze of Gotham's very own Prince. Bruce Wayne was dressed in a perfectly pressed suit with not a single hair out of place. Yet you could see the way he hid beneath the facade of wealth, how his eyes refused to meet anyone else's other than yours. His lips curled into a small hint of a smile, but people were starting to block you from sight, pulling his attention away to something far more important.

"I've got to help Gordon inside," Martinez said, pressing a soft hand to your arm. "Let's get out of the cold, yeah?"

Nodding, you climbed the remainder of the steps and followed him into the cathedral. The high ceilings casted shadows amongst them of people on the balcony level. Gotham's very own ghosts attending the funeral of a man who promised to save them. The architecture reminded you of prisons, of cells built specifically to drive men insane.

Maybe that was the point of Gotham to begin with.

To drive the people within it mad.

"Miss Day," Gordon greeted you with a gruff murmur, the exhaustion painted clear across his face.

As usual the detective who had The Bat in his pocket refused to find time to sleep. Especially on days like today.

"Detective." You glanced up, eyes tracing the silhouettes of Gotham's people as they gathered to the edge. Hungry for what might happen next—for the demise of those in power. "Busy day?"

He scoffed. "You got no idea."

"Trust me. I think I do," you murmured.

"Where's the big guy?"

Your eyes caught his briefly. "Henry Goldfinch doesn't attend the funerals of men he didn't believe in."

For the first time that morning, Gordon cracked a smile. "Harsh review."

You shrugged. "Or honest."

"Henry isn't one to make brash statements unless he knows something." Gordon's eyes narrowed slightly and suddenly you felt like you were the one being interviewed. "Does he know something?"

The familiar figure of a man you couldn't seem to dispel from your mind creeped past slowly, his head bowed and eyes cast to the floor. Yet he seemed to grow in height as he heard your voice. Even completely lost within his own mind, Bruce Wayne still searched for you wherever he went. How he managed to get under your skin alluded you. But the same could surprisingly be said for him as well.

"If he knew something he wouldn't tell me." You shifted the second Bruce's head rose, blue eyes fixing directly on you. "But you can't honestly stand there and tell me The Riddler or whatever the fuck he calls himself didn't target our mayor for a reason."

"You think the mayor was dirty?"

You scoffed. "I'm not saying that, but given the audience that's accrued in this building today...it wouldn't surprise me if he was."

"Day–" Gordon's words were cut off as Martinez loudly greeted someone behind you.

"Detective."

You were nearly ashamed of yourself at how quickly you recognized his raspy voice. The time you spent in the diner together played on a loop in the back of your mind. Admitting it weighed on your heart, but denying the truth felt inconceivable.

For that small amount of time as rain pelted the windows and music played softly in the background, you felt like a person again. Not a reporter sent out into the fray of Gotham, but you. The person buried beneath the trench coat you wore; the person who only seemed to come out on days when the sun shone over this dark city.

"Mr. Wayne." Gordon's eyes widened slightly, disbelief smeared across his face. It seemed the funeral dragged out even the most reclusive of souls. "I didn't expect..."

"Could I steal Miss. Day from you for a moment?" Even you could tell he was fighting against the uncomfortable nature of being out in public.

The thought nearly made you smile.

"Of course."

Gordon's attention was called away as Bruce's hand brushed your arm. You wondered if you were in a private setting, would he act differently? Would he touch you? Lead you himself? Or would he remain detached?

"I saw you arrive," you said, clasping your hands together and glancing at the throng of people that meandered through the doors. "Sorry I didn't say hello."

His mouth curled, eyes lighter than you'd seen them. If you squinted you might have seen the small glint of delight hidden in the blue of his iris. He hid the sight of joy well—a secret you weren't allowed to view yet. But for a split second...his mask slipped. You caught what might have been the Bruce Wayne of the past; the man that could still exist to this day.

"Quite an event to run into each other again."

You bit on the inside of your cheek to stop your grin. Flirting at a funeral reeked of inappropriate behavior. And yet you couldn't find it in your heart to care much, given the audience.

"And here I thought I'd have to pry you out of your tower to see you again," you joked, wishing he might gift you another small glimpse of that smile you knew existed.

His head ducked, lips pulling up, and your heart effectively stopped. "Am I that difficult?"

"Oh no," you said, breathing out a laugh. "Difficult is too generous. Now arduous or laborious or onerous–" He laughed, his eyes crinkling and oh how you longed to kiss him, to taste him on your tongue. "Those are a better fit in your case."

"Noted." He stepped closer as people shifted behind him, squeezing through the crowd for a seat. "Some days I'm more shadow than man. I'll make sure to be more available to you."

There were no rules or regulations about dating someone you'd interviewed. Henry seemed all for it—Alfred even more so—but you felt the nausea begin to eat at your stomach. The wariness of something to come. The truth wasn't out yet about all of this, why the mayor was killed, and until you felt comfortable again in Gotham...you weren't sure you wanted to start something with Bruce Wayne.

A relationship with him would bring you into the spotlight.

For a reporter, that was dangerous enough. For the ones you loved...it was lethal.

"Bruce...I–"

His eyes went blank, body moving away as he caught the conflict that flashed across your face. You didn't want him to get hurt. Refused to be the reason that the Wayne family no longer had someone to carry the name forward. Perhaps that's why you cut off your feelings and stowed them away in your heart. Or maybe you were simply terrified of someone finally knowing you.

After all...it had been awhile.

You longed to say all of this and more out loud, but whether or not he'd listen was a different story entirely.

"Were you at the scene?"

His question caught you off guard. "What? Oh...um...yes. I was."

He nodded. "Are you okay?"

If you had to count on one hand how many times Bruce Wayne left you speechless, floundering for coherent words, you'd run out of fingers. Rather than seek information and dig out every detail from your mind as others already had. He wanted to know if what you saw, the horror that still stuck to your skin, left scars of their own.

He wanted to make sure every part of you remained safe. Not simply your ability to do your job.

"Yes," you breathed, the rip in your chest—that inconsolable ache—suddenly too much to bear. "Thank you."

The conversation came to a natural conclusion when the procession began, the soft tinkle of a piano echoing off the stone walls. His lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue, but the sound of his name caused him to stiffen. Within seconds you watched the man you'd come to know vanish. Until the recluse Gotham recognized resurfaced.

"It was nice to see you," you said softly with a smile, leaving him to speak with others as you sought your standing place beside Martinez.

People diverted their attention as Falcone stepped into the building, his aura enough to fill the cathedral with fear and the distant tang of blood. You wondered if he ever felt it on his skin. The phantom warmth of someone else's life slipping through his fingers. Did the ghosts of his past haunt him as they did others? Or was he immune to their effect?

A villain with the eyes of a friend.

"Gordon would love to put that asshole behind bars," Martinez muttered, leaning on the wall beside you. "Walks in here like he owns the fuckin' place."

You sighed, unable to ignore the way Gordon glared at the man from across the room. The promise of death—or a fate worse—alight in his eyes.

Months ago, when rumors about Falcone began to spill into the Gazette's back doors, you attempted to write a story. To put a face of truth to the man pulling all the strings. Before you could even blink, Henry killed it with ease. Practically burning your files right in front of you and barring you from returning for a whole week. 

You never understood what power Carmine Falcone held over people before that day. Only when you saw true fear in Henry's eyes at the thought of reporting your death, did you finally grasp the scope of this man's hold.

The reality of Gotham's darkness.

"Maybe he does," you mused, sipping on the coffee he brought you. "Maybe he owns every person in this room. We just don't know it yet."

"Wouldn't that be something," Martinez scoffed, tucking a hand into his front pocket. "Definitely somethin' to make the front page."

You grinned although no ounce of humor could be found in your otherwise solemn facade. The mayor was dirty. Everyone within a five foot radius could see that with a clarity that rarely befell a gloomy Gotham. But saying it out loud felt as if you were partaking in a misdeed that would get you burnt at the stake; no doubt turning you into the first killed witch in this damn city.

Of course news like that would make the front page. It would be slapped on every newspaper and magazine that was published only to seep through the streets and find the path to other cities beyond the outskirts. The blood of Gotham wouldn't merely affect the people here. It would lead to catastrophic downfalls in places you'd never been to, spots that would take this as a lesson to learn from—to do what this city could not.

You lost yourself in the chatter. The monotonous conversations of people attempting to pry at the personal life of a man no one truly knew. Although if you were the one being asked you wouldn't say that exactly.

There was only one man in this cathedral who truly knew the mayor and he was currently being regarded as the King of Gotham.

Disgust simmered low in your belly, mixing brutally with the tepid coffee you still sipped at. Carmine Falcone always knew when to stick his hand in something that might bring him power. Fucking with the mayor was a one way ticket into an office of some prestige.

Not even you would put it past him.

The choir began to sing while the remainder of the crowd shuffled inside, swarming their way to what chairs still remained. You leaned against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles and eyes tracking every slight movement over the rim of your cup. Martinez chatted with a cop to his right, giving you the space he so obviously thought you needed. Maybe he believed you were actually mourning the man in the coffin. The savior of Gotham.

You didn't have the heart to tell you were stuck in a long line of people waiting to speak their truth about who that man really was.

An alto reached a pitch that grated on your ears. The cold air from outside brushing across your face and stinging your nose. This would be a long procession. You could tell from the way people never quite sat down—ambling between rows of chairs, each of them clamoring to talk to the next. You spotted Bruce stuck in a conversation of his own, head ducked and back stiff. It wouldn't take a genius to figure that he loathed being out in the open—a feral animal who continuously looked to see if someone was attempting to back him into a corner.

One day he might snap, bite the hand of Gotham for the shitty circumstances it gave him.

For now he seemed desperate to slip away and hide in the shadows just as you were doing.

The echo of music came to an abrupt halt, people stopping instantaneously as a roar sounded from outside. You heard the screams before you saw the car. The piercing wail of someone getting hurt, of others running for their lives. Your coffee tumbled out of your hands, splattering to the ground as someone shoved past you in an attempt to get to the front of the cathedral.

The situation at hand isn't what surprised you; it was the horror on their face at the thought they might die.

How strange that you chose to fixate on something so minimal when you should have feared for your own safety too.

"Day!" Martinez shouted, his arms wrapping around your waist and body pinning you to the wall when the other shoe finally dropped.

The car breached the entrance like a bullet being fired from a pistol. With enough speed to kill those close by with a swift and executing blow. People screamed while they ran. Some heading for the entrance, others cowering in fear along the wall. You tried to suck in a breath, but the impact of too many people crowded around became a punch to your lungs with each movement.

You never thought you were claustrophobic, but suddenly you began to consider the prospect as Martinez mumbled into your shoulder asking if you were okay. His hands pressed flat to the wall to keep the others from crushing you.

"We gotta get everyone out of here," he muttered under his breath.

You sucked in a breath despite the weight. "Where's Gordon?"

"By the front."

"Get over there. I'm fine here."

Another shove and your head rammed into the stone wall, splitting pain cresting over your right eye as you clamped down hard on the inside of your cheek to stifle the groan. That would come to bite you in the ass later—destroying any sense of calm you could harbor in your body. But at this very moment worrying about a small injury was the least of your worries.

"Are you sure?" The hesitation practically bled into his voice. Which only served to piss you off despite his courteous manners of sticking close to keep you safe.

"Go," you snapped.

Through the bustle of people clamoring to get out, you made a choice. One that placed your date of death higher up on a list than you might have liked. Sliding along the wall, you crept towards the barred staircase—the balcony cleared of anyone that crammed their way in to watch the funeral procession. Gordon's voice echoed above the disarray, directing the flow of panic as you sunk into the shadows bathed along the far right side.

No one would bother to check for civilians up here. Not after everyone sprinted for the exit; safety the only thing on their minds. Your boots were silent against the stone staircase, body hunched to avoid detection from the mountain of cops spilling in through the front. A man stood by the car door, hands raised and mouth taped over to muffle the sounds of his cries for help.

"Shit," you breathed, chancing a quick moment to lean over the railing. "That's the fucking D.A."

"Everyone out!" Gordon shouted.

He was the last one through the doors. You fished the black notebook out of your pocket and scribbled down two words.

D.A.

Corrupt

The two most notable suspects in a case gone wrong stared you directly in the face. The Riddler. The man who orchestrated this entire affair was finally making his presence known to the people of this disfigured city. Whoever hid behind that mask seemed desperate enough to string along as many corrupt men as possible. Which only made your suspicions grow—the list of people you often figured were too clean, too good, now falling to the forefront of your mind.

He wanted to unearth the truth.

He wanted to bring Gotham to its knees.

You ducked into a corner of the balcony, pen scratching along the page in a stream of consciousness that you'd later dissect for the paper. Henry would demand every finite detail you were able to collect. Which made staying up here your top priority.

A familiar thump resounded in the cathedral, bouncing off stone walls and filling the large vacant space. He walked in with purpose, bleeding a tremor of dominance in the still air that rumbled at the base of your chest. You shrunk against the small pillars, eyes trained on the figure in black as he moved towards the D.A. unafraid of the contraption strapped to the man's chest.

Even you had to hand it to The Bat. He clearly didn't fear what consequences might one day befall his own being.

He wasn't scared of the one thing all humankind shared amongst themselves. Death.

The shrill ring of a phone forced terror to claw up your throat. Whatever breath existed in your lungs vanished within a second. The Bat held himself in his usual tall stature of resilience. A man who looked like he could take the blast from whatever explosion The Riddler set out for him. That didn't stop the fear from nearly crippling whatever bravery you managed to cling to.

He could die today.

You didn't want to be the only one to witness this loss.

Their voices rang in the air, riddles spewing from the phone with a rancid air of madness you tasted at the back of your throat. And you wrote down each one. You put pen to the page and let the ink bleed the truth—your job taking precedence over your life. The people of this city had to know what happened, they deserved this much given the hell they fought through day and night.

"He's asking how much it costs for you to turn your back."

The pen nearly slipped from your hand at the gruff echo of his voice spilling what everyone wanted to know. Your head shot up, attention solely focused on what might very well be the biggest story The Gotham Gazette would ever see slapped across their front page.

"Ten G's a month. Ten grand. That's my answer."

You sucked in a shaky breath, fingers clutching the pen tight enough for pain to flare up your wrist.

"Please...tell us which vermin you're paid to protect."

"Holy shit," you whispered, sweat prickling along the back of your neck.

"The rat. The informant you're all protecting from the Salvatore Maroni case," The Bat urged, his voice thick with urgency. "What's his name?"

"No."

You scrambled to your feet, The Riddler's voice counting the seconds down in glee as The Batman did what he could to save a corrupt man's life. Your chest heaved with each breath, silence flooding the space until you had to lean over the railing just to hear their voices above your own heart beat.

"You're talking to a dead man," he whispered, eyes wide with a terror you'd never seen before.

"What's the name?"

He shook his head, trembling where he stood. "It's so much bigger than you could imagine. It's the whole system."

Your pen barely scratched the surface of the crinkled paper before the time ran out. The blast ricocheted off the walls, slamming into you with a force that crushed everything inside to the very back of your body. You cried out as it flung you into the wall with a loud crack, your skull hitting stone. Pain filled every sense, a faint high pitched ring overwhelmed whatever you could hear and suddenly you were back on that street as your blood stained the sidewalk.

Gasping wetly for a steady breath, you felt warmth trickle down your forehead, spilling onto the cold skin of your cheek. You reached for it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Only for your vision to blur—the steady beat of your heart now pounding heavily within your chest.

"No," you breathed, rolling onto your back. "Not again."

Everything else cut out—each means of escape vanishing within a moment—and suddenly...the world went dark.

"You could have at least pulled that punch, man." The squeak of the elevator broke through the smoggy air atop the building as Gordon stepped out with a wince.

"I did."

"Bock put out an APB on you." Gordon sighed, his brows furrowed and his patience wore thin. "You really think he's in on this?"

"I don't trust any of 'em. Do you?"

Gordon shook his head subtly. "I only trust you."

The information was strewn about, traded in hoarse whispers as the city lights flickered on, night taking over Gotham once more. Pain lingered in his chest from the explosion but he could ignore it for the time being. This remained the most important thing in his life. The vital piece of a puzzle that slowly unfurled before his very eyes—reasons why The Riddler felt it necessary to target certain corrupt men.

"You got hit by the blast dead on. I don't know how you're still standing," Gordon stated plainly, his eyes flickering to the center of the plated armor on his chest—the symbol of a bat staring back.

"I'll live."

He nodded. "We felt it from outside. Had people dropping to the floor from the echoes."

Something burrowed its way to the front of his mind, trickling down into fear receptors that rarely triggered the longer he remained in his position. The people there were put in danger. They were hurt by what game The Riddler chose to play. But that's not what concerned him the most.

You were there amidst the crowd, lost to a sea of madness the second that car broke through the front gates.

"There's a reporter," he said, voice catching on the back of his throat. "Goes by Daywalker."

Gordon hummed. "Yeah I saw her there. One of the only good ones in the city if I'm honest."

"Did she make it out?"

