#their images haunt each other when they’re about to do some crazy shit

[alleyross]

zayne may or may not accidentally slip a little about his mt. eternal experience and that makes mc go nuts

so, zayne is a combat medic, which sucks, mc thinks. he’s trained, fit, his evol is deadly and he’s intelligent enough to figure out any emergency situation he sometimes willingly gets into, but it still sucks. mostly because, well, he can die any day and that won’t even be something unusual for him, since he’s out here risking his life left and right. just an ordinary stuff. his colleagues may as well just move his body aside and continue working through some heavy shift somewhere in the mountains or god knows where else, since that appears to be their modus operandi for every business day.

no, she’s not exaggerating. actually, it seems to be an understatement even. a cold grasp of anxiety takes her by the throat, as she lies down in her bed, pass midnight, while there’s no one else beside her, because zayne’s got an urgent call, conveniently escaping further interrogations after accidentally slipping about what happened to him in the mountains four years ago.

she knew nothing good happened there. in fact, there were more dead than survivors, and zayne’s got lucky, even though he never reminisced about it out loud. maybe that was one of the reasons she could manage to go about her days, not worrying that hard about him every time.

well, shit, now she can’t. what a pity. turns out, you can’t just view someone else’s job the same way knowing how extreme it can get and how deep it traumatised your beloved one. even his natural ability to restrain himself which worked a bit too well sometimes can’t fool her now, she swears. he won’t be able to toss aside this topic next time he wakes up from a nightmare. she’ll drown him in anxious tenderness and kisses and will probably cry a little. she wants to cry even now, but that’s just stupid and certainly won’t help to fall asleep. it seems like she shouldn’t wait for zayne tonight — the call seemed serious.

she tries to suppress the urge to call him as well. partially because he can be really busy right now, but also because it would be somehow hypocritical. zayne knows very well about her job. zayne himself treated majority of her battle wounds. once he quite literally bathed his hands in her blood, because her stomach wound was deeper than the pacific ocean, and he didn’t let someone else operate her.

somehow he managed to keep his sanity through this. why would she make her feelings about something that happened so long ago his problem?

she turns away from his side of bed — empty and cold — and sighs deeply. nobody’s safe giving the circumstances of their routine. wanderers are everywhere, you can’t escape them even working at flower shop. yet…

“we had to… you know. leave people where they were lying. we didn’t have any time to move bodies aside. just checked if they could be reanimated and if not, we moved on. until the operation is over. and then the next one. they lied for hours, and we stood there, trying not to look away from our own hands.”

that’s what zayne said to her, looking into the ceiling, when she asked him about his colleagues. she remembered his friend william and how he didn’t make it through that expedition. zayne didn’t mention it before, but she knew that william’s death was particularly painful for him. seems like instead of talking about william, zayne decided to pay her attention to something else. although the topic he chose wasn’t really unusual in general — she’s a hunter, after all — the second she imagined him in that place, lying dead on the ground while people around didn’t even bother to… zayne understood immediately after he took a look at her face. he took a breath to reassure her, to say something soothing, to justify things that happened to him, but no word escaped his mouth.

and in that exact moment his phone rang. then he got up, got dressed and left. the image of his dead body didn’t.

it doesn’t leave until she closes her eyes in a hollow tiredness. when she opens them again, it’s nearly dawn. zayne sits beside her, still fully dressed, still radiating cold after being outside on a december night. his hand brushes against her hair.

“hi”, he whispers.

horrible images fade away with every deem of faint orange sunlight covering his face inch by inch. the dawn breaks mercifully. she clings to his thigh and anxiety slowly leaves her body, unclenching her heart and lungs unwillingly.

“hi”, she whispers back, looking up at him. “is everything alright?”

she just hopes he has good news on him.

zayne smiles faintly.

“yes, love. it’s fine. i’m fine”

there’s no energy for further interrogation left in her body. and she’s sure there’s no energy in his body as well. so she squeezes his knee and sighs.

“i love you. let’s keep us safe, huh?”

zayne agrees without any words. his quiet “i love you too” hides in the nape of her neck a couple of minutes later, giving her a much needed solace.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet uglies, sternclay 60 sfw? OwO

Here you go!

60 Sterncly SFW. we’re both on a reality show (like the queer bachelor) where we’re told to be friends but the first time we met, you were incredibly rude and judgmental and I don’t know if I can do this for the damn cameras

“So, Barclay, now that we’re a few days in, what’s your impression of the other contestants?”

“They, uh, they all seem like great guys. We come from a lot of different backgrounds, so that’s kind of interesting to be around but, uh, I live in a place that’s like a big, chosen family, so being in a house with a bunch of types of personalities is kinda, uh, homey.”

“There’s no one you think you’ll struggle with?”

“Uh. Well. I, uh, I don’t like Joseph too much. He came in and he’s so, like, phony from all the years in the FBI. It’s like he’s trying to be polite and charming but really he thinks we’re all idiots for being here. Which, like, buddy, last I checked you signed up for this the same as the rest of us.”

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

“Joseph, any worries about the other contestants?”

“No. I mean, we’re competitors on a dating show, not enemies. I think we’re all trying to show Vincent the best versions of ourselves.”

“There’s no one you’ve had conflicts with?”

“........I, um, Barclay and I got into a small argument earlier about the house rules. But I’m sure if we both stick around long enough we’ll come to an understanding.”

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

“Gentlemen, this cannot continue.” Ned, the producer, sits on the couch across from them. Barclay glares at Joseph, but the other man keeps a cool demeanor. Great, he’s making Barclay look like the big, angry mountain even off camera.

“I thought reality shows needed conflict to thrive.” Joseph cocks an eyebrow.

“They do, but about big things, like love and rivalry. Not how to properly load a dishwasher.”

“I’m just trying to be efficient.”

“My way is perfectly fine.” Barclay snaps, “jesus, I worked in kitchens for years, I know how to get clean plates.”

“That doesn’t make it optimal.”

“Do you have to be right about everything?”

“Gentlemen, you recall we have a housekeeping staff, right?”

“It doesn’t matter” Barclay doesn’t take his eyes off Ned, “we’re supposed to all get along, not all try and prove we’re the smartest guy in the room.”

“See, this is your problem, you need everyone to like you, to see you like a big brother, but you’re missing the fact that at least three of them have decided your gentle giant persona is a threat and they’re trying to oust you.”

“It’s not a persona, it’s just how I am. We aren’t all government shams disguised as men.”

Joseph’s facade cracks for a moment, blue eyes trying to light Barclay on fire.

“Enough.” Ned shakes his head, “you may despise each other as much as you please behind the scenes. In front of the cameras, please try to act as if you’re not ten seconds away from coming to blows. Agreed?”

They trade a final, furious look.

“Agreed.”

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

They’re a little over three weeks in; Vincent is still doing lots and lots of short, individual dates between the group outings, so the contestants have ample time to hang around the house and get on each others nerves.

Case in point: Joseph was right when he warned Barclay that others saw him as a threat. Chad, Alex, Nico, and Rich have all decided to go after him. Just this morning he’s been told he’s not man enough for Vincent (he shooed a wolf spider out of the kitchen with a broom instead of squishing it), too girly (he offered to make cupcakes if people wanted), and too big (who'd want to fuck a six foot tall puppy).

His mood is not helped by Joseph chatting away on the couch about his former job with the FBI. Barclay swears it’s all the asshole knows how to talk about. Maybe it’s time for Barclay to play a game of his own.

“Hey, Joseph.”

The other man turns, black hair perfectly slicked back like he thinks he’s some kind of movie star.

“I bet you ten bucks you can’t make it until eight tonight without talking about your job.”

The other contestants in the room snicker, several even giving Barclay a thumbs up.

Joseph adjusts his shirt sleeves, “You’re on.”

Ten hours later, Barclay is forced to get his wallet. The other man never mentioned the FBI once. In fact, he did Barclay an even bigger favor; he didn’t talk at all.

He finds the agent sitting on the back steps leading into the garden. Stays standing as he holds out the cash, “you win fair and square.”

Joseph looks at the money, then looks away, “I did it to show I could, not for the bet.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to go, uh, quite so hard on the silence thing.”

“I didn’t mean to. But, um, every time I was going to open my mouth, I realized it was somehow related to work. So I kept quiet.” He sighs, stretches out his legs. He’s in slacks, because of course he is, “I must have been so tedious to listen to, no wonder I was driving you up the wall.”

“Joseph-”

“I really am married to my career. I guess it’s not surprising my last chance for love is on a T.V show.”

“Hey, I get it.” Barclay sits down next to him, “when I was first working in commercial kitchens my hours were crazy; I barely saw my apartment, my friends, my boyfriend who pretty quickly became my ex. But it was what I needed to do to build the career I wanted for myself. To do what I loved.”

Only the crickets and the distant waves reply. Then, “You said you were a private chef now, right? Along with writing cookbooks?”

“Yeah. Kinda surprised you remembered.”

“Listening is a major skill in my profession. Besides, it’s polite to pay attention to what people tell you.”

“What’s your job now? You only ever talk about the FBI stuff?”

“Paranormal investigation. I never bring it up because people assume I’m out chasing Bigfoot with a shaky-cam or trying to communicate with haunted dolls.”

“So...what is it instead?”

“Helping people figure out they’re homes aren’t haunted or the monster on their property is just some owls. I like the challenge of solving the mystery, and I like helping people feel safe in they’re homes.”

Loud voices form inside; the caterers must have refilled the bar. He doesn’t really want to go in. It’s too nice out here.

“You wanna hear about the restaurant my coworkers swore was haunted?”

Joseph perks up, turning to face him, “Yes, please.”

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

He’d been really looking forward to beach day. Six guys are already gone, and Vincent has taken his fleet of suitors to the sunny San Diego shores. Barclay is dismayed to find all but three of the other guys have waxed their chests. Joseph hasn’t, but his happy trail is nothing compared to fucking black forest on Barclays torso. Nico’s gotten half the guys to call Barclay “bigfoot.”It makes him feel like he’s back in high school P.E freshman year, and his body image is rapidly sliding into that of a shy fourteen year old.

“Barclay!” Joseph comes jogging out of the surf towards the towels they lay down side by side when they arrived, “you should come in, it’s really the perfect weather for swimming.” He drops onto his towel, black hair a bit mussed. The swim-shorts that he thought were blue with green spots turn out to have not dots, but tiny UFOs on them.

“I, uh, I’m good. I, uh, I burn easily and I don’t think anyone wants to rub sunscreen on my hairy back.”

“Hey, Bigfoot, what’s wrong? Scared of what’ll happen if the cameras get a load of your gut?”

Barclay growls, stares at his toes. Joseph tracks Nico as he finishes jogging by. Then he calmly picks up a frisbee, aims a throw, and knocks his snapback off his head. He’s sitting down before the other man can work out who threw it. Barclay chuckles, but doesn’t get up.

“Bigfoot’s my favorite cryptid.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“And who gives a shit if you have a stomach.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re cut.”

Joseph grabs his sunglasses, “because I like that for my body. I happen to like yours just as much. Um I, I mean, it seems like Vincent likes it.” He tips his head towards the Bachelor, who gives them both a long once-over.

“...Will you do my back?”

“Of course, big guy.” The nickname sounds so right on his tongue it makes Barclay want to set his head in his lap and ask him to pet it.

It’s late afternoon when Ned herds them all onto a boat which promptly steers towards some cliffs. Joseph stays close to Barclay, pleasant expression noticeably tightening the closer they get to the rocks.

“I’ve been dreading this. Cliff diving is not something I’d pick to do on my own.”

“Heights?”

He shakes his head, “Deep water. I know it’s not rational, and I even checked to be sure there hadn’t been large shark sightings in the area, but I can never shake the feeling there’s something waiting just out of sight, ready to surge up and eat me.”

They all climb up together, Vincent staying on the boat to watch them jump (this is technically a friendly competition to show off how brave they are). As they’re turns get closer, Barclay sees Joseph doing deep breathing exercises.

They hit the edge. The agent freezes.

“Shit. I don’t think I can do this.”

“C’mon, where’s my daring special agent?”

Joseph still doesn’t move.

“You, uh, you wanna jump together? Maybe the megaladon or whatever will eat me instead.”

“Megalodons are extinct; we’d know if they weren’t, same as we know Whale Sharks aren’t.”

“They you are.” Barclay murmurs, smiling.

Joseph manages a smile back, “On three?”

“Yep. One, two” he grabs Joseph’s hand “three”

The water rises to swallow them with terrifying speed, but nothing is waiting for them except one very startled fish. They surface together, Joseph laughing triumphantly, hair plaster to his head and sun shining in his ocean eyes.

If Vincent doesn’t pick him, he’s out of his mind.

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

“Ohmylord, we have to play this.” Joseph cannot believe his luck; he figured the barcade group date would mean a lot of solo time, but here’s his favorite game in the whole wide world.

“Monster Hunt?” Barclay laughs as he lets himself be lovingly shoved down into the seat of a cut-out Jeep, “very on brand.”

“They had this at the bowling alley near my house. I’d play when my parents had league night but couldn't get a sitter. I never could beat the Mothman level without a player two.”

He doesn’t have that problem tonight, even with Barclay distractingly delighted and handsome in the seat beside him. After that, they make it their mission to find every two-player game in the thrum of flashing colors and tinny music. He finds they both like the Bowser Bourbon Smash, and somewhere around their fourth, heated game of air hockey they each polish of one too many of them to stay upright without the support of a game, a helpful show staff member, or each other.

When they get back to the house (their fellow contestants all in a similar state to themselves) they manage to make it to Joseph’s room before collapsing into a giggling heap on the bed.

“That, hic, that was fun. Games are, hic, fun.” Barclay blinks at him, “what’re you laughing, hic, at.”

“You, you got the hiccups. S’funny because you’re so big, like, like watching a, a pitbull with a, um, a” he makes a squeezing motion that his sober self would recognize as “squeaky toy.”

“M’not big” Barclay pouts, “I, hic, maybe everyone else is, hic, just small. Ever think of th--hic--at.”

“S’not a bad thing.” Joseph shifts so they’re facing each other, “like how big you are. Makes you sexy.”

Barclay blushes, “you’re, hic, one to, to talk. You’re hot, so, hic, so fucking out. Got, got those eyes. That, hic, that face” He touches Joseph’s cheek, “love your face.”

“Love yours too.” Joseph says, stroking his beard. Then they’re moving in inelegant tandem, grabbing at each others shoulders and faces as their mouths find each other. Barclay is so warm, whimpering when Joseph rolls him on top, nipping his lips and pawing at him like a puppy hoping for a treat. Joseph is going to hold him close and let him have it.

A clatter from below, one of the other men knocking something over in the kitchen, breaks the spell.

“Wait, wait” Joseph reluctantly slides his hands of Barclays ass, “we, drunk, we’re drunk, too drunk.”

Barclay blinks down at him, pouting a little even as he groans “fuck, you’re, you’re right. Wanna, gotta remember this. Don’t wanna” he yawns, “regret it.” The instant he flops onto his back Joseph climbs into his arms and falls asleep to the slow rhythm of his breathing.

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

After that night, they agree to be more careful; they’re here for Vincent, to see if one of them is his true love. That’s what the contract they signed says.

“More careful” turns out to mean watching their alcohol intake around each other and only touching platonically (including falling asleep on the couch together. They wake up to cameras recording their nap. Barclay isn’t sure what Joseph threatens Ned with, but the footage never sees the light of day).

But unless they’re on a solo date with Vincent, they’re by each others side. Barclay teaches Joseph dominoes and how to make biscuits. Joseph introduces him to terrible old horror movies that they watch on his laptop and compliments his cooking every chance he gets.

They must be doing something right, because they move to the next round week after week, Vincent clearly enamored with both of them. Barclay certainly understands the feeling. Just not for the person who he’s supposed to.

“Joseph? If, uh, if neither of us win, what are you gonna do after this.”

“Go back to work. Maybe pitch my book about U.S cryptids.” Joseph’s smile goes shy for a moment before recovering, “but I wouldn’t worry, big guy; I think you’re the front runner for sure.”

Barclay knows for a fact that Joseph is a fan favorite and the suitor most people think will win. Which is why, when Vincent selects his final four, he’s not surprised Joseph gets the first rose. Then everyone but Barclay is holding one and Vincent is touching his shoulder.

“Barclay, please don’t take this as a sign I’m not deeply fond of you. This wasn’t an easy choice but I, well, I feel like your heart may not be in this anymore.”

He takes Vincent’s hand and squeezes it, “It’s okay. It was wonderful just to get to know you. All of you.” He looks at the final four, at Joseph’s calm, polite expression. He meets blue eyes as he says, “I hope you find someone who makes you happy.”

With that he turns, all too aware of the cameras tracking his exit, his face, how he’ll have to do a final interview and not reveal that he’ll hate Vincent forever but not blame him in the slightest if he marries Joseph.

“Wait!”

Every eye, lensed or no, turns back to the gazebo. Joseph is at the edge of the steps, poised to run. When he sees Barclay stop, he turns to Vincent.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.” He hands the bachelor the rose, “I hope you understand.”

There’s no soundtrack on set, but strings swell in his ears all the same as Joseph descends the stairs and leaps into his arms, kissing him so hard he still has stars in his eyes when he opens them.

“It’s not a marriage proposal” Joseph whispers, kissing his cheek, “but I do have a question for you.” He pulls back, all cameras on them but his attention for Barclay alone, “would you like to be my boyfriend, big guy?”

Barclay rests their foreheads together, “Yeah, babe, I really, really would.”

[ghostmaggie]

one question i have about jatp fandom is why so many folks seem determined to interpret and portray bobby as full-on evil.

yes, he passed off sunset curve's (luke's) songs as his own and never acknowledged the other guys' existence. that sucks. full stop. but, hear me out. we have zero knowledge of the context of that decision, and a lot of rich room for interpretation in his current-day reaction to things.

bobby was their friend. he was their bandmate. yes, they give him shit in that opening scene but it's not any different than the shit they give each other throughout the series. there's no air of animosity. maybe he's not as close with the other three as they are with each other, maybe, but we really can't tell from what we see. bobby's not in the band despite being a douchebag, at least not according to anything in the text. that's why i don't get the fics that portray him as a total dick who has to be kicked out of the band to make room for julie, sliding him into the role of villain who's then "out to get" the new band.

i see a lot of posts interpreting bobby's transition into trevor and stealing of luke's songs a purposefully vindictive and calculated scheme. hell, i saw a tweet suggesting that bobby was somehow literally behind the poisoning of the guys' hotdogs in a plot to incapacitate them that went too far. and there's nothing in the show that negates these ideas, but there's also nothing that contradicts another interpretation.

picture this: you're seventeen years old, in a band on the brink of superstardom. your bandmates, your best friends, go to get dinner on the biggest night of your lives and they die. they're dead, and suddenly you are all alone. what does that look like? what does that feel like?

you're seventeen, and you're trying to make it in one of the most predatory industries in the world. your bandmates' deaths are a tragedy, a spectacle, and you're the one left to face the fallout. you are all alone. you survived, and you reap the benefits and the guilt that sows. is it so hard to imagine exactly the wrong sort of person stepping up to "help" bobby through all this? so hard to believe that a record exec might show up and be the supportive adult bobby--seventeen years old, just a kid, all alone, grieving, lost--needs in all the wrong ways?

it makes sense, the way this guy says it. of course he can't give up on music. is that really what the guys would want for him? doesn't he owe it to them to finish what they started? they were something special. bobby is something special. the songs are something special, and they deserve to be heard. and it's okay, bobby is convinced, to take all the credit. he's the one that's left. he can't let his image be bogged down in toxic hotdogs and tears. the way to honor sunset curve is through the music. just the music. that's what luke always cared about anyway, right? it makes sense, the way this guy says it.

if you say something enough, hear it enough, you start to believe it. bobby was just a kid. he made mistakes, huge mistakes, but i doubt he made them all on his own. and once you start digging a hole like that, it only gets deeper. it gets to a point where you can't climb out, or you're dead too. and the guys wouldn't want that for him, right? they'd want him to live the dream. for all of them. right?

when we see adult trevor, he really doesn't seem like a douche. yes, he wears sunglasses inside and looks like a substitute teacher and has a mansion, but does he really appear so awful? we see him as a doting father. we hear about him talking music with little julie, proud to see her rocking out in the youtube video. the wtf look he gives carrie when she makes fun of julie at the orpheum speaks volumes about the kind of person he is.

when the guys haunt him, he seems freaked out. he seems guilty. of course he's guilty. what he did was wrong. he knows that. when you're that far deep, you have to learn to cope with the guilt, and it's hard to when it stares you in the face. but something in that scene strikes me as more about his guilt over his friends' deaths than the music, and not in a too-bad-so-sad-i-did-nothing-wrong way. plus, you know, a fair reaction to being, y'know, haunted.

then there's the scene where he sees the youtube video and the scene at the orpheum. bobby's reactions, his expressions in these scenes say so much. he doesn’t seem guilty, really. he doesn't seem afraid to be caught. he seems haunted, terrified, near tears at the sight of his friends, the boys he lost twenty five years ago, the boys he--maybe--was told he had to leave buried for the greater good. or at least decided he had to leave buried for the greater good.

when i see the look on bobby's face when alex poofs onstage at the orpheum, i see a young boy looking at, quite literally, the ghost of his friend. i see bobby realizing that he left them behind when somehow they weren't really gone. realizing that he fucked up. that he failed them and now they're going to know.

but there's no anger there, beneath the surface. if bobby was evil, if trevor was evil, i think we'd see that. he'd have a vibe of out-to-get-them that isn't there.

if trevor was the villain, why wouldn't he confront julie before the show, try to stop the phantoms before they had a chance to get famous and out him as a fraud? he wasn't trying to stop them. he wanted to see them. to see if he was crazy, or if his friends--his ex-friends?--really were back, in some form.

he almost cried watching them. seeing them up there, living (to some extent) their shared dream. i'm sure it felt like some strange, unreal dream to him.

i don't think bobby is a villain. i think he did the wrong thing. but until proven otherwise, i don't think he did it out of maliciousness. i think he tried to make the best of a bad situation and made some wrong calls. but i don't think he's irredeemable, and i don't think the sunshiney sunset curve boys will hold it against him forever.

in fact, i would love a season two where the guys and bobby awkwardly try to hang out and reconnect, try to navigate not only the uncomfortable reality of the choices bobby made but also just the difference in circumstance of three teenage ghosts and one adult lifer with a kid and twenty five more years of worldly experience. do his tastes count, or is he lumped in as a dad? does he have the same speech patterns and opinions and hobbies as he did in the nineties? would the guys make fun of him for always being in bed by ten, or having a bad back?

just. why are we pushing bobby as a villain when we have just as many reasons to cut him a break? isn't there something special in choosing forgiveness and love?

[darter-blue]

bec, darling, would you do body worship from your prompt list for lil ol' me? 🥺😂😈

Hey there dearest. Well, Ali. I must apologise because this turned from Kinktober to whumptober. And to start its a bit more body horror? But it will work it’s way to Body worship I promise.