The pause of silence gripped his heart in a way he didn't like. It filled his stomach with bile, sent it careening up his throat, and suddenly he was a child again in that alleyway. His eyes fixed on the only two people who were placed on this Earth to love him. To give him a life of joy and days overflowing with laughter. Not a bitter heartache that clung to the inside of his chest—digging claws into soft tissue simply to watch him bleed.

Gordon mulled over the question, racking his mind for the answer. "I didn't see her in the crowd." Was all he could come up with.

"You know anyone who can contact her?"

"She an informant?" When he was faced with a wall of hollow air, he dug for the phone in his jacket pocket, slamming down the number of the only man in Gotham who could locate a reporter. "Henry. Need a lead on one of your reporters. Goes by Daywalker."

A mumble of information filtered through the phone's speaker, barely loud enough for him to hear through the mask, but one word caught his attention like lightning cracking across the night sky. Missing. You were gone. Unheard of. His teeth clenched, fingers curling into fists as the patter of his heart quickened the longer he stood there unable to help.

"Thanks." Gordon pocketed his phone, rubbing a hand across his face. "No one's heard from her. Henry called it into the station, but they've pushed it off for now."

"What about Martinez?" He recalled the bitterness that soured his stomach at the sight of your smile given to someone who could offer you a sense of normalcy. "They seem friendly."

"He's been with me since the attack."

Prying the memories from his mind, he tried to place where he'd last seen you. Only to come up with an image of you leaning against the wall—a coffee in your hand and a frown painted across your lips. The wall...closest to the staircase. No other person would have made that choice—put themselves in that kind of danger. But the best reporter in Gotham wouldn't hesitate—they'd barely give themselves time to mull over the consequences.

"She never left," he muttered.

"What?"

He was striding towards the elevator before a response could leave his mouth. Gordon trailed after him, yanking the keys out of his coat with an urgency that nearly dropped them to the floor. You were still trapped within the walls of that cathedral, but that's not what made a cold chill curl at the base of his spine. Wherever you were remained within the blast radius of that explosion.

Which meant you were hurt.

The car roared to life with an anger that blasted in the night air. He slammed on the gas, swerving onto the street as Gordon drove behind—their urgency bleeding into every action. The state you were in is what gnawed at him the most.

The balcony wasn't far enough away, but he would have seen you standing there when he entered the building. He would have known you were there by your presence alone, even if his eyes were unable to pinpoint where exactly that happened to be.

He sucked in a breath, stopping in the alleyway beside the cathedral, before rushing towards the side entrance. The acrid scent of burnt flesh still permeated the air when he swung open the door. It slammed into his chest like before, marring his otherwise cool exterior. Anger seared up his chest, forcing itself to be known as he took the stairs two at a time.

Only to see a limp figure curled in on itself by the wall—a pool of dried crimson beneath them.

"No," he breathed, dropping to his knees. "C'mon. Wake up."

Your face was coated in a thick layer of dried blood, matting down your hair against your forehead. The shallow rise and fall of your chest gave him an indication on how long you'd been up here. Several hours without help. Hours spent alone floating between the states of conscious and unconscious. Your body had gone into shock long before he woke up in the police station, the injuries sustained far too much for your system to handle.

"Day," he muttered, cupping your face with a gloved hand. "Day wake up. Don't do this to me."

A weak gasp slipped past your chapped lips—eyes weakly fluttering against tear stained cheeks. "V-Vengeance?"

"Gordon!" Lifting you to his chest, he rose on his knees. "I'm here. I've got you."

"He's dead," you coughed, fingers scrambling to clutch onto his cape. "T-The D.A. he's–"

"I know."

"Victim," you mumbled, eyes rolling back as he got you to the stairs.

Knocking his forehead on yours softly, he dragged in another harsh breath. "Wake up. You hear me Day? Stay awake."

"F-Falcone–" A cough rattled your chest, body shivering at the harsh physical exertion. He clutched you tighter, hand gripping the back of your neck to raise your head. "Thomas...Wayne."

He froze, boots nearly tripping on the last step. "What did you say?"

The dead weight against his arms was all you offered in response. The fatigue and blood loss finally taking its toll on a body that had endured far too much—the explosion ripping everything from you. He held you close enough to feel the beat of your heart through your back, the soft breaths you managed became a warm wash of air along his chin. If this were a different time, if he was Bruce instead of The Bat he might have chanced an embrace like this.

But that amount of luck would never remain in the cards for a man like himself.

He'd forever be the savior, the man this city needed. Never the man you wanted.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he stated, laying you in the backseat of Gordon's car with a gentleness that startled him to his very core. "Trauma to the head from the blast."

"I'll get her to the hospital."

He chanced one last look at your peaceful face—fingers trailing lightly along your chin before retreating with a sigh. "Ask for Elain."

"And you?"

"The Penguin," he replied calmly. "We need to have a talk."

Chaos erupted in the hallway of the hospital, shouts heard left and right as two men were dragged out by security, their voices loud enough to rouse you from an excruciating sleep. Jolting in the shitty bed, you felt the prick of needles against the juncture of your forearm, a cold wash of liquid spreading up into your veins. The light pierced your eyes, blinding you for a moment as you came to with a searing headache.

A soft monotonous beep echoed beside you monitoring your heart rate—the hills and bumps of your life mapped out for you to see on a screen for the first time. You hated the hospital. Loathed the antiseptic smell that burned your nose, struggled to maintain a grasp on what the fuck happened to land you here.

And only when you fought to sit up—a pained shout wrenching from your chest—did it all come rushing back to you. The explosion. The D.A. The Ridder's whole reason for striking the way he did. He wanted to know about the rat, the man who every higher up in Gotham vowed to protect with their lives. You just never thought you would be included in that list—yet another victim to the grief that plagued this godforsaken city.

"You're awake." The door shut with a soft thud, Elain clicking her pen as she flipped through the keyboard at the end of the bed. "You suffered a blow to the head. Concussion. A detective brought you in, told me a mutual friend found you in the cathedral."

"Elain–" Your voice cracked in the small attempt of words, but her fury clamped your jaw shut instantly.

"Are you fucking insane? Or are you simply trying to die?" She huffed, setting the board back in its rightful spot. "I patch you up in your apartment while your shadow glares at me the whole time. But this? Found at the very scene where the D.A. just got blown to pieces. What the fuck Day?"

"I know–"

She sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No you don't know. I've got people here who would love to know why you're here. People who don't work for Gotham P.D."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"I'm not about to attend a funeral for you Day. That can't happen."

Shame hung heavy atop your shoulders. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have stayed."

"Yeah. You did a whole lot more than that." Settling in the chair propped beside your bed, she clasped her hands together tight enough to turn her knuckles white. "There were witnesses when that detective brought you in. People who are now walking the halls outside this room because of it."

"They don't know anything."

"And if they do?"

You sucked in a shaky breath. "He wouldn't let that happen."

Her eyes sunk into the depths of your soul, prying out what you weren't telling her—what you kept close to your chest. "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing–"

She grinned, lifeless and full of mirth—her eyes echoing with a dull exhaustion that came with working long hours in a ruthless city. "He cares about you Day."

"He doesn't care–"

"Yes. He does." Rising to her feet, she dug out your phone. "He wouldn't have searched for you if he didn't care."

The brightness of your screen burned your still bleary eyes—the notifications rolling in as the power started back up. Elain mumbled about grabbing food in the cafeteria, her body hunched forward when she left—head ducked to avoid the sight of whoever paced the halls. You couldn't stay here long if that was the case. Especially given the notes housed in your small notebook tucked into your hospital gown.

A message from Gordon caught your attention, the words short and simple. Yet filled with enough to send a flutter through your chest.

Hope you're okay. With your guy. Will be in touch soon.

–Gordon

You glanced at the message beneath it. A myriad of questions from Henry asking if you were at the funeral, if you caught any good interviews, if you were alive. You swallowed thickly at the last one—fingers clenching around your phone as the words blurred in front of you.

BRUCE WAYNE: OUT OF THE SHADOWS is a front page story set for publication in two days. Congrats kid.

–Henry Goldfinch

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - V

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

5.  fight the good fight

When you wake again you are bouncing, bent in half slung over a man’s shoulder; the vampire hunter’s. You can tell from the intoxicating scent of his cologne, his sweat, his blood–him. It’s like catnip to you, and for a moment you just want to go back to sleep, and let him take you wherever he’s taking you. 

That’s a very bad idea, of course, and good on you for recognizing it through the haze of bloodloss and whatever other hold he has over you. You still do not understand what he is, or why he has such power over you. 

From what little you can see, it seems like you’re in a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance–the aftermath of the massacre in the club, you presume. He has got you far away. How long have you been out?

You struggle again, managing to worm free and get down, before the vampire hunter pins you against the wall of the building. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grouses, annoyed. He seems in much better shape than before, having stolen your blood. You, on the other hand, feel so weak you can barely stand. 

“Let go. Please let me go.” 

You must sound so pathetic that even this brutal killer softens for you. His grip changes slightly, holding you up against the wall by your waist. You have no delusions, however, that that can change in an instant. Yet…he’s looking at you with those sad dark eyes, like a man drowning. Even with the splatter of blood across his face and the crust of it dried in his long dark hair–he’s so handsome it hurts, and your fingers clench in his jacket, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, vampling. I saved you.” 

“You…ate me!” 

There is a tick at the corner of his well-formed mouth, betraying his amusement. 

“I took too much. Here, have some back.” He unbuttons his shirt further at the throat to display the strong column of his neck. Your vision zeroes on his jumping pulse like a laser sight, and you notice that intoxicating scent engulfing you again. It’s warm spices and your favorite flowers and pure man–it’s so good that you want to mold yourself to him and never let go. 

It’s a good trick, for a vampire hunter, and at least you are conscious enough to know now that it is a trick. 

“Stop that,” you scold, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fight it.  

“I can’t help it,” he answers, his voice gone low in a way that shuts down your brain and skips straight your loins. He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, engulfing you with the pure size of him and his hair swinging down to brush your face–he also smells like blood, which does not help you at all. “It’s…you. It’s us.”

“No,” you answer, mostly because you're afraid of someone having that kind of control over you, again. 

“It’s…rare,” he admits. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you insist. “I’m just a girl…who’s really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” And really good at keeping a soft spot for the wrong man. You cannot stop yourself from thinking about John in that moment, and how just one night with him flung you into this strange and terrible supernatural world. Would you change it, if you could? Will there ever come a time, when the thought of him does not feel like talons digging your heart out of your chest? 

“Hmm. Maybe.” He lifts his hand to his throat, and you watch as his fingernails lengthen to sharp points, perfect for breaking his own skin in one neat, bloody line. “Here, milaya. My apology to you.” 

That ruby welling of his life’s essence smells marvelous, and you want to seal your mouth on it more than you’ve wanted anything in a good long while. Somehow, you manage to shake your head, even if minutely. “No, you’ll…enthrall me again or something. I don’t trust you.” 

He sighs. 

“I admit that I want you,” he acknowledges reluctantly. “But you need blood.”

“Yes. Let me go, and I’ll go get some. Again.” It annoys you in that moment that the efforts of your hunt all went to this man’s benefit. Dhampiro, don Juan had called him. Dhampir, you translate to English. Not human, by his own admission. 

Obviously.

He smirks a little down at you. “I saw you feed earlier. Why did you pick him?”

“He killed his wife.” 

“Ah. You like to play jury and executioner.”

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“You’ve killed others though. You’re sloppy about it too.” 

“Am not.” 

He laughs at you, a short, amused, huff, which is as good as an ‘are so’.

“What do you care?” 

“The High Table might start to care, if you make a big enough spectacle of yourself. Naughty little vampires get a visit from the Boogeyman, you know. You aren’t supposed to draw attention. There are rules.” 

“I don’t…know what any of that means,” you’re loathe to admit. 

There’s so much John Constantine could have chosen to fill you in on. Maybe he thought you’d figure it out on your own. Or maybe…he has as much trouble thinking straight around you, as you do him. If he felt a fraction of what you did, when this man before you took you–it’s no wonder you scared John off. Surrendering to that would not be easy for a man like John Constantine. 

“I’d say you need a coven to teach you, but considering what I’m going to do to the locals here…you’d better stick with me.”

“You’re…going to kill them all?” you ask, more intrigued than horrified by the thought. 

“Yes.” There is zero doubt in this man that he can do it, too. After what you saw…you guess you agree with him. Constantine is dangerous, but he could never wreak the sort of massacre this man unleashed in the club. 

And here you are, in his grasp. Well done. 

“Why?”

“Don Juan’s scheming to overthrow the High Table. They don’t like that.” 

“Wait, wait.” A hunger pang washes through you, and you grip his jacket a little harder, your knees weak. The blood dripping down his beautiful throat smells so good, but you realize this might be your chance to finally get some answers. “Who the fuck are the High Table?” 

“How do you not know that?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that instead of just fucking telling me the answer?” you snipe, practically vibrating with frustration. 

“You really have been so alone this whole time?” he asks, his dark eyes inexplicably softening for you. He looks down at you, cupping the side of your face with a paw of a hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Maybe it just feels good to be handled like you are something precious, rather than like a farm animal. Or maybe…you are losing your mind, but you have to close your eyes again, shielding yourself from the weight of that blackhole gaze.

“Yes.” You’re not proud of the way your voice cracks as you utter that one word. You hate it, that you think of John, and how he said he’d help you, but mostly he just disappeared on you. You know he has his own life, and his own problems…but he practically abandoned you, all while living right next door. 

It was a good trick, truth be told.  

“That’s a hard way to live. I would know.” His thumb is still stroking your cheek, and it feels so good, and you know this is madness. It has to be a trick. Everything is a fucking trick, with these guys. And yet…it’s as though you can feel this man’s loneliness, the weight of his solitude pressing down upon you, every time you look into his eyes. 

Maybe it’s because he kills everyone, you remind yourself, marveling at your unflagging ability to empathize with the most unavailable men you can find. 

“The High Table?” you prompt again through gritted teeth, trying not to give in to the urge to pull him close, to hide in the bend of his neck, to lose yourself in the heady taste of him and forget everything else. 

“They rule the Underworld. You. Me. Everything that goes bump in the night answers to Them.” He tells you this without condescension, and you could kiss him for that alone. 

“Demons too?”

“No, they’re Hell’s problem. Usually.”

“Then…the High Table are vampires?”

“Vampires. Weres. Sirens. Fey.” He tilts his head in thought. “I’m sure I’m missing something.”   

You nod, trying to digest this information while you are so starved you can hardly think. He’s named more things you didn’t even know existed, but you shouldn’t be surprised at this point. But then…if demons are Hell’s purview, what system of belief do the rest of them answer to? The magnitude of this question makes your head spin. Finding out that the Christian God was real was wild enough for you. What about the rest? 

“Wait…does this mean…all the Gods are real?”

Your leap of logic to the biggest existential question known to man seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling for you. “Malyshka,” he scolds you softly. “You really want to discuss this here? Come on.”

He seems to think he’s taking you somewhere, but you resist again, bracing against the wall.   

“I’d rather…go home, if it’s the same to you.” you admit, winning yourself a tired sigh.

“I can’t…let you do that yet.” 

“Why not?”  

Again, he strokes your face with that big hand, and you feel as though he’s looking into your very soul. 

“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Someone he lost, you infer from the longing that is woven into those words. Why does that make your heart ache for him?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But whoever she was…I’m not her.”

“No,” he agrees, but he tilts his head to examine you, like you are an amoeba under a microscope.  

“But the universe moves in circles, and something is happening here.” He inhales, and you see a flash of that eerie electric blue in his irises again. “I have to know what it is.”

Whatever you meant to say in answer is swallowed up by his mouth lowering to yours, a kiss that is somehow demanding and languorously slow. He claims your lips for his own, holding you to him as his tongue slides into your mouth, teasing you like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Maybe you don’t need to breathe, but he leaves you breathless all the same, overwhelmed by that pheromone scent and his hands on you, one paw at the back of your head guiding your mouth to his neck. He tastes like a miracle, strong and heady and so delicious as you drink him down mouthful by mouthful. His blood is so potent you feel your strength begin to return just from the first swallow, and the rest is pure high. 

You start to see some things, about this man whose blood is in your mouth. You see flashes of a forbidding dark forest, and fighting, so much fighting. A quaint little cottage in the woods, so humble, so warm. There is a woman whose touch feels like sunshine. ‘Yelena,’ he calls her. And with her hands in his hair and a smile on her lips she calls him…

“Jardani?”

 He jerks back to look at you with haunted eyes, pinning you to the wall with his big hand spanning your chest. Drunk on the want of him, you whine like a thwarted kitten, trying to return to the bloody font of his throat. He searches your face as though desperate for the answer to some crucial riddle written upon your features. “How…?” But does not give you the chance to answer, his mouth crashing over yours again with a new ardor, gripping you so hard that even you will have bruises. 

You cannot think. 

There is only the taste of him, intoxicating and wonderful and you cannot stop yourself from pulling at his clothes, holding him to you. You want to climb him, devour him, be inside him, as surely as his lightning-charged blood is raging through you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss when at last you manage to pull away, not for breath but just a break from this madness. What the fuck is he doing to you?

“Yeah?” he asks, seemingly with all seriousness, hoisting you against the wall with hands on your thighs like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct; he pins you with his hips, his manhood rock hard against your center. He grinds against you, his lips on your neck again, teasing open the wound he left earlier, and you can’t help but moan, soaking wet and aching to be filled. In that moment you don’t care that you’re in a dirty alley with a man you don’t even know. You know the heart of him, and right now you would swear unequivocally that he belonged to you. 

“Wow. You High Table assholes sure know how to treat a lady.”

The sound of that familiar voice makes you freeze, some small modicum of sanity returning to you. 

Your would-be lover is less civil, snarling at the newcomer in the alley. “Not a good time, Constantine.” 

“No time like the present, Wick. Put her down.”

With his attention fixed somewhere else, some modicum of clearer thought returns to you. Your first stop is pure mortification. 

There is John, standing tall with his legs spread in his usual black and white suit, and to his shoulder he is holding a large, golden…cross gun? Like he totally intends to use it if he has to. 

The sight of him makes your heart ache with longing. No tricks. No magic. You just…adore him, even while wrapped up in another man’s arms, and you realize you are as hopeless as you are smitten. That connection between you glows again. You feel it in your chest, and it helps clear the lustful ardor that a moment ago gripped you so completely.

Dhampir magic is some scary shit.

The vampire hunter–Jardani?–Wick?–looks at you as though you’ve said something out loud. His eyes narrow; he doesn’t seem to like it one bit. He does put you down, but holds you in front of him like a shield, his big hand at your throat. 

“Never thought the John Constantine would turn vampire’s familiar. Who knew?” taunts the dhampir behind you. 

“What?”

 Both men ignore your question, fixed on each other in this standoff. 

“Call it what you want,” Constantine answers stonily. “I’m the one holding the gun. Let her go.” 

“I don’t want to.”

“I see that. Nice, you always gotta use your Blood Lure to get laid?” 

“Hardly. Your little vampling here is a special girl.” 

“Yeah. But she doesn’t belong to you, Wick, so let her go.” 

“You love her?” 

Wide eyed, you can’t stop yourself from fixating on John at that question, gone grave-still in Wick’s unrelenting grasp. 

In answer, John mostly just grinds his teeth, his lower jaw jutting. “It’s complicated,” he finally admits, and though that’s never a good answer from a man, your treacherous undead heart still skips a beat.  

“I think she deserves better than it’s complicated.”

“Not from you, half breed. Let her go.” 

You feel Wick tense behind you, and you remember the absolute whirlwind of carnage he caused in the club a few blocks away, that supernatural berzerker rage that mowed down vampire after vampire. John is formidable, but you can’t help but think no one can stand up to that and live. “Please,” you say, appealing to the wall of a man behind you. “Please, just let us go.”

Wick growls deep in his chest–a chilling, primal sound that resonates through you, your every hair standing on end. 

His grip upon you flexes, as though his physical being abhors the very idea of it. You’re not really afraid for yourself now. You’re afraid for John, and unbidden you start to cry those bloody tears. “I love him,” you say in the most hushed whisper you can muster, and the moment it leaves your lips you know it’s true, and maybe it has been true since the night you made that grouchy man dinner, and he made you feel like you mattered to someone in this big mean city. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Somehow, this is the thing that seems to call this dangerous man down. For a moment his grip around your waist tightens; he inhales your scent deeply, his nose behind your ear sending a warm thrill down your spine. He speaks low, though you think John can probably hear him anyway. “He doesn’t look good, vampling. I won’t have to wait long for you.” 

Suddenly, he’s just gone. Disappeared into the shadows, as though he is made of night. 

Unsupported, you stumble, and fall right on your butt. 

John looks around warily with the strange gun at the ready, sweeping the alley like he can’t believe the dhampir had actually retreated. Slowly he crosses to you, impossibly tall from your vantage of the ground. He seemingly reluctantly offers you a hand. “You ok?” 

“No,” you answer truthfully, taking his hand, the warm strength of his grip a welcome boon. When he pulls you to your feet you want more than anything to just be in his arms. 

But all he offers you is a hard stare, and a brusque, “Come on,” as he pulls you towards the other end of the alley. 

It’s complicated, he’d said.  

Why does that have to feel right then like he hates your guts?

You’re getting tired of crying for this man. You remind yourself of this as the ball of despair rises in your throat and your eyes sting like mace. 

Did he hear you? If he heard your heartfelt confession to the dhampir, even if it saved his life…he did not like it at all. 

[griefabyss69]

Vulture

Have this fic I started working on months ago, it's still unfinished but it's 10 chapters already! If you've been playing along with my WIP games, you'll recognize this by its working title: Quiet House. I'm ready to start sharing it, it might have slow updates depending on how my life is in the next few months, but the story isn't too complicated to follow along with!

Steddie - Rated: E - CW: Absent/bad parenting

Tags: Tags will be added as story progesses, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Slow Burn, Getting Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives

[ AO3 ]

Chapters 1 & 2 are posted!

Summary

Another ending, another aftermath—and then, somehow, another ending, aftermath pending.

Steve's exhausted, but his friends don't mind. In fact, there's someone who holds him up with steady shoulders and cuts through his malaise. He just has to have self control so he doesn't kiss him and scare him away. That gets harder when Eddie gives him something special—something Steve becomes a little bit obsessed with.

Excerpt

The exhaustion feels like an insurmountable curse, but... it'll go away. Eventually.

A pair of his favorite jeans can't get rid of bruises and scrapes and the ringing in his ears, but he can put them on and pretend the flesh inside of them hasn't been desecrated like the graffitied walls of an abandoned building. Then it's a soft t-shirt, not his favorite and not something with a tidy collar, but his skin is raw in some places and he's not ready to deal with the claustrophobia of bandages unless he absolutely has to. Besides, most of it's just more of the same old on his back, a place that's hard to get at and a place that's already fucked up with scars.

He has to laugh, thinking about what his mom would say about them.

___

The phone call is short, quick like getting stabbed by a million demo-teeth or perhaps a needle full of weird drugs.

There are no pretty lights on the ceiling though, except for the way the tears in his eyes make everything look gauzy and smeared.

It's not an end—the Harringtons are too smart for that—but Steve feels the same kind of peaceful acceptance as he did one of the times he thought he was bleeding out on the ground somewhere. The impossible ultimatum sits heavy in his gut like a stone, and he makes a snap decision all at once.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 13

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Roger: ——, ——, … ——, Kate. —...Hey, Kate.

The sound I heard coming from the other side of the fog suddenly became Roger’s voice coming from nearby.

Kate: Oh! Ah…Sorry, I spaced out.

It was only a short while after Victor had told us that the cursed Lance Brown had passed away.

The way it went was the last night when Lance was going to be arrested for murder, he went in a fit of rage and was shot to death on the spot.

Kate: …How did he get charged for murder? And the person he was accused of killing was— 

~~ Flashback start ~~

Kate: Is she someone important to you, Lance?

Lance: Huh.

Kate: Ah, well…even with untrained eyes, I could tell a lot of care was put into the painting.

Lance: …Yes. The young lady is someone I like.

She works at a bakery near the studio…

~~ Flashback end ~~

(The lady Lance had a crush on)

Roger: Kate, let’s go.

Kate: Huh, where are we going?

Roger: The information we got from Victor was only the aftermath. We still don’t have details on what happened. If we go ask around the crime scene, we might be able to fill in the blanks on what happened. You, me, even Lance…We can’t just let this go.

(I was planning on investigating whether Lance was cursed or not with Roger)

(And after that, I was going to speak with him on finding ways to make Lance’s life easier…)

(I can’t just let it end like this)

Kate: Okay…Let’s go, Roger.

--

When we went to the scene of the crime from last night, we were lucky to be near a bar Roger regularly went to.

(He brought me here once…)

I asked the familiar barkeep about last night…

Barkeep: Last night’s incident? Yeah, I saw what happened. Was curious.

Roger: That was fast. Hey barkeep, can you tell us what you saw last night?

Barkeep: Sure, but it’s not a nice story y’know? Might be a bit much for the young lady here.

(If you know what happened to Lance…)

Kate: It’s fine. Please tell us.

Barkeep: Well if my favorite customer and the lovely young lady are asking, then I suppose telling a bit won’t hurt. Let’s see…it was around 22:00 last night when it happened. I was making a drink when I heard a scream from outside. Curious, I ran out to see what happened. Then, I saw a girl with red hair bleeding out in the alley ahead.

(Young lady with red hair…It definitely was the one in the paining)

Roger: Do you know if the girl was still breathing at the time?

Barkeep: She was dead. At least that’s what others who came to check it out said. And that’s where the story begins.

The barkeep leaned over and lowered his voice.

Barkeep: A young man stood next to the girl who bled out, his mouth smeared with blood.

Roger: Smeared with blood? Was he hurt too?

Barkeep: No, it was definitely the girl’s blood.

(No way…)

Kate: That young man…Did he have blonde hair and hazel green eyes?

Barkeep: Yeah, he did. So you know him.

(It really was Lance and the girl in the…)

(What happened between those two?)

Barkeep: Soon, more people came by to see what happened and the scene became complete chaos. The police hadn’t arrived yet and people started crowding around the young man.

~ Flashback ~

Male spectator: Hey you, did you kill this girl…?!

Lance: I-I didn’t do it! I was just trying to watch her pass by from my studio on the second floor over there. And then…I saw someone dragging her into this alleyway. Then…When I came running over…

Male spectator: Then what’s that on your mouth? Why is it stained with blood!

Lance: This…

Lance desperately tried to defend himself.

However, the accusations grew louder before the police arrived.

In that moment—One of the spectators exclaimed:

Female spectator: Killing someone and sipping their blood is just disturbing. Like a monster…

Lance: …

In that instant, Lance went speechless, as if something within snapped.

And then tears poured down his cheeks.

Lance: I didn’t…do anything.

~Flashback end~

Barkeep: …He continued arguing with the people around before the police finally arrived. Then, something weird happened.

Kate: …Something weird?

Barkeep: The guy suddenly went nuts and started hugging the police. Each officer hugged fainted on after another. The ones that managed to get away shot him before he could hurt anyone else.

(...Sudden hugs)

The same thing happened when Lance was arrested at the butcher’s shop.

(Did Lance…use his ability to get himself killed?)

(...That definitely has to be it)

Roger: …

Barkeep: Ah, I remembered another thing. He said something like…

~ Flashback ~

Lance: I really…didn’t do anything. But…yeah…I am…a monster. When I see you, my beloved…I just want to eat you up… I still want to sip your blood…even after you’ve taken your last breath. Still…Maybe it’s better for me to die.

(He wanted to eat…the person he liked…?)

In this case it wasn’t a euphemism for love, but literally his intent.

Roger: —Could it be that… His cursed sin is…cannibalism?

(...No way)

But when you think about it, it would make sense why Lance was eating meat in the butcher’s shop, as if to misdirect it.

(He really is a Cursed One)

Barkeep: These days you hear a lot of young men and women get attacked or go missing. Did the young man do all this? Too bad the police killed him before questioning him.

(That was the full story…)

In the end, he was no longer a part of this world— 

Of the little memories I had of Lance, one short conversation came to mind.

~~ Flashback ~~

Lance: I’m just happy watching her from here.

…If I just watch her, my love won’t hurt her.

~~ End flashback ~~

(Lance was aware of his desires)

(That’s why he was smiling, happy to just watch so that he wouldn’t hurt her)

(He tried to save the person he loved and then that happened)

(...This is like)

Roger: “‘Cursed One’s’ tragic fate can’t be altered. In the past, there have been no exceptions.” That’s so true, it makes me laugh.

I looked at Roger when his shoulders shook.

Kate: Um, Roger…

???: Hey, hey. A man dressed in all white with a nice smile and parted bangs just told me something. You were talking about the murder from last night.

(Huh…?)

I turned around and saw a stranger leaning against the counter with a smile.

(...All white and parted bangs? Was it…)

I looked around, but the person I had in mind was nowhere to be found.

Kate: And you are…

Nicholas the novelist: Just some insignificant novelist called Nicholas. And these are…

Michael the playwright: Michael, a playwright.

Joanna the caricaturist: Joanna, a caricaturist.

Barkeep: Ah, these three are people of culture who are regulars here. They like to stick their noses in other people’s business.

Nicholas the novelist: We have to! We’re always looking for inspiration for our works. Man tries to eat a girl with red hair. It’s like the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood.

Joanna the caricaturist: Don’t lump this together with a childish fairytale like Little Red Riding Hood. It’s an insult to a sensational incident.

Michael the playwright: A bloodstained girl and a man standing over her in shock. Aha, I have an idea!

(...Why are they so happy?)

(Oh right, Roger mentioned something yesterday…)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: You know why these have become known as “Fairytale Curses”. Novelists and playwrights around the world created works based on existing “Cursed Ones”.

It’s said to be what started them off.

(Though I get where they’re coming from, I can’t understand their indiscretion…)

In the past, many fairytales created were based on the tragic ends of the Cursed Ones.

And perhaps, a new fairytale will be born tonight.

Seeing the moment when a “fairytale curse” would be born made my head spin.

(I know people are free to create what they want and no one can fault them for that)

(But to do so when someone just left this world…)

Michael the playwright: I hope more tragic incidents happen. That way I can create the best stage performances!

Nicholas the novelist: More material for our works! Haha, just kidding!

(...)

In that moment, as if to cut off their laughter, Roger slammed his mug down on the table.

Roger: They didn’t die to be a spectacle for you lot.

(Roger…)

The place fell completely quiet and the three put on fake smiles.

Michael the playwright: Ah, erm…

Nicholas the novelist: Um…We didn’t mean to make fun of people’s deaths.

Joanna the caricaturist: That’s right. Just having jokes at a bar.

Roger: —Just kidding.

Roger smirked.

Michael the playwright: …Huh?

Roger: You were starving for stimulation, so I thought I’d surprise you.

Michael the playwright: …Wha What the heck! You scared me!

Roger: Ahaha, sorry.

(Wha…!)

Michael the playwright: That performance was so real. Want to join my troupe?

Nicholas the novelist: You can scout later. Let’s have a drink as thanks for surprising us!

Roger: Yeah, sure.

While I was at a loss for words, Roger threw his arm around Nicholas’ shoulders.

(I can’t watch this anymore!)

Kate: Roger…

Roger: Hmm?

Roger downed his beer and ruffled my hair.

Kate: Stop…

Roger: We heard what happened. The investigations’s over so there’s no point in digging any deeper.

I’m still not convinced

And you’re okay with that?

I don’t think that’s how you truly feel +4 +4

Kate: I don’t think that’s how you truly feel.

Roger: …Geez. Don’t worry about it and drink. Ah, remember not to drink too much.

As he ordered another beer, Roger looked the same as usual. Unwavering and without hesitation.

My heart ached at that.

(Even if you say it’s over and that there’s no point)

(I’m just…simply not convinced)

(Maybe…If we told Lance “you’re a Cursed One”, would things have changed?)

That’s all I could think about. I couldn’t taste the alcohol at all.

—A few hours later.

Kate: Huh, where did Roger go…?

I was ignoring Roger while sipping my drink, and the next thing I knew, he was gone.

Barkeep: Saw him head out a while ago. Maybe he went to get some air.

(Outside? But…)

The rain that had just begun to fall wet the windows.

(What’s he doing out there in the rain…)

Kate: I’m going to go check on him really quick.

Barkeep: Take an umbrella with you if you’re heading outside.

Kate: Thank you.

--

I didn’t see Roger anywhere near the bar so I went out looking for him with the umbrella the barkeep lent me.

Kate: …It’s raining a lot.

Fine mist blew in the wind with the rain and I peered down alleyways while clutching the umbrella when…

(Ah…I found…him)

(...Roger…?)

There Roger stood, alone in the rain, without an umbrella.

(I’ve never seen him look like that before…)

His expression looked so fragile, as if wandering alone in a deep, foggy forest.

(...)

When I saw his profile, I instantly realized that I had been mistaken.

(...Why)

(Why did I think…that Roger was okay?)

(Maybe I thought…Roger was satisfied)

(There’s no way Roger would not be frustrated when he’s been confronting curses for so long)

(If we had told Lance about Cursed Ones at the time…there wouldn’t have been regrets)

I quietly set my umbrella aside and looked up at the pitch black sky with Roger.

(...Ah, I see)

(For his entire life, Roger’s been fighting this endless battle against despair)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: When you first became Fairytale Keeper, you told me about how crushed you felt by your own weakness.

“I won’t despair”.

Kate: …Yes. I remember.

Roger: Even though you felt depressed, it was sweet seeing you keep looking forward and not give in to despair.

I also believe that in life is to give despair the finger.

Kate: Give despair the finger?

Roger: Yeah. I went through the trouble of being born. I’m not gonna give into despair so easily.

~~ End flashback ~~

I always thought that he was someone strong who could laugh at despair as if it was nothing.