So here is part one of your Fic - Resurrection

Warning for Bucky Barnes recovering type anxiety and hurt/comfort

Bucky wakes to the sound of water running. The smell of wet earth and dead leaves permeate his senses as they slowly open to his surroundings. 

He aches. From head to toe, his body aches. He needs to get his eyes open to properly assess the damage. But it sure feels like he's been hit by a tank.

Or he'd fallen from some ridiculous height… had he fallen?

Bucky's last memory is of the cold… of… fear. 

Of Steve.

Steve

His memories are fleeting but he has something, an image, caught in his hand, and he curls his fingers around it to hold on. 

Steve was in the train, they both were. Zola's train. And Hydra… and that fucking Canon of a gun, some Hydra tech, blasting a hole in the side of the train… and Bucky…

He fell… didn't he?

His eyes snap open.

He looks down to find himself lying on a damp, soft surface, definitely not the snow he's expecting. 

He blinks into the mid-morning brightness, shaded by the structure above him, a jetty. The sound he's hearing is a river, a rocky shore line at his feet, dead leaves beneath him, trees behind him.

And he's… he's definitely not in Austria. Glancing around him it's all lush vegetation and rocky shorelines but there's something oddly familiar about it all and yet so, so wrong.

And as he looks down to check the ground he's woken up on (is there a bed roll, did he collapse here?) he catches sight of his outfit and then, by extension, his left arm, his left hand, and his brain freezes.

He doesn’t understand what he’s looking at but what he sees is… well it’s not good. It’s… his hand is... he wants it to be encased in some kind of metal glove. He wants this to be some elaborate costume. Steve gets to have an elaborate costume, maybe Bucky has one too. Maybe this is just the boys’ idea of a joke. 

It doesn’t feel like a joke. Bucky tries to wiggle his fingers but something is wrong. They wiggle, but it’s not… it's like there’s a lag or… they’re broken, or he’s had some nerve damage maybe. And they’re not… they're stiff and twisted and they won’t do what he wants them to do and it feels stilted. It doesn’t feel right.

And he knows. Bucky knows. This is not a costume. This is his arm. Or…

This is what has been attached to him. In place of his arm. It’s not his… it's a machine. 

And he’s waking up with it. In pain. In a strange place. With no idea how or why he’s here.

He needs to find Steve.

First things first, he needs to get up off the ground, but fuck. It hurts. His whole body feels like it’s been crushed by something. His chest aches, his head aches, his legs feel like garbage. His shoulder, his fucking shoulder is on fire. But focussing on any of this is not going to help him right now. He needs to get up. So he does.

He puts that pain in a box in the back of his mind. He uses a pillar of the jetty for support and he lifts himself up. And it's too much, for a second, it’s too much, and he vomits.

God, okay, he tells himself to just breathe. He breathes. And when he gets it together he walks. Carefully, gingerly, he walks to the trees and makes his way through them, using trunks to lean on as he passes. Letting the smell of the earth and the bark overpower the blood and the bile and whatever else it is on him he can smell.

He doesn’t know where his army uniform is. He doesn't know why he’s dressed in these strange pants with what look like black catchers pads on his knees. Covered in knives. No gun. There’s a belt and straps that don't attach to anything and no food. No rations. Nothing useful in any of the thousand pockets. 

He tries not to speculate as he walks. It won’t do him any good to panic. He needs to figure out where he is. He needs to keep as quiet as possible (though he’s not doing a great job, with the limp and the dizziness) in case he comes upon Hydra or Nazis out here. Though… it all feels so wrong.

And he realises why as he gets closer to civilisation. It looks like farm land, but it’s not european farmland. The first building he sees is a business of some kind, the sign is in English and what looks like Native American, though the name doesn’t sound familiar (he notes with some positivity that both his vision and hearing seem to be as good as ever). It looks like some kind of national park. And no one is around. He doesn’t see or hear anyone. And necessity being what it is, Bucky moves closer.

Piscataway Park, the Accokeek foundation, appears to be a national park owned and operated by the US Department of the Interior. The US. The US of A. He’s in fucking America? He sits down for that information to sink in. And then gets back up to get closer to the visitor’s centre. 

Which is empty. And pretty easy to break into with one of his handy knives, inside is food and water and so much… everything looks wrong. Bucky has seen some crazy shit fighting Hydra but this is all just… different and yet somehow the same as the America that he left behind for the war. Everything is so bright and clean and expensive. The prices on the food, on the signs over the freezer, it’s way too much. And the food itself, the packaging is so colourful. There’s so much writing… it’s all just… too much…

There’s a phone but it’s… there’s buttons where the dial should be. The handset is not even connected by a wire… and Bucky can’t use the damn thing anyway - he has no idea who to call… There’s no switch operator, just a dial tone. 

He does find some less conspicuous clothes to wear. A t-shirt and some kind of hooded sweater to cover up his monstrosity.

He finds bathrooms, full of fancy looking equipment nailed into the walls, but there’s a sink, and paper towels, and a mirror, and fucking hell. 

What happened to him?

His reflection is… jarring. His hair is long and rancid. He has a bruise under his eye and one on his temple. He has stubble. He didn’t have this much stubble when Steve pulled him out of Azzano. And he looks… bigger. His shoulders and his arms. Arm. His one arm. 

But mostly he looks…haunted.

Well. he has just woken up in the wrong country, in what seems like the wrong year. With no idea what has happened to get him here. So that really makes sense.

He takes a good minute to remove the leather contraption he’s wearing as a jacket and stares at his chest in the mirror. It takes him a minute of staring to catch his breath because what he’s looking at, the reflection of his own body, it’s… horrific. It’s… a nightmare. 

The skin around where the metal of the arm is fused to him is red and raw and painful. Covered in scar tissue. And it feels so heavy. It’s pulling at him, from the inside. Like someone has a hand inside him and is just twisting and yanking at chords of muscle, cutting into his bones. 

His chest is bruised, but nothing seems damaged. It feels like broken ribs that have been healing for weeks. Though he knows he heals fast now. Faster than before the war for sure. Gabe was always questioning him about it. Never happy to just let it go. 

And wow, okay, the muscle there is so much bigger that he remembers. Sort of like Steve’s, what he’d seen of it (tried not to look too hard, too much) the few times they’d been thrown into the same tent, or woken up from having rolled into each other camping out with the boys and washing what they could reach with freezing cold water from their canteens. 

Bucky never mentioned it, because it made Steve uncomfortable, when people talked about him the way they did. About the size of him, the look of him, the strength of him. So Bucky let the changes fly over his head and he paid attention to the important stuff instead. Was Steve eating enough for his twice as big body now? Was he sleeping enough? He seemed plenty warm, Bucky could never quite get over all that nice new warmth (Bucky’s Steve, brooklyn Steve, had always been so cold, Bucky had had to force blood into that kid’s toes with his own hands too many times to count), but was he breathing good, did his back hurt, was he getting everything he needed?

Turned out Bucky didn’t need to worry about that stuff too much after Azzano (didn’t stop him, he just learned to hide it better). 

Turns out Bucky has bigger things to worry about now. 

He throws up most of what he eats. He keeps some of the water down, refills the bottle from the tap. He washes himself as best he can with what he has and dresses in the shirt and sweater from the visitors store, drags himself back out of the bathroom, and passes a stand of pamphlets on the way to the door.

And one of them catches his eye. It has dates on it. Tour dates, it says, for March. March of 2014. 

2014.

Bucky has woken up in the future. Seventy years in the future. 

He gets behind the store counter and finds more papers with the date on them. Everything he can find is dated up to december 2013. So maybe that’s when it is. Although it seems like the place has been closed for a while - so maybe it’s later than that. 

Bucky sinks down to the floor and rests his head against the counter. He closes his eyes. Maybe if he sleeps again he can wake up back in 1945. And this is something that he and Stevie can laugh about. Maybe he can tell Stark about it.

Maybe he’ll find a flying car. 

He can’t sleep anyhow. Everything hurts. He feels so sick. And hot. And cold.

After a while he gets up again and finds a map of where he is. Maryland. He’s not far from Washington actually, he could probably walk the distance in a few hours (maybe more than that - in his current state) and in the city he’d have access to more information. He could find out… anything. Anything that might help him figure out how he got here. Why he might be here, How he can get back.

So he has a plan. And that’s what his brain needs to push that pain away again. He can do this. He can stay on task. He can get information.

And that’s what he does. He sticks close to the road, but far enough away to avoid suspicion, or cars. (The cars! They don’t fly, but fuck are they fast, and big! And colourful!)

It takes him much longer than it should. But he gets there. He avoids the smaller towns because he won’t be able to blend in there, he avoids the smell of the food from the roadside restaurants which has him bringing up more bile. Sipping more water. He follows the not great map and makes the best decisions he can make in the moment to get himself across the bridge. And then another bridge. And then finally he’s in Washington.

It’s more than his senses can take. It’s huge. The buildings are huge. The roads are crazy. The people are everywhere.

It’s not that different from what he remembers, but just more somehow. He has the hood of his sweater up to cover his mess of hair, as much of his face as he can. And it's a very good thing. Because the first image that accosts him, from screens that cover a back wall of the first busy bar he walks into, screens with colour pictures, brilliant pictures, is his own haunted face.

It’s Bucky, this new terrifying version. And he’s reeking havoc. Shooting up a crowded street. He’s watching the pictures and it has him ready to vomit again, though there’s truly nothing left in his stomach, and he’s on his way to find a bathroom or a dumpster to do just that, when the image on the screen changes and it's Steve.

It’s Steve.

He looks dead.

He’s being lifted onto a stretcher, he’s being placed into an ambulance. Bucky uses his hearing, hones in on the newscasters voice to hear her say he’s being taken to a hospital. She doesn’t say which one.

So that leaves Bucky to figure out how many hospitals there are and just go to them all until he finds him. 

And then the footage changes again and it’s Bucky again… and he’s… he’s shooting at Steve in the street. 

Oh god, no. That’s not right. That’s not him. He wouldn’t do that. Maybe Hydra cloned him. Maybe the pictures aren’t real…

But he can feel in his gut that something is so very wrong

Oh god.

Oh god.

He needs to find Steve, he needs to get out of here, he needs to breathe. To breathe. People are starting to stare and he has to get out. He bursts onto the street and runs. To anywhere, he doesn’t know. His legs give out soon enough and he ducks behind a building to collapse. 

He breathes. He keeps breathing until he starts to calm down. The nausea passes somewhat. The image of Steve lifted into an ambulance, being shot at in the street, is enough to shut the panic down. There is important work to be done, he has no time to fall apart. He needs to find Steve.

It takes him a few small thefts here and there, the minor break in of an unoccupied newsstand, to find a page of hospital listings and directions to follow.

It takes him even longer to find the right hospital.

But when he comes upon Medstar Georgetown University Hospital, the extra hustle and bustle, the armed men at the main entrance, he figures this has to be the place. Bucky pulls his hood low, (he’s had his metal hand kept securely slotted into one of his many pockets all night) and finds the easiest and least noticeable way to get inside through a huge concreted underground parking garage where the staff entrance is sitting completely empty of armed men. 

Once inside he sticks to the crowded areas, watches the movements of the people looking the most military, they’re milling mostly around the third floor. At least they're looking after Steve better here than at the entrance. But Bucky will have to be more careful because of it. A hooded sweater and an indifferent attitude probably won't get him to Steve unnoticed. 

He takes note of the people looking the most harried, the most like hospital staff. It's hard to tell the doctors from the nurses from the orderlies, they all seem to be wearing different versions of the same uniform. Almost like pyjamas. And this could work in Bucky’s favour. He takes his time to wander back down to the floor below and finds a tall silver trolley full of folded linens and clothing, he requisitions some of the pyjama like pants and a matching shirt and then from an unoccupied utility closet, finds a hair net to hide his mess of hair up into and blue gloves to pull over his hands. He squeezes his way to getting changed inside the closet, leaving the long sleeve t-shirt under the uniform to cover his metal arm and straightens it all out as best he can. He grabs a folder from a nearby desk, just like the ones he sees other hospital staff walking around with, no one is paying him any mind, and then makes his way back upstairs. 

And from there it's a snipers game. At least an hour of watching and waiting, breathing through pain and nausea, until he finds his opportunity to get into Steve’s room. A man he recognises from the footage at the bar, footage of Bucky shooting at Steve, a man who had been wearing wings and flying, actually flying through the sky, exits the room and speaks to the guards before leaving for parts unknown. 

And Bucky, who has passed the guards now a few times looking busy, passes by them now into Steve's room with a nod and one of his most casually trustworthy smiles (Bucky knows just how to use his face to get out of trouble - even as sallow and pale as he is looking right now). And he stops short at what he finds inside. 

Bucky is all too aware of how much damage Steve can take in his new body. But this is…

This is terrifying.

His face is black and blue, bloody, swollen. Bucky might say unrecognisable, but it would be a lie. Bucky doesn't need to see Steve's face to recognise him. Bucky could recognise Steve by the sound of his breathing, by the smell of him. By the essence of his presence alone. Bucky would know Steve anywhere.

Did he do this? 

Did Bucky do this to Steve?

His moment of indecision doesn't last. He's propelled forward by the movement of Steve's chest rising. By the flutter of his ridiculous lashes. He presses close to Steve, leaning over from his bedside, touching him gently with his flesh and blood hand, his own hand, to feel the warmth of him through the bedclothes, through the gloves. 

A sigh of relief runs through Bucky at that familiar warmth under his fingertips. 

And it's as Bucky stands by Steve's side, hand flat against his chest, face just inches from Steve’s, that those bright summer blue eyes Bucky knows so well blink slowly open. His head turns just a little to look up at Bucky and his cracked, bruised, bleeding lips spread into a smile.

'Steve?' Bucky whispers, 'Oh thank god, Stevie.'

But something in his tone hits wrong. Some kind of desperation maybe, because Steve’s smile is waning. A hardness is flooding his expression. The more conscious he becomes, the angrier he looks. 

He pulls back from Bucky, just a fraction. An inch at most. But it's a chasm to Bucky, that distance. And Bucky pulls back too, instinctively, removing hishand from Steve’s chest. 

Steve looks at him, at as much of Bucky as he can see from the position he's in, and then to the room around them. 'What is this?'

‘Steve?’

‘Who are you?’ His eyes are flicking around the room like he’s looking for clues. He’s panicking.

'It's me, Stevie, it's Bucky.' Bucky uses the calm voice he always needed to bring Steve back from an episode. ‘It’s me.’

'No.'

And that hurts. That cuts into Bucky like a blade. This is his Steve, he knows it. But maybe… maybe in the future Steve doesn't know him? Doesn't remember him? 

He steps back a little and takes the net from his hair. 'I look different, I know,' he says, working to keep his breathing even, to keep the stress out of his voice,  'Something… something happened to me.'

And Steve is looking at him. Watching him. Bucky lifts his chin, tries to let Steve see him. Looks him in the eye and hopes, prays, that Steve can see him in there. 'Bucky?' Steve finally whispers, reaching towards Bucky with an aborted movement, 'Buck?' He says louder, slipping as he tries to sit himself up in bed.

‘It’s me, it is me,’ Bucky says, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to discourage him from moving and dislodging the cacophony of tubes that seem to be connected to him and a million pieces of flashing, beeping equipment.

Steve looks down at the hand on his shoulder, the metal hand, not really Bucky’s, and Bucky reaches down to slip his real hand, his right hand, over Steve’s where it rests on the bed. ‘It’s really you?’

And Bucky wants to cry at the relief in  Steve's tone. But it scares him too. 'Oh god, Stevie' - his breath hitches on Steve’s name - 'oh god, what happened to us?'

'Its okay, Bucky, it's okay,' Steve is shushing him, has reached his other hand over to cover Bucky’s where it covers Steve’s, 'It's not your fault, it wasn't your fault.'

'Wasn't my fault?' Bucky asks, not understanding.

'Hydra, any of it. What they did to you. What you did. It wasn't you.'

(Hydra. It's always Hydra, isn't it? Whenever he closes his eyes he can feel them waiting there in his nightmares. Of course they would be torturing him still. All the way into the future).

‘What they did?’ Bucky asks again, and then hears Steve’s words, remembers the film stock from the screens at the bar, ‘What I did?’

‘You don’t remember?’

'I don’t really remember much,’ he says, shaking his head like he can jog something loose, find something hidden, ‘How did we get to the future, Steve?'

And Steve is looking at him. His eyes wide. He's working himself up the bed, up to a sitting position - despite how painful it must be. 'What do you remember, Bucky?'

‘I…’ Bucky looks at Steve, at the raised eyebrows, at the clenched jaw, the tight fisted grip he has on the sheets under Bucky’s hand, ‘I remember the train,’ he says, swallowing, trying to fit his horror into a small, sealable box, ‘I remember falling,’ he looks aways from Steve for the first time since he entered the room, ‘I remember your face, getting further and further away.’

Steve’s breathing has ticked up. He’s doing that thing he does to hide his short sharp breaths from Bucky, but this is not an asthma attack, this is anxiety. This is worry. For Bucky. ‘Buck, it’s okay.’

‘I woke up on the side of a river, in a national park, not in Austria, in America, Steve, and it’s twenty goddam fourteen,’ he’s whispering and it’s painful, he’s got no control over the words, they just come right out of his mouth, like more bile, ‘I woke up in the future Steve, the future! What happened, why was I shooting at you? Why was I shooting at everybody? What did they do to me?’

Steve is reaching up one of his giant hands to cup it around the back of Bucky’s neck, squeezes it, kneads his thumb into the pressure point below Bucky’s ear. Bucky just leans into it, leans into Steve’s fingers, their weight around his neck. Leans into that comfort. ‘Bucky look at me, listen to me,’ Steve turns his laser focus to Bucky’s eyes and holds him firm, ‘You weren’t you, when you were shooting at me, you were compromised-’

Bucky dreads to think what compromised means, especially the way it sticks to Steve’s tongue, like he can barely get the word out.

‘-But, Buck, we need to get you out of here,’ Steve looks around at the rest of the room, at the door, at where he’s probably sure the guards will be standing, ‘Sam and Nat will be around somewhere, hopefully, and I can probably get them to help us, but nobody else can see you, okay?’

Bucky is nodding, he figured as much anyway, but he doesn't want to interrupt Steve, not when he’s so spooked. And Bucky can hear the flying guy on his way back, can hear him talking to the guards outside, and quickly adjusts the net back over his hair, tucking it away. Steve must be able to hear him too, because he’s moving his hand down from Bucky’s neck and back to the bed.

Bucky feels the absence of it like a blow. 

And when the door opens Steve holds out a hand to the man who freezes at the sight of Bucky. Looks to Steve and puts his hands up. Lets the door close behind him and doesn’t take his eyes of Steve and Bucky.

‘Steve?’ the man asks, doesn’t elaborate.

‘It’s okay, he’s friendly, he won't hurt us,’ Steve is saying, calm and even, like he’s talking to a skittish animal, ‘Sam, don’t do anything, just hear me out.’

Bucky wants to shrink into himself. Wants to disappear for putting that look on the man, Sam’s, face. ‘Okay,’ Sam says, his voice low and rich, his arms loose and by his sides, ‘You have ten seconds.’

Bucky is pretty sure that won’t be enough.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 60

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound. 

AO3

Cw: isolation, dead family mention, thoughts of death, mention of suicide (to escape torture), panic attack mention, Colleen Stormbeck, gendered slurs, ableist slur, death, death threats

Ellis couldn’t even pace around this fucking cell. They couldn’t move around, couldn’t walk, could barely stand up with their wrists chained to the wall. Alone, for at least a day. Ellis had no idea. They’d kept the lights on the whole time, although Ellis had slept and then been awake long enough that they thought it had to be afternoon. Truly, though, they didn’t know. And they had no way of knowing when, if ever, they’d see anyone ever again.

They’d been left with enough food and water to make it through the day, and had been given one bathroom break. Otherwise they’d been left alone in the cell, with nothing to do. Nothing to think about, but their own horror.

And their rage. Their entire body quivered with a wrenching, burning rage that consumed them. Rage at Colleen, rage at the syndicates, rage at the whole goddamned world. At the twisted fucking system that let the families with the most power and least scruples take over the fucking world. Or whatever was left of it; Ellis had no idea what lay beyond the region they’d lived in their whole life. It was too dangerous to travel for it to be worth it most of the time. There was only running, and hiding. They’d tried to hide with their family, before they’d been taken from Ellis. Before Gavin’s fucking uncle Benjamin took them from Ellis.

That old agony washed over them, the familiar abyss they were constantly one bad day from falling into. Christopher. Galen. Chloe. The ones who still haunted Ellis’s dreams, who still called to Ellis from wherever they were, every day. Maybe they were nowhere. Maybe they were gone forever, and that’s what Ellis would be, once Colleen killed them.

They didn’t understand why Colleen hadn’t killed them already. They figured the others were being held together, what was the point of specifying they be in solitary if Colleen was going to separate them all later anyway? No, they were probably held together. And Ellis couldn’t bear to think about what was happening to them right now.

Maybe she knows I’m the one who loses my fucking shit when I’m alone, Ellis thought bitterly. Maybe she knows about my family and just fucking assumes I’m the one who lost my fucking mind when I was first alone. Ellis had done more than lost their shit. They’d done things that they couldn’t bear to think about. They’d disappeared down a path that consumed them, one that they traveled for a year before Gray found them—

No. Can’t think about Gray either.

Other than Tori, Ellis had known Gray the longest. Seven years. Tears burned Ellis’s eyes and they let their head fall back against the wall. I was the first one they saved. The first one. Now Gray was halfway across the region, completely unaware that they’d been taken at all. Unless Colleen sent them a message to brag. But no, that wasn’t possible. If Colleen knew where Gray was, she’d have sent people to wreck the north months ago. There was no way Colleen would know where Gray was. Unless one of us tells her under torture.

Ellis’s heart lifted for a moment. She doesn’t even know they’re still alive. She doesn’t know about Edrissa, either. They’re both safe. Colleen wouldn’t even think to ask.

Ellis’s hands curled into fists and they screamed into the cell, just to hear something besides silence. They didn’t fear torture, or punishment. They knew it was probably coming at some point, and their body rebelled against the thought, but their mind was awash with a slippery sort of apathy.

What they really feared was the isolation. Their hands trembled. I’m going to lose my shit. I’m going to be alone until she kills me.

They let their eyes close, their mind drifting from thought to thought. Where in the house am I? How often am I going to be fed? What time is it? How long is it going to take before I start hallucinating? Briefly, they hoped they would hallucinate their family. Honestly, why the fuck not?

They didn’t know where they were in the house, but they did know where they were in relation to the room they’d all been brought to last night. They’d memorized the route, forcing themselves to repeat it over and over and over in their head. Take a left, hallway turns to the right, pass three doors, go through the fourth on the left, go down the steps, first cell on the right. Not too complicated. All they’d have to do to get back to that first room was do it backwards. Not that there was any value in getting to that room, but it was something. It was the only information they had. It had to be important.

Not that they figured escape would happen, either. There was absolutely nothing they could use. They’d been thoroughly searched before being thrown into the cell and chained to the wall. The guards had taken their knife and the shoelaces from their shoes. Can’t have me trying to kill myself, Ellis thought with a vicious stab of hatred. God fucking forbid I escape that way.

But they had to focus on something. Had to… maybe not hope, but wait. Maybe an opportunity would present itself. Maybe it wouldn’t.

All Ellis wanted, all they really wanted, was to be back with their family. They wanted to be back with Finn, back with Isaac… they wanted to see Sam again, with their almost-annoying ray-of-sunshine soul. They could use a little sunshine now. They wanted to be around Tori, around Vera…

A dark cloud settled over their mind as they thought of Gavin. The others trusted him so much, even Isaac and Vera. The two people Ellis thought would never let him in. And yet, they were the ones who protected the family the most. They had more reason than anyone else to be suspicious of Gavin, and they trusted him. A tiny, nagging doubt scratched at the back of their mind. Maybe Gavin planned this whole thing. Maybe he sold us out to his mom. Maybe the whole thing, the whole thing, has been a trick from the beginning.

Their mind went to how Gavin had looked yesterday, bleeding, screaming as that fucking idiot Leo tortured him. Remembered the fucking brokenness on Gavin’s face as he gave away Isaac’s worst fear. There was no one on earth who could fake that. No one who was that dedicated to a lie.

It hadn’t even been Isaac’s worst fear.

Ellis knew Isaac’s worst fear just as well as anyone else in the family. They’d seen it as Isaac had unraveled, fallen apart and then slowly put himself back together again over the past few months. They’d seen the panic attacks, heard about the nightmares. They’d been there as Isaac had begged to the empty air not to be left, sobbing that he could be good. Ellis knew that Isaac’s worst fear was abandonment. And Gavin had somehow kept that to himself, despite the torture. As Leo’s knife had cut into him, he’d somehow found a way to spill Isaac’s secret, with the only other witness standing over him, and spill it in such a way that Leo might not even think about the fact that Gavin was wrong. There was no way Gavin could have done that if he’d betrayed them all. No way in hell. For a dizzying moment, Ellis thought, holy shit. He must care about us so fucking much.

Unless Gavin legitimately didn’t know that waterboarding isn’t technically Isaac’s worst fear. Could Gavin just have completely missed it, both during Isaac’s torture and during his recovery up north?

No. Gavin’s a dumbass, but even he isn’t that stupid. Gavin knew, and Gavin lied. And Gavin had screamed as Isaac was drowned right in front of him. Sobbed like his heart was being torn out.

Ellis let the image slide from their mind.

They weren’t sure how much longer they were left alone; it could have been minutes, or it could have been another hour. The door of the cell opened, and two guards walked in.

Behind them was Colleen, Mommy Dearest herself, queen of Colleen’s Fucking Crazy Castle. She stared down at Ellis with a smug grin spread across her face.

Ellis shot to their feet, grinding their teeth together. Their wrists pulled against the chains. They weren’t going to be able to break them, they’d tried for hours when they’d first been brought in. But in that moment, all they wanted was to tear the chains from the wall and beat Colleen to death with their bare hands.

“Afternoon, Ellis,” Colleen said, her voice twisting sinuously through Ellis’s ears. “How are you faring?”

“Suck my entire asshole, you vicious bitch, come over here and I’ll show you how I’m faring,” Ellis snarled.

Colleen let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Lord, you’re all so feisty! I enjoy this to no end. Such a fire in each of you. It’s like a new advertisement for anger management each time.” She gestured at Ellis. “Shut them up, please.”

Ellis leaned forward, a flush creeping up their neck and over their face. “Fuck you, you flaming piece of shit, I’ll take your whole fucking arm and tear it off your fucking body and shove it up your—”

They growled as a guard slapped his hand over Ellis’s mouth, reaching for the gag that hung around their neck. Ellis twisted their head and bit down hard on the guard’s hand.

The guard yelped and pulled their hand away from Ellis’s mouth. They slapped Ellis across the face with the other. Ellis staggered and lunged forward again, wincing at the pinch of the manacles on their wrists and not giving a single flying fuck. They shrieked as one guard grabbed them by the hair, the other shoving the gag back in their mouth. Both guards stepped away.

The bitten one shook out his hand, glaring at Ellis. “Fucking psycho,” he hissed at them. Ellis raised both hands as far as they could go and flipped the guards off.

Colleen laughed. “I could have warned you against that, Jones. I’d avoid going near any of their mouths. Apparently Vera’s habit of biting has spread to all of them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard muttered, and stepped back against the wall with the other.

Ellis turned their glare on Colleen, wishing her head would burst into flames. I would die for the chance to kill you. Maybe that’s what they were hoping for. Not rescue, but the chance to kill Colleen Stormbeck.

Colleen smirked. “Something I love most about the gag is that…” She took a sauntering step closer. “…you’re left with nothing but your eyes. That’s the only thing you can use to tell me how much you hate me.” Her voice dropped to a low murmur. She took another step closer. Just out of range of a kick, or a headbutt. Standing there, calmly, grinning at Ellis with an open posture. If I wasn’t chained up, she wouldn’t be so fucking smug. She’d be fucking dead.

Colleen tilted her head at Ellis. “Do you know why I decided to keep you separated from the others?”

“No, I have no fucking idea. Let’s have a fucking conversation about it,” Ellis mocked through the gag.

Colleen huffed out an amused breath. “Cute.” She licked her lips, as if in anticipation. “I kept you separate from the others because… I can’t even imagine what losing your family for the second time must do to you.”

Ellis’s eyes fell closed for a fraction of a second but they opened them again, throwing a look of pure hate at Colleen. They forced down the tears that welled up in their eyes because there was no way, there was no fucking way they were going to show her how much this hurt. Colleen could burn in hell if she thought she was going to get a reaction from that. It hurts more than anything else in my entire fucking life.

Colleen’s lips quirked up. “Thought so. Although… just being separated from them… is that really just punishment for the one who kidnapped my nephew?”

A trickle of dread rolled down Ellis’s spine. No. No.

Colleen shrugged. “No. I mean… obviously we’re going to put you to work, I can’t just have you wasting away in this cell doing nothing. I have yet to decide what your assignment will be, but I’ll figure something out.” Colleen’s eyes locked on Ellis’s. “Although I won’t bother you much. You won’t see me again until I’ve killed another one.”

The air rushed out of Ellis’s chest like they’d been punched in the gut. Their eyes moved frantically over Colleen’s face, searching desperately for a sign she was lying: a shifting of her eyes, a twitch of her lip, a motion made just a little too quickly. They found nothing. Nothing but a cold, placid stare that betrayed nothing but truth.

Ellis cried out and fell to their knees. Who was it? Was it Isaac? Was it Vera? Did she kill her for killing those guards? Oh, god, oh god no, was it Sam? No… no, god, please no, they’re innocent, they didn’t do a fucking thing to Colleen… Tears streamed down their cheeks as their shoulders heaved with sobs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know which one I killed?” Colleen said, her voice smooth and dripping venom. Ellis looked up at her, their heart beating out of their chest, terrorized with their need to know, and wishing they could drown out Colleen’s voice so they wouldn’t have to hear which one of their team, their family, was lying lifeless somewhere.

Colleen’s face slid into a poisonous smile. She opened her mouth to speak and paused for just a moment. Relishing it. When she spoke, each word fell from her lips like a physical weight.

“Finn Dunham is dead.”

Ellis let out a scream. They sagged forward, gasping desperately around the gag, struggling to draw a breath as they wailed against the floor. They panted as they sobbed, trying to breathe around the tearing in their chest, trying to grasp the words that were echoing through their mind: Finn Dunham is dead. Finn Dunham is dead. Finn Dunham is dead. Finn Dunham is dead. Finn Dunham is dead. Finn Dunham is dead.

NO. FINN’S NOT DEAD. THEY CAN’T BE DEAD. THEY CAN’T BE… NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Colleen smirked and turned to go.

Ellis dragged the gag out of their mouth. “SHOW ME THE FUCKING BODY,” they screamed.

Colleen paused and slowly turned around, her face twisted into an amused half-smile. “Excuse me?”

“SHOW ME THE BODY,” they sobbed. “I don’t… I don’t believe you.” THEY CAN’T BE DEAD, PLEASE, NO, FINN CAN’T BE DEAD.

Colleen scoffed. “When I’ve killed them all, I promise I’ll take you to them. That’ll probably be months from now, but once they’re all dead, I promise, I’ll take you to all of their bodies. You can take one last look before I put a bullet in your head and dump you all into the same grave. How sweet is that? You can all be together then.” Colleen grasped Ellis’s hair and dragged their head upright, her gaze moving over Ellis’s face as they wailed. “But until then,” she murmured, leaning towards Ellis, “That’s more goodbye than you deserve.”

She dropped Ellis’s head and turned on her heel. Ellis sagged forward, their forehead pressing to the floor as they buried their face in their hands and sobbed.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript, @this-mightaswell-happen

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 255: "Hospital”

Previously on BnHA: Aizawa and Present Mic found out their dead best friend Shirakumo was necromanced by All for One and Ujiko and turned into everyone’s favorite villain mom bartender M.D., Kurogiri! Gran Torino and Naomasa were all “hey you guys should talk to him and see if you can restore his memories through the power of friendship” and so they all sat down together to do that. Kurogiri was all “so tell me how is my son Shigaraki Tomura, I love him so much, he is so emo and I must protect him” and Aizawa and Mic were all “THIS GUY HASN’T CHANGED ONE IOTA” and Aizawa started crying and was all “SHIRAKUMO LET’S GET MARRIED AGAIN AND BE HEROES TOGETHER LIKE WE ALWAYS WANTED.” Oh and also we found out Aizawa only fake expelled his previous students and it was just so that he could PREPARE THEM FOR LIFE!! and afterwards they got to go back to U.A. again and live happily ever after. And so basically I’ve lost track of how many hugs Aizawa needs here now but it’s a lot.

Today on BnHA: Shiraguri’s brainwaves start going all wonky and everyone is like “OH SHIT IT’S WORKING” and Aizawa and Mic decide it’s time to shift this drama into overdrive, so they get right up against the glass and start shouting “YOU’RE OUR FRIEND!!” and stuff over and over until IT FINALLY WORKS!! and Kurogiri’s face shifts into Shirakumo’s. Somehow the effect is incredibly sad and moving rather than terrifying as fuck, but unfortunately all Kumo can manage to get out is “hospital” before his mind overloads and he passes out. Fortunately for our heroes, “hospital” is actually an awesome clue which can totally lead them to Tomura and Ujiko’s location if they play their cards right, probably! Or at least Hawks seems really psyched about it, idk. Anyway so the chapter ends with Ujiko going FULL MAD SCIENTIST and wreaking havoc on Tomura’s body in order to -- I’m pretty sure, anyway -- turn him into some kind of fully sentient ultimate high end Noumu. Welllllll shit.

so that sure was a fun little wrinkle last week, huh. the two biggest scanlators deciding that in the spirit of the holidays, they were going to stop translating WSJ series and instead support the official releases out of the goodness of their hearts and definitely not at all because Shueisha was eyeing them threateningly and making little throat-slitting gestures. that was a ride. these are interesting times lol

but at any rate, if this is how it’s going to be for now then I’ll adjust! it is nice to have everyone support the official release, and obviously the image quality is way better, and Caleb’s translations are by and large pretty good. and obviously we’ll get used to reading the chapter on Sundays instead of Fridays (hell, I remember when the SJ leaks still came out on Wednesdays, so it’s not like we haven’t done this same old song and dance before lol). but Friday did happen to be a more convenient day for my schedule personally, so it might take a bit of adjusting for me to figure out what my posting schedule is going to be moving forward

anyways so I’m sorry this recap is so ridiculously late, but here we go at last!

so the Tartarus guard, who by the way is very clearly Seiji’s dad (WHEN ARE THE SHIKETSU KIDS COMING BACK), is tapping frantically at his touch screen even though it’s not doing anything, and he says he’s detecting unusual brainwaves. omg

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, OBVIOUSLY THEY UNLOCKED THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, MAN! THEY DID IT

omfg. the guard just says “he’s agitated.” I’m going to need you to have more hype than that my good sir. please

holy shit Nao

attention everyone, HAS ANYONE SEEN NAOMASA’S FUCKING CHILL, BECAUSE HE SEEMS TO HAVE FUCKING MISPLACED THAT SHIT. someone please explain to this man that there is a time and a place to play good cop bad cop and this is not it. “oh, Shirakumo is starting to recover his memories? well then [busts into the prison cell and grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall] WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!?”

(ETA: so apparently Nao’s detective instincts are cleverer than mine. he saw that Kumo was potentially going to emerge, but probably not for long, so he gave him the most important question so he could focus on answering that. good job! still not a lot of chill but hey.)

meanwhile Aizawa is all “if what they said is true I’m looking at my friend’s corpse”, while still crying by the way, and yeah, so MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE. this year Santa decided to change it up and just make everyone real sad. happy holidays

lord he’s leaping to his feet and shouting “WHO DID THIS TO YOU”

meanwhile I can’t stop staring at Present Mic with his tongue sticking out. why are you sticking your tongue out. why are anime characters like this. you know, Stain also used to stick his tongue out. Present Mic U.A. traitor confirmed

also!! so many people have beef with Ujiko, though! pretty soon they will have to take a number and get in line

oh no Kumogiri is malfunctioning

Aizawa’s all “ANSWER ME SHIRAKUMO” and OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS

I HAVE NEVER SEEN AIZAWA SHOUTA SO INTENSE AND I CAN’T TEAR MY EYES AWAY FROM THE SCREEN AHHHHH

so there’s some more of “WE WANTED TO BE HEROES TOGETHER” and “YOUR NAME IS SHIRAKUMO OBORO” and all of that other “SNAP OUT OF IT ALREADY” stuff, and you’re damn right I am eating ALL THAT SHIT right up, hell yes. IT’S A TROPE FOR A REASON PEOPLE

oh my god

bwo...hh...?

(ETA: I feel like I should explain that although I have a subscription to Viz, I really hate how their chapter viewer is set up, so I read the chapter on one of the vertical scroll-to-read sites instead. I prefer scroll-to-read for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is so that I can read the chapter slowly (since I’m writing as I go) without spoiling what’s in the next panel. that being said, this next page is one of the few where Viz obviously got it right, so I’ll be posting the full image.)

SDFLSDLFKHSDLKJGOISDJFOSK

（┐° o °  ┐） ( ｣｡╹o╹｡)｣

feelingsfeelingsfeelingsFEELINGS

(ETA: on a reread I am fascinated by the fact that that bandage on his nose actually seems to be A PERMANENT PART OF HIS FACE APPARENTLY lol what.)

READ THE FUCKING ROOM, DUDE. also look how tiny Gran Torino is. he thought we wouldn’t notice through all of our tears. but we did. would you like me to fetch you a box

ha ha ha so now back to the drama

heh so anyway, the fact that this smoke Shirakumo face still looks like a child is straight up destroying me. how are you guys. how is everyone. feliz navidad

FKSLDJSLK HOLD UP

IS HE TRYING TO SAY “SHOUTA”, I CAN’T, I’M?!?!!!!

ADSLFKJALSKDJW

(ETA: I think you can see Shirakumo’s eye rolling back here as he fights against the brainwashing omg. this chapter’s fucking art, though.)

YESSSSSS you keep on ticking off that checklist of clichés, Horikoshi!! I’m so weak for this shit it’s not even funny. actually that’s not true, this plotline is usually hit or miss with me, but I’ll tell you what though, if there’s one guaranteed way to have me freaking the fuck out rather than sighing and rolling my eyes, it’s to have AIZAWA FUCKING SHOUTA be the one pounding on the wall of glass and screaming at his former lover to fight the layers of conditioning waging war on his mind. ohhhhhh god

lol the brainwave detecting screen is losing its fucking shit also and beeping like crazy. this tension is so thick you could plant a flag in it yeesh

is this Kumo remembering stuff??!

(ETA: thank you to the anon who pointed out I posted the wrong image earlier lol.)

why do shounen characters always recall events from a third-person camera view. curse this ambiguous flashback

AHHHHH

HOSPITALLLL ahh what??? “SHOUTA, HOSPITAL.” oh my god. Shirakumo I commend you for not having your first words after dying and being brought back to life and brainwashed for 15 years and then waking up in a straitjacket in a prison cell be, “FUCK ME OH FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK.” you and I are very different people but I respect that

HOLY SHIT HIS HEAD EXPLODED

so now everyone’s freaking out and we’re zooming in on Kumo’s eye again. by the way this is going to kill me when it’s animated oh god

OH NO THE PANEL WENT BLACK AND IT GOT ALL SILENT

(ETA: hmm I don’t think Caleb Cook knows what “whump” means nowadays. whump is what I wish we had here. instead it’s just lots of hurt but very little comfort. JUST LOTS OF PAIN AND SADNESS.)

Horikoshi please have mercy oh lord. also I see their hands touching, you. they honestly should be gripping each other fucking white-knuckled, this is all very traumatic. I think that if Shouta was holding Mic’s hand while his other hand was pressed against the glass I would probably start sobbing for real

what the fuck

did they knock him back out?? they seem really calm and optimistic about all this lol

oh godddddd

HE’S NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING SHUT UP. GOD, MIC, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM A HUG ALREADY??

so now they’re bidding farewell to Nao and Gran -- and HOLY SHIT --

okay hold up -- I just realized -- Kumo was trying to give them a hint about Ujiko’s location. holy shiiiiit. PLEASE START INVESTIGATING HOSPITALS, NAO AND GRAN. holy shit the Noumu arc is heating uppppp

Aizawa’s asking what’s happening with Kurogiri now, and I feel like he maybe should have asked that immediately after the fact rather than as an afterthought while they were getting ready to leave but okay

Nao says he kind of “short-circuited or something” and yeah that tracks with what we saw. though it sure does make that “THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY FOLKS, GOOD JOB BOYS, YOU GET A GOLD STAR” business just SUPER WEIRD though, but let’s be real, Nao has been swinging and missing with striking the right tone all day today

and now Gran is apologizing to Mic and Aizawa for the exquisite emotional torture he just put them through, but he says something is bound to come from it. WELL YEAH NO SHIT IT HAD GODDAMN BETTER

Aizawa apparently hasn’t run out of sad/tired/haunted expressions yet, if you can believe it

pretty soon everyone is going to be sad, tired, and traumatized! heh. it’s going to be so fucked up hahaha crying smiling emojiiiii

oh hey and we’re cutting to another flashback of AFO doing what he does best, being callously dismissive of human lives!

this guy. right here. is a rat bastard. for real. also Horikoshi sure picked a hell of a chapter to go all out on the art again, jesus. this is probably the first time I’ve looked at AFO’s fucked up face and actually thought “yep, that’s a mutilated human man” rather than “shouldn’t you be out floating in space with your asteroid friends trying to smash the Millennium Falcon?” so anyways yeah this panel is a big NOPE from me, thank you

but on the other hand, when Horikoshi uses those art powers for good, such as carefully penciling in every last individual hair of Aizawa’s perpetual five o’clock shadow, that I don’t mind so much!

yes. yes good

so now they’re vrooming off, and we’re hanging back with Gran and Nao for a minute

YESSSSS GOOD JOB NAO!!

looooool it’s ringing up the head of the HPSC and her phone’s buzzing and she’s giving it this hella dramatic look. like this is some patented Todoroki-level dramatic whooshing right here

that’s just how dramatic this entire arc is going to be, hopefully

WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW

IS THAT A CODED MESSAGE FOR HIM TO GO CHECK OUT THE HOSPITAL. AND HOW BUSY ARE YOU, HAWKS. ARE YOU THE “I AM IN SOME DEEP, DEEP TROUBLE” KIND OF BUSY, OR JUST THE STAYING-IN-CHARACTER KIND OF BUSY. YOU CASUAL BASTARD, WHO CAN EVEN TELL WITH YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE TO SCROLL DOWN TO SEE

oh hh my go

“LITTLE LATE TO ASK ABOUT THIS STUFF” so he comes from the Bakugou Katsuki school of tutoring, eh

I love that he actually followed through on explaining the PLF’s philosophy to Twice. and Twice is such a good boy. he’s studying so diligently. look, he didn’t ask to join a doomsday cult, it just kind of happened so now he’s just doing his best to figure it all out

and it definitely was a coded message, then. smoooooth, HPSC lady, smooth. so I wonder if the fact that she gave him a specific hospital implies a time jump. because I don’t think she’d have him investigate just any old hospital until they had a better lead and/or a more solid idea of what they were looking for

lol what the fuck

well I sure do not have any idea what this man is talking about

-- HOSDFLKJDLY SHIT WE’RE CUTTING TO UJIKO WE ARE CUTTING TO FUCKING UJIKO RED FUCKING ALERT!!!

HE’S TALKING ABOUT TOMURA I’M NOT CALMMMMMMMM AHHHHHH

FUCCKLKL FUCK THE WHAT HOLY SHIT WHAT DID HE DO

oh my god oh my god oh m

he made Tomura a Noumu. holy fucking shit that’s what he did. of course. so he’ll be able to possess multiple quirks, but because he benefits from Ujiko’s years of high end Noumu research, his sense of self will remain intact

AND DOESN’T THIS PROCESS JUST LOOK EVER SO PLEASANT. jesus christ. he’s not even allowed to lie down, for some reason this procedure can only be done while he’s hovering over the bed Exorcist-style with his mouth locked open in a silent scream (ETA: or is that actually his laughter we’re seeing?? because this panel wasn’t raw enough already I guess??) while random spurts of blood come chucking out all over the place. well that’s just

and Tomura fucking volunteered for this. how many scores of others didn’t?? holy fucking shit Ujiko. it’s not easy to be the most evil man in a chapter where a foil-wrapped potato with eye holes started waxing poetic about all the children he harvested and killed like some kind of bloodthirsty sommelier, but YOU FOUND A WAY. dancing a fucking jig while your so-called masterpiece is being gruesomely tortured in the foreground. man if there’s any justice in the world, we’ll find out in this arc that Ujiko used science to make himself immortal so that once he’s finally captured they can just keep killing him over and over again. I do not like him!!

so that’s it! we really are doing this thing, holy shit. Noumu arc here we come. see you guys next decade har dee har

[allyvampirelass29]

Goodnight, Chris McQueen

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

I love you, Brat I hope you know that....... My biggest fear was becoming my old man Drinkin', philanderin', livin' for nothin' I wanted so much more for my little girl But Babe, I'm just like him A haunted soldier That never came back from the war I tried so hard to make you laugh Just so you didn't see me cryin' Funny names, and stupid jokes I guess, don't band-aid the holes Punched through the walls and in Your mother's heart Jesus, maybe this dad thing Was a cosmic hoax right from the start I love you like a big dog I'd die twice just to give you a hug Before I go, I want you to know I'm proud of my kid I could never do what you did It's like you told your ma You're made of steel, Vic You threw the bottle away You sure as hell didn't need me But you let your broken down dad save the day I ain't half the hero to you though As you are to Wayne Give 'em HELL, Babe Fight the good fight Don't cry over me I won't die as I lived A good for nothin' It's gonna mean somethin' I gotta believe Don't stay here, Brat, trapped in my death scene Remember the good stuff, when they say "Goodnight, Chris McQueen."