(That’s why I had this simple-minded admiration for Roger…)

(Roger isn’t strong)

(...He’s a person who was trying to be strong)

(I’ve been by your side, but...just what was I looking at?)

Roger knew despair and he took my hand.

Even now, he stayed by my side and watched over me.

(...)

I took a step forward to run toward Roger.

But I couldn’t take the next step.

(If I run over to him, it would just be for self-satisfaction)

Otherwise Roger wouldn’t have been standing out here alone in the rain like this.

(But if I was allowed to)

(If I ran over to Roger…)

(I’d hug him)

There was a faint sound in my chest like rainfall.

(...Hug…him?)

(...)

That heartrendingly sweet sound was…

Kate: …I…

I clutched my hands over my heart.

—I returned to the bar unnoticed.

His POV | Next

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer!Fem Reader

Summary: QB1 wakes up to the aftermath of last night's chaos, almost completely unbothered.

Chapter 23: Tour Countdown

#Track9 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

TW: language (because I wrote it), more bad sleeping habits, some mild spice, and more Mars V Ja'Marr lol.

Part 2 🤍🩷

~ 🩷 ~

<<< Part One | Extra Mars V Ja'Marr Drama | Ch. 24: Mr. Perfect >>>

a/n: the next chapter might be my favorite; I'm very excited to share it with yall. would yall believe the whole Hamilton argument is actually based on my friends lol.

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Lokius Fic Recs

Less than 10K words, Season Two Edition

Admittedly, I am very behind reading all the fabulous fics that came out after season 2 so I’m sure I’ve missed some gems. Nonetheless, sharing a few of my favorite post-season two Lokius fics, less than 10K words.

See my less than 10K season one Lokius fic recs here. And Lokius multi-chapter fics here.

If you’re looking for…

Angst with a hopeful ending (aka post S2 reunions or near reunions)

Come back. even as a shadow, even as a dream. by harleygirl2648- Loki and Mobius, steal what moments they can together following the events of season two and eventually find a way to make it permanent.

time will pass, darling (but my feelings, they won’t) by burnthatbridge- Another! Loki and Mobius steal what moments they can together following the events of season two and eventually find a way to make it permanent. (Okay this one is just over 15K words).

Serendipitous by emilieee- Mobius dreams of all of the moments over the centuries that he had forgotten. Meanwhile, Loki tries to find his way back to Mobius.

auld lang syne by Mirilya- Mobius experiences the first New Year's Eve that he can remember… and finds something worth celebrating.

Purpose Shared by tishae- Loki hears Mobius across the timelines and finds his way back.

Dream of me by Tears_and_smiles- (explicit) Mobius falls asleep in his motel bed and disappears into his dreams to find Loki. When he gets there, they share a night of pleasure.

with, no withouts by dinosuns- Sylvie and Mobius deal with the aftermath of Loki’s decision and begin to make a plan to get him back. (I remain delusional/hopeful that this fic will be finished. Regardless, the first chapter is spectacular on its own).

Their Burden to Bear by PerpetualDaydream- listed as Sylkius but vague to ship whoever you like. Focused on Mobius and Sylvie finding Loki and deciding to save the multiverse together.

Tell Me Some Things Last by Tears_and_smiles- Sylvie and Mobius work through the aftermath of Loki’s decision. Lots of healing vibes (and Sylvie and Mobius friendship my BELOVED).

Angst with little comfort, but beautiful:

Off The Beaten Path by ChaosAndOrder- Mobius deals with the aftermath of Loki's choice and makes one of his own. No reunions here but a gorgeous character introspective with a hopeful ending.

After They Left by ebeatrice- told from an OC POV, a TVA agent reflects on how much quieter the TVA is now after they take over Mobius’ old desk.

Centuries by TheVulcanBobDylan- (explicit) Throughout the centuries, Loki seeks comfort in the arms of different Mobius variants.

I know what I want by beandogger- (explicit) During one of his timeslips, Loki shares one more moment with Mobius before facing his fate.

Season two finale canon divergent fix its:

Let Us In by DewdropReader- How it should have ended IMO. Loki is convinced that the only way to save everyone he loves is to carry the burden of the multiverse. Sylvie and Mobius aren’t willing to allow it. What if instead of sacrificing himself, Sylvie and Mobius were able to stop Loki and were able to convince him to let them help. (I’m a big believer in The Power of Friendship endings and will always crave them.)

Kissed You Atop The Ferris Wheel by kittyhazelnut- Loki accidentally freezes time. He and Mobius share (no spoilers) a ✨moment✨. The next time Loki timeslips, things are different.

Missing Scenes, Season Two:

Portraits of your fidelity by Aliencritters- After the events of episode S2, ep1, Mobius convinces a panicking Loki to calm down and take a much needed break.

remember me (for centuries) by bookinit- Loki and Mobius throughout his timeslips.

No Time to Rest by startingatmidnight- (explicit) After the events of S2, ep1, Loki and Mobius sleep together, literally and otherwise ;). (I am obsessed with Mobius’ characterization here. Snarky, manipulative yet deeply caring Mobius, my beloved)

once more to see you by thumbbird- canon divergent S2, ep5, a Don/TVA!Loki fic! Loki has lost TVA Mobius and is determined to make a life for himself with the only Mobius left—timeline Single Dad Don. But how long will Don remain ignorant of the strange circumstance that brought them together? Obsessed with this pairing!

Fluff:

Camellia by 19960821- Settled on the timeline with Mobius, Loki thinks about how far they've come while gardening.

The Veins and The Branches by Love_is_Green- Loki reflects on his and Mobius’ journey while listening to a thunderstorm.

Lokius Fluffuary by blackbirdofasgard- okay I technically haven’t read these ones yet but I adored blackbirdofasgard’s last Fluffuary fics so including their latest here too.

And that’s it for now! My to-read list is miles long so excited to dig in more to the fabulous post S2 fics.

Happy reading!

[suguru-getos]

| Aftermath | Keigo Takami x f!TherapistReader |

-> chapter one

summary: hawks who has just lost his quirk in the war & coping with his life as a quirkless man, decides to finally listen to his own self & seek therapy. why did he choose a quirkless therapist? maybe to seek solidarity— or maybe, he hoped you’d not judge him.

warnings: therapy, childhood!trauma, bnha!spoilers, mentions of inner child healing, keigo talks about his childhood, mentions of toxic!parenting, cocky!kei as always.

a/n: don't mind me giving my comfort character and my loml some healing lmaooo <33 i had sm fun writing this istg it made my heart warm. this is a slow burn fic, and the reader is a self-insert on some points because i can get self indulgent tehee!!

You wandered aimlessly, looking around the suite-like cabin and then down the skyline. Tokyo was always beautiful, even now when winters had just started to greet. There was a foggy blanket of clouds covering the labyrinth of buildings and you could never get over it. With your next client, it was obvious your thoughts were along the lines of… an Angel flying out in the skies keeping everyone safe, now reduced to someone without wings. Still an Angel though, but that's what you think. Maybe he doesn't.

You grimly sighed when your eyes wandered at the clock, there were still 30 minutes to your appointment, normally… someone like you would never get the opportunity to deal with heroes so popular. Hawks was a no show after the war, people thought he had died. People thought he left Japan for good. Though a faint glimmer of hope always made you want to believe he's still around. To your surprise when he was your client, you felt a knot on your stomach churn with anticipation and excitement.

You sat on your velvety chair, the lights dim and comfortable to the modernized architecture of your office. You gulped, opening his file and looking at the passport photograph of him. The scar he got in one of the fights in which a villain named Dabi publicized his kill was there, siren eyes staring into your very soul were there. How could you even try to open up someone who looks so ethereal and so threatening at the same time. You feel just as nervous as your first time, the personality that Hawks carries eating away at you slowly. You shook your head, jerking the thoughts away. Be professional, he is a client and you're doing your job.

If you hadn't been so dazed by your favorite hero and your crush; you were quite a number yourself. Cut-throat, not afraid to walk the talk, stern, fierce, kind and disciplined. People respect you and you command it when they don't. Not afraid to force someone to bend the knee if they indulge in animosity with you. It's just… Hawks was someone you admired oh-so-much! You had his merch and posters after all. Not that he would get to know that, oh no. That'd never happen.

Takami Keigo, 26, Born on December 28th. Blood group B+, MBTI-> ENTP, Schooling and training and everything was blank. Difficult, this would be a difficult case to deal with.

How did you fangirl over him? Well, that's perhaps for another day.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. He's here." Your assistant opened the door with a knock and you felt your stomach sink, biting your lip nervously and clearing your throat to gain composure.

"Hey there doc!" there he was, with his magical grin and long palms raised up to his eye level as he waved. Wearing denims and a loose fitted white T-Shirt. Casual, cute, confident.

"Oh hello Hawks!" You manifested the same energy, greeting him respectfully by standing up and bowing a little. "Jeez, can't get rid of the name yet huh?" He chuckles, though your mind has already starting to process if it was a fake one, the carefully crafted hero chuckle or was he genuinely this chill.

"I don't think so, whether or not you do hero work, you own the name." you responded with a smile, ushering him to take his seat. Oh he manspreads, leaning back and getting comfortable. Makes you wonder if he can see through the cracks of your personality just as you're trying to see in his. Who will unfold who first…

You closed the client book you had, looking into the beautiful goldens of his eyes and making eye contact. "So, I know the first session is usually the most awkward one. People try to get to know their shrink before letting themselves to open up." You glanced, and Hawks looked like he would devour you whole. He looked invested in your words, not in a faking concentration way… in a 'I will listen to what you have to say' way.

"Allow me to share some stuff about myself then, my name is Y/N. I am a therapist good morning. Apart from that, I like to participate in various hobbies like kickboxing, journalling, playing games, spending time with my cat, yada yada. I am an INTJ, I think MBTI has started taking the same wavelength in Japan as Korea huh? Everyone's obsessed with em' I think."

"Well" Hawks clicked his tongue, clearly unamused by your introduction, it was brief and curt. Not a fair deal for someone who will unravel him… then again, you are his therapist, not vice versa.

"I think so too, do you know, a lot of the fans pretend to be INTJs because they tend to be compatible with ENTPs?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes. God he does know everything… there was a whole article about this. "We could do the quiz together if you have your concerns." "Shyeah- no, I don't. Just sharin' yknow?" he winked, noticing how you nervously pressed your legs together. He was wearing Killian's Angel Share, and Bad Boy… one of your favorite scents & the effects were almost affecting you almost at a subconscious level.

"Mkay, gotcha! So, anyways… I don't want to force you to open up, take your time in it. Let's start simple. How are you?" You asked Hawks, and for a moment, the barest of seconds, you could see his eyes turn to a void. "Yeah, good, never been better you know? Vacationing now that I have a sick ton of money with practically nothin' to do. Ain't gonna waste it otherwise by being depressed."

You clicked your tongue, oh he would not open up huh? Well, not that you expected this to be an easy ride either. "Yeah, of course. Money does help… helps everyone. At the end of the day I'm sitting on this chair to be paid a hefty by you." You hum, crossing your legs and getting comfortable too. This would be a fierce mental war already. From the determination of a hero and from a healer who's been sought out by the same hero.

"Then again, it isn't everything."

Oh except if you could tell that to childhood Hawks, it was… it was everything. His eyes pale with the answer a little. "Led a very comfortable life haven't you?" He smirked, giving you a miniscule opening.

"Yeah, luckily." You responded, smiling… "Clearly you haven't."

Hawks stood silent at that, and that was an answer enough.

"You were a rich kid since you started your agency, was this your teens or childhood?" Before Hawks could decipher, the session had already begun.

"Well, I was the viral news subject after they found out I was Thief Takami's son." He raised a brow, and you nodded. "Shitty murderer dad, mum?" You felt bad on being so professional, but you also felt Hawks would push you away if you were too kind. Some people have stopped treating him as a person ever since All for One had taken his quirk away.

"Mum was well, absent, mentally." He responded, and shrugged. "Dad was abusive, used to beat me up as a child and mum was too engrossed in her own shit I suppose. Happy for her that she has a new life with a new husband and new kids." It was amusing how Hawks didn't sound salty about it… it could only mean detachment to the finest. A befitting coping mechanism.

"You didn't have to go through that, I'm guessing if I needed to ever, talk to baby Hawks, I can't have a childhood photograph?" You glanced hopefully. "Nah, not a single childhood photograph. Dad was too paranoid of things and mum didn't care."

"We usually uh, have this exercise you know? That you'd keep a picture of your childhood self at your bathroom mirror and remember who you're talking about whenever you feel self-doubt." You smiled, looking into his eyes with empathy but no pity.

"Well, too bad." He chuckled, embarrassed and definitely not liking this emotion.

"Who cares at the end of the day, it's just the first few years of your life." He responded again balming his own thoughts more so than talking to you.

"Yeah, but every phase of our life is important. When your father abused you, hit you, didn't you feel enraged? Or scared? Or both?" You bit your lip, trying to mentally detach as much as possible.

"I felt nothing. I just wanted to not end up like them. If I was as angry as him, then I would become like him. Even my childhood self knew I'm better than that." There was pride in his eyes when he said so.

"True, yes, however… no expectations from your mum to save you?" Hawks shook his head no, shrugging. "She'd get beaten up too."

You nodded, not writing anything down on the paper just yet.

"Alright, I want you to do something for me." He raised a brow when you said that, "I don't want us to traverse further until you try doing this, mkay?" You grinned, "Imagine someone coming to your home, breaking the door at the moment of your abuse, that someone is you. The big, pro hero, you. Then, I'd like you to hold little Keigo's hand, and take him out. How about that?"

Hawks gave you an expression which was a mixture of 'How absurd' and 'Interesting'.

"Do that for me, and do that as many times and in as many scenarios you feel like you needed to be protected. You needed to be healed from." You coo softly… meanwhile Hawks' brain lagged at you saying 'Little Keigo'. So far he thought you didn't know his name… despite it being telecasted worldwide. No, you just refer to old Keigo as Hawks, but little Keigo isn't Hawks… he's just Keigo.

Was he reading too much into this? Would you soon bridge the gap between little Keigo and Hawks? Would you call him Keigo too?

The alarm clock chimed, time was over. You glanced at it and then back at him. "Well, guess you wouldn't be bored anymore, of me." "Hey, give yourself some credit little Shrink." he winked, smirking, "You're really good at this, can't wait to see you next time." "Don't come until you don't do what I asked." "Sure thing jeez."

With that, he left, and you could almost kill yourself at the way you tried to imagine little Hawks in pain. No, attaching to clients is the biggest NO. Yet, you can't help but feel positive tingles at the thought of him doing that little exercise and telling you about it.

Until next time, Keigo Takami.

[spencer-is-dead]

WHO WANTS A FIC REC LIST

ALL OF THESE FICS ARE MDSPENCER APPROVED, 100% PURE UNADULTERATED ANGST

(+ SOME FLUFF FOR THOSE WHO NEED IT)

FIRST OFF: THE FANFICS THAT REDUCED ME TO EITHER TEARS OR SCREAMING

ANYTHING FROM EITHER THE STANFORD TORUS OR BLUE VAPOR SERIES BY FANDOM MENACE NEEJMORP (FORMERLY KNOWN AS MEEJUNORP) THESE FANFICS CHANGED MY LIFE FOR THE WORSE AND I AM A BETTER PERSON BECAUSE OF IT

MACABRE THEMES AND VARIATIONS BY PIRACYTHEORIST, SPECIFICALLY CHAPTER FIVE. IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT AND I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE ANYONE UP SO I SCREAMED INTO MY PILLOW AND PROMPTLY WENT TO BED. AND THEN THE NEXT DAY CHAPTER 7 HAPPENED AND THE SONG HAPPY FROM DESPICABLE ME 2 WAS PLAYING ON THE RADIO. IT WAS AN EXPERIENCE FOR SURE

ORPHEUS BY CANTARE. WHEN I SAY THIS FIC IS ONE OF THE BEST IN THE FANDOM I’M NOT LYING. ITS INSANELY GOOD. BEST YOR CHARACTERIZATION, BEST USE OF CHARACTER ARCS, SOMEHOW MANAGES TO HANDLE NOT JUST WISE, NOT JUST THE SSS, BUT ALSO GARDEN AND PROJECT APPLE. ITS INSANE YOU HAVE TO READ IT

Alright im going to stop screaming now that i have your attention

Up next are some fics that I quite enjoyed

Desiderium by ahenix. Really nice character study on Twilight.

Reflected in your eyes by Princessgaurd. A very relaxing post reveal pre relationship twiyor fic. 11k words of pining

Count by Luinel. Twilight having ptsd is one of my favorite headcanons, because it just makes so much sense. This was such a good fic and i heartily recommend it for the father daughter moments.

In the aftermath by OrcPaladinArthur. As always, this author never fails to deliver. This fic is so good you guys, you have no idea. It actually inspired one of my own fics lol

Also here’s two fics that would get me put on the weird person list but pop off I guess

What follows by piracytheorist. I do have a love for this fic for inspiring what became the loid eye club, i genuinely would not be the same person if not for this fic. Do mind the trigger warnings tho lol

After summers of fasting (i feel hunger at last) by BuzzCat. I shit you not you will forget that this is omegaverse mpreg with how well it’s written. It mostly focuses on twilight and Sylvia’s platonic relationship. It’s really wholesome(?) but I just find the juxtaposition between mpreg and familial-esque bonds really amusing???