In the words of the illustrious Linda McQueen........ "Holy HELL." It's been days, and I've been in a morose fog, only just now emerging, shaking and fighting the tears, even as I write this, half numb, and half agony. I'm shocked, dismayed, and altogether fragile. The second I saw that this episode was going to be called, "Chris McQueen," I couldn't have been more thrilled, and my heart soared, excited! Chris McQueen has SHINED this season, our own resident white knight, slaying Vic's demons, both of the vice, and supernatural variety. It was no mistake, or random shuffle of fate, that her magic bridge led her back to her dad. He's been a gun-wielding, bomb-making, godsend!!! He helped her quit drinking, heartbroken that his little girl had inherited his disastrous coping mechanisms, refusing to let it drown her the way it did him. He's fought at her side, let her lean on him, he's become her safe place. He's given her the best advice about fighting for Lou, choosing her family, and oh yeah, he SINGLEHANDEDLY took on Bing Partridge, not just once, but TWICE!!!

If NOS4A2 has a CHAMPION, a dark horse in the game, it's hands down Chris McQueen. If anyone is deserving of their own personal, entitled episode, it's the vindicated father who did the work, fought like HELL for his redemption, made himself a better person for his daughter. That rush of flooding joy, cooled to wary concern, and hesitant dread, however, when I realized....... This honour could be his final tribute.......

Don't kill Chris McQueen........ I pleaded over and over in my mind, the frantic cry, resounding, even as I pressed play. I hadn't been able to shake that sinister, creeping feeling all day, and when we opened onto Chris at a funeral, my relief flooded in, graciously thankful to see him alive!!! Wait, he looked younger, like WAY younger, even younger than the first season, and oh my god, hold on, whose funeral is this!? Someone died........ my stomach knotting again, trying to figure out who, and we realize that this is Chris, decades ago, speaking at his Dad's funeral.

I loved, and I mean LOVED this opener. It's just so beautifully real, and one hundred percent Chris McQueen, as he muses about his father's life, and his own, and how the two came to mirror each other. He's funny, irreverent, vulnerable, and by the end, absolutely heartbreaking. It's a searing portrait of a broken man, and everything that caused his life to fracture, every death, that made him wish he was never born.

"When I came back from the gulf, I finally understood why he was pissed off all the time, because he knew there was no reason for him to born, and that nobody was going to give a shit when he died."

Chris' voice cracks, and my eyes sting, because I feel it, his greatest fear, and I know he's not just talking about his father, he's talking about himself, effectually delivering his own eulogy, and again I implored the fates...... Don't kill Chris McQueen.

Aaaaaaaaah, and HELLO Baby Vic!!! Oh my gosh, she's so precious, about eight years old, frowning as her father speaks, huddled close to her mother, and then when Chris becomes too overwhelmed with his anger and emotions to go on, tearing out of the church, she frantically chases after him, calling for him!!! Even then, she was her daddy's girl!!! Once again, I must COMMEND NOS4A2 for choosing the perfect miniature of our badass leading lady, because this girl is the very IMAGE of Ashleigh, and it was such a joy to see her fierce features, and resolve, in a dear little face!!! More Baby Vic, PLEASE!!!

Flashforward to the present day, and Team McQueen is ready and raring to hit the road. I loved this entire scene. The love between her and Lou as she tells him goodbye, and says, "I'm going to go get our boy." An achingly beautiful moment, these two give me life, and have become my FAVOURITE couple on the show!!! I may have been purely Team Drew Butler, Season One, but now I can't imagine our beautiful badass without her Teddy Bear Man, and I ship McCarmody so freaking hard!!! Vic revs the Triumph's engine, testing it, gearing up with her Dad, and it hits me....... She doesn't have to hide it, sneak away to go do her Creative Hero thing, he accepts her for exactly who she is, believes in her gift enough to go with her. For the first time..... Vic McQueen isn't riding alone........

Linda is an absolute rollicking delight, emphatic in her protest, and I have just come to LOVE her so much!!! "I don't know about this Vicki, taking explosives across a magical bridge IN THE RAIN!!!!" God BLESS this woman, she's so maternal here, and I love it, I see how much she's changed, becoming this mother and ex wife even, that isn't afraid to express her feelings and doubts, no longer shackled by the fear that she's destined to be alone.

"You're my only kid, Vicki, My Baby."

"You know me, Ma, made of steel, remember?"

Awwwwww oh my gosh, so freaking CUTE, and for the first time, they feel like a real family, The McQueen Clan on a Mission, slaying psychotic kidnappers, and rescuing lost children, becoming the family business. Linda's still unsure, hurrying after Chris and Vic, still thinking they're both CRAZY, when she sees it for the first time....... Her eyes widen impossibly, as a rickety, wooden, covered bridge, appears on the street in front of them, and her reaction is EVERYTHING we've been waiting for, I found myself, leaping off the couch, cheering as she says it. "Holy HELL!!!"

Chris' childlike wonder, as he looks up into the dark eves, and watches the bats flutter, the Triumph roaring through the beams of breaking light, weaving in and out of shadow, is such a joy to behold. He believed in it, believed in her, even without seeing, and it means that much more to Vic, you can tell. It's also symbolic, Vic sharing her world with her father, bringing him into her inscape, fighting the good fight TOGETHER, both soldiers. I loved it, every second.

Surprise, surprise, when they roll up to the junkyard, Bing Partridge isn't dead, because some cockroaches just won't DIE!!!! Like an AVENGING ANGEL, Chris McQueen is all of us, flying off that bike, and assailing Bing with murderous fury, backhanding his stupid face with the gun, over and over, impaling him deeper with the protruding rod, and I swear, I wanted to run to him, and HUG him so tightly, so freaking PROUD!!!! THANK YOU, CHRIS MCQUEEN!!!

"Where is he, you SICK, Son of a BITCH!?!?"

"HE CAN'T HELP US IF HE'S DEAD!!!!!"

Vic screams at her father, angrily chastising this good and proper beating that has been a LONG time coming!!!! I'm sorry, isn't that how ANY sane person would react to a sadistic, murdering, rapist whose made their life a LIVING HELL!? What gives, Victoria!? Chris falls back, as confused as I was, and then shakes his head, as he apologizes vehemently, which Vic is having none of. She's AWFUL to her father from this moment forward, rude and spiteful, blaming him for everything, and as much as I love the girl, in this unjust punishment, she REALLY lives up to her nickname, Brat.

This Kids Glove approach to Bing Partridge is MADDENING enough to make me PSYCHOTIC!!! BING. IS. EVIL. Say it with me, NOS4A2!!!! It's like they are hellbent on redeeming the ONE character that is beyond saving, a man that even God, himself, would look at reviled, and say, "Get thee behind me, SATAN!!!" Last week they failed, first through the deus ex machina epiphany, and then through the attempted murder/suicide, so they tried even harder, using a meeker approach, making him say manipulative propaganda like, "I wish I'd never met Mr. Manx, because then Vic McQueen would still be my friend." and "I'm all alone in here, and it's really scary." Ughhhh somebody, anybody, put us out of our misery, and put one right between his beady little rat bastard eyes.

I almost understand Tabitha's need to keep things professional, and speak to Bing, in a reassuring way that reaches his simple, monosyllabic mind. I get that beating the living hell out of him like he so obviously deserves isn't an option for her, but this man is a HEINOUS criminal, who's kidnapped kids, drugged and raped their mothers, KILLED both of his parents, not to mention TORTURED Charlie within an inch of his life, only just last week!!!! But by ALL MEANS, Vic, go HOLD HANDS WITH HIM, and see if that will help get your son back!!!! Cringe.

I HATED this, so, so, SO much!!! Bing was her friend, he betrayed her, violated the trust between them, became her worst nightmare, shot at her, traumatized her, duct-taping her to a chair, she should HATE him, despise the sight of him far more than Charlie Manx!!! I CRAVED a reckoning, even if it was just a verbal assault. But no, instead, Vic decides to play nice, and I get that most of it was an act to convince him to help her get her son back, but I could also feel NOS4A2's misguided hand in her actions. Look, see, even Vic can find the good in Bing!!!! Sigh. Not gonna lie, I was going to scream bloody murder if she said she forgives him!!!

Good Cop pays off, however, and Bing, desperate for Vic's forgiveness, reveals there is one more stop before Christmasland, one last chance to grab Wayne, when he gets out of the Wraith at Sleigh House to hang his ornament. It's a dawning revelation, intel quintessential to their success, and for once they know where Charlie is going to be, before he gets there, and can lay a trap for him and his indestructible car. I hate the way they arrived at the information though, I'd have much preferred to see Bing suffer for his sins, and the whole interaction is just so laughably implausible. I will say this however, there was a rather BEAUTIFUL line in this scene that Bing couldn't begin to deserve, but I LOVED it all the same. "I miss the person I thought you were." My god, that's powerful.

"Chris McQueen," is a STELLAR episode, full of beautiful lines like this, including my FAVOURITE thing that Maggie has EVER said to Vic, which perfectly exemplifies their eccentric friendship!!! "I'd shank a thousand assholes for your mopey ass!!!" YES!!! I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!! I will say though, that I was SHOCKED at how cool Vic was with Maggie's scary new trick of hurting herself to use her powers, sans seizures. I thought she was going to kick her butt for that!!! I'm really worried, Guys, this is a dangerous addiction, that's going to be the hardest one yet for Mags to quit!!! The break-up with Tabitha was bittersweet, but it did not come as a shock to me. They'd been drifting apart for awhile now, and I feel like Maggie was so scared of losing her, that she was afraid to be herself. "I want to live in the real world all the time." For me, that was the nail in the coffin, having only heard it about a thousand times myself. Maggie will always be living in two worlds, and whoever she's with MUST accept that. They love each other, yes, but they just want different things. I do respect Tabitha so much for not demanding that Maggie give up her tiles, threatening to leave her if she didn't. She'd rather let Maggie go be herself, be happy, than try to stifle her, shove her into that hateful, constricting little box called normal.

Vic continues to be petty, and spiteful towards her father, treating him WAY too harshly, punishing him, when he's done nothing but fight for her, a literal action HERO, avenging Wayne, and kicking ASS!!! It hurt my soul, and I could see the pain in his eyes, thinking he'd failed her, apologizing again, just wanting her forgiveness. The second scene at the McQueen house is a far less fuzzy one, as she forbids her father to come with her, placing all the blame of every bad thing that's happened thus far on his shoulders, and she cuts him with razor edged words, saying the worst thing that she could have possibly said in that moment, something truly unforgivable, that I already know she will spend the rest of her life, regretting.

"I lived eight years of my life without you, Dad, and I can just as easily do it again." She sneers, and even Linda stares, aghast. "Vicki, no, you don't mean that!!!"

I felt the pangs in my heart, stunned that she could be that vicious to her own father, after all he's done for her, getting sober, changing his whole life, hell, getting HER sober!!! Linda is again so adorable, insisting she take Chris with her, like "Vicki let your father play on your magical bridge, if he wants!!!" not wanting him to feel left out, and while I want more father/daughter explosive awesomeness, I'm conflicted whether or not he should go. If he stays here...... he's safe. Eventually Linda's persuasion wins out. "Don't let your anger towards your father, keep you from getting back Wayne." With a frustrated sigh, Vic shoves a black helmet in Chris' hands, and we're off to the races again. "Bring them home," Linda whispers sweetly, embracing him tight, and as they hug, I get the most sinking feeling that it's for the last time. Dont...... Don't kill, Chris Mcqueen.

Vic and Chris work in silence, once they get to the charred foundation of Sleigh House in Colorado, burying the handmade bombs, and finally Chris can't take it anymore. "Is this how you want it, Brat?" He asks her, heartbroken, and Ashleigh's acting is PHENOMENAL, as she breaks down and reveals the truth behind her unprovoked animosity.

"It's easier to be mad at you, than to blame myself."

"None of this is your fault. Charlie Manx is not your fault."

"I want to forgive you, because if I don't, how can Wayne ever forgive me. But I can't just let myself off the hook!!!"

It's not entirely a make-up, but it's an important conversation, something she's been wrestling with for a long time. Chris is again AMAZING, consoling her, easing her guilt, even while she's the one that's been impossible. Again Vic, I love you, but your father did the absolute RIGHT thing, and he's the only one that did right by Bing, as far as I'm concerned.

Maggie and Lou join the dynamite father/daughter duo in Colorado, and I LOVED all of their scenes together, the two people in this world that Vic McQueen loves most, and there's something magical about it, something iconic, seeing all three of them together, the Creative Dream Team, united in their crusade against Charlie Manx.

"Every one of these ornaments represents a kid in Christmasland, lost forever. Do you think there's a way to get them back? The other kids?"

WHEN SOULS FALL.

Maggie stares down, perplexed at the tiles, as she arranges them, revealing to the oracle this cryptic, mysticism, and I myself, could NOT breathe. Holy SMASH. Ever since the end of, "Gunbarrel," where Vic wanders through the trees outside Sleigh House, frowning at them, the hundreds of glittering ornaments, swaying in the wind, glowing as she drew near, I just knew...... I KNEW the souls of the Lost Children, were trapped inside each and every one of them, and this suspicion was ever further confirmed, when she found Bradley's canoe ornament, broken open on the ground, after he burnt up in the Wraith. My prediction? To turn the kids back, they have to smash every single one of these ornaments, and only then can the escaped souls return to their vampire shells, and make them human again. The minute a child hangs an ornament, the transformation is complete.

I also LOVED the transcendent scene between Vic and Millie, a scared little girl, in over her head, calling, pleading through the static, and I couldn't help but MARVEL at how much has changed between them. Last Season Millie Manx was very much her father's daughter, cruelly taunting Vic, on her father's behalf, even appearing to her while she was awake, stabbing her with an invisible sword. Now, she calls out to her to be her saviour, her father's greatest enemy, the iron wrought armour of her inherited hatred falling away, and Vic sees her as she always was, not a hollowed out demon spawn, but just a frightened little girl that needs to be set free. I was also THRILLED that dear little Millie imparted the knowledge that Charlie CANNOT die, else all the children, including his daughter, will die with him. Vic abhors Charlie with a screaming vengeance, but now that she knows his death comes at the cost of every child he's ever taken, she won't kill him, she CAN'T kill him, because then all of this, everything she's fought so hard for, bled for, would be for nothing.

The final act is both the thrilling BEST and the incoherent WORST of the episode, as the chaotic music ominously heralds our man's arrival. Charlie Manx, cutting a dashing, imposing silhouette, dark against the hazy dusk, exits the Wraith, turning every which way, striking in profile, floating smoothly across the front of the car, to let Wayne out. I loved this aesthetic, Charlie moving swiftly through the mist and dying light, rising as the threatened dark, enclosing. It's beautiful, and serves two clever purposes. One, to shroud our debonair dark menace in all the more intrigue and mystery, and the other, to conceal just how bad Wayne's gotten. Charlie clasps his hands around Wayne's shoulders lovingly, the picture of paternal pride, and my heart caught, seeing Wayne in the cast light, his boyish curls, frayed and almost white, his skin covered in white blue veins, every one of his teeth, coming to a sharp point.

"Go on, My Boy, it's time to hang your ornament," Charlie chortles handing Wayne the CUTEST little gray, baby bat ornament, I have ever seen, urging him forward. "Choose any branch you like, just make sure it's a SPECIAL branch," Charlie crows, and my heart melts, so in love with both of them, and the way Charlie dotes on him, knowing that while this began as a revenge plot, Charlie has come to love and favour Wayne, like the son he never had. "Don't dilly dally," He warns adorably, with an eyebrow raise, and even this mild scold is too precious for words.

Charlie waits by the Wraith, already nervous, as little Wayne disappears into the grove of trees. I LOVED the Wraith's ADORABLE warning system, as it flashes danger, the car horn honking, and even more I loved Charlie's distressed reaction to it, hurrying over, brow knit, like a father racing to tend to and protect his frightened child. Can I just have this impossibly PERFECT man, that darling little curly-haired boy, and this pretty, shiny car, PLEASE!?!?

"Smart Car," I whisper to myself, as the Wraith senses Vic's presence, and the waiting bombs beneath the ground. Charlie, alarmed, jumps back into his car, to seek out what's got the Wraith in such a tizzy, racing away, and leaving young Wayne behind. If there was ever a time, to save Wayne, it is NOW!!! NOW, Maggie, grab him NOW!!!! Here's where things start to unravel for me as far as character motivation and realistic ability is concerned. Yes, I get that Wayne's appearance is terrifying for her, that she doesn't know what she's walking into as she approaches him, but there is NO WAY Margaret Leigh, Oracle Extraordinaire, Hourglass SLAYER, would just cower, and watch as Wayne hangs his ornament. Nope, sorry. Wayne isn't even all the way a vampire yet, he's in transition, and the FEARLESS girl that I know and love, would have grabbed him, reassured him, while she wrested the ornament from his hands, and SMASHED it!!! Wayne's soul flies back into his body, crying as he clings to his Aunt Mags, Charlie is thwarted, and everybody lives happily ever after. End Scene.

But no, Maggie, in an uncharacteristic move, waits until Wayne has ALREADY hung his ornament, and then approaches him fearfully. I will admit I was a little nervous too..... Wayne, Darling, NO BITING Aunt Maggie!!! Wayne bares his vampire teeth, and raises his vampire claws in an adorable scare, with the cutest little growl ever, laughing cheerfully as he chases Maggie through the trees, clearly thinking it's a game.

Meanwhile, Charlie bristles as he sees the glowing headlights of Vic's motorcycle up ahead, piercing through the descended dark. His annoyance is obvious, but you can almost sense his secret excitement, at having one last chance to kill her.

"Gunning for Mother of the Year?" Charlie scoffs, amused, looking hot as hell behind the Wraith, clenching the steering wheel, his head down, eyes narrowed and full of smouldering, black intent. It's a FANTASTIC face-off, as the Wraith screams down into the open field, Chris pressing HARD on the detonator, and the first bomb goes off in a spray of dirt and billowing smoke. Again here's where I found myself more than a little bit incredulous, wondering WHAT THE HELL IS THE WRAITH MADE OF!?!? I even giggled to myself, remembering what Chris had said. "I don't care if he's in a GOD DAMNED tank!!!" The Wraith remains unscathed, the gleaming black paint, not so much as scratched, as a second bomb, and then a third go off beneath it, to no detriment. Really!? The Wraith is NOT a tank, it's not even armoured, and while yes, it's a supernatural entity, it CANNOT DEFY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS!!! Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so don't want to see you harmed, but you put a blast beneath that undercarriage, it is going to send that car FLYING, flipping it over at the very least!!!

Back in the grove of trees, Wayne, still chasing Maggie, stops cold when Lou calls out to him.

"Dad..... is that you?" THANK GOD, I cry out tearfully, as Wayne recognizes him, and in a very human moment, runs and hugs his father so tight, snuggling his little head to his shoulder, Lou sighing relieved, as he holds his son at last. Happy tears become angry ones, however, and at first I was LIVID with Wayne, horrified as he sinks his tiny little fangs into Lou's shoulder, biting him hard. DON'T BITE YOUR FATHER!!!!! Why, Wayne, WHY!? But the second time I watched this episode, I noticed something soooo very important. Wayne doesn't show any signs of hostility, poses NO threat, UNTIL the first bomb goes off. This is NO coincidence. Charlie, you're too clever for your own good!!! I suspect, that once the transformation is complete, and the kids are connected to Father Christmas, they can sense when he's in danger, and their innate attack instinct takes over!!! Freaking brilliant, and yet also terrifying!!!

Vic curses under her breath, her foot slamming on the gas, helplessly, as the Triumph won't start, her knife failing her, as the Wraith, screams at her like a shot bullet, promising vengeance, and Charlie smirks, sadistic, knowing he's about to end this....... "Say Goodnight, Vic McQueen."

My heart clenches in my chest, barely breathing, the tears flooding my vision, watching through blurry eyes, knowing what he's going to do, before he even does it. Chris McQueen hurtles himself in front of Vic, selflessly sacrificing his life for hers, and the Wraith runs him over, crushing the back of his legs. as he collides with it. I screamed, I sobbed, and shook violently, stunned because my prayers had been answered....... Chris McQueen, has miraculously SURVIVED. He's alive...... he's alive...... I whisper, reassuring myself. While he's far from okay, surely suffering two crushed legs, unable to move, I'm just so happy to see him still breathing, still fighting.

"Perfect timing, Wayne," Charlie snickers, Vic screaming, "NO!" as Wayne hops back into the car. This is it, this is the moment, where it all goes so wrong. Charlie's holding all the cards, he's got Wayne in the car, he's subdued Vic and her father, neither of them can so much as move, and he listens, drinking in their anguished cries. All he had to do was drive away....... It was over. It was SUPPOSED to be over.

"Chris McQueen, a disappointment of a man, just like your father," Charles snarls, and I AM BEGGING him to stop, bawling, pleading frantic, my terrified voice shrill. "BABY NO!!!! BABY STOP!!! DON'T KILL CHRIS, PLEASE GOD, CHARLIE!!!!!" Tapping into a darkness, donning a heartlessness, unbecoming of our gentleman villain, Charlie looks Vic in the eye, as he does it, snapping Chris' neck with lethal force, killing him purely out of spite. The episode ends with her broken, mournful sob, and Chris' slain gaze, his eyes still full of tears, staring blankly at the camera.

My pain is deafening, my sorrow beyond all hope of any coherent expression as NOS4A2 suffers its greatest loss to date. It's an empty gesture, a callous act, uncharacteristic of the man that I love with all my heart, but who has hurt me something profound with this senseless murder. In what kind of CRUEL world, does an innocent man, who sacrifices himself for his daughter, who fought for eight years to be the kind of father she deserved, have to die, while an indecent evil like Bing Partridge gets to live!? Charlie, HOW could you!? This...... There's no honour in this. Charlie kills only as a last resort, and only in defense, he has a strict moral code, and is vehemently against violence without cause. This was unfeeling, unnecessary, and soulless. Yes, he knew Chris was a bad father from before, but surely in witnessing the valiant manner in which he'd flung himself in front of the car, with no thought for his own life, Charlie would have found him redeemed, he would have seen a father who'd do anything to protect his daughter, not so different from himself, and he would have felt SOMETHING!!!

Goodnight, Chris McQueen. You fought the good fight, you changed and made things right, and now at last you can find peace....... My heart is so heavy, I can't hold it, and crying here, I want him to know how wrong he was, thinking nobody would mourn him when he died. A thousand cry out, stricken with grief. Husband, Father, White Knight Redeemed, here lies Chris McQueen, a HERO who didn't die for nothing.........

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block. 

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. I believe that is all.

Word Count: Roughly 3,200

“Jared!” You screeched just in time to find your body thrown in the air. You didn't let go, tugging the large, heavy weight in after you. The water rushed around your form. Cradling your fall. An angry cry left your lips as you surfaced. Glaring at your friend as he shook out his shaggy, dark hair. “You're such a shit.”

The sound of kids shouting out their own war cries sounded before they followed. The noise was enough to diffuse the mini war for a moment. They were careening their bodies into the water one at a time. Six cannonballs of various sizes.

“Teach you to sass,” He cackled, wincing every so slightly as you splashed at him in mock outrage. You dodged Shep as you bolted away from him; kicking your feet hard enough that Jared couldn't see well enough to dive at you until you had some distance between your bodies.

“Gen!” Before you could bring his wife into the mix, you were tackled again. Losing your shout in the liquid. Jared's unnatural length had given him the advantage. Again.

“They're going to kill each other,” Jensen muttered to Genevieve at the grill. Watching the scene from the corner of his eye. He'd refused to bet on who would come out on top. Both of you were too determined to end the mutual torture amicably.

“The kids will break it up before it gets there.” She answered with a grin as she watched your leg hook Jared's. The towering height was a disadvantage for the first time as you yanked the limb upwards with your entire strength. It slowed him down. His arms couldn't quite reach you before you threw him off balance. Crashing his bulk backwards. Creating waves that all six kids rode out. The high pitched betting on who would be winner making the brow rise towards his friend's wife. “Or maybe not,” The devilish smile on her love's face made her tsk in shame.

The hiatus-bearded forty four year old beside her stopped watching the meat for a moment. Focusing on his best friend and his nanny. You had promised yourself wouldn't leave. It had been just over two years since Danneel had passed away, and you'd kept your word.

For not knowing how to care for other people full time, you'd figured it out in a hurry. Ouchies were bandaged. Homework was helped. Food was prepared just in time for everyone to slink out of the rooms. You'd gone above and beyond. Taking up a housekeeper role, even. No one could have asked for a better person to fill what had been needed.

“He takes her out? He has kid duty.” Jensen warned; his own grin covered as he took a swig of his beer to compose himself. A recent habit he'd invested in when it came to anything involving you. Too many people found themselves asking questions. He didn't want to answer them.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged as she watched Jared toss you like you were a rag doll. “Overgrown children. The both of them.”

“Keeps life a little interesting,” He acknowledged easily. It really had. Helped keep it all lighthearted when things were anything but. It'd helped him survive the worst thing he'd ever experienced. “They're too busy pranking each other to turn their wiles on us, nowadays.” That brought up Gen's brow.

“She's given you wiles, huh?” Her own drink was brought to her lips to keep her face as neutral as could as she watched her friend turn the deadly chromatic gaze her way. Looking for a sign that would tell him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't find anything. Being in the acting business had its perks, and cons, when it came to their friendship.

“She's decided that I'm too serious, lately,” He grumbled. Finger quotes and all. Pulling on the years of playing Dean Winchester for a way to express his displeasure with adequate emphasis. He'd long ago accepted that the Winchester would pop his head up whenever he needed him to. Almost eighteen years on the job did that to a man. “She gets the kids in on the plots. Got Jared in on a few before they turned on each other.”

Jared had eagerly adopted a new victim in his favorite sport. Jensen had lost the urge to get down and dirty years ago. After an incident that may, or may not have, involved stink bombs in a trailer. He reserved his angst for Misha and other cast members. However, that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy watching his best friend meeting his match.

It was nearly as explosive as when him and Jared had been younger. The only thing that prevented a forced truce was the amount of space and time apart that you two experienced. It never had a chance to build up and become deadly. Or, that's what everyone was counting on, anyway.

“Did it work?” The Winchester's bitch face was turned her way. Two could play the acting game. She just read it better, “So, it did.”

“It's been two years. I don't need checked on, constantly,” He grumbled. Taking another swig as he flipped the burgers and hot dogs. She wasn't quite sure if he was talking about you or her nosing about.

“Jensen-”

“I'm fine, Gen...Really...I'm great.” She didn't look nearly convinced. Impatiently waiting for him to continue. He didn't disappoint. Unleashing the verbal diarrhea in a torrent after a moment of silence. He'd been stewing for too long. “She just...she's something else.” That seemed to catch her attention even more.

“Are you two fighting?” The question was carefully let out, ensuring that he knew she wasn't trying to push too hard. Simply expressing a bit of concern.

“No,” He scoffed. Despite that it's actually what he'd tried to enact more than once. You were just unshakeable. “She's just...she's always there, you know?” He sounded weak to his own ears, but that didn't stop the word vomit leaving his lips. “And she's always... on top of everything. God forbid I tell her what to do.” Every thing that had been itching at his nerves burst forth. “That's another thing! She isn't intimidated. At all. I told her to take a day off, or she's canned. What'd she do? She laughed. Laughed!” He was going to lose his mind over the saucy nanny. That much he was sure on.

“And you don't like that?” Gen's teasing tone made him mentally kick himself in the ass. His long suffering parent face came out at that. She missed the point. “Sounds like the perfect nanny if I'd ever heard of one.”

“She's not just a nanny,” He was aware that he sounded like a sulking child. It made his shoulders straighten even more. His voice deepening in frustration. “She joined the damn family. When she shouldn't've had to. Y/N was supposed to get back on her feet, and moved on.”

The lingering guilt came forward. You hadn't wanted to be trapped in role. Yet, there you were. All for his family's benefit. His benefit.

“Doesn't seem to bother her,” Genevieve noted, nodding her head subtly towards the scene in the pool.

You'd gathered reinforcements. Jensen's three helped you knock Jared under the water again while his own children simply cackled around the attack zone. All it took was a simple bribe from their chief to get them to join in on the battle. Suddenly, the pool erupted into full blown war fare.

Waves crashed over the edge. Floaties went flying through the air. But, everyone knew their limits. Tenderly, you all rode the thin line that would lead to death as you wrestled in the chlorinated pit.

“It should,” He grumbled. It had at one time. The memory of you insisting that you couldn't fill the void echoed in his brain. People didn't change that much. No, if you were okay with it? There was a reason. And there was only one he could piece together enough to make some kinda sense. “She's using us for a crutch. She should be out there. Looking to start her own family.”

He'd painted the image in his mind. Clear as day, it danced there. He could see you in a bar, taking a down night. Later, with your own family after you'd stumbled into some nice good looking chap who'd appreciate you. God knows that you'd earned it.

“Ever think that she doesn't want to?” The idea was dismissed before she even finished it. After all, what woman didn't want someone of their own? “She's a big girl, Jensen...She can decide when she's ready.”

“You don't always get to choose,” His answer was softer that time. Thinking of the turn his life had taken. “You don't always get time.”

His own lack of time still haunted him more than he'd acknowledge. Jensen had wanted forever. Instead, he'd gotten a sliver of it. Best damn sliver of his life, but still. It hadn't been enough. He wanted his wife back. Wanted the life they'd been denied.

“I know,” She would have offered him a hug if his expression hadn't turned back to the mulish expression that often resided in his character's face at the soft words.  It was his way of coping. Emotions turned deadly. He wouldn't- couldn't give into it. Not in front of the kids, anyway. Alone in his room was a different story. “Have you tried actually talking to her?”

“She treats me like one of the kids,” He muttered with a soft scowl that made Gen bite back a laugh. “Actually, that's not true. I get lower. She gives the kids more attention when they take up a problem with her.” The sulking was back in full force as he nudged at the meat, once again. It was the one trait of yours that drove him crazy. That easy dismissal of his concerns.

“I can talk to her-”

“No,” His head jerked her way in dismay. He didn't want anyone fighting his battles. Didn't want you to feel that he was forcing you out. “No,” He cleared his throat; this time speaking more calmly. “I'll figure something out...providing Jared doesn't kill her.” His eyes locked onto your form as you tried to tackle the bigger man, and failed. Laughing as you were tossed around like a rag doll.

–

“I still have water in my ears,” You grumbled back at the Ackle's fortress. Trying to dislodge the liquid by shaking your head. It was useless. You'd have to pull out the cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to try and draw it out. “Your friend is wicked.”

“You started it,” Jensen shot back, setting the dish he'd dried back into the cupboard.

They'd been discarded from that morning, before the small get together. Going to sleep with a dirty sink had turned into one of your pet peeves. So, there you were. At midnight. Cleaning dishes next to your employer and friend...of sorts.

“Fair point,” You relented, passing him the pan you'd just rinsed.

After nearly three years? You'd had no problem taunting the man who'd once intimidated you. The puppy-like beast could truly do damage if he wanted. Jared simply never had the desire to inflict permanent harm. Rather stuck to temporary discomfort.

And, you loved every bit of it. It made you feel welcomed. Placed on equal footing, despite the fact that you were the furthest thing from famous.

“I think it's time to replace this thing,” Jensen muttered as he shifted the thinning towel to a dry spot to work on the metal more.

“I can do this on my own, you know.” You pointed out without malice. After all, that's what you were paid to do. A job that you didn't particularly mind, either.

“Figured Jared kicked your ass enough, today.” The wry grin made your eyes roll before you turned away. Ignoring the way his chuckle made your stomach knot.

It wasn't a new feeling. Simply one that you couldn't focus on. He'd had that soul deep kinda connection that you longed for before. So rare that you doubted you'd ever find it. Not only was he still madly in love with Danneel. But, there was also the issue of him handing over a paycheck weekly. Even if you were willing to bend the rules a bit? He wouldn't. So, you turned back to what you could focus on. The dishes.

“I can take it from here,” You returned when you gathered your wits back to where they belonged. It took longer than you had liked. “Besides, you have a flight in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“Sure thing, mom.” His dry tone was telling enough. You were being blown off. “You sure you can handle them on your own?”

His anxiety over the trip was both endearing and frustrating. On one hand, you understood it. The kids were his everything. He hadn't left their side for longer than a few hours since they'd lost their mother. On the other, it almost hurt that there wasn't enough trust built up to give him relief for a single weekend. To let you step in and care for his family as if they were your own. Hadn't you already proven your worth?

“I'll be fine,” You waved him off with a sudsy hand. Blowing him off as easily as he had your concern. He and Dee had raised some pretty fantastic kids before you'd stepped in. They'd stay that way over two days without their dad. You'd make sure of it. “You need some time to yourself, Jay.”

“When do you ever get that?” He pointed out, jumping on his opening. Your eyes rolled back so far that it was painful. Rehashing the now familiar argument.

“I'm starting to think that you're trying to get rid of me,” His horrified look your way was ignored as you pressed your point home. Making him understand exactly how it was coming across each time he pushed. “If you don't want me around-”

“Did I say that?” The answer was so Dean that you had to bite back the chuckle. He'd only get more worked up, again, if you did. So, you resisted the urge. The kids were out. Neither of you wanted to wake them. “I just think that you need a getaway- one that doesn't include my kids.”

“Are you kidding? What fun is it to go to the beach on your own?” You'd joined the family on their excursions. Everything from the family vacations to trips to conventions. You'd even stayed in Toronto when it came time to film Supernatural. Ensuring that Jensen hadn't needed to worry for a second about his children. Instead, he'd begun to direct it towards you. “I'm not missing much. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”

“Are you still hung up on-”

“I should have never told you that story,” You muttered before he could finish. He'd never forgotten. Or let you forget that you'd confided in him. It was the first thing that had made him give you a second look. “I have bad taste, Jensen. Notoriously bad taste.” He wasn't going to argue there. The guy in question was a douche. “I'm not bringing anything like that home with me, again. There's not enough sage in the world to get rid of that kind of energy. You really should thank me.” A sad smile lined Jensen's face. Danneel had been known to burn a bundle as needed. The tradition had lived on, even just for memories sake.

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. Taking the hint, finally. “I shouldn't push.” The look on your face said that you agreed. Silence ensued as the nightly chore was wrapped up before you went your separate ways. The issue only held away for another day.

–

“We're good. Go have fun,” You winked over the snapchat. Jensen could see all the girls in the back. Odette had taken the place of Zeppelin for the night. The boys were all with Gen. The children's own request.

You pulled away from your face to record the dance party that was taking place to Little Mix's Salute. Makeup covered all their little faces haphazardly. Your own face carried the telling marks of a young child's heavy handedness. Boas and frilly pink pajamas filled the room. All had embraced their inner female, looking remarkably fierce as they yelled the lyrics.

You ended it with a little lip sync action and your own, half-assed salute. He found himself replaying it for the simple, wide smile on your face as you turned away in the end. You'd seemed happier than he'd expected. His fingers rubbed over the bridge of his nose. Maybe you and Gen had a point.

“Dude, you okay?” Jared's shoulder jostled his best friend lightly, making the shorter one jerk away from his phone. When he glanced back, his reflection stared back at him. A flower crown rested over his forehead. His back straightened as he locked the screen, and tucked the device back in his pocket.

“Fine,” He answered easily. His hand ran through his hair. A simple tell. “Y/N was just checking in.”

“It's hard to be away from them,” The understanding tone made Jensen's tension fall a bit. It was ridiculous to even try to hide it from Jared. “I get it, man.” The large hand clasped against his arm. “If you want to bail, I'll find a way to cover-”

“I can't do that to the fans,” He shook his head. They'd all been so patient. So damn sweet after he'd lost Danneel. They deserved more than him flaking out. Again. “No, she's got it.” A crooked side smile pulled up his face, “Besides, Gen would kill me if I left you alone. You're practically bursting at the seams.”

“Am not,” The little shit eating grin said otherwise. A look that called bull was the only response he got. “Okay, but number four being on the way is kind of a big deal.” Fatherly pride was contagious.

“Yeah, man, it is.” With a sigh, Jensen pulled himself together. Determined to fall back into old patterns as much as he still could.

Years ago, Danneel and him had said they were done. Hell, even on live TV. Yet, so had Jared and Gen. There was no predicting how life would go. What turns would come forward.

Jensen was happy for his friend. Hell, his brother. He'd be there for them and the kid. Just as they had for him and his brood. But, it didn't settle the pit in his gut.

His focus lingered on the what ifs that life had left him with. Where would they all be if that car accident hadn't happened? Would the man who'd hit her be behind bars for someone else? He even found himself wondering if he'd have a fourth baby if Danneel was still alive...

Part Three

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14​

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 53

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @valkyrie-of-the-light​

“Hey,” Kyle greets his sister, as she steps out onto the back deck. “Sleeping beauty! How you feeling?”

“I'm not sure yet,” she admits, using the hand without the IV in to rub sleep from her eyes. “I've got a hell of a headache. But I'm not nauseous for the first time in forever and the dizziness is gone.”

“Headache's probably from the concussion. That's pretty normal. Sounds like the medication he gave you for the puking and the fainting is working so far.”

“I'm getting tired of this goddamn thing already,” she complains, and nods down at the portable IV device slung over her shoulder.

“Well start drinking and eating and keeping it all down and they'll take it out sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, well if I could think about food without the nausea coming back, I'd eat.  Maybe that'll be next. Where I can actually think about it or look at it without feeling sick,” she sinks down into the chair beside him.  “What time is it?”

“Almost one in the afternoon. You must have needed the rest. You've been out since last night.”

“Jesus...” she presses the heel of her palm into one eyes, than the other. “...I feel like I could keep sleeping. I was up for a little while this morning but I drifted off again.”

“Tyler get in?”

“Yeah, around eight thirty-ish? He's still sleeping. Where's Nik?”

“Went into town to get us some lunch.”

“Oh really...” she stares at him pointedly.  “...us as in you two or as in you two and her people?”

“Us as in me and her.”

“I see. So what's up? Are you two hooking up or...?”

“We're getting to know each other.  We're not going to pull a 'you and Tyler'.  Although I bet those five days were a lot of fun.”

“You have no idea. Five days with him was enough to make me forget anyone else that ever came before him. So you like her? You think she likes you? Come on, spill the beans. I want details.”

“There are no details to give you. We're still in the getting to know you stage. We stayed up pretty late last night.”

“Just talking or...”

“Yes, Esme. Just talking. Like I said, we aren't pulling a 'you and Tyler'. I do have to admit though, I am kind of jealous. What guy doesn't want a situation like that happening?”

“What guy doesn't want to go and rescue the kidnapped son of a drug lord for another drug lord?”

“That's obviously not what I want. I mean having a woman right there....for five days...that can't keep her hands off of him. I mean, it's gross that my sister was the woman, but that is what I call one lucky sonofabitch. Goes into there to do a job...”

“And gets a job,” she finishes with a smirk. “More than one a day, actually.”

“Okay, that I did not need to know.  If you're hungry, I can text her and get her to pick you something up. Just say the word.”

“Oh, we're onto text messaging now. Kyle, you don't normally give women your cell number. Half the time you don't even get first names. You're more the fuck and duck type. You must be really into her.”

“Yeah,” his smile broadens.  “I guess I am. She's something else. Totally unlike anyone else I've ever met.”

“Well she's not a blond with big boobs for one. Or a bar slut.  So she would be unlike anyone you've ever met. You better make your move before this job is over. She's not going to hang around Colorado forever, you know. Because eventually all this crazy shit is going to end and she's going to back to what she normally does. And you don't want that to happen without making a move, do you?”

“I think you need to worry about your personal life.”

“What personal life? I'm married. I have four kids. I have one in the oven. I don't have a personal life. I have to live vicariously through you. And, if I'm being honest, I think Nik would be good for you. She's beautiful, she's strong, insanely intelligent. She has her own thing going on and doesn't need a man's help so she won't be clingy and suffocating.  She has her own place....a beautiful place, I may add...so she won't constantly be on your doorstep and be wanting to move in. What more could you possibly want?”

“Well, she'd have to want me, so there's that.”

“What's not to want? You're my brother but even I can admit you're a super good looking guy, you work out a lot so you've got the whole big shoulders and big arms thing going on, you're funny, you're compassionate, you're strong. And you're a firefighter. What woman does not like firefighters? I can't think of a single on. You guys would be perfect for each other! You're totally unlike any guy she's been with, I can tell you that much.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because I know a couple she's been with and I've heard stories of others. She's either been with much older businessmen or guys she's met on the job.”

“Mercenaries? What would she want with a firefighter, then?”

“What wouldn't she want with a firefighter? They're brave, they're bad ass, they're strong as fuck.  That all makes for a very sexy and appealing man, if I do say so myself. Fuck mercenaries. I mean, not all of them obviously, because I married one. But he's in a league of his own and not like the others, trust me.  Nik is perfect for you. And you're perfect for her.  So quit being a whiny bitch baby and make your move! Get her away from Mark, before he pulls his bullshit with her too.”

“She'd probably kill Mark if he even tried with her.”

“Likely. But don't let it come to that. Make a move. Or I will do it for you. I will ask her out for you.”

His eyes narrow. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh yes, I would. Don't put it past me. I'm not above embarrassing the shit out of you. It's time to get your personal life together. Enough with the bar sluts and the random hook ups.  You need a real woman! Someone who can keep you in line! Who has her shit together.  Whose independent and strong and just kick ass. Do it! What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Isn't she technically here on work? Wouldn't that be unprofessional?”

“Who cares? Do you think what Tyler and I did  while we were 'working' was professional? We didn't give a shit. We did it anyway. We did it a lot, actually.”

“That's a very good point. Maybe I was going to set my standards higher than yours,” he teases.

“Bruh, you have no idea what that five days was like. Do not knock it.  You probably haven't had an entire year that could measure up to that five days. I'm just saying.”

“I do not need to know these things about you guys. I mean, I know you guys have sex. Obviously. You have four kids and one on the way. But I don't need to know what kind of sex you guys have.”

“You sure? Because I've got stories that will make you even you blush. You want some Tyler stories? He'd kill me for telling you them, but I have stories for you. That that man's sexual prowess is second to none and he has crazy good stamina.”

Kyle grimaces. “Okay, that's enough. I do not need to know this stuff about my sister and my brother in law. As far as I'm concerned, you've had sex four times and that's when the kids were conceived. That's all I want to think about, okay? Do not put imagines in my head. I'll never have sex again if I get imagines like that in my head. And I'd like to have sex again.”

“With Nik? Come on. It's with Nik, isn't it.”

“What's with Nik?” the woman in question asks, as she steps out onto the deck.

“My brother's balls,” Esme chirps. “They're in your purse, aren't they.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle mutters, shaking his head.

“Don't be embarrassed,” Nik says. “I'm used to her. That's nothing compared  to some of the things that I've heard come out of that cute little mouth.  And considering what she puts into that mouth...”

“That's a penis reference in case you didn't get that, Kyle,” Esme teases.

“No I got that. And now I have an image of my sister and my brother in law in my head that I will never get out, until the day I die. And then I'll take it my grave and it will haunt me in the afterlife.”

“Kyle is very sensitive when it comes to any thought of me having sex,” Esme explains to Nik. “Even though I'm married. And I have four kids and one is currently baking. He does not like to think about how I got babies in me.”

“No, I don't it,” he grimaces. “Not at all. So if you could stop...”

“Tyler still sleeping?” Nik asks, as she sits two paper bags in the middle of the patio table and begins unpacking Styrofoam containers of take out.

Esme nods. “He'll probably be out for a while. Jet lag sometimes hits him pretty hard. And his body's trying to get used to being back on the Valium and it takes a bit for him to adjust.”

“He still have that weird haircut?” Kyle asks, as he pushes himself up out of the chair and joins Nik at the table, standing alongside of her.

“Excuse you? Weird haircut? That's his best hair cut yet. And sexy as fuck. So you bite your tongue.”

She notices the way her brother and Nik interact; the little smiles they exchange, the way their shoulders are pressed together, how she leans into him and he briefly lays a hand on the small of her back.

“If he's back on the Valium, do you think he'll be okay in New Zealand?” Nik inquires. “Is that enough time for him to adjust?”

“Should he even be going?”  Kyle counters. “I mean, my sister just got out of the hospital.”

“I was not in the hospital,” Esme says. “I was looked at at the hospital. And Tyler and I haven't talked about this yet. About New Zealand. I think that's the first conversation about it I should have. With him.”

“It doesn't matter if you were actually in the hospital or not,” her brother argues, and hands her a plate of food. “I texted her while we were talking,” he explains, when Esme arches an eyebrow. “Try to eat, kid. That little peanut needs you to eat. Or you will get admitted and you'll be in there a while.”

“You're a pain in my ass, K,” she responds, but gives him an appreciative smile.

“Like I was saying,” he continues. “It doesn't matter if you were in there or not. You're having issues and...”

“Fainting is not having issues. And I fainted because I was dehydrated and my blood pressure was high.”

“You have a concussion and seven stitches in your head,” he points out. “And there could be something wrong. With either you or the baby. We need to be realistic here. It's a possibility. Whether you want to admit it or not. So why take the chance? Why should he go back when he's got all these things going on at home?”

“Because he needs to,” Esme reluctantly admits, and Nik nods in agreement as she sits down beside her. “As much as I hate to admit it and my heart is breaking just thinking about him leaving and going there, it's what's best for him.”