Some fics of mine that I recommend

I’ll stay by your side , my most popular fic to date (thankfully surpassing my first ever fic that sucks ass)

Clementine, your bog standard “anya gets kidnapped by the scientists” fanfic with some Loid introspection. Unfortunately not finished but I WILL GET TO IT

Face me, in which Twilight literally loses his very identity. Very proud of this one lol

Tastes like blood, in which Yor seeks revenge after someone does a revenge on Loid. Fun oc stuff. Maya you could do no wrong in my eyes. Fun fact, the reason it’s called tastes like blood comes from the term “the sweet taste of revenge” and in this case revenge tastes like blood. I know, it’s a weird title.

A way out, started out as a very average whump fic but somehow turned into a study on Twilight’s mental health? Do mind the trigger warnings, this one gets very dark

And thats it. Those are all the fics I recommend. Hope you find something good

[atinylittlepain]

Apothecary - Chapter Six

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

living in an aftermath, joel tries to hold her together as she falls apart.

warnings | 18+ smut, significant angst, canon-typical violence

wordcount: 4.3K (we were concise this week lol)

a/n | this is a rather insular chapter, and it happens to be one of my favorites so far. feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think <3

p.s. if i had to offer one song for this chapter, it'd be magneto by nick cave and the bad seeds (yes, more nick cave, sue me)

.......................................

“Nothing?” “I don’t think she even touched the plate, old man.” Ellie huffs, setting the plate of what had been dinner down on the kitchen counter, the plate that Joel had placed in front of the closed guestroom door last night with a quiet plea for her to eat something. But judging by the untouched look of the food, his plea went unanswered. 

“Alright, kid, I’ll check on her. You better get to school.” Ellie nods, though she makes no move to leave, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks at him.

“Do you think she’s gonna, like, be ok?” Joel has to clear his throat before answering her, trying to make his voice sound as certain as he can.

“She’ll be ok, kid. It’s just a– a hard thing– what happened. But she’ll be ok, I’m gonna make sure of it.” Ellie offers him a faint smile, her brow still scrunched up in worry.

“We’ll make sure of it, right? I can help too, y’know.” He has to smile at that, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze as he nods.

“I know, kid. You’re right, we’ll make sure she’s ok. Now you better get to class before you’re late– again.” It’s just enough levity for her smile to broaden, her eyes to roll with a huff, and then Ellie’s out the door, and Joel’s shoulders slump immediately. 

When he goes upstairs, Stevie is laying in front of the guestroom, swiping her paw under the closed door in what could only be frustration. She and Stevie have been staying with them for a little over two weeks now. It hadn’t been soon after that day he found her in her shop that she showed up in the middle of the night at his front door, wide-eyed and disheveled. She hadn’t known where else to go after someone had thrown a rock into one of the windows of her house. And then, when he had walked her to her shop the next morning, he had been stunned speechless at the words smeared over the door in thick, black paint.

Witch

Slut

Baby killer

She hasn’t left his house since, and she’s barely left the guestroom he set her up in either.

“Darlin? I’m coming in, alright?” He doesn’t wait for a response, knowing now from prior experience that he’d just be waiting forever. Stevie darts in the second he cracks open the door, making a beeline for the bed where her mom is curled up under a swath of blankets, even though it’s the beginning of September and still plenty warm out.

He kneels down alongside the bed, right next to where her face is half smushed into her pillow, her eyes cracking open to peer at him. Faded dark circles face him, and his heart catches at the sight. 

“Hey, darlin. Think we oughta get some food in you, huh?” She lets out a long sigh, blinking hard a few times.

“Not right now, Joel. I’m just– really tired.” That’s become her new favorite phrase, and it scares him more than when she had been endlessly crying. It’s always said on a breathy exhale, like she’s trying to be casual about the fact that she’s been in bed for days, and seems to have no plans of getting out anytime soon. Any emotion is masked behind her flat voice and vacant eyes, and he’d give just about anything for a glimmer of something. Anger, sadness, he’d even take fear right now, just any proof that she’s still there. But there’s nothing, just her owlish stare, and Stevie nuzzling up against the blankets.

“Alright, not right now. Will you drink some water, at least? For me, please?” You’d think that he just asked her to run a marathon with the exhausted huff she lets out, shifting slowly to sit up with her back against the headboard, her head lolling onto her shoulder to look at him. It’s such a far cry from the woman he’s gotten used to, all slow movements and barely-there words as he offers her the glass of water he brought up for her. She takes two little sips then slumps down, handing him back the glass and scrunching her eyes shut.

“Baby, I-I’m really tired– I just need to lay down for a while.” He can feel his frustration rising, but he swallows it down, taking her hand in his and squeezing lightly. She doesn’t squeeze back.

“Ok, darlin, I know you are. Gotta get to work, but you know where I’ll be, right?” All he gets from her is a nod as she lays back down, curling in on her side. 

“Think you might get cleaned up today? Bet a shower would feel good.” Another long sigh.

“I just got a shower yesterday.”

“That– that was Monday, darlin, remember? It’s Friday now.” That’s new, and it makes fear kick up in his chest, cold and frantic. She, however, isn’t phased by it, simply shrugging her shoulders beneath the blankets. Stevie stumbles over the blankets up towards her head, nuzzling up against the back of her neck. It’s a small comfort to him, knowing that she isn’t completely alone during the day, just enough reassurance for him to murmur a soft “I’ll be back soon, honey” and get up with a sigh. He takes one more look at her before closing the door behind him, no acknowledgement from her save for another deep sigh.

Things around town have gotten tense, to say the least. Word spread fast about what happened to Maura’s baby, and while it was clear that no one was to blame, just a horrible stroke of luck, it was a whole lot easier to blame the witch for what happened. Now, as Joel walks to the stables everyday, people openly stare at him, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear about how he’s “harboring the murderer.” The only thing that keeps him from knocking their lights out is knowing that it’d only make things worse for her.

People are being particularly vocal this morning, but he gets no relief when he gets to the stables either, seeing Mason and Matthew, Maura’s husband, are getting ready to saddle up for patrol.

“Don’t know why Maria’s letting her walk around free. Oughta be a trial for what she did.” Mason scoffs at Matthew’s words.

“You know why, that’s practically her sister-in-law, that’s why.” Mason’s eyes narrow into slits as Joel approaches them, Matthew’s face reflecting a similar sneer.

“You boys better watch what you say. Especially when it ain’t based in any reality.” 

“What do you know about reality, Miller? She’s got you so turned around I bet you believe just about anything she tells you.” Joel can feel anger rising like bile in his throat as he looks at the men, and he keeps his hands on his hips to stop himself from doing something he’ll regret.

“You saying you two are talking about reality? Some fucking story about her, what? Hexing a baby?” He focuses his attention on Matthew before continuing.

“Son, I’m sorry for your loss. I really am. But trying to blame someone for this– this horrible misfortune– it ain’t gonna make that pain go away.” Matthew lets out a bitter laugh at Joel’s words, his eyes flashing wild as he takes a few halting steps toward him.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Miller. I know she did it.” Joel would like to punch him in the teeth, but instead he scoffs at the man, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Let’s just say for a minute that I’m living in the same delusional world that you are. How are you so sure that she did it, huh?” Matthew’s face stretches into a grin that doesn’t meet his bloodshot eyes at that.

“I know she did it– she did it to get back at me.” That makes Joel pause, and Matthew catches it, his grin splitting wider.

“She was jealous, you see. When I wouldn’t leave Maura for her, she got real upset. I guess she’s used to getting what she wants, but I’m a faithful man, and I wouldn’t look twice at that slu–” Joel doesn’t let him finish that sentence, grabbing him by his shoulders and driving him backward until his back slams against the wall of the stables.

“See, now I know you’re full of shit because she’s with me. She’s been with me all fucking summer, so I find your little story pretty hard to believe.”

“Not all the time.” Joel squints at him, keeping him pinned against the wall.

“Come again?”

“She wasn’t with you all the time, not during all her little house visits. Lemme tell you, Maura wasn’t the only one she was checking on.” He does it before he can think, his fist making contact squarely with Matthew’s jaw, the man groaning and doubling over, though Joel is quick to haul him up by his shirt collar.

“Listen to me, you keep my woman’s name out of your mouth. Do you understand me?” Matthew gives him no answer, his eyes squinting slits as Joel shoves him back against the wall. As he turns to leave, his eyes catch Mason’s, the man grinning as he watches the whole thing. The look makes Joel’s stomach twist, and it’s all he can do to walk away from the pair.

He doesn’t care that he’ll miss his shift. He needs to talk to her. Now.

Any patience, any gentleness, any carefulness has dissolved in his need to speak to her, and it clearly catches her by surprise when he comes barreling into her room, giving her shoulder a brusque squeeze that has her wide eyes looking up at him.

“Wha– I thought you were going to work.”

“We need to talk.”

“Joel, I’m really–”

“Tired. I know, but you can’t– I can’t– I need you to talk to me. I know that you’re hurting, but I need you here with me, or else I can’t, I can’t do anything to help.” She sits up at that, brow furrowed.

“What’re you talking about?” He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, glancing at Stevie who has curled up on the pillow next to her.

“There’s– talk, around town.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m aware.”

“That isn’t what I meant– I mean– Matthew, Maura’s husband– he’s saying that you–” She cuts him off with a bitter laugh. “No.” 

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“It’s always the same– they’re always the same– he’s telling people I tried to fuck him, isn’t he?” The blunt crassness of her words coupled with her still blank eyes is unnerving to him. Even now, her voice is flat, no emotion to be found in her cool assessment of him.

“Not in so many words. He said that you had reason to want to– get back at him.” 

“And you believe him? You believe that I’d be capable of something like that?”

“I don’t, and I’ll fight this, whatever this is. But I need you here fighting with me. I can’t do this without you– and I can’t keep watching you– disappear right in front of me.” Silence, a heavy pall of it falls between them as she continues to stare at him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Maybe they’re right.” It comes out so hoarse, he almost thinks he didn’t hear her right.

“What?” 

“Maybe it is my fault, somehow. Maybe I-I– somehow– I– it’s my fault, my fault, all my fault–” Before she can dissolve any further, he takes her face in his hands, holding her steady.

“Don’t go there, darlin. I know you don’t really believe that. Remember what you told me? About when you held her?” Her eyes widen at that, and he feels something like hope lift off in his chest when she nods.

“She was– she was so small, Joel. And it wasn’t right, it was too early– and I knew it.” “And you did everything you could, right?” Another nod, her eyes narrowing into something like focus.

“I-I did. I did. But, it just happened. It was too early, and– and I don’t think anyone could’ve done anything to change it.”

“That’s right. It just happened. Ain’t anyone’s fault. Don’t let them get into your head, darlin. You and I know the truth, and Ellie, and Tommy, and Maria, and– Stevie.” The cat, who had been dozing on her pillow, lifts her head at that, letting out a questioning mrrp. It isn’t much, but her lips twitch into what could become a smile, eventually. He’ll take it.

“I think I’d like to get a shower now.”

…

He could shout from the palpable relief he feels seeing her at the kitchen table, hair still damp from her shower, eating a plate of leftovers. It’s clear to him that she’s still not all there, still quiet, eyes endlessly downturned, movements slow and small. But she’s clean, she’s eating, and she’s even talking a little, and whatever has changed, Joel’s just glad that it did. He sits in the chair next to her, resisting the urge to stay as close to her as he can, afraid that she might float away if he doesn’t, but worried she’ll shut back down if he does. She sets her fork down and sits back in her chair, tilting her head to look at him, worry a perpetual crease between her brows.

“Could you come with me to the shop? I’d like to get a few of my things.” He nods, trying to keep his voice even when he responds, though inside he feels nothing but elation at her question.

“Of course, darlin. You just tell me when, and we’ll go.” 

“Could we– could we go now?” 

Though it caught him off guard, he scrambled to get them out the door before she changed her mind. He reckons it’s more for him than it is for her, the tight hold he keeps on her hand as they walk through town. For her part, she keeps her chin tilted down, eyes on each of her steps as they pass through the stream of stares and whispers. But she comes to a stuttering stop in front of the apothecary door, and Joel can’t help but smile.

“Dina and Ellie– they cleaned up the– mess. But it wouldn’t come all the way off, so they gave it a new coat of paint.” What once had been a plain white door is now painted a deep green, though it’s beyond Joel how Ellie managed to find that color. For a moment, she’s completely still, considering the door before her. And then, she squeezes his hand, and he knows that these tears of hers are different, no despair to be found.

“I’ll have to thank them for this.” 

Ellie has also been going to the shop in the afternoons everyday, taking care of the plants in her absence, another thing that seems to surprise her when she enters the shop, what could be a smile threatening a quiver in her lips. But he swears that the green goes a bit greener, leaves stretching out and lifting as she walks amongst them, reverential fingers checking here and there. She collects a few bottles and tins, a few books, tucking them into her bag, before checking what she explains with a quiet murmur is soap, curing on the counter of the back room. There’s no ease about this for her, he can tell in her skittish movements, her eyes glancing around like she’s waiting for something to happen, and she’s ready to leave in a flash. He hates it, that the space in which he had first met her, the space in which she had always been so at peace, now conjures this kind of fear in her. 

They return home as quick as they left, and he can see just how much it took out of her, the heavy slump to her shoulders, the unfocused haze falling back over her eyes as she sits down on the couch in the living room, her bag still slung over one shoulder. She lets him take the bag from her, setting it down on the floor. He moves tentatively, letting out a quiet sigh when she lets him pull her into his side on the couch, his arm wrapping around her tight. 

Wordlessly, she leans back in his hold, and he’s stunned into stillness when she tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his. 

“Thank you, Joel. For everything, for dealing with me through all this.” 

“I’m not dealing with you. I’m taking care of you, you don’t have to thank me for that.” She presses another kiss to his lips, though he stops her when she tries to deepen it, holding her by her shoulders.

“I don’t– don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Please, Joel– I just wanna feel something else for a little while. Just wanna feel you.” She presses a smattering of kisses to what skin she can get to beneath the collar of his shirt, and he sighs, already feeling himself dissolving under her touch. He knows this is probably a terrible idea, that whatever is going on in her head can’t possibly be good, but he also knows that whatever peace he can give her, he will in a heartbeat.

“Hey, hey, easy, darlin. Let’s go upstairs, alright? Lemme take care of you properly.” She lets him lead her upstairs, into his bedroom. She lets him lay her back on his bed, gentle and sweet as he undresses her. And she lets him take over when her trembling fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can to keep contact with her. 

There are no words for this, the way their hands move over each other’s bodies, getting reacquainted with bare skin they had each mapped so well. He settles between the plush of her thighs, pressing a kiss into the soft skin before finally tasting her. She’s an endless tide of sighs, writhing above him as he works her over with his tongue. Her pleasure is his privilege, and he collects every whimper, every scrunch of her brow, every tensed muscle, tokens of what he can do for his woman. He can’t help the way his hips rut into the mattress beneath him, chasing whatever sensation he can find as he takes in the sight of her, the feel of her beneath his mouth. When she comes, it’s an unraveling, a slow tumble that he holds her steady through, his arms wrapped around her hips to hold her up to his mouth as he coaxes her through her pleasure. The first word to leave her lips as she comes down is his name, a breathless plea to come closer that he answers in kind, crawling up the bed to hover over her, their lips catching in a desperate tangle. 

Broken groans resound from both of them when he presses his hips forward, a dizzy prickle skittering up his spine as he settles into the heat of her. He lets his lips drag wherever he can, over her collarbone, the arc of her neck, her jaw, giving her a moment, waiting for her word.

“I’m not going to break, Joel.” The tone of her voice, certain and steeled, makes him lean back to catch her gaze.

“I know that, darlin. I know you aren’t.” 

“Then don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I want you to fuck me.” Truthfully, he has been treating her as if at any moment she could shatter. But the way that she’s looking at him, the steady heat of her gaze, the tick of her jaw, the way her nails are grazing up and down his back makes him feel like she’s coming back to him, and something inside him snaps at the thought.

He gives her what she wants, a push and pull that has them both sighing with each press of his hips into hers. He wants to leave marks, to stamp something permanent of him into her, and with the harsh grind of his hips, the desperate graze of his teeth along her chest, he thinks he’ll be successful in his desires, drawing whimpers out of her with the force he fucks her with.

Neither of them are making much sense, words slurred into skin, frantic coaxing to see each over the edge. 

That’s it, darlin.

S’good, huh?

It’s all yours, honey. Go on, take it. 

When she comes again, it’s with a shattered yelp of his name, her fingers pressing little moons into his shoulder blades as she crashes around him. She’s a fucking vision beneath him, tears streaking silver down her cheeks, her face a twist of pleasure, sobs that sing sweet for a change, and it’s enough to send him spiraling after her. He only realizes he’s crying when he sees his own tears smudged against her sternum, his forehead pressed against her collarbone as he catches his breath.