“I don't get how that makes any sense,” Kyle says. “What's best for him is staying here. With you. Especially when you're having issues.”

“What's he going to do, K? Other than sit around here and worry about me. He can't stop what's happening. There's nothing he can actually do about it.”

“There's going to be doctors appointments, test results coming in,” Kyle points out, as he sits to Esme's left. “Shouldn't he be here for that stuff? He's going to want to be here. You can't tell me he won't want to be here.”

“He will,” she says. “But what's best for him is to go to New Zealand and get those kids.”

“I'm not understanding how that's  what's best for him. Isn't this going to be dangerous?”

“Very,” Nik confirms.

“So isn't it better he doesn't go? What happens if something goes wrong. And Emse, I know you hate even thinking about it, let alone talking about it, but there's a very real possibly he could get seriously hurt. Or worse. Is that a risk you want to take? Is that a risk he'd want to take it? That something happens and he doesn't get a chance to meet this baby? I don't see him wanting to take that chance. He's not that selfish. You can't tell me he is.”

“At this point, it doesn't matter what Tyler wants,” Nik speaks up. “It's about what we know is best for him. And Esme knows what's best for him. Probably even more than he does.”

She nods. “Believe me, I don't want him to go. Selfishly, I want him to stay. I want him home. For good.  But I know he needs to do this. He needs to get those kids out of there and get them somewhere safe. Because he will ever forgive himself if he doesn't. If he doesn't go, it's always going to be on his mind that he didn't go there and he didn't get them out. Their blood will be on his hands. And that will haunt him for the rest of his life and I don't...” her voice cracks with emotion.  “....I don't want that for him. I don't want that on his conscience. He'd never be the same.  I'm trying to get him healthy. Mentally. And not going for those kids and having that in his brain? That would break him. And I don't want that happening to him.”

“It's okay...” Nik's voice is soft, soothing, as she reaches out to rub her friend's back in comfort.  “...just try and stay calm.”

“Isn't there someone else?” Kyle asks. “That can do this? Instead of someone with so much to lose?”

“It can't be anyone else,” Esme replies. “It can't. It has to be Tyler. He's the one who accepted this job, he's the one whose been working on it, he has to be the one to go and get them. And I know it doesn't make sense to you, Kyle. You're worried about what will happen to me and the kids if he doesn't come back. And I get that. I do. Because I worry about it every time he walks out the door when he takes a job. But this isn't any job, This is the job that will break him if he doesn't get it done. You don't understand what is going on with him. What's going on in his head.  But I do.  I know him a lot better than you do. So I need you to back off and trust me.  I'm doing what's best for him. Whether you understand why or not.”

“I'm just worried about you, kid. And him. This sounds like some serious shit he's getting himself into.  He's got you and he's got his kids...”

“Kyle, please,” Esme begs. “You need to just back off. I've been living this life for five and a half years. I've been with this man through some really bad shit. That you can't even begin to imagine. And he needs to do this.  You have to trust me when I say that.  I know what I'm talking about. You don't live this life. With him. But I do. And this is what has to happen.”

“Okay...” he reluctantly surrenders. “...I'll cave. I'll trust you. But I still think it's a stupid fucking idea. And he probably will too.”

“You really don't know Tyler that well,” Esme gives a small laugh. “He's already thought of all the possible ways to get those kids out. About all the things that could wrong and how he can counteract them. Once he's this deep into a job, it's an obsession. Even more so with there being kids involved. It won't take much convincing to get him to go.”

Her brother sighs. “I really hope you know what you're doing, kid. Because this could go wrong. So very, very wrong. Are you prepared for that? Just in case?”

“I've been ready for the worst for five and a half years,”  she admits. “You don't think we've considered everything? That we don't have things in place if someone does happen to him? He's not a stupid man. He has everything thought out. Everything planned. In case something does happen. Am I ready for the worst? To live my life without him? Of course I'm not. It's the last thing I want. But he's thought of everything, and the kids and I will be fine if it does happen.”

“But we're going to do everything we can so that doesn't happen,” Nik pipes up. “He has great people watching his back.”

“You're really not going to trust Mark with him are you?” Kyle asks. “He's the last person any of you should trust. He'd kill Tyler before he'd help him. No question about it.”

“We've got two other people,” she says. “Two Marines. He has a rapport with Nathan. And he's a good kid and he's loyal to Tyler in the very short period of time they've known each other.  I'll tell Yaz to make sure that is the one that goes in to help. We need two. There's no way Tyler can get two kids and himself out of there safely. Especially if there's resistance.”

“And there will be,” Esme speaks up. “Resistance. No doubt about it. The Buckmans are not going to just let him walk in there and take those kids.”

“You think they already know he's coming?” Nik asks.

“I know they do. They just don't know when he's going to show up. But they know he's on his way. Especially after what he did at McMann's house to some of their people. “

Kyle frowns. “Who are the Buckmans?”

“An organized crime family in New Zealand,” Esme replies. “Don't ask. It's a very long story. But they're vicious and they're violent and they are not going to let him take those kids peacefully. They're going to fight back. And he knows that.”

“This keeps getting worse and worse,” Kyle grumbles. “And you seriously want him to go into this?”

“I don't want him to go,” his sister responds. “But I know he has to.”

***

He feels her climb into bed beside him; eyes closed as he listens to her mutter profanities about the IV stuck in her hand and the medical contraption she's being forced to carry around with her.  She settles down next to him, on her side with her head resting on his collarbone and her hand on his stomach, and he brings his hand up to gently rest on the top of her head.  Careful to mind the stitches and now very prominent bump that accompanies them.

“You're in my spot,” she says.

“Actually, this is my spot. It's been my spot for four years now.”

“When you're not here it becomes my spot.  I always sleep in your spot. I like sleeping in all your little grooves and your indents.”

He grins. “I can't figure out if that's endearing or super creepy.”

“Fuck you, it's endearing. It makes me feel closer to you. Especially when I can smell you on your pillow. You don't do stuff like that? When I'm not around?”

“When are you ever not around? When I'm home, you're home. So...”

“Is that a complaint? That sounds like a complaint.”

“That is definitely not a complaint,” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “There was one time....when you were in the hospital after the twins were born...that I slept with your pillow,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Things were scary and the twins weren't doing well and I had to stay here with Millie and I felt like shit about it. Made me feel better to sleep with your pillow. I don't know why...” he shrugs. “...it just did.”

“Tyler Rake, you big softie.  Everyone else thinks you're so big and bad all the time and I know all the cute little shit you say and do. I should write a book.”

“No, you shouldn't. There's some things we need to keep just between us. People do not need to know those things.”

“Like how you always cry when the kids are watching The Fox and the Hound?”

“Okay, for the record, that's a very sad fucking movie. And I only cry at the part when the old lady leaves Todd in the woods.”

“You even know his name?” she teases. “Baby, you're so cute. You're not as alpha male as you and other people think you are. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I won't tell anyone that Disney movies make you cry.”

“It's one movie. One. And I never would have known about it if you didn't buy it for the kids and your one son....who shall remain nameless...wouldn't stop watching it for three months. And he'd come bawling to me every time that part came on and make me sit and watch it with him because it said made him feel better if I sat with him. That's not what it was. That little shit just didn't want to be alone in his misery.”

“That's it, throw Junior under the bus.  I told you he's just like you.  He even cries at the same things. Didn't you both cry watching Iron Giant too?”

“I did not cry. I had something in my eyes.”

“Sure you did,” she laughs, and places a kiss on the side of his neck.   “Didn't you cry watching Gladiator?”

“That was a bitch move Commodus pulled on my boy Russell Crowe and you know it.  And you're the one that cries at commercials so you're the last one who should be on me about sad movies. How many times have you had to ask me to change channel because those ASPCA commercials and you get all weepy over the animals? Hundreds. Thousands. Every time one comes on. And then I have to listen to you go into a sob story about your golden retriever when you were growing up.”

She rests her chin on his chest and glares up at him. “Don't you bring Max into this. He was the goodest good boy ever and my mom only got rid of him because Kyle kept bringing home bad report cards and because he was so 'stupid' as she called him, she hit him where it hurt the most and got rid of his dog. He was never the same after that.”

“So that's what's wrong with him.”

“Well there's a lot wrong with him, but that's besides the point. Why would you do that? Bring Max into things. Now look...”  she sniffles, tears sparkling in her eyes, lower lip wobbling.  “...you're a horrible person.”

He can't help but chuckle, and then gives an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

“Yes you did. I swear you enjoy it. You're a masochist.”

“Wouldn't that make a me a sadist? If I enjoy making you cry?”

“It makes you an asshole is what it makes you,” she huffs, and he bites back a laugh and moves his hand to the back of her head and pushes her face down to his chest.

“I'm sorry.  I do not like making you cry and you know it. And I'm sorry your mom got rid of your dog because your brother's a dumb ass.”

“I told she's psychotic. I told you!”

“If it wouldn't make us brother and sister, I'd say hook her up with my dad. They'd be perfect for each other. They could just make each other miserable and leave everyone else alone.”

“As much as I'd enjoy the two of them torturing each other, I do not want to be related to you. That's a level of Jerry Springer Show red neck shit I do not want to get involved with.”

“There's probably porn about that. Husband and wife who are also step brother and  step sister.”

“You'd know. That's probably the weird shit you look up.”

“I do not watch porn.”

“You're a fucking liar.  We've watched it together.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh yeah...I remember that...you were into it way more than I was.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“I am sorry. That I brought the dog into things. And that your mom's a psycho. You won't have to worry about that much longer. Once we get fuck out of here. She's going to lose her shit, you know. When she finds out we're leaving.”

“She just told me that we're all dead to her. She won't give a shit.”

“Babe, tomorrow she's going to call and she's going to try and convince you that she never said those things or try and get you to believe that she didn't mean them the way you took them or that you're overreacting. It's the same bullshit every time she does something like this.”

“I'm starting to think she's the reason why Sarge is the way he is.”

“You're just starting to think that? I've been thinking that since I met her. She's messed up. And you think you have issues.”

“I do. I have one big issue. That's six foot three and two hundred and ten pounds.”

“Two twenty.”

“Is the extra ten pounds your middle aged spread?”

He scowls. “I'm not middle aged. Sixty is middle aged.”

“Tyler, no one lives to be a hundred and twenty.”

“Is that a challenge? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Look, as much as I want you to live to a ripe old age, we both know you're not making it that long. Because you know one day I'm going to snap and I will kill you long before you get there. And it's going to be a lot sooner if you don't stop leaving your dirty laundry in front of the hamper instead of putting them inside. You've been warned. About a hundred times in the past month alone. Is that really the hill you want to die on?”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it's like death by cop.  Put yourself in the line of fire so someone else does the dirty work for you.”

“I can think of other more pressing things to kill you over than dirty laundry,” she says, and snuggles her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. “And I haven't killed you yet so I think it's safe to safe that it's not going to happen. That as much as you drive me batshit insane, I'd rather you be here than do that than not be here at all.”

He smiles at that, then presses his lips to her forehead. “You good? Feeling okay?”

“Well I did eat. Not a lot but I did get some into me and I haven't thrown it up. I think those meds are working. To stop the puking. But I have a killer headache.”

“It's the concussion. It'll go away in a couple of days. Where does it hurt?”

She reaches up to move his hand to her forehead, so his thumb sits between the edge of her eyebrow and the side of her nose.  “Don't press too hard. You don't know your own strength half the time.” And she gives a long, content sigh when his thumb presses into the tender spot and begins massaging in firm, slow circles. “I've been taking care of you and kids for so long, I forgot how nice it is to have someone take care of me.”

“Well, I try. But you don't let me do it, so....”

“I could get used to this,” she gives another sigh.  “You can stick around. You're useful after all.”

He grins and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“I told Kyle,” she says.

“About?”

“You. About what you do.”

“You mean other than drive you crazy and give you awesome dick?”

She nods. “I told him about you. About what you do for a living. That it isn't private security. That you're actually a mercenary. Don't be mad. I know we agreed to not tell people.”

“We agreed to not tell people five and a half years ago. It doesn't matter who knows now. This is it. The last job. Once I'm done, I'm done. Doesn't matter if anyone knows.”

“You promise? That this is it? That a year from now you're not going to get bored and go back to it?”

“I promise. Once this is over, that guy won't exist anymore.”

“He'll never disappear entirely, Tyler. That's impossible. He'll always be a part of you. And that's not a bad thing. That guy? That Tyler? He's not a horrible person. I mean, he's the guy that I fell in love to begin with, right? That wouldn't have happened if he was a terrible person.”

“Maybe you just have shitty taste in men,” he teases, and she laughs against his neck.

“I don't want him disappearing entirely,” she says. “Because there's parts of him that I really like. That I want to stick around. That I need to stick around.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“He's strong. Fearless. He'd do anything to protect me and the kids.”

“It doesn't need to be the old Tyler to be those things. That's just part of who I am.”

“Then hang onto that part, okay? Because I'm so lucky to have that part. We've had our issues. But there's never been a time where I didn't feel safe with you. I've always trusted that part of you. That nothing would happen to me or the kids.”

“Nothing will,” he assures her. “You're safe with me. You're all safe with me.”

“I know. And I know what you're capable of doing to do people, so I feel sorry for anyone that even tries to hurt me or the kids. It'll be different. When we go back to Australia. We can find a little town to move to. Where no one knows us. Where it's quiet and peaceful and we can just start over. Where no one knows our past and we're just the new family in town.  Where we can have a normal life.”

“Have you met our kids? They are far from normal.  No one will ever think we're normal. Trust me.”

“Especially you with that hair cut,” she teases.

“Excuse me? This hair cut is only here because you insist I keep it this way.”

“I do love it,” she says, and reaches up to push her fingers through the longer strands.  “You need to tidy it up.  Shave the sides and the back. You're starting to look shaggy again.”

“I might shave my beard off though.”

“Do it and I file for divorce. That's the only warning you're getting.”

He chuckles at that.

“Your kids wouldn't even recognize you. You've always had a beard. With all of them. Millie would probably cry. She'd need therapy for sure.”

“Never mind her. You'd probably cry and need therapy.”

“Yeah,” she giggles. “That's not a lie.”

“What did he say? Kyle. When you told him about what I do?”

“Well, he initially wanted to kick your ass. Which would be hilarious to see him try, you have to admit. He's a big boy and he's tough, but he wouldn't last long against you. Maybe you can kick his ass because it's his fault my mom got rid of Max.”

“Not that again. Try to stay on track here, okay? Your ADHD is showing. It's like a dog that can't concentrate because he keeps seeing a squirrel.”

“Why do you keep comparing me to animals? First it's an angry goat and now it's a dog who loves squirrels.”

“Look, I don't have the brain pan you do. I go with what I know. You're the brains of this operation, not me. So, focus. What did your brother say?”

“After he said he wanted to kick your ass?”

He sighs.  As much as he loves her and would readily and willingly die for her, sometimes having what should be a simple conversation turns into a massive test of patience. “Yes.”

“I don't think he really believed me at first. I mean, that's kind of a messed up thing to hear. That your brother in law does that sort of thing. But I told him all about Dhaka and what happened there and it helped him understand things. He's fine with it. Well, as fine with it as someone can be, I guess.  I don't think he wants to kick your ass anymore.”

“He could try. But...”

“Yeah, no killing my brother, okay? He's the only brother I actually like. He okay with it...” she rubs his stomach. “...he knows it's what you do, not who you are. And he trusts me to make the right decisions. For myself and the kids. And this is the right decision. You're the right decision. I wouldn't have stuck around this long if you weren't.”

“Well I'm glad you did. Stick around.”

She draws back and smiles at him. “Yeah?”

Tyler nods. “Even if I am an asshole that makes you cry sometimes.”

“For what's worth, you make me smile and laugh way more than you make me cry. And you make me do other things too.”

“Yeah? What other things?”

“Oh, you know...”she slides her hand over his stomach and abs and then down onto the front of his boxers.

“You need me to leave me alone,” he informs her, and grabbing a hold  of her hand, moves it back up to his stomach.

“That's a first. You saying that. Normally I'm telling you to leave me alone at the most ungodly hours.”

“Yeah...well...” he frowns when her hand slips down again, once more taking hold of it. “...you need to stop...”

“No,” she says, and then her lips and her tongue on the side of his neck.

He momentarily gives it. Grip on her hand releasing, throat tightening, feeling that familiar stirring below the waist. But then he sees that IV line in her hand. “Stop...” he pushes her away.  “...you seriously need to stop and leave me alone...”  he tosses the blankets off of him and reluctantly climbs out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asks innocently.

“To take a cold shower,” he grumbles, and then disappears into the ensuite bathroom.

[feather-aesthetic]

The Rewards of Being Loved

A/N: Wrote this when I watched the show last year, never finished it... well today I finished it.

Rating: T

Fandom: The Haunting of Hill House

Pairing: Sisterly Shirley and Theo

Summary: Theo explains her powers to Shirley, and they grow closer because of it.

Words: 2,500

Night has fallen on the Crain-Harris household, and the oft-lively home is still, and mostly quiet.  In the living room, two figures sit side-by-side on the couch, a cheesy Netflix rom-com playing on the television.  Theo Crain curls her legs underneath her, internally rolling her eyes at Shirley’s choice of movie.  Even though she doesn’t live right next door in Shirley’s guest house anymore, she still visits at least once a week, often bringing Trish along with her for dinner.  

This week, though, with Kevin chaperoning Jayden’s Boy Scout camping trip and Allie at a sleepover for the evening, Trish invented a work function to attend, not-so-gently encouraging Theo to spend some quality time with her sister.  And it’s not like she minds hanging out with her sister, in fact a growing part of her is so, so excited, but this movie is just… awful.  Theo sighs again as the female lead complains to her friend group about her love life.  She’s trying to contain her boredom, but she must not be subtle enough because Shirley shifts beside her, taking in a deep breath.

“Theo?”

“Sorry,” Theo sighs.  “This just really isn’t my thing.”

“What?  No, this movie is terrible,” Shirley hastens to reassure her.  “That’s not what I…”  Theo turns to her.  It’s not like Shirley to avoid speaking her mind, so whatever she’s thinking about, it must be pretty important.

“What’s wrong?”  Shirley’s eyes flicker around the room for a moment before settling on Theo, meeting her steady gaze.  She laughs, then, breaking the eye contact.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re making your therapist face.”  Theo cracks a grin, huffing out a relieved laugh, and the suddenly somber atmosphere is broken.  Theo scrubs at her face, trying to wipe away the so-called ‘therapist expression’ and rearrange her features into something more sisterly, less professional.

“Sorry, sorry.  What’s up, Shirl?”  Her sister looks at her for a moment, fond smile playing on her lips, and Theo tries not to bask in it too much.  

“Can you tell me about your... abilities?”  Her gloveless hands feel suddenly bare.  Theo instinctively stiffens, clamming up despite her best efforts to relax, and she can see Shirley cringe slightly.  To her credit, though, she pushes on, trying to explain.

“I tried so hard, for so long, to pretend that we were normal, and—I want to understand you, Theo.”  Theo pauses, processing for such a long moment that Shirley almost dismisses the entire idea.  The movie goes on quietly in the background, providing a muted white noise to their conversation.  

“What do you want to know?”  Her voice is low and quiet, so much softer than the usual commanding tone or calm therapist voice she uses.  Of all her siblings, Shirley was always the most resistant to Theo’s unique abilities.  Theo explained it away as disbelief, or maybe even a fear of having her innermost thoughts broadcast over the surface of Theo’s skin.  To have her openly talk about it means more to Theo than her sister will ever know.  

“What happens when you touch something?”  Alright, so they’re starting from the basics.

“When I touch an object,” Theo begins, twisting her fingers together, “I experience the memories and emotions attached to that object.  The stronger the emotion, the easier it is for me to see the memory.”  Her face darkens as she recalls the couch in that foster family’s basement, the terror and revulsion that overcame her as she stared up at the wooden ceiling.  

“And when you touch another person?”  

“I can feel their emotions, see things about them, things that they might want to keep hidden.  I can tell if they’re lying.”  An image of Luke, his young eyes filled with trust, gazing dejectedly up at her while he described his experience in the basement of Hill House, flashes through her mind.  Nell, and that terrible nothingness that had infected her like a plague.

“So if you touched me right now, you would feel what I’m feeling?”  Theo nods, a slow incline of her chin.  “Do you… want to?” Shirley asks hesitantly.  Theo shrugs.  

“Sometimes,” she responds, deliberately misinterpreting the question.  She sighs when Shirley fixes her with a look, one that lets her know her older sister sees right through her.

“Why?” Theo asks, years of secrecy making her blunt.  Now it’s Shirley’s turn to shrug, albeit more cautiously than her sister had.  

“I don’t know, you just talk about it like you only ever feel bad things.  Don’t you want to feel good things sometimes?”  

“Of course I do, I just—I never know what I’m going to feel until I’m touching someone, and then it’s too late.”  Shirley flicks her eyes away, her equivalent of biting her lip nervously, then offers, 

“I’m feeling good things right now.”  Theo looks down at her recently ungloved hands, considering.  It’s not just an offering for Theo’s sake, but a genuine ceding of ground on Shirley’s part as well.  There’s a quote Theo has read in an article somewhere; “If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”  In Theo’s case, her knowledge of whoever she touches is total, and she understands how terrifying that notion can be.  For her sister to offer this is a huge show of trust.  Shirley still isn’t looking at her, but she brings her head up sharply when she feels Theo hesitantly brush fingertips over her palm.  Theo gasps at the sudden bursts of love, of pride, of joy that wash over her, filling up her chest with a welling sort of light and tingling down the backs of her forearms.  Their gazes were locked, but Theo can’t experience her sister’s overwhelming love for her while looking into her eyes, so she drops her vision to their touching hands.  They’re side-by-side on the couch, facing each other, and Shirley’s gaze is still locked on her face, studying her expressions.

“You feel happiness in your arms,” Theo murmurs, and Shirley’s face lights up with delight even as her cheeks tinge pink from the observation.  

“You feel the way I experience emotions?”  Theo grins at the revelation that’s just dawning on Shirley, and because she can’t contain two people’s happiness coursing through her behind a stony expression any longer.  Her knuckles are resting in Shirley’s palm now, and she slowly lifts her hand to let the contact fall away.  

“Mom said I was sensitive,” she offers as a response.  There’s a moment where Theo’s afraid she might have ruined the moment by bringing up their mother, but then Shirley grins a little mischievously.

“Well I know you’re sensitive, Theo,” she teases, elbowing her gently.  Theo relaxes into her role as a sibling, rolling her eyes and shoving Shirley in retaliation.

“Shut up, Shirl.”  But the amused look hasn’t left Shirley’s eyes, and Theo recoils slightly at a nudge to her side.

“You know, you really should be nicer to your older sister, Theo.”  Theo squirms at the continued jostling, trying to ignore the fingers that have drifted sneakily over to her sides and are prodding at the flesh there.  