He goes to get up and grab something to clean her up with, but she doesn’t let him get far, pulling him back down by his shoulders and holding him against her. 

“Can we just stay like this for a little while, please?” The sigh he lets out at her question melts him even further into her, his arms wrapping her up and pulling her into a closer tangle. They’re a mess, sweat-damp skin sticking slick and his spend dripping onto the sheets beneath them, but he reckons he needs this as much as she does, burying his face in the junction of her neck and inhaling her deeply. 

She relaxes in his arms, muscles going slack against his, her fingers trailing shapes across his shoulder blades. He feels like for the first time in ages, he’s got her, he’s really got her.

…

Ellie won’t stop staring at her. The kid had stopped dead in her tracks when she got home and saw her and Joel in the kitchen, quietly fixing dinner. Joel had quickly shook his head at her, a silent plea to not make a big deal out of it. But if there’s one thing Ellie is not, it’s subtle, and she’s been staring at her for most of the meal like she might disappear if she takes her eyes away from her. If it’s bothering her, however, she doesn’t show it, still a bit hazy around the edges as they eat, leaving Joel to muster up whatever conversation he can, which is to say that most of the meal is spent in slightly tense silence while Ellie continues to stare at her, much to his chagrin. 

“I want to thank you, Ellie. I got to see today how you’ve been taking care of the shop. I really appreciate it and– just, thank you, kid.” Ellie’s eyes widen at her words, before softening with an emphatic nod.

“Yeah– I mean, of course. You, like, taught me well, and stuff. And I want you to know, if anyone else tries to mess with you, I will personally fuck them up–”

“Ellie.” 

“What? I’m just saying, geez.” Ellie lets out a huff at Joel, while he’s about ready to give her another lecture about her language, though his annoyance dissolves when his woman lets out a light laugh at the girl’s exclamation.

“Thanks, kid, but I don’t want you fucking anyone up for me. That’s not gonna be necessary, alright?” Ellie gives her a sheepish smile at that, a light moment that relieves whatever tightness had been in the air. But just as soon as they all seem to slump back into ease, the sound of someone knocking on the front door echoes through the house.

Joel excuses himself, a wordless plea for her and Ellie to stay put. He’s admittedly surprised to see that it’s Maria standing on his porch, a steely look on her face and her hands on her hips.

“We have a problem.”

“That son of a bitch started it.”

“I don’t care who started it, Joel. I’m gonna finish it, all of it. I’ve called a town meeting for tomorrow night. This can’t keep going on. It’s— people are asking me questions that I can’t answer. And I know Mason is getting people more worked up the longer this goes on.”

“Maria, she’s— she’s not ready for this.”

“She’s gonna have to be. I’m worried, Joel. The longer we let people talk, the more out of hand this’ll get and— I wouldn’t put it past some of those men to—try something.” He feels a cool prickle shoot up the back of his neck at Maria’s words, his mind going back to the night of the dance, the way Mason had grabbed her, and he knows that Maria is right, that something needs to be done now before it escalates. 

“There are people on her side too, Joel. It’s just– there’s so much talk going around that everyone’s too afraid to say anything otherwise. If we can hear her side, I know people will come forward. But if she stays holed up like this, people are just gonna keep talking.” 

“You’re right, Maria.” He hadn’t been expecting it, the sound of her voice startling him as he turns to look at her padding up behind him. She places a firm palm between his shoulder blades, a presence, a confirmation.

“Just tell me what time tomorrow, and I’ll be there.”

...........................

taglist: @boofy1998 @misspascaliverse @jasminedragoon @beskarandblasters @daddy-din @subconsciouscollapse @avidreader73 @pedgeitopascal @littlelou22 @wannab-urs @hannahlupinblack @whoiscaroline @leeeesahhh @str84pedro @mumma-moonchild @disregardedplant @mxtokko @igloo71 @secretdazeobservation @eddie-munson-dungeon-master @cressida-clearwood @mydailyhyperfixations @mingeniee @the-ginger-hedge-witch @delicious-collection @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @thereaperisabitch @lunxramour @jupiter-sky @parrotpeggy @abbiesxox @nerdreader @ssa-raye @vermillionwinter @jksprincess10 @jordycat-2018

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Criminal Minds | Masterlist

SERIES

Begin Again:

Chapter One: The Savior

Chapter Two: Room 304

Chapter Three: I Know Who Did It

Chapter Four: Swimming Pool Kisses

Chapter Five: Ninety-Nine Percent

Glitter & Crimson:

Glitter and Crimson

Reader is keeping a secret from the rest of the team and they're adamant to find out. When they do, they're absolutely gobsmacked. One of them more than others...

Steady As A Drumbeat

And that ends in a night neither of them will ever forget.

A Little Less Conversation

+ The Aftermath

ONE SHOTS / IMAGINES

Memoriam

Season 4 Episode 7 rewrite -- Spencer's childhood best friend helps him on the Riley Jenkins case. Working together after years of not seeing each other brings up old memories and new feelings.

Do Re Mi

Spencer's next-door-neighbor comes into the BAU, distressed, saying that her ex-boyfriend was the person responsible for the recent string of kills happening in D.C.

Truly Madly Deeply

Spencer comes home from a case and wakes up next to reader. Inspired by One Direction's 'Truly Madly Deeply'.

Johnny and Dora

Spencer and Reader go undercover together to catch the most prolific identity thief in New York. What happens on the case might spark a shift in their relationship. Inspired by the Brooklyn 9-9 episode with the same name.

When?

Reader is tired of always coming in second place. Even when her and Spencer have split up, she's still looking over her shoulder as though he'd still be there. When will that end?

When The Girls Talk Boys

Spencer and Reader talk to their friends about one another, which causes their co-workers to find out about their secret relationship. Inspired by Girls Talk Boys by 5SOS.

Nothing is Accidental

After hearing Spencer's talk on a conference, Reader tests her luck and talks to the young Doctor. It sparks a new friendship, partnership and maybe even more. Rewrite of Season 7 Episode 11: True Genius

Dream Away The Dark

Four times where Reader comforts Spencer after a bad dream and one time where Spencer does the same for Reader.

Hunting Monsters

Halloween is Reader's favorite holiday and she plans to implement that love into her child's life, too. When little Poppy tells Reader she doesn't want to go trick-or-treating, Reader and her husband's co-workers help her convince the tiny genius.

I’m Recharging

How Spencer and Reader's ritual of 'recharging' began.

Tongue Tied

Reader is invited to her best friend's birthday party where she meets Dr. Spencer Reid. An instant connection is made.

Meet Me On The Courtyard

Spencer encounters his neighbor from across the yard, dancing around in her apartment until she catches him. They decide to properly meet on the courtyard.

You Owe Me A Date

Spencer and Reader plan to go out on a date. When she doesn't show up, Spencer gets worried.

You Knock The Wind Out Of Me

Spencer clearly dislikes Reader, but when she tries to ask him why, he evades the question. Only her boyfriend being disrespectful towards her forces her to admit his true feelings.

A Man After Midnight

Spencer and Reader are best friends since they were kids. When Reader is set to marry James, Spencer decides to give her the bachelorette party of her dreams. Only he wishes it were him she was about to marry...

Girls Can't Drive

Where a case hits reader a little too hard. Spencer doesn’t get why it’s hitting his girlfriend so hard until she finally tells him how hard it is to be a woman sometimes.

Annotations

Spencer finds a book in the breakroom one time and when he starts reading it, he noticed the notes in the margins. What quickly develops as a love written in the margins of several books, might have to step out into the real world soon.

King of My Heart

Spencer has always taken care of reader. Whether it was giving reader food before they realized they were hungry or buying them coffee, ... Tiny gestures that made it impossible for reader not to fall in love with him.

This Love Is Ours

Reader and Spencer are best friends with obvious feelings for one another. When Spencer ends up in prison, Reader gets angry at him, which keeps them from visiting him. But once she does, there's no pane of glass that would keep them apart.

Mine (Spencer's version)

Spencer reminisces about the first time he met Reader.

New Romantics

After a bad breakup, Reader and her friends go out to party where she meets one young FBI agent. Suddenly, she'd forgotten her ex even existed and was more interested in getting to know the stranger.

I Can See You

When Penelope's best friend comes to help out the BAU on a couple of cases, there's an immediate connection with the youngest of the team. After longing glances, soft touches and wild fantasies, the truth comes out accidentally. What is the resident genius going to do with that information?

There's A 100% Chance I'm Gonna Marry You

The team doesn’t even know of her existence but when Spencer can’t get a hold of her, he gets worried. Now he has no other choice than to tell his coworker about her.

I Think He Knows

JJ invites her best friend, a linguistics professor, to help out on a couple of cases. When she and Spencer work together, something sparks between them.

Maybe We'll Take Some Time

Spencer and Reader broke up five weeks ago. When he comes knocking on her door, crying about a friend's death, their love is resparked.

HANDS

Spencer's hands are lovely and as he placed them on Reader's cheeks, it was the only way to calm her down. So, when Reader comes home breaking down after a difficult day at work, he's quick to calm her down.

The Stranger

Spencer and Reader are coworkers and best friends. When Reader gets hurt on a case, Spencer's feelings for Reader are bared.

Floored Decisions

Many decisions were made on the floor of their apartment. One day, she asks him a very important question.

[knightyoomyoui]

The Tale Of The Bloodline | TWICE MiSaMo (Mina, Sana & Momo) x M/F Reader- CHAPTER 12: "The Mysterious Ally"

In this chapter, it follows the aftermath of what happened last week on Knockdown when Kim Jennie makes a save for her former friends and co-members of BLACKPINK against the control of The Bloodline which then leads them to declare a war against them to be held on the next premium live event. However, both teams needs 5 members, and each of them has one more missing person to complete their respective teams. They go on to search for a rightful fighter in the roster who can fill the vacant spot.

1 WEEK LATER | November 18, 2022

The newly reunited BLACKPINK consisting of Lisa Manoban, Rose Park, Kim Jisoo, and Kim Jennie who recently did the initiation to bring their bond back in order to cease The Bloodline's unruly dominance in the main roster were the ones that got tasked to open the show to address the brawl that happened last week.

They all stood in the ring together, something that felt surreal and relieving seeing them all on the same page once again just like the old days. Lisa and Jennie looked at each other with an awkward yet satisfied smile on their faces while hearing the crowd cheer for them.

Lisa hits the mic thrice to do some checking, still not moved from the embarrassment she took caused by the technical team's fault on not fixing the sound system of her mic while she made her return last week which would've made her return better if that didn't happen."Is this thing working on properly now?"

The crowd cheered again with some laughed at her joke knowing what she's referring at. "You all can hear me now, right? Yeah? Well, Sapporo, how are yall doin?!"

Again, the crowd's lively sounds resonate in the arena, happy to see one of the fan favorites checking up on them. Lisa smiled and nodded, understandably thinking that they were all doing well at the moment while watching the show live. "Alright, I'm going to start off with this. I noticed there's a lot of people who are happy to see that in fact… Kim Jennie is standing here by my side while the rest of my girls are ready to go to war with The Bloodline considering the fact that…

Lisa looked at Jennie and stood closer to her. "You and me, girl, we have more than a decade of history together. A rivalry. How many times have we gone to war with each other, friend? How many times have people questioned us about whether we really do trust each other?

The truth here though is that those so many years of rivalry has created mutual respect…" Jennie stared at her and nodded slowly, agreeing with what Lisa is saying. "It created a bond. A bond so strong that as a matter of fact I asked Jennie to be my bridesmaid when I got married few weeks ago." The audience clapped to congratulate Lisa about the news, who took it with a heartfelt gratitude.

"Jennie, we the BLACKPINK wants that baddie in you." She pointed at her.

Jennie laughed amusingly at her term. "Baddie? You really said baddie?"

"Well yeah I said it."

"Hmm actually yeah, i'm feeling really like a baddie myself here right now." Jennie agreed.

"You are? Well, I'll tell you this girl, when it comes down on this, there's no one I would rather be in the tranches with than you, Jennie." Jennie nodded appreciatingly at her sincerity. "So what do you say, will you be one of us baddies again?"

Jennie chuckled at Lisa's silliness. The fans then started to chant "baddie" at Jennie, and it made her pretty surprised that the fans were going along with Lisa's humor. "Nobody knows what it's like to be outnumbered by The Bloodline more than good ol' Kim Jennie. Just like it seems when you get them beat. Just like when it seems you have the upper hand… another muppet appears, another one multiplies… but when the odds are even, that's a different story altogether.

As a matter of fact, I'm going to war… and I want to go with my sister."

Jennie offers a handshake to Lisa. She just looked at it first before she made the move to step forward and bring Jennie to her closer for a longing and thankful embrace that made the fans feel touched and glad for the two best friends.

Rose lifts the mic to her mouth and started speaking, with no means of rudely interrupting the two's wholesome moment. "Well this is nice girls but uhh… let's get serious shall we?" Jennie and Lisa broke up their hug to pay their attention to their co-member. "Sapporo! It's fight night! And Jisoo…"She wraps her arm around Jisoo's neck like a buddy and points the mic at her, giving her the opportunity to continue her words.

"Yup, it means… it's Wargames!!!", Jisoo exclaimed, as she confirmed that BLACKPINK and The Bloodline will be the ones who the participating in the annual Wargames match which features two rings placed side by side together in one roofless steel cage and you can only win by pinfall or submission. If a competitor tries to escape the ring then it automatically means their team forfeits. Hardcore is legal in this match also.

The crowd cheered and it made both Rose and Jisoo hyped while Jennie and Lisa walked around the ring seething the intensity building up through their core by all means to unleash it all against The Bloodline. "Alright, ladies. I see 1, 2, 3, 4 people but…"

She went near at the ringpost where one of the cameramen are, she stared intently at it and smirked as she held the mic for a while to create suspense. "… who could be the 5th member for our team?"

"Well I'm gonna let you know who's gonna be the 5th member is-"

"Hold on right there, ladies." They all heard a familiar voice coming from the distance. The crowd both booed and cheered at the sudden emergence of Minatozaki Sana on stage, with a microphone of her own in hand. "I think I speak on behalf of the entire Bloodline when I say that… we do not care who the fifth member is. We don't!

We're feeling good! We're feeling great. You can even say that we're not feeling…" Sana paused, and the crowd slowly picked up what she meant by it. They start chanting SHY SHY SHY as a callback to the joke she made to YN when the two had a confrontation in front of the Empire Chief. Sana smiled and said that they got it right. "Yes, you might say we're not shy shy shy about getting involved in this whole thing.

She slowly walks confidently, boasting about The Bloodline's unbothered state en route to the War Games, speaking as their representation, aka The Honorary Muse. "Now here's the thing: you girls really think that you all are getting into our heads. Do you know who you are dealing with? You are talking to Minatozaki Sana right now! Aka the Master Strategist… Aka the Honorary Muse… Aka Myoui Sana?! "

Jennie and Lisa chuckled at Sana's ridiculous nicknames she bragged all for herself. "And you all really think that we're worried about - wait let me tell you something, I don't make a lot of guarantees, but I'm putting my name on this one. As The Honorary Muse, I personally guarantee you… The Bloodline will win Wargames!"

Sana saw one of BLACKPINK's members who is going to be her opponent for the tournament that will indicate who will be the winner of Japan Federation's World Cup: Kim Jisoo who is getting amped up at Sana's irritating blabbering. "I see you're getting round up there, Jisoo. You and me don't need to wait tonight, girl. You and me are going to have a one on one match tonight anyway so here's what I'm going to do, I'm going to run onto you and I'm gonna give you a small taste you can all expect next Saturday at Wargames!"

"Well Sana uhh…" Lisa took the initiative to speak next. "I'm delighted to see you being confident but uhm… something tells me that when you find out who the 5th member of our team is… well you might about to get to piss your pants when you meet this person."

Sana scoffed and smirked sassily at her, not getting provoked by her threats. "Because… It's the last thing you gonna expect."

Sana's brows furrowed while still plastering that smirk to cover her slight nervousness on this mysterious person as they ended their confrontation with BLACKPINK's theme playing in the arena again.

"So here's the question now, who will be the 5th member of Jennie, Lisa, Rose, and Jisoo for Wargames as they look to end The Bloodline's dominance." commentator Knight Yoo asked.

"Absolutely I have no idea, partner." his fellow commentator on the desk Lee Kwangsoo replied.

30 MINUTES LATER

The Bloodline has arrived with Myoui twins YN and Mina along with their cousin Hirai Momo. As they got updated from Sana herself that she confronted BLACKPINK who were the ones who opened the show… well, just like the usual, one of them is highly opposed of Sana's decisions around the room.

"What you said about the Bloodline? I know you're not dumb enough to go out there a guarantee W's at Wargames." YN is currently scolding Sana, with Mina and Momo just listening to their discussion. Sana looks tired listening again on listening to YN's strict words, shaking her head and breathing deeply to compose herself. "We don't even know who their fifth member is!"

Sana immediately stood up and went face to face with YN. "What did I do wrong this time?" she asked, sick of the blame she's receiving. "Tell me what was wrong that I did, all I just did is to go out there and say we're gonna win. Are you saying we're not gonna win?"

"Ofcourse we're gonna win!"

"Okay, so what's the problem?!"

"Cuz you're gonna be running your mouth-"

"Now wait a second YN…"

"Hey listen you two." Mina stood up from her seat and went in between Sana and YN. "Both of yall need to be on the same page. Yuta is on his way here, we have to be like that before he comes here."

"Right."

"Take a chill pill, alright?"

"I'm child, I'm chill."

"Take a breath, Sana. Alright?"

"Right." Sana agreed at Mina. YN is just staring at Sana while he/she follows what her twin advised for them to do. Sana then made her way out of The Bloodline's locker room. YN then faced her twin and complained again. "Sis, she will need to be-"

"And you, you better stop worrying about her too much!" Mina interrupted her to give the proper scolding for her younger twin."We got Bloodline business to handle tonight, and we need to figure out who will be our fifth member tonight, you know that Yuta might not be available for Wargames."

"Y-you're right."

"Handle business, come on."

"You're right, you're right."

They stopped exchanging words of comfort when Sana reappeared again on the scene. "Hey sorry, uhh I forget to mention, you know the thing we talked about earlier?" She asked Mina.

"Yeah I did."

"Okay." They did some weird handshake together that caused YN to accidentally burst out a laughter in which he/she tried to control immediately to hide it and avoid breaking up character near Sana. They hugged before Sana left again. Momo just looked weirdly at YN and the latter blushed after he'she got caught.

ANOTHER 30 MINUTES LATER

The Myouis continue to search around backstage. They went on to visit some locker rooms to ask for their fellow heel warriors if they want to align with The Bloodline for one time but all of them refused, either they hate The Bloodline too, they don't want to get involved, or they have a much more important feud to focus about instead.

The unsuccessful twins still ain't losing hope yet, especially when they got to cross paths with someone familiar that they think would be a best option to add more shield in protection against BLACKPINK.

"The Harbinger Of Doom" Bae Irene who attacked Kim Jennie when she made her return to Japan Combat Federation few months ago was seen by YN and Mina walking her way back to her place after she just won a match against her opponent out there. The two went eye to eye with a fellow villain and the latter eyed them down with complete seriousness.

"Are you the fifth member?" YN asked her with angst. Mina traces her out and came up with an unsatisfied conclusion.

"Nah, this ain't her YN."

"Let me make things clear to you…" Irene spoke after. "I'm not a follower."

"So we won't gonna see you there with us after, huh." Mina replied. "You won't gonna make a name for yourself out from The Bloodline after Sana fights Jisoo tonight, right?"

Irene smirks. "When I come to take Yuta's title, which I will… I'm gonna do it on my own time. And when I do, I'm not gonna show him some pack… I'm gonna do it all by myself.", she made a statement that he's not yet over on setting it sight on target at the current champion.

Irene left the two, still remain unsuccessful to search for their fifth member at Wargames. It made them problematic, as time is running out for the main event to come after tonight and for the show to end. They don't have enough opportunity remaining to look for more fighters out there who are willing to face BLACKPINK.

1 HOUR LATER

It it now time for the main event as "The Honorary Muse" Minatozaki Sana for Japan with The Bloodline on the ring side goes against BLACKPINK's Kim Jisoo for Korea with the rest of the team standing up for her own side in support for her stake in this week's tournament round for the Japan Combat Federation World Cup.

As the match proceeds minutes after the bell has rang for the two fighters to start, Jisoo climbs to the turntackle to deliver a moonsault down through all Bloodline members after they all gathered when The Myouis checks out on exhausted Sana.

"Jisoo and Sana, who will advance to the semifinals of the World Cup tournament…" Knight calls as they watch Jisoo holding her aching wrist while returning to the ring and going to the opposite turnbuckle facing Sana's direction to the other side.

She tried to charge at Sana for a running punch but Sana counters, lifting Jisoo's body and gave an exploder suplex to the turnbuckle, making Jisoo's back hit the corner of the ring. Sana then went on Jisoo's previous spot in replacement so that she could set Jisoo up to get hit by a Helluva Kick but the referee had its attention after Lisa and YN throwing hits at each other until YN tried to escape by climbing to the ring just in time to interrupt Sana who was about to ran towards Jisoo.

Lisa grabbed YN's feet as she tries to pull him/her out but YN fights out. The referee is giving a warning to YN for illegally entering the ring being not an official competitor. Sana complained at YN getting in the way but YN didn't heard it. Instead, Sana just watched YN getting thrown to the ringside barricade by Lisa.

Distracted, Jisoo rolled Sana for a surprise pin but Sana kicks out. However, she got surprised again when Jisoo quickly sets Sana with a Boombayah reverse slam, hitting Sana's front down to the mat. She went for a cover afterwards.

"1…2…3."

"Jisoo goes to the semifinals next week!" Knight declares Jisoo's victory.

The announcer didn't even got to give the credit to Jisoo when suddenly Momo entered the ring and kicked Jisoo's face. She carried her, hooker her arm around and gave her a spinning slam. Momo roared furiously until Jennie joined her inside the ring and stole her attention, giving her blows to the head and sending her through the corner where she kicks Momo repeatedly.

Rose and Mina on the other hand were also fighting each other. Rose dumps Mina out of the ring and followed her there. They go on to collide through the barricades while Jennie and Momo exchanges hits and switches positions on the turnbuckle.

As Jennie stomping Momo and Rose punching Mina on the ringside, the crowd then went in awe when the entrance theme of The Empire Chief and current Japan Combat Federation World Champion plays during the chaos.

Yuta Nakamoto arrives with his Special Advisor Park Jinyoung on the stage, his evil intentions set mainly on their adversaries. He started running and unleashed a superman punch on Rose then speared the approaching Jisoo from his right.

After he bragged and roared in effect of the damage he inflicted, he noticed Jennie staring on him, as she stood in the center of the ring. She took off her shirt, showcasing her only wearing a sports bra through her well-built physique, as she intensely aims at the undefeated enemy.

Jennie gestures for Yuta to come in and bring it on. Yuta who is feeling confident and tough, climbs to the ring to accept Jennie's invitation for a fight. Momo tried to distract Jennie only to get thrown through the top rope which caused Yuta to take the short advantage by spearing Jennie as she turned her body back around.

Jennie holds onto her hurting midsection as Yuta mocks her out of it. He was about to approach the weakened Sana laying down on the upper right corner of the ring but he felt a sense that someone is stalking him from behind.

He finds out that its the vengeful Lisa, who wants payback for the ones responsible for her minor injury that took her out for months. "Now here's the two who has history together before, especially when it comes to Quest Of Survival." Knight referred to their feud seven years ago when Lisa cashed in her championship contract right after Yuta won his first world title to steal the spotlight to him and win the title away from him, giving him only a reign for 5 minutes that all happened at the same pay-per-view in which they're both about to head onto in a Wargames match.

Lisa and Yuta stares down at each other in the middle of the ring before Yuta went for the blow first then Lisa strikes back. They exchanged punches until Lisa got the lead. It cut off short when Sana suddenly got up and bumped Lisa to her back, breaking her up from Yuta. Lisa catched Sana and pushed her to the corner before Yuta was able to superman punch her too.

Yuta positioned himself, squatting at the corner with adrenaline rushing through his veins. He stares at Lisa slowly getting back to her fett, unknown that an impactful spear is about to hit her next. However, Yuta's excitement was replaced with shock when the arena played the entrance theme of another fighter that made the audience jump out from their seats in joy.

Cho Miyeon, who is out of action after taking an emergency leave because of her fractured hand makes her surprise return for tonight's Friday Night Knockdown. She savagely marches through the ramp and superkicks Mina out of the way. YN tried to attack her but he/she also met another superkick from Miyeon.

Yuta tried to warn Miyeon not coming to the ring but she initially refuses as she stepped in the apron. The two who has a personal history together also, as Miyeon was one of the first found victims of The Bloodline before who tried to take the title away from Yuta third times only to fail through all of those.

The crowd then chanted "holy shit" as Miyeon slowly comes up in front of Yuta and they stood level at the ring. Yuta tried to hit her but Miyeon caught his wrist, and returned the same greeting by slapping Yuta then went on to hit him repeatedly as she sends him to the corner of the ring.

She angrily stomps at Yuta's poor body until she turns around and stopped when she saw her bitter former bestfriend turned to be enemy throughout their career, Minatozaki Sana standing away from her. They stared at each other and slowly grew inches closer until Yuta gives Miyeon a surprise superman punch out of nowhere.

Rose pulled Sana out of the ring and threw her at the barricade. With Yuta and Miyeon remaining in the ring, Yuta goes for his signature battlecry but Miyeon gave a knee strike onto Yuta's forehead, making him dizzy which allowed her to kick Yuta on the torso and hit him with a devastating stunner.

The crowd cheered as Miyeon watched Yuta slowly roll out of the ring while holding his head. Sana also watched her Empire Chief got beaten by her former bestfriend, gasping her mouth.

The show ends with The Bloodline as the fallen odds gathered at the ringside, unbelievably witnessing BLACKPINK peeking at them through the ropes along with Cho Miyeon, making herself the official 5th member for Team BLACKPINK for this coming Wargames match at Quest For Survival pay-per-view event.

[sweetcheeksschemmenti]

Beyond The Classroom

Pt. 1

I don’t expect this one to be very popular, this is a self indulgent piece 🫡

Summary: Once a Little Eagle, always a Little Eagle. Melissa keeps that promise to you year after year as she shows up for you in every possible way.

Warnings: Child abuse, neglect, abandonment, over all sad stuff (Mel makes it better!)

WC: 3.9k

Notes: Wrote this because it’s the week before Mother’s Day and I just want my mama (she’s an awful human being and will never be a part of my life again, 6 years no contact). Melissa is a comfort character for me, so I’m using this as a hug from her. I know there are plenty of other people with bad relationships with their moms (gotta love mommy issues), so I thought I’d share in case someone else would also like this hug.

I see you, I love you.

P.s. This story is about 85% based on events I experienced as a child/young adult. I’m thankful every day for the teachers who stepped in to be the parents I didn’t have.

You grew up in a not-so-wonderful household with abusive parents and older siblings who wouldn’t have noticed if you had decided to run away one day. Melissa Schemmenti knew. She was the one person you felt you could confide in as a child. She called CPS on your parents a handful of times during the year she taught you, in hopes of keeping you safe. Unfortunately, with a broken system and a mother who could sweet talk The Devil himself, your parents got off scot-free, leaving you to deal with the aftermath each time.

You would go into school the next day with a new bruise and tears in your eyes. Melissa would hold you close and let you cry all you could before pulling a chair up next to her own so you could be near your safe person all day. When it came time for dismissal, she would hug you extra tight and send a silent prayer to God that you’d walk through the doors again in the morning. On Fridays, she would sneak a Tupperware container of homemade food and a handful of snacks into your bag with a note that said ‘love you, kid’, knowing that your parents restricted your access to food and that she was probably the only person you heard those words from most days. The world sat heavy on your second grader shoulders and Melissa did everything she knew how to make it a little lighter.

Even as you moved on past second grade, Ms. Schemmenti was there. She would check in with each of your teachers at the beginning on the school year and pop in to say hello at lunch from time to time. If you had a particularly rough night at home you would stop by her room and ask her to hold you for a minute before other students arrived. She always obliged.

The day you moved on to middle school, Melissa cried right along with you. Both of you knew she wouldn’t be able to hug the hurt away or keep tabs on you as often. Of course, she made sure you knew how much she loved you, she gave you her personal phone number and said, “No matter how old you get or how far you go, you’ll always be my favorite little eagle. I’ll always be here for you if you need me and I mean it. If things go south at home, you call me and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. You’re gonna be okay.”

As the years passed, Melissa made sure she remained a constant- the only constant, really- in your life. Through your middle school years she became your tutor, meeting you at your school’s library every Thursday after dismissal to help you with your homework. Of course, those sessions were always a little more than just help with homework; she would bring you food and make sure you had clean clothes and basic necessities. One time you let it slip that your mother had ‘forgotten’ to buy you toothpaste and she dropped off a small bag of Colgate tubes on your front porch that night.

When you entered high school, Melissa made an effort to show up for every one of your art shows and track meets. Your parents never even made it to one, but Schemmenti was there. She always was. Your high school teachers even began to think Melissa was your mother; you never corrected them. And when you started working at the hoagie stand your sophomore year, Ms. Schemmenti would stop by once a week to have dinner with you.

The physical abuse dwindled a little as you got older and were able to fight back, but the verbal abuse got worse as a result. At one point during you senior year, your mother kicked you out after throwing a fit about you not inviting her to see you try on prom dresses. You called Melissa and she drove forty-five minutes at three in the morning to get you. Your mother knocked you to the ground and pulled fistfuls of hair, creating a tangled mess. When you were finally able to get her off of you, she screamed at you the entire time you packed your bag.

“FUCK YOU Y/N, YOU SELFISH BITCH! Couldn’t even include YOUR OWN MOTHER! It hurts, it’s almost like not getting invited to your WEDDING!” You dodged books and trinkets she threw at you as you tossed whatever sentimental things you could think of into trash bags to take with you. Photos of your grandparents, your favorite stuffed animal, and some of your artworks made it in before you heard Melissa honking in the driveway.

“You’ve never been my mom,” you seethed with tears streaming down your face as you dragged your bags down the stairs.

She blocked you from leaving at the bottom of the stairs and backhanded you, her ring catching the tender skin beneath your eye. You yelped in pain and stumbled forward, she grabbed you by the throat and squeezed. “You walk out that door and NEVER come back, you hear me? You are worthless, a waste of space and air.” She dug her nails into your skin before she released you and practically pushed you through the front door.

“You’ll never have to deal with me again. You want me out? I’m out.”

Your father followed behind with his fists balled up, “If you ever come back, it’ll be the last time you see daylight!”

Melissa waited for you by the car with her baseball bat, ready to swing if need be. Once your bags were in the backseat, Melissa tossed her baseball bat into the trunk and drove off. Your mother chased the car all the way down the driveway calling you every derogatory thing she could come up with.

The drive to Melissa’s house was silent save for the occasional quiet aob from both parties. Once you arrived, Melissa took your bags inside and walked you up the stairs to her bathroom to nurse your wounds. You winced as she swabbed your cheek with isopropyl alcohol and she frowned. “I’m so sorry, hon. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner to stop her.”

“Don’t be, you still showed up when I needed you. It coulda been a lot worse. Thank you,” you cried as you leaned your head against her stomach just like when you were a second grader.

She held you until your tears dried then left the room to grab a change of clothes for you. Moments later, she handed you a pair of her sweatpants and an oversized Eagles t-shirt. “You can take the bed tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch. My spare room doesn’t have a bed right now, but we can fix that tomorrow after I call out of work. You need anything before I head down, kid?”

You looked at the ground, embarrassed to even ask, “Would you maybe… would it be okay if…. never mind, it’s stupid.” You shook your head and climbed under the comforter, it smelled like Melissa.

She somehow knew exactly what you were asking without hearing the words. She climbed into the bed and lifted an arm for you to scoot in. “Of course, sweet girl, it’s not stupid at all. I’ll keep you safe, promise. Try to get some sleep, I’ll be right here.” You settled into her embrace and took a deep breath.

You whispered, “I love you, thank you.”

“I love you too, baby girl. Sleep tight,” she whispered back before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Sleep was the last thing on her mind as she held you, watching as the rise of your chest slowed. She stayed awake the whole night, guarding your peace.

Late the following morning, you woke up to an empty bed and the sound of people in the house. You popped your head out into the hallway to see Melissa directing three men where to go with the new bed set. She heard the door creak and looked over at you with an apologetic smile, “Hey, hon, sorry to wake you! They’ll be outta here shortly. I called your school and work to let them know you wouldn’t be in for a few days so you don’t have to worry about it. I washed the clothes that were in your backpack, they’re sitting by my bathroom. There’s also a clean towel for you and a new toothbrush on the counter. You’re welcome to use my hairbrush and whatever else you need.” You smiled back at her and closed the door.

You picked an outfit from the pile of folded clothes and shut the bathroom door to shower. Your body was sore from the adrenaline and you groaned in pain as you shed your pajamas. Standing naked in the mirror, you looked over the marks your mother left on you. The nail marks on your neck were already scabbed over, but the gash under your eye was bruised and definitely going to leave a scar. You traced your fingers along each mark, tears forming in your eyes. The shower was hot enough to leave your skin red, you wanted to burn away any remnants of what happened to you. You sobbed loudly as you tried to detangle the mess of hair your mother created, it hurt and you were so worried that you’s just have to cut it all off.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Ya decent?” You opened the door for her and she gently took the brush from your hands. She directed you to sit backwards on the toilet while she worked at the knots on your head. You nearly fell asleep sitting there as she hummed and massaged conditioner into your hair, working diligently to make sure you kept your beautiful hair.

“You sleep okay,” She asked as she rinsed your hair in the sink.