“Shirley,” she whines, hoping that it will be enough to deter her sister.  Shirley grins wider, poking in between her ribs in places she knows Theo can’t stand.  Theo’s been making a valiant effort of staring at the ceiling with her lips tightly sealed, hoping that her sister will get bored and abandon the game before it’s begun, but at this new attack she’s unable to remain still, and her hands shoot up to catch Shirley’s wrists just as the first burst of true laughter escapes her.  

“Don’t,” she pleads, but it’s more breathless and giggly than serious, and they both know that if she really meant it Theo would be halfway across the room by now.  Shirley takes this as an invitation, and when her grip shifts and skin brushes skin, Theo gets the barest glimpse of her plans just before she’s bowled over by one Shirley Crain-Harris.  Quick fingers bypass her makeshift defenses like she’d never thrown up her arms at all, gently pinching at sides and ribs in a way that Shirley knows drives Theo crazy.  

It’s been decades since Shirley has done this, but she still remembers all her sister’s ticklish spots from when they used to play together.  The spots on her sides that make her bubbly laughter morph into more of a cackle, the way she squirms harder when Shirley pinches at her hipbones, the redness in her cheeks and the push of her heels into the couch when fingers manage to sneak under her arms; they’re still familiar reactions, but Shirley confirms each one with a widening smirk, reveling in her rediscovered power.  

Theo, for her part, is in hysterics, bubbly giggles jumping or turning into squeaks when Shirley switches spots.  

“Shirl!” she gasps between bouts of laughter, not ready to beg her to stop but unwilling to just lay there and take it.  It’s been ages since she’s been tickled, especially by her sister, and she’s almost forgotten how simultaneously fun and maddening it can be.  It makes her want to jump out of her skin in the best way possible.  

“What is it, Theo?” Shirley asks, as though they’re having a normal conversation and she isn’t tickling her sister half to death.  Whatever response Theo was formulating is cut off by her squeal when Shirley unexpectedly finds a weak spot at the base of her ribs.  Shirley laughs at the reaction, squeezing sporadically and milking the spot for all it’s worth.  

“Well, that’s new,” she teases, lobster-clawing her way up Theo’s ribs before sneaking back down to attack the recently discovered tickle spot.  Theo squeals again, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut at the sensation.  She didn’t even know she was that ticklish before now, and the feeling is quickly becoming too much for her to handle.  

“Shit, Shihihihirl!” she half-shrieks, thrashing.  She’s lost all hope of dignity, and can now only hope that her sister will have mercy.  Fortunately for her, Shirley seems to understand that she’s just about reached her limit, and retreats to the other end of the couch, bearing a sly grin that only a sound victory can bring.  Shirley leans back against the arm of the couch, stretching her legs across the piece of furniture towards her sister and listening as Theo gasps for breath and tries to pull herself together.  

“Been a while since we’ve done that, huh?” Shirley murmurs, smile still tugging at her lips.  Theo sits up slowly, pink-faced and giggling while she recovers from the playful torment.  

“Yeah,” she agrees, a certain lightness in her tone that Shirley hasn’t heard since their childhood.  “You know what we haven’t done in even longer?”  She’s crawling up the couch menacingly now, biting her lip to contain the brilliant smile threatening to break through.  Shirley has a feeling she knows exactly where this is going, but she allows herself to sink further into the cushions, tamping down on a grin of her own.

“What’s that?”  Theo is looming over her, fingers poised to strike, and Shirley shrinks back but doesn’t move to stop her.  If she plays it cool, doesn’t provoke her sister by trying to run away or fend her off (turning it into a competition will only make it worse for Shirley when Theo finally manages to pin her down) then maybe she’ll go easy on her.  Her ploy fails, however, when Theo raises an eyebrow at her, tells her she knows exactly what Shirley’s trying to do, and pounces.  

“No!” Shirley squeals when Theo goes straight for some of her worst spots, spidering quick fingers across her stomach and fluttering gently around her neck.  She scrunches up as best she can, writhing between her sister and the back of the couch.  Unlike Theo, Shirley’s squirming is actually productive, and she actively tries to escape, so Theo has a much harder time getting her to keep still long enough to tickle with any intensity.  Even without much tickling, though, Shirley’s a mess—arching her back and squealing whenever the lightest touches connect with her skin, even through her clothes.  Theo might not fight back, but Shirley is way more ticklish than she ever was.  

She looks up to find Theo grinning at her, and though she can’t feel emotions like Theo can, the love shining through her sister’s eyes and through her smile is clear.  She reaches out, crippled by the fits of uncontrollable giggles Theo’s fingers are causing, to launch a counterattack, searching out Theo’s sides and digging in until the other woman backs off, unable to concentrate enough to continue her assault.  Before Shirley can get herself together, though, she feels an elbow lock around her ankles, and then nails are scraping their way up her bare feet.  She shrieks, arching her back and kicking her legs in Theo’s grasp.  Theo tightens her hold in response, grin so wide her cheeks ache, and scribbles fingers all over her soles.  Shirley loses it, dissolving into hearty, unrestrained laughter punctuated with little squeals when fingers dip dangerously close to the inside of her arches or underneath her toes.  

“Theo!  Theohoho—nohohohoho!”  The pleas are barely intelligible through her laughter, but the torment ends quickly when Theo’s fingers start touching the skin of her feet and suddenly Theo is kicking out at nothing, overcome with the same breathless laughter pinning Shirley to the couch.  Theo lets go of her ankles in an effort to escape the contact at the same time Shirley realises what’s happened.  Shirley’s hoarse laughter turns genuine at Theo’s predicament, while Theo retires to her end of the couch to mock-sulk.  

“That’s so unfair,” she grumbles, expression forming the beginnings of a pout.  Shirley offers her a self-satisfied smile, stretching her back against the arm of the couch.

“For you, maybe.”  Theo’s displeased expression only deepens.  She leans forward, and for a moment Shirley thinks she’s going to try for a rematch and tenses up, but Theo just drapes herself across Shirley’s thighs, head resting on her stomach.  One of Shirley’s hands goes automatically to the top of her sister’s head, beginning to smooth out the ruffled curls with slow, soothing strokes.  Theo hasn’t been so tactile with her in decades, and she’s loathe to overstep… but her hair is still just as soft as when they were kids cuddled up in bed together, and maybe Shirley has missed this more than she realised.  Theo squirms a bit, getting more comfortable, and mumbles something that Shirley doesn’t quite catch over the credits music of the romcom they were watching.  She hums questioningly to get Theo to repeat herself.

“Love you,” Theo says, half asleep at the feeling of her sister petting her hair.  Shirley smiles down at her, a tear deep inside her heart mending at the words.

“Love you too, Theo.  Completely.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #274

“now i can hear the marching feet / they’re moving into the street”

What color was the last swimsuit you wore? I only have a black one. Is your dream job attainable? I mean define “dream job.” I’d ideally be a meerkat biologist if I was willing to live in Africa and could handle even mild heat, but I can’t/won’t do either of those, so it’s not obtainable to me. I’d also love to be a paleontologist if I could travel and handle heat once more, but again, I can’t. My only *attainable* dream job is being a photographer, which I am aiming for. I’d LIKE to focus on nature/wildlife photography, but that’s unlikely to be able to support me, so. Do you have to go to school or work tomorrow? N/A Have you slept for longer than usual today? Yes, but only because of my nightmares. I tend to take at least two (though sometimes one) hour-long naps during the day because if I wake up once during the night, as I usually do, I’m fucked because I’m very likely to have an intense nightmare. It seems like the medicine I’m on wears off with consciousness, I guess. I only allow myself to sleep an hour at daytime because my mother has noticed if I have a nightmare, it’s usually no earlier than one hour into sleep. Even then I still have them occasionally. Have you ever taken classes for a musical instrument? Recorder in elementary school was necessary for whatever stupid reason, and then I played the flute for years. Out of school, I took guitar lessons for a while. I got semi-decent (at best I could do the intro to “Crazy Train” at normal speed, I think), but it didn’t last because it was annoying/time-consuming to build up the calluses that make playing painless, I was really bad at overthinking where my fingers were, and I just wasn’t invested quite enough. I’ll tell you, it gave me mad respect for guitarists, that shit isn’t easy by any means. Have you ever been on vacation with someone other than your family? Yes, though it was brief. I was a kid (okay, pre-teen, w/e) still in my separation anxiety from Mom phase and it was literally because of me we had to go home. I still feel shitty about it, though no one seemed upset at me. How old do you think you’ll be when you move out on your own? Who the fuck even knows anymore. Do you have a job? If so, where do you work? If not, do you want one? No; N/A; yes ultimately but no at the current moment because I have to keep watch over Mom. If you wear make-up, which brand of foundation/powder do you use? N/A Would you call yourself a “people” person? Nope. What is one change you need to make in your life this month? Just one??? What’s been tugging on your heart lately? My PTSD plus self-image has been very, very bad. What is the last thing you did that made you feel guilty? Mom had to clean up my cat’s projectile vomit even though she’s supposed to stay away from this kinda stuff through chemo. I literally cannot fucking touch vomit, never mind what came out of him that night. I felt like absolute fucking shit and I still do because WOW I’m a great adult right!! Do you have any physical traits that are bothering you lately? Like, everything. What kind of dog is your favorite? I’m biased to beagles. What was the last thing you received in the mail? A book. What is the last thing you wrote? Like, physically? My signature at the doctor’s office. Do you still care about the person you first kissed? Way fucking more than I should. Do you require a lot of private time? Definitely more than most people. Do you have any songs currently stuck in your head? I haven’t listened to it in forever for ~reasons~, yet “The Mortician’s Daughter” is stuck in my head badly and really needs to fuck off. What was the last song you downloaded? I dunno, I went on a download binge a while back. Have you ever read a really funny book? I remember at least one. “Bite Me” by IDR-Who. Some vampire satire. Have you ever done something humiliating while drunk? Never reached the point of being drunk. How would you react if your celebrity crush came to your door? fuckin YIKES I am NOT attractive rn go away Has your mom/dad ever walked in on you kissing or anything more with someone? HAHA my mom has always had the decency to knock, not so much his mom a;lwkejrewoei but the answer’s still no. What electronics are in your room? (DVD player, CD player, etc) This laptop, my phone, a Nintendo DS, my iPod… Do you have a box anywhere with special items you'll to keep forever in it? Yes, actually. Grew up calling them “treasure boxes.” Do you have any pictures of yourself on your bedroom walls? Lol no, I’d definitely prefer to not see myself as much as I can. That sounds melodramatic, but I’m being serious. It either depresses me or makes me angry. Does your dad collect anything? The Cleveland Browns’ football team stuff, for one. Maybe Carolina Hurricane stuff, too? Idk. I don’t live with him and don’t go in his “man cave” at his house often ha ha. What's better, a desktop or laptop? Explain. A laptop. Portable; that’s all the explanation ya really need. Do your parents still hide chocolate eggs around on Easter for you? Nah. What do you typically do on Easter Day? We go to my sister’s house to watch the kids do their egg hunting and open their gifts, then we usually go to Ashley’s in-laws’ for dinner. Is there anyone you literally need to exist? Apparently not. Thought so. Never let yourself into that state of mind. What would you prefer to get from a guy/girl: flowers, a hand-written poem, a picture he drew of you or a nice night out? Oh, a hand-written poem would wreck me, yeesh. Or a drawing. But any would be very sweet. Do you remember why you made the last mistake you did? I don’t know the most recent mistake, but probably because I’m just in general a terrified person who second-guesses or overanalyzes everything. Did you check how many calories the last thing you ate had? Yes. I’m back on my calorie-counting obsession again. Are your nails long or short? Short, always. I can’t keep them long. What is your favorite kind of cookie? Just the ordinary chocolate chip is fine. What was the last compliment you received? I don’t know. Who will be the next person you kiss? I normally delete this question because the answer should be so obvious, but I feel like just pointing it out that no one fucking knows who they’re gonna kiss next. It’s a dangerous mindset. Don’t make assumptions about what you’ll have even tomorrow. Have you ever made your own icon? Yeah, on many sites. They’re just about always just edits, though, not truly original work. What color is your computer mouse? It’s black. Have you ever been sung to on your birthday in a restaurant? Yes. Do you like black olives? I don’t like olives period. Do you actually think there will be a zombie apocolypse? Personally, no. I do think it’s scientifically possible, we already see this in insects, but I just don’t imagine it happening to humans before we’re our own downfall. Do you like the person you’ve become over the past years? Fuck no. Have you ever gone to church just to get a significant other? … No…? Have you ever punched a wall out of complete anger? No, that shit is terrifying. Are you really ticklish? YES don’t fucking touch me. How do you decide what you're going to eat each day? I just follow what I’m craving that day. How are you similar to your siblings? Different? Compared to Ashley and Nicole at least, I can’t think of any real similarities off the top of my head. They’re intelligent, motivated, outgoing, successful, yada yada, then there’s me. What's your favorite type of non-fiction literature? Autobiographies by people I’m actually interested in. Do you believe in souls? Soulmates? Souls, absolutely. Soulmates, no. It’s fairytale ideation to think your soul has a perfect match with another, hate to break it to ya. Favorite soundtrack? BITCH don’t make me choose between Shadow of the Colossus and Silent Hill 2. Fucking masterpieces. Pianos or guitars? *shrugs* Depends on the music and my mood. Did an animal ever bite you? Never seriously. How many languages do you speak? Only English fluently. I’m poor at German by now. Wiggly worms or bumble bees? Worms gross me out, bees are Good Boys. Religion? I don’t really identify with any. I just believe there’s some form of ultimate intelligence and essences beyond just the body, and that’s all I even pretend to know. Fog, thunder, or rain? Fog gives me that Silent Hill Vibe *Italian kiss* What regret keeps coming back to haunt you daily? The way I treated Jason after the breakup. If you could cure yourself of one allergy, what would it be? Damn pollen. Do you know anyone else with your name? Yeah. What would you be most afraid of happening if you were to visit Africa? Viruses or botflies. Where are you tempted to move to sometimes? I very legitimately want to live in Canada by now, but I won’t because I’m not moving that far from family. Who seems like they have the perfect life? I try not to make that assumption of anyone. Do you ever take pictures of negative moments? Does taking pictures of roadkill count???? lmao probably Do you think it would be a good idea to post photos of negative moments as well as positive? Well… I guess it depends. Like ngl, the pictures some people share of them having panic attacks to just show how fucking real they are definitely touch you, as do those depicting poverty, etc., BUT I really do think there are limits and also differences in motivations. What time zone are you in? EST. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? Wow, speaking of. No. ^Why or why not? I am an UGLY cry-er, my man. But I also just don’t want people to see that, and it’s definitely not on my mind to take a picture during a breakdown. What was the last thing you cried about? My life. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yes. Do you know anyone who has twins? Yes. Where do you buy calendars from? I don’t. Do you shop at the dollar store often? Not *often*, but we’ll stop by for a snack or something sometimes. Are you following in the career path of any family members? No. Do you feel you missed out on a lot as a kid? I guess in some ways. Who was that best friend you ever had? Sara. What color is your laptop? Black. What are five careers you think you’d be good at? My work history has shown I can’t do shit right. Are you thriving in your life right now? lmao no one is in 2020. Who do you have moral support from? My family, doctor, and a few friends. Who encourages you to go after your dreams? The same as above. Do you have people in your family who want you dead? Wow, I hope not. Do you have a walk-in closet? No, but my room at the new house will. :’) Not that I need one, it’s just pretty cool. How do you feel about people like Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and Jeff Bezos having so much power and control in the world? Do you believe that any one person should have so much power? Let’s be real, in our current world, money is power, and no one should have that much control of the world, especially if your intentions are bad. NOW I don’t know jack shit about any of those are far as morals go, but just saying. It’s dangerous. Has your anxiety alone ever prevented you from doing something you wanted to do? This is ACTUALLY the story of my fucking life. Do you enjoy reading stories and novels that are heavily stylistic, poetic, or unconventional or do you prefer your prose to follow a familiar grammatical structure? Okay, I LOVE those, like Johnny Got His Gun and The Handmaid’s Tale that’s kinda like, run-on writing. Just letting a train of thought go. Those are two of the most powerful books I’ve ever read and they’re both written in a unique fashion. Have you ever fallen for any sort of Internet-based hoax? (e.g., fake celeb death, satire news article…) I’m sure at some point, especially as a kid. Do you tend to read reviews before you watch a movie or read a book? What do you hope to get out of doing so? NO. I don’t wanna have any precognition. When you go to a concert, how far must you travel for the most usual venues you visit? Most are on the other end of the state, and NC is long, so. We’re lucky if they come to Raleigh. Do you rent movies frequently? I never do, really. What is your favorite thing to do outside? Take pictures or swim. What’s your favorite meal to cook? I don’t cook. What movie has been taken WAY too far, as far as sequels go? Oh, I’m sure there are some, but none immediately come to mind. I’m not that into movies. Do you refuse to eat certain foods because of what they look like? Yes. I am VERY poor at getting past how a food looks. What are you listening to? NSP’s cover of “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” It’s fuckin gorgeous. How much homework do you have tonight? N/A Are you wearing any bracelets? Yes; one that Sara got me as well as an ovarian cancer awareness one. What's physically wrong with you right now? JINKIES I just feel really lethargic like always. Do you take any medications daily? Ha ha thanks for actually reminding me I need to now. When was the last time you moved to a new house? Two years ago, and now we’ll be moving to a much better place by the end of this month/early September, finally. When it comes to relationships, are you the jealous type? Nah. Which gift cards do you have in your wallet? Idk actually. It’s not like I use it a lot. Can you remember the last time you felt ill? What was wrong with you? A few nights ago. I was extremely hot, dizzy, and pretty nauseated. I was fine, though. If you wear make-up, do you take it with you, to reapply throughout the day? Does your make-up stay for a long time after you first apply it, or do you find that you need to reapply often? Are you wearing any make-up atm? I pretty much never wear makeup so have never really had a reason to reapply it. I’m definitely not wearing any now. Does your kitchen have a theme? No. Do you like ice cream sandwiches? GIRL yes. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? Earbuds. They’re more comfortable imo but more importantly block out exterior noise very well. Are you a fan of any independent films? ngl, I don’t know exactly what that is and I don’t feel like looking it up. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I very genuinely think some of the RP stories I’ve taken part in are novel-worthy, yes. I wanted to make them books when I was younger, but now I no longer do mainly because there are areas that are just way too fucking dark that I don’t wanna put out there but play massive parts in the stories, so like… Do you regularly watch the news? I never do. Facebook is my “news” source lmao. Who was the last person you video-chatted with? I don’t remember for sure, maybe some doctor? What do you want the theme of your wedding to be? I don’t really think about this, seeing as my mind has changed enough, and it also depends on what my partner wants, too. Have you ever been caught passing a note in class? Noooo, I absolutely hated passing notes because I was genuinely a good student. I only did so very, very rarely if another friend started it. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. It’s a wonderful mix. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? Definitely not. Do you have any clothes with spikes/studs on them? I have a spiked choker, and I might still have gloves with studs? Can you remember what you last clapped for? My mom’s birthday! :’) Have you ever given a pet to someone else? Yes, with cats; we had to do that quite often when I was a kid because we had so many cats, none which we could afford to fix. Then we’ve done it with two dogs we just couldn’t handle. Oh yeah, I gave my iguana away too because he was too high maintenance for me, but also because he DESPERATELY needed a much bigger terrarium, which we couldn’t afford. I absolutely could not watch him in that tiny tank. I miss him a LOT, but he went to a wonderful home! The lady who adopted him sent me pictures upon pictures months after taking him in. Do you know anyone named Walter? No. What's your least favorite ice-cream flavor? Strawberry is fucking disgusting. And that’s coming from someone whose favorite fruit is strawberries. What's your least favorite song by your favorite artist? I’m not sure. There’s a handful that just don’t grab my attention that I don’t even remember them. What was the last good news you heard? I can FINALLY talk to my psychiatrist tomorrow. Who’s your favorite singer of all time? Probably Freddie Mercury. What airline do you fly most? Idk, I don’t really pay attention. I haven’t flown very often though anyway. Do you have a dog that is destructive? I don’t have a dog. What’s one TV series you’ve seen every episode of? Meerkat Manor is the most obvious, ha ha. Maaaaany times. Assuming you have Facebook, who last left you a wallpost? Probably my friend Sammi. Assuming you have hair, how are you wearing it today? It’s too short for me to “wear” it any particular way. It’s just… there lmao. Assuming you're not homeless, what kind of living arrangements do you have? I live with my mom in a house she’s renting. Have you or have you ever considered messing around with the same sex? I’m bisexual so you can guess I’m not opposed to it. Are you particular about any brands of food you will or will not eat? Are there any restaurants you refuse to go to? Brands, no. I don’t eat Chick-fil-a because they’re run by fucking homophobic bigots that monetarily support conversion therapy and other anti-LGBT projects. I’m not giving you any fucking money. What was the most current dream you can remember about? Do you generally dream every night, or hardly at all? It was actually last night, when I dreamed about accidentally running into Jason where I last knew he worked, and he was really hostile. If I don’t take my medicine, I always have nightmares when I sleep.

[akitokihojo]

In Between: Chapter 5

Previous chapters can be found in my fic masterlist, as well as on AO3 and ff.net

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Inuyasha ticked his claws along the wood of his desk, trying his damndest to focus solely on the contents of the folder in front of him and not what Sango and Hojo were trifling over at the other end of the department, their perplexity practically blasting through a megaphone. What the hell were they even looking at that had them so derailed? He knew they were exclusively working on his case, but what in Bruce Almighty was causing them to sound so pathetically flabbergasted? It was driving him insane.

Fed up, he slammed the manilla file shut, inhaling deeply to maintain whatever discipline he had, sitting up straight and noticing his partner seated at the desk directly across from him, staring at him bewilderingly. 

"You deserve an award." Koga spoke, his expression never changing. Inuyasha grimaced. What the fuck was up with everyone today? "In all the years we've worked together, I've never seen you demonstrate so much self control. I mean, even I want to tear into Thing One and Thing Two over there."

"How long until you think they'll bring it over?" Inuyasha could feel his irritation spiking. He wasn't allowed to butt in without invitation, he wasn't allowed to have any input, he wasn't even allowed to so much as glance at their work without getting the scolding of a lifetime from their ruthless A.D.A.- a person he was almost willing to admit he feared. He'd witnessed scenarios before where cops had a significant involvement with another person in an investigation, and therefore had to watch from the sidelines. They were allowed to actually watch, though. No matter how stressed or angry, they were never completely isolated from the damn thing until otherwise called upon, but of course that wasn't the case here. No. Kagura and Totosai were too damn concerned over Inuyasha's temper. They thought the second they got any sort of hint as to who was behind this, he would sprint off to square up. Which was, of course, a crazy notion all on its own.

Inuyasha was far from impulsive.

"Fifteen seconds. Act surprised." Koga smiled, pretending to be busy as Sango dropped a crinkled envelope in front of Inuyasha. 

The half demon looked up at the hovering detectives, noting the obvious aggravation wrinkling Sango's brow line. Hojo wasn't looking much better, clearly stumped and ready for some sort of answer. About fucking time.