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time. I haven’t slept in a bed in months, it was so soft.” You said it like it was nothing.

She paused. “Whatduya mean you haven’t slept in a bed in months?”

You sighed deeply. “They took my bed away because they said I was a whore and didn’t deserve one. I told them that I’m a virgin and they took the door off of my room, callin’ me a liar.” You hadn’t told her that detail when you saw her at one of your track meets a few months before. You figured you’d shared enough heartbreaking details with the woman, she didn’t need to be even more worried about you.

Hot tears silently flowed down her cheeks. She was angry. Not at you for not telling her, but at the low-lifes you called parents. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” she spat. She was ready to call in one of her favors from The Tire Iron. “Well I’ll tell ya one thing, kiddo, you ain’t goin’ back there ever again. You’ll never be without ‘long as I’m around, ya got it? And you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want, no strings attached.”

You choked back your own tears. “Thanks, Ms. Schemmenti. I truly appreciate you.” She wrapped your hair in a towel and you turned to hug her. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve, apparently,” she teased when your stomach growled loudly. She grabbed your chin to look at you, “And no more ‘Ms. Schemmenti’. You can call me Melissa, Mel, Aunt Mel, whatever you want, just not that. You’re family, kid. Now c’mon, I’ll make you something to eat before we head out for a shopping trip.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Her brow furrowed, “You tryin’ to make me feel old? None of that ma’am stuff either.” You giggled and followed her down to the kitchen.

She made French toast and sausage and you devoured the meal in just a few bites. Satisfied with you having eaten, she grabbed her purse, dragged you to the car and pulled out of the driveway. Along the way, she asked you to make a list of anything you might need or want. You took your phone out and looked at it for the first time that day. The screen was full of awful messages from both of your parents and extended family members. You chose to clear the screen and turn off notifications without reading them all and opened your notes app to jot down a few things you knew you missed when packing bags.

Melissa pulled into the mall parking lot and looked over at you, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, what happened?”

You rubbed your eyes and tried to fake a smile, “Nothin’, I’m just tired.” She knew you well enough to know when you were lying, but she wasn’t going to push you on the subject.

“Mkay, kid. If you decide you wanna talk about it, you know I’ll always listen. And you know I’d kill for ya.” She gently nudged you with her elbow and the two of you made your way into the mall. You showed her your list and she took charge, guiding you around to every clearance rack and bargain bin in the vicinity. You paid for the majority of your new finds, but she insisted on helping with funds here and there. Many stores later Melissa stopped for a bathroom break and you found yourself in front of Auntie Anne’s. Remembering how much she loved soft pretzels- she’d get one every field trip- you decided to buy two, one for each of you. It was a very small token of gratitude, but you knew she’d be excited.

When she exited the bathroom, she scanned the food court for you and found you sitting at a table with all the bags. She sat down across from you and you pushed the soft pretzel her way with a little cup of honey mustard, “Thank you for today. Normally I hate shopping, but you made it fun.”

She gave you an upside down smile and took a bite. “I’m glad I could be a good distraction for ya, hon. And thank you for this!” She clinked her pretzel with yours to ‘cheers’ the day. As you finished your pretzels in silence while people watching, a dress shop on the upper level caught your eye. Despite trying on prom dresses, you never actually bought one.

Melissa‘s eyes followed your gaze and when she spotted the shop she knew what she was going to do. “Hey, I know you said you normally hate shopping, but since we’ve been having so much fun today… why don’t we keep the fun going and go pick out your prom dress? It’s what, two weeks out?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I can’t afford it now that I’ve spent half my savings on shit I needed today. Besides, I got to do prom last year, I’m alright missing out on this one.” You played with the straw in your drink absentmindedly and took the last bite of your pretzel.

Melissa thought back to the conversations she had with you about how excited you were for your senior prom. You buzzed about it every time the two of you spoke for months, it broke her heart to see you resign to not going. “My treat, hon. And I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, I know how bad you wanna go. C’mon,” she said as she prodded you up and dragged you to the dress shop.

You spent about an hour browsing and trying on different dresses, even somehow convinced Melissa to try one on with you for shits and giggles. You pretended not to see her sneak a picture in the mirror of the two of you in the matching dresses, a sweet moment she wanted to remember forever. Finally, you found the right one. The a-line strapless dress stopped mid calf, it was wine red and fit like a dream. When you emerged from the dressing room to show her, she gasped.

“Oh, beautiful girl! My favorite little eagle isn’t so little anymore.” She stuck her bottom lip out in an upside down smile as she reached to tuck your hair away from your eyes. She took a small step back and asked you to spin so she could see it all. The smile on your face told her you made your choice. With misty eyes she pulled you into a tight hug, limiting your ability to breathe.

“I can’t… breathe… help,” you choked out. The redhead lessened her squeeze and apologized but didn’t let go, she needed that moment to collect herself. You stood there embracing each other for a couple of minutes before Melissa finally released you. Once you changed back into your clothes, she took the dress to the register and paid.

You walked out together and stuffed all the bags in the trunk, laying the dress flat in the backseat. “Thank you. For everything, Aunt Mel. For a few hours, it didn’t feel like my world was crashing down around me. I’m lucky to have you.”

She kissed her fingers and then pressed them to your cheek before she started driving. “I’m pretty lucky to have you too, kid. And I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces when you need me.”

The drive back to Melissa’s house was quiet, aside from the classic rock station playing the weekly hits countdown. You checked your silenced notifications to see even more messages and missed calls from your family, Melissa glanced over and saw them too. “If you want, we can change your number this week, that way they can’t bother you anymore,” Melissa offered.

“They still pay for my phone, I can’t. They’d cancel my service the moment they found out.” You shoved your phone back into your pocket.

“Then I’ll just move you over to my cell plan. They don’t deserve the power they have over you, hon.” You opened your mouth to protest but stopped when she pointed at you. “Let me help, please. Because I can and I want to.”

“Thanks, Aunt Mel.”

A few minutes later you arrived back at the townhouse and dragged all of your new belongings up to your new room, hanging up the dress immediately. Melissa said she’d help you make the bed and get settled once she got dinner in the oven. While she was working in the kitchen, you curled up on the couch and flipped the TV on, settling on ‘Rick Steves’ Europe’ reruns. Rick’s comforting voice began to lull you to sleeping and you didn’t have the energy to fight it.

Melissa walked in to tell you she was ready and found you fast asleep. Her heart melted at the sight. She draped the couch blanket over you and lightly tucked it in so as to not disturb your slumber. ‘How could anyone hurt something so precious,’ she thought to herself. After she tucked you in, she made her way upstairs to gather your new sheets and comforter to wash them before starting on the rest of the room.

She grabbed the basket of your clothes from her own room and began to hang them up in your closet. Once she finished the task, she cleaned out the dresser and filled it with your socks, pants, and undergarments. One by one, she removed her family photos from the walls and replaced them with the handful of framed photos you brought with you. She recognized your grandparents’ photo from the one time she had met them at the beginning of your second grade year, right before they passed. They were your best friends, you were safe when they were around. Melissa decided to place the picture on your nightstand so that they’d be watching over you every night. Lastly, she organized your toiletries in the guest bathroom and set out a fresh set of towels and one of her robes.

Satisfied with her progress, she took a short break to check on you, change over the laundry, and take out the lasagna. You were still asleep and she didn’t want to disturb you so she ate alone in the dining room and texted her mother.

Mel: Hey, Ma. You mind setting an extra place at the table for family dinner on Sunday?

-Ma: Hot date?

-Mel: Nah. You remember me telling you about Y/N?

-Ma: You’ve talked about her for the last ten years, yeah I remember. Is the poor kid okay? Her parents treating her like shit again?

-Mel: They kicked her to the curb, said she wasn’t welcome back. She’s staying with me for as long as she needs to.

-Ma: Of course I’ll set an extra place for her, Amore. She need anything? You need anything?

-Mel: She needs all the love she can get, just make her feel like family. I’ve got everything else handled. Thanks, Ma.

-Ma: We can do that. Talk soon.

She finished her meal and gathered the clean bedding from the laundry room, making her way back upstairs to make your bed. Once the sheets were on, she fluffed the comforter and pillows before opening your backpack to retrieve your favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Bunz. Even at eighteen, you slept with him tucked in your arms every night. She hugged the well-loved bunny to her heart and thought back to the day she gave him to you. Right before holiday break your third grade year, she pulled you aside at dismissal and tucked him into your backpack. She told you to give him a hug whenever you needed to feel loved and she wasn’t around to give you a hug herself. Little did she know, that was the only gift you received that year.

Melissa placed him in the middle of the pillows, like the cherry on top, and went back downstairs to wake you for dinner. She sat on the arm of the couch and gently began to run her fingers through your hair. “You need to eat somethin’, sweetheart,” she whispered as your eyes fluttered open. You stretched and sat up, leaning your head against her leg.

“What time is it?”

“About 7:30. You’ve been through a lot the last 24 hours, figured you could use the rest. I got your room all set up for ya. I’ll heat up your plate and we can watch a movie before bed. How’s that sound?”

You rolled off the couch and rubbed your eyes. “Sounds good,” you yawned. You followed the redhead into the kitchen and sat at the counter. She warmed your plate in the microwave and placed it in front of you with a glass of water. You demolished your meal like you hadn’t eaten in days, complimenting her cooking after every other bite. You washed your dishes and then made your way back to the living room, joined by Melissa. She turned on one of your favorite comedy movies and watched the light return to your eyes a little more with each scene.

Sitting there, laughing at the stupid jokes on the screen with the closest thing you’ve ever had to a real mom, with a full stomach and a warm bed waiting for you upstairs, you realized something.

For the first time in your eighteen years of life, you were finally home.

[cursedvibes]

I’m still in shock of that chapter. Gege … why how and why did you think this was a good idea? Also why have one of the last chapters be about some random lore that nobody knew or cared about and be explained by the fandom’s two least favorite characters

I still have some petty hate for Yuuta, which is not helping my feelings of this chapter

I'm still baffled over Gege's time management. The Sukuna fight was already stretched in places were it didn't need to be, using up space with the gauntlet of people throwing themselves at him that could've been used to develop Yuuji, Megumi and Sukuna more, but this is just...so we rushed through Sukuna's end, skipped Hakari's and Uraume's fight and skipped Megumi regaining his body and the entire immediate aftermath of the Shinjuku fight just to spend 2/3 of the next chapter entirely with inconsequential bickering that sounds like Gege is beefing with reddit critics?

Remember the end of Shibuya? The hopelessness, the gravity, people mourned the ones who died, were devastated by the destruction of the city and the many civilians who died and they knew it wasn't even over. Their lives were fundamentally changed and it showed. Here everyone walked this fight off just fine. Megumi tanking 5 Unlimited Voids and having his brain leak out of his eyes merely results in him feeling a bit dizzy now. They do blame themselves at times, lament over what they could've done differently, but it doesn't feel serious, like they really struggle with it. It's just a set-up for a joke. Ui Ui and Kirara carried the corpses and gravely injured bodies of their comrades off the battlefield, being unsure who would survive all this and being powerless to do anything else, but now they make snarky remarks over who was the real MVP...where is this energy coming from? Gojo and Choso are still dead (Kashimo too, but obviously they weren't close), Megumi should be still reeling from his trauma of seeing his sister die and loved ones injured by his hands, and mind you they didn't fight in just some rubble out in the mountains, they destroyed Shinjuku, a district were many of them used to live and were also many other civilians used to live. They destroyed so many people's homes. Sukuna might be gone, but Japan is still fucked because Sukuna has never the real problem. Killing him won't fix up Tokyo again or soothe the international tensions created by the knowledge of sorcerers existing. But all that doesn't seem to matter.

I don't mind the focus on Mei Mei and I think the New Shadow Style school thing is actually very interesting, I love jujutsu politics, we got far too little about it, but this should've been something that was brought up during the Culling Games or shortly before they started preparing for Sukuna's battle. Y'know, then when it actually happened in the timeline. Not 3 chapters before the end, where you establish this massive power house that was never even hinted at and resolve it 2 pages later. Like okay? Why does that matter? Should I be worried? I'm not because I know far too little about this and Mei Mei handled it easily anyway. Should I be relieved? I'm not because I never even know there was a problem to begin with. Yes, we knew you can only teach Simple Domain to specific people, but that could've been resolved way easier than making up this whole issue and it was never treated with such gravity a secret society that drains their students life would deserve.

So this whole chapter was just pointless and a waste of precious space that could've been used for so many more important story threads.

[lonewolfel]

Lightning that makes her Kingdom Fall - Chapter 1 Aftermath

Summary: Zeus’s attack had consequences that no god had expected. Athena has been rendered human and is in critical condition. Odysseus is still trying to make it home. Telemachus just wants to get rid of the suitors and to know what happened to his friend.

Notes: I forgot to post this earlier my bad. It is here on AO3. Spoilers for God Games.

Chapter Master List

The gods watched in horror. Athena had always been Zeus’s favorite child. Intelligent, cold, strong, arrogant, prideful Athena now laid there in a puddle of her own ichor. Her last words before she lost consciousness was begging their father to free a mortal.

Zeus left the arena. He seemed to be the only one who could move after witnessing this horror. Apollo was the next to move.

Apollo the god of healing was the best one to be in action. He moved over to Athena slowly as if she was playing dead to strike her prey. Athena though didn’t move. He knelt beside her to treat her injuries. Zeus had never ordered the gods to do nothing to help Athena, so Apollo should be fine treating her...right?

Hera and Hephaestus both left. They didn’t have a particularly strong relationship with the goddess of wisdom but then no god really did besides Zeus.

Aphrodite rushed forward. Tears started to stream down her beautiful cheeks. Ares seemed to linger behind his lover. This was a shock. Aphrodite and Athena never got along how could they when Athena scorned the very thing Aphrodite represented? Ares was always Athena’s rival, both were of war, and yet Athena was praised while Ares was spat upon.

Apollo saw quick and sporadic breaths from his half-sister's chest.

“She’s alive.” The words didn’t come out the way he wanted. They showed just how much Apollo had been shaken by what happened.

“She had just learned,” Aphrodite sobbed. Apollo looked at her in confusion but said nothing. Aphrodite was a difficult god for him to understand. She acted irrationally and was far too focused on emotions. It was best to let Ares deal with her.

Apollo instead turned his intentions to healing Athena. Their father’s abilities weren’t ones that Apollo could heal, no, they would take eons for her to heal fully. Most of the damage was focused on the head and arms. Apollo wasn’t sure what the lingering effects of the lightning on Athena’s mind and that idea was concerning considering her role as the goddess of wisdom, but Apollo pushed the fears out of his mind to focus on the healing he could do.

He removed the lightning still coursing through her body. Stopping it from hurting her further and undoing Apollo’s hard work.

“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” Ares’s voice broke through Apollo’s thoughts.

Apollo looked up at the war god. In his arms was a slightly calmer Aphrodite who had her face buried in the god’s chest. Ares himself was gesturing towards Athena’s face with a mixture of barely contained rage and horror.

Apollo frowned and looked over at where Ares was gesturing. He turned Athena onto her back and moved her brown hair away from her face. Then Apollo saw what Ares was talking about.

There were red streaks running down her cheeks like tears. These red streaks were different, Apollo wiped one away and felt it. It felt like mortal blood. A sinking feeling entered his gut as he tried to tell himself that it came from one of the mortals Athena cared so much about, but then it was replaced with the exact same liquid coming from her eyes.

“Apollo?”

Frantically Apollo touched her head and using his abilities tried to find her divinity. He pushed aside the memory of her divine light faltering and fading while she begged for the mortal. Yet as he searched for her dormant divinity, he found nothing. There wasn’t even a trace of it left. Apollo tried to tell himself that it would come back when she was healed but deep down, he knew otherwise.

“She’s mortal,” Apollo breathed.

Aphrodite sobbed so hard that she likely alerted Hades to the happenings on Olympus. Apollo couldn’t bring himself to care about the goddess's outburst. He was too shocked by the implication. Zeus had removed his own daughter’s divinity, rendering her mortal.

Apollo could have laughed at the twisted justice of it. Athena had defied Zeus to free a mortal and now she had become one. Apollo felt sick.

“How?” Ares snarled.

Apollo could only shrug his shoulders. He looked down at Athena and it registered that she was going to die. Mortals were delicate they couldn’t handle Zeus’s lightning bolts. Even if she did survive how long? Would she ever recover? Would she ever be able to fight, to have a complex thought again, or would she simply become a vegetable waiting to die? And die she would. If not now, then in some mortal years when her mortal body finally fails.

“If he can do this to his favorite then...” Ares didn’t need to finish his thought. They were all likely thinking it. What would Zeus do to them? If Zeus didn’t hold back for Athena, then why would he for any of his other children or even the gods that aren’t his children? It was a chilling thought that made Apollo uneasy.

Apollo pushed down the thought. It didn’t do any good to dwell on them. Right now, Apollo had to focus on healing Athena.

“Ares, help me move her. Aphrodite, go grab Asclepius and have him meet us on Delphi.”

Aphrodite rushed off to do just that. Ares nodded and moved over to Athena’s feet.