"What's this?" Inuyasha asked, pretending like he hadn't heard the two detectives arguing just seconds ago.

"Remember how we told you Kagome stopped by?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, that guy didn't just pop into The Coffee Shop to chat. There was more to it. He brought pictures. Could you take a look and-"

"What?"

"Chill. We've been staring at them for days, Inuyasha. We've tried fitting them to your old cases going back about seven years now, and nothing. Totosai was no help, Miroku could only suggest this has something to do with his M.O., and Koga doesn't recognize a single person photographed."

Inuyasha shot Koga an incredulous glare, causing the wolf demon to jolt from his seat.

"Would ya look at that. I'm out of coffee. Be right back."

"Inuyasha, we had no choice but to lie to you. You know the pressure we're all under right now, so would you just look at the damn pictures and help us out?" Sango grabbed the envelope and tipped it over, dumping the polaroids in front of Inuyasha and spreading them out with her fingers. 

His response faded away, a woman's photo in the center immediately silencing his initial instinct to sass, half-surprised that he wasn't staring at a glossy photo of Kagome or himself, and riddled with a triggered memory. It was vague, fuzzy, almost nonexistent but still just enough to wrench at the half demon's core. As he studied each picture, each woman, each child, everything started becoming more and more familiar. Inuyasha noticed a polaroid sticking to the back of another and carefully peeled them apart, a spiked rush jerking through him and slamming his stomach to the bed of his pelvis as he stared at the little girl he'd seen before, her long, silver hair and empty eyes haunting him as they once had so many years ago.

"What? What is it?" Hojo asked, alerted by Inuyasha's clear change in body language. The half demon rose to stand, cursing incoherently under his breath, his voice growing louder and rougher with each profane word.

The kick from the back of Inuyasha's legs sent his chair tipping over as he jumped up, storming to the large display of monitors at the opposite end of the room. He jostled the mouse, making the three screens come to life as he clicked on the database, the bar on the screen slowly filling to show its loading progression.

"Inuyasha!" Sango followed, carrying the rest of the pictures over and spreading them along the glass table Inuyasha stood in front of.

"I know this girl, Sango. We never found her body."

"What case was this?"

"It was like nine years ago. I remember the face of the perp better than any other fucker I've been up against. His name's Naraku-something. Fuck!" He kept typing the information in wrong, his fingers more impatient than his brain. "I went through hell and back trying to get enough proof against this guy to convict him, and he got off with an insanity plead. He was sent to a mental health institute indefinitely."

"Indefinitely? Then wouldn't that mean he's in there for the long haul?"

"Unless he got out. Sango, this guy was a literal psychopath. He stalked women and children, took thousands of pictures of his victims, hung them up like art, and murdered at least a dozen people without a single sign of remorse. Look at this," Inuyasha redirected her line of sight to the screen, finally opening the caseload he'd been looking for, an image of a young boy popping up on the screen to the left, the middle screen filled with scanned images of the paperwork, and the right screen holding the image of his pale remains on the metal table in the morgue.

Sango looked back and forth from the images, noticing the strangulation marks along the neck of his lifeless body, his lips as purple as the bruises around his face. His skin was almost as white as his hair, washed clear of all blood and dirt. He was so young. The photo provided by who she could only assume were his parents showed him standing in front of a plastic, colorful basketball hoop, a black and orange ball held in his tiny hands, making it look so much larger than it would had an adult been holding it. He was smiling, enjoying himself, his light hair long and tangled from running around and being the kid he was only allowed to be for so long.

"His name's Hakudoshi. He was kidnapped and murdered by Naraku when he was eight. When we got the warrant to search through his shit, we found a picture of this little girl." Inuyasha brought up a photo of the same girl, replacing the image of Hakudoshi's corpse. Her hair was long, thick, and straight, a large flower clip decorating the side of her head. Her eyes were dark, holding about as much depth as the sea, light unable to penetrate and brighten what was held within.

"Who was she?" Hojo asked.

"A missing child's report told us her name was Kanna. She'd gone missing seven years prior and was never found."

-----

"So, what? He just... left?" Koga asked about an hour later, leaning back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs as he propped his feet up on his desk.

"We won't know that until we get down to the psychiatric facility and confirm." Sango said.

"We don't even know if it's him. It could be a copy cat.” Hojo stated, from the opposite end of the table the group sat around.

"No, this is him." Inuyasha insisted, his eyes glued to the photo of Naraku on the screen, the menacing smile plastered on his face during his mug shot bringing him back to their long, tedious interrogation. 

"You can't be so sure, Inuyasha. We have no proof."

"Don't you think it'd be a little too coincidental, brown-noser?"

"That nickname again?" Hojo rolled his eyes.

"Hah! I've missed that!" Koga laughed.

"Now, now." Totosai sighed, standing at the high end, looking unamused.

"I'm only saying, lets not have all our ducks in a row for something we aren't positive of. We need an I.D. of some sort."

"Yes. We do." Totosai agreed.

"You got a little something on your face, buddy." Koga murmured, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting up straight as Sango shot him a dangerous glare.

"Sango. Hojo. Stop by Kagome's apartment tonight. Show her a photoset of similarly looking men to our perp here and see if she can identify Naraku." Totosai ordered.

Kagome's Residence

"It'll be quick, Kagome. All they're gonna do is ask if you recognize anyone." Inuyasha gently explained.

"And if I do?"

"You tell them."

"And then what happens?"

"We take it from there."

"They take it from there." Kagome corrected, reminding Inuyasha that he wasn’t the lead investigator on the case anymore. As an officer on the victim side of things, he seemed to have some leeway, but it still wasn’t clear where his authorities drew the line.

"They take it from there, and I come over with dinner since I know you haven't eaten." He maintained the softness in his tone. 

"No, you don't have to do that."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"This... morning?" She asked more than stated.

"Then it sounds like I do."

“And why can't you be here when they show me the photos, again?"

"Because, Kagome, they don't want me influencing your answer."

"But you wouldn't."

"Yeah. I know that, and you know that, but they have to go by protocol. I'm not even supposed to be on the phone with you right now. I'll come up as soon as they're done, okay? I'll be waiting downstairs."

”Kay.” So, apparently, that was where the line was drawn.

The call ended. With the way Inuyasha was talking, she expected the detectives to be here any minute, and if he was giving her a courtesy call so she wouldn't be taken by surprise, which was appreciated because she was pretty done with surprises at this point, she wasn't about to throw him under the bus by tipping them off. Which meant, as much as she wanted to tidy up her apartment a bit, she was going to have to leave it as is for the time being. The smallest details made a difference, especially to police officers, even she knew that much.

It didn't take long for her to catch the echoing march of feet coming up her stairs, courtesy of the cavernous halls, the sound of their shoes outdoing the intro music to the show playing on Kagome's T.V.. She waited for the knock before she got up, peaking through the peephole just to be safe, and then set to undo the lock on the knob, deadbolt, and the newly-installed chain Inuyasha had graciously installed just the night before. The smile on Hojo's face was delightful and warm. Almost as if he were the one welcoming her in. Sango's smile was soft, her brown eyes holding a gentleness as she spoke.

"Hey, Kagome. How are you?"

"I'm... okay." She gave a wane shrug. "What's up?"

"May we come in?" Hojo asked, briefly looking around the hall, gesturing that he didn't want any prying eyes or ears. Kagome nodded, stepping aside so they could enter her apartment and closing the door behind her, not bothering to lock anything. Inuyasha said it wouldn't take long.

"Would you like something to drink?" She offered, feeling her heart begin to beat faster in her chest. She already knew what they were going to say, but yet she still couldn't help but feel anxious. She’s been a total basket case lately.

“No, thank you. Look, Kagome, we've made a little progress on your case," Sango said, presenting it as well as she could to come off as good news. Which it was. Kagome just felt like she wouldn't be able to see the bright side of things until this creep was arrested. "We have a few pictures with us, and we were wondering if you could take a look?"

Kagome crossed the room, joining the two detectives at the couch as Hojo pulled out a small board of eight mug shots aligned neatly in two rows, gently setting it on the coffee table in front of them. Almost every man looked menacing. Terrifying. A few seemed like they regretted their actions, their eyes large and swollen, holding up their placard with their identification number. The others seemed to completely lack empathy, staring straight through the camera lens like they were looking at their previous victims, almost seeming proud to be holding up their boards. There was one guy, though, that seemed to belong more than others, looking so frightening, so completely apathetic, the smile on his face saying he'd gotten away with what he'd done for too long. She knew him. She knew that smile. In fact, she'd seen that very same smile just this morning, only it was shined at her kindly. Could it have been a smile of manipulation all along? This couldn't be right. Maybe they just looked alike, but they weren't the same guy. That had to be it. The man in the mug shot had long, messy, unwashed, almost dreaded, black hair, and the one she knew wore a short, neat style. He was groomed and always dressed in a suit, ready for a day at the office. This man... he didn't look capable of speaking to someone without threatening their lives. That's right. She was mistaken. She had to be.

"What's wrong, Miss Higurashi?" Hojo asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She'd been staring at the board for a few minutes, her brows pinched together in tribulation. They'd told her to take her time, but it almost seemed like she'd stopped breathing as the seconds passed. Kagome looked up at him, her lips parted as she worried the bottom with her teeth. 

“This man…” She pointed to the menacing shot of Naraku, tapping her fingernail against the tab.

“Is this who gave you that last envelope?” Sango asked.

“No, that’s not him.”

“But you know who this is?”

“I’m not really sure. I know someone that looks similar, but... this can’t be him.”

"What do you mean?"

"The guy I know seems more... well-put together and nice. He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly. This guy looks like he'd snap your neck if you looked at him wrong... but, the resemblance…”

"Do you know his name?" Hojo implored, giving her shoulder a supporting squeeze.

“Yeah, it's Onigumo. He mostly goes by Oni; says he hates his full name. Everyone at The Coffee Shop knows him."

"This man," Sango picked up the photo board, looking from the con to Kagome, making sure the girl’s eyes were fixed on their criminal. "His name is Naraku. We can't confirm anything just yet, but if he's our suspect, he's very dangerous."

"Miss Higurashi, do you have any other contact with Onigumo?"

"No." She shook her head. "I only ever see him when I go by the cafe. Do you think this is really the guy we're after?"

"We cant be certain yet, but just in case-"

"Tread lightly. Yeah." She was starting to feel sick. If things were actually looking as grim as they seemed, if Onigumo was really Naraku, she'd been in the same room as her stalker at least three times a week for months now and hadn’t even known it. It meant Onigumo had broken into her apartment multiple times, destroyed her home, and took pictures of her sleeping. It meant Onigumo didn't actually need to take the time to ask how she was doing, even though she always gave the cliche "I'm okay" answer, because he knew exactly what she was going through.

"You've done great, Kagome. You've really helped us out." Hojo stood, adjusting his coat as Sango joined him. Kagome rose to walk them to the door, almost feeling as if she was going to vomit. All she had to do was hold it together for sixty more seconds.

"That's all you need from me?" She asked, trying to appear as casual as possible.

"At the moment, yes. We'll be in touch, okay?" Sango smiled, giving her arm a reassuring rub. Kagome nodded, thanking them for stopping by and shutting the door as they exited, only bothering to lock the knob for the time being. She knew her stalker all along. Of course, she did.

Did Inuyasha?

"You can go up now." Sango hummed, pushing her hands as far as they would go into her pockets as they exited the small lobby and came out onto the sidewalk. Inuyasha was leaning against the wall, almost in the exact spot she pictured him standing in when they'd first arrived, a brown, paper bag held in one of his hands. His silver hair had taken on a slightly colorful contrast, shaded by the orange hues of the sunset, his tinted bangs falling over his ember eyes, helping them glow a little brighter. Sango held out her hand in front of a groaning Hojo, palm up, fingers wagging until he fished a ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

"You knew I'd be here?"

"You bet!" Sango winked, pun intended. "You're as predictable as ever, Inuyasha."

"Shut up." He rolled his eyes. "Did she know any of 'em?"

"Yeah. She recognized your guy but thinks it’s someone else.” Hojo stated. "But we can't be sure yet since we haven't confirmed if he's broken out."

"What do you mean? She identified him!"

“You know that’s not enough, and even so, he may be going by a different alias now. Onigumo. Koga and I will stop by the psychiatric facility first thing tomorrow morning to see what's going on with Naraku, because according to their system, he's still there. We'll get the visual."

"I'll stop by The Coffee Shop and ask the employees about this Onigumo; see how long he's been a customer and what, exactly, they know about him." Sango declared. "And you will be?"

"Get the fuck out of here." Inuyasha scoffed, pushing past his two coworkers and through the door, heading straight for the stairs without looking back at them. He knew perfectly well he needed to stay out of their way, and he was doing a pretty damn good job so fucking far, so what point did it serve to remind him? He wasn't willing to compromise this case. Not for anything. Not when Kagome's safety was on the line. Sure, if it were only him involved, it'd be a different story, but it's not. Naraku's set his sights on Kagome in order to get back at Inuyasha, and just the sight of her stressed, exhausted, concerned eyes was enough to tell him it was fucking working. Naraku was getting what he wanted.

"Kagome, open the door." Inuyasha said, gently rapping his knuckle against the wood. The sound of a bolt clicking at the end of the hall caught his attention and he glanced over, seeing Kagome's elderly neighbor step out into view, the handle of a black, metal bat grasped within her wrinkled fingers. He cocked his head, grimacing at the old lady.

"Oh, it's just you again. Well, you're alright." Kaede shrugged, turning back and closing the door behind her just as Kagome opened her own. Jesus Christ, what the hell was the old lady thinking?

"Hi." Kagome smiled as he stepped in, locking the chain so he wouldn't give her grief.

"Did you know Kaede had a fucking bat?"

"Oh, yeah. She's had it for years. I think she’s excited that she actually has a reason to use it now.” Kagome said, heading back over to the couch. Inuyasha pushed the thought of the crazy, old woman with a weapon aside, focusing on what was important once more.

"I brought you a sub."

“You didn’t have to do that, Inuyasha.” She said, pulling the small throw blanket over her legs and turning down the volume of the television with the remote.

"You need to eat, Kagome." He sat on the small loveseat, unloading the contents of the paper bag on the coffee table. "I know you're about to say you aren't hungry, but I don't care. You've hardly eaten lately."

"At this point, I might throw it up."

"Just a couple bites. Come on."

"Who's Naraku?" Kagome asked, pushing the dark strands of hair from her face as she settled against a throw pillow.

"No. Food first." He demanded. Knowing he wasn't going to let up, she gave in, grabbing the rectangular styrofoam container from the table and opening it. As she took a bite of the turkey sandwich, Inuyasha got up from his spot, fetching two water bottles from the refrigerator and handing one over as he sat back down.

"How do you know him?" She tried again after swallowing another bite, already feeling full.

Inuyasha sighed raggedly, leaning back against the couch cushions, allowing his weight to sink in. He knew she deserved the truth, but he wasn't even okay with the possibility that this man was what they were up against. Again. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill convict. He was a professionally diagnosed psychopathic serial killer that preferred torture over a quick death. 

"I had him prosecuted almost exactly nine years ago."

"So, this is all for revenge?"

"If it is him, then yes. Most likely. I was the lead investigator against him. He plead guilty by reason of insanity, and was sentenced to life in a psychiatric facility."

"What did he do?" Kagome scooted a little closer, pressing firmly against the pillow and the arm of the couch now, trying desperately to read Inuyasha's expression. She could tell he was apprehensive about telling her. Inuyasha was never one to open up about his work, what he’d seen, what he’d done. His job wasn’t glamorous or easy. It was a shit show most of the time. People got hurt. Men, women, and too often, children were violated, assaulted, and-or killed, and it was something Inuyasha knew he had to handle on his own. If someone wasn’t in his line of work, there was no reason they had to know the reason for the dullness behind any detectives’ eyes. Inuyasha had explained that to her before. To protect her.

"Kagome, maybe we shouldn't-"

"I want to know. I understand that nothing's clear at the moment, but don't you think I should get at least some understanding of what kind of criminal may be involved in this?"

"What did Sango and Hojo tell you?"

"Just that he's dangerous."

"Okay, look..." Inuyasha sighed again, leaning forward to brace his weight on his thighs, his elbows digging in slightly. “I’ll tell you, Kagome, but I want to know how you met him first."

Kagome shifted her gaze, her lips parting to say something before pressing them into a tight line, leaning back uncomfortably.

"You can tell me." He groaned, rolling his eyes. "I ran into Sango and Hojo downstairs, and they already mentioned who you identified and that coffee shop you go to too often. Just tell me the rest, already.”

"I don't want you getting in trouble."

"I won't. Now talk.” Inuyasha ordered.

“Well, I don't know that I've met Naraku, that's the thing. The guy I met is named Onigumo. He’s there almost every morning, and as far as I know, no one's ever had a problem with him. A part of me doesn’t want to believe they could be the same person. The guy Sango and Hojo showed me looked evil and like he was too busy being a criminal to even take care of himself. Oni seems like the exact opposite. I mean, he could just be a doppelganger, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too coincidental? Think about it, Kagome. Nothing about him has ever seemed off or remotely suspicious?” He asked skeptically.

“Not really.”

"Has he ever said or done anything that made you feel uncomfortable, or maybe asked any questions that were a little too personal?”

“Not to me. He talks to the baristas more than anyone. The most he’s ever said to me was your average small talk questions. There was a couple times that he bought me a coffee, and while it was surprising, it didn’t make me uncomfortable. Do you really think he’s a suspect, Inuyasha?”

“If you ask Hojo, he’ll tell you it doesn’t matter what I think. At this point in time, whether anyone likes it or not, we have to treat him like one. He could be just as innocent as you say, or he could be exactly who we’re looking for.”

Looks like she’d be making coffee at home more often from now on.

Kagome took a deep breath, pushing all discomforting thoughts to the back of her mind. He was right. Things were beginning to add up a little too well, but jumping to conclusions without proof would only make things worse. Until they could prove they were one and the same, Onigumo would stay his own person, and Kagome would keep her head on straight.

She could handle this.

“So,” She began, placing her hardly-eaten sandwich back on the coffee table. “Tell me about Naraku.”

Inuyasha’s jaw stiffened, ember eyes hardening, showing her the deep struggle he dealt with at just the mention of the name. His entire body seemed solid and tense, gaze aimed down at his hands. “His case was one of the toughest I’ve ever worked on. I interrogated him for eight hours straight before he gave us enough for a warrant to search his property, and then another six hours before he confessed and led us to the boy.”

“Boy?”

He hesitated. Not for her. For himself. He didn’t think that even nine years later he’d still be able to see Hakudoshi’s small, lifeless, battered body as clearly as he did the day they’d found him. They were too late. Several days too late. That boy went through hell, and there was nothing Inuyasha could have done to stop it.

“He’s a serial killer, Kagome. His final victim was an eight year old boy. At the end of that investigation, we uncovered twelve corpses of women and children. Polaroid pictures of these victims decorated his walls like fucking trophies. There was one picture, though… She was a little girl that had been missing for seven years. When I brought it up to question him, he fucking smiled and said "It’s about time."" Inuyasha paused, remembering the way Naraku’s repugnant stench burnt his nose, his horrifying smile, emotionless eyes, and careless shrugs. He’d had nightmares for months after the case was closed, his face burned into the backs of the half demon’s eyelids. “We… never recovered her body. Her parent’s had to relive losing their daughter with no closure all over again. And this bastard was able to get out of prison time because he was diagnosed a psychopath."

Kagome couldn't find the right words to say. Nothing seemed suitable for the emotion she could see vividly on Inuyasha's face right now. She couldn't fix it. Only making sure this man was still detained would put his mind to rest. Hopefully. She could see something more trying behind it all. Something that would probably never go away.

She reached out, resting her hand on top of his, his palm always shockingly warm, and without hesitation, he closed his fingers to keep her there. The look in his eyes was fierce. Warning. Protective.

"Kagome, when we say he's dangerous, we mean it. If he's out, if he's who we're up against, I need you to do everything I say, do you understand? I'm going to keep you safe, I swear, but I need your full cooperation.”

"You've got it," She gave his hand a squeeze. "I trust you."

His cellphone rang, a low vibration rumbling in his side pocket, the ringtone damn near close to silent, but loud enough for his ears to pick up perfectly.  He let go of Kagome, standing and walking behind the couches as he fished the device out.

"Yeah?" He answered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to his partner give him the run down and the place to meet. "Again? Fine, I'll be there in ten."

He hung up the phone, shoving it back into his pocket as he went about his nightly routine, pushing the dark curtains and sheets aside to make sure every single window in Kagome's apartment was closed and locked. 

"I have to go. Call me if anything happens, alright?" Inuyasha said, coming out from her bedroom after giving the single window in there a thorough check.

"Is everything okay?" Kagome asked, standing to walk him out, meeting him at the edge of the couch by the entrance.

"Just a domestic call." He ran his fingers through her bangs before he could stop himself, tensing, retracting, and then opening up the door. "Keep it locked. I have my phone on me.”

She did as he said, standing in the entrance to gather whatever bearings she could. Her apartment was silent, minus the small hum from the T.V., the new arrangement of her furniture somehow making the place seem bigger. Emptier. She wanted it to seem like a new start when she’d finished, like no one had come in and touched everything, but it didn’t. Kagome couldn’t forget how her apartment looked that day, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what may have happened had she been home when he’d broken in. It still wasn’t disclosed how he'd done it in the first place. Did he have a key to her front door, or did he magically unlock it? No one could figure it out, and that was one of the main reasons Inuyasha had installed the chain. It would stall the culprit for a moment, hopefully long enough for Kagome to open a window and climb down the fire escape.

None of it was securing, though. As long as their stalker was out there, Kagome couldn’t even manage to feel comfortable in her own skin. She always felt watched. Followed. She never knew when more pictures would appear, if another bouquet of flowers would show up at her home, or if the incoming phone call would end up having his thick, deep, haunting voice on the other line. It was all in her head, but how could it not be? He’d been in her head.

Kagome went into her room, turning on the light on her way in, briefly stopping to look at her mattress. The comforter was pulled down at an angle, none of the ends tucked into the bed frame, the sheets wrinkled slightly, and her pillows were squished and crooked. Just as she’d planted them. She didn’t need questions. She just needed some sleep. Tearing her gaze away, Kagome opened her closet door, picking the balled-up bundle of blankets from the floor and taking them out into the living room, a tail of grey fleece dragging along the floor next to her feet, dropping them on the large couch before she stretched them out to cover the cushions. All lights were turned off in her apartment, the flickering hues from the television illuminating the area she’d been sleeping in since the night of the break in as she crawled underneath the blankets, resting her head on the small throw pillow and turning up the volume.

She was alone. She could see her surroundings if anything were to happen. She could hear constant talking to soothe her from thinking every creek was another attempt at him coming for her. This was the only way she’d been able to get any amount of sleep lately.

Psych Ward

Koga walked behind the guard, and Hojo behind him, their footsteps echoing in the long, narrow chamber they headed down, walls and floors an unnatural shade of white. The doctors, nurses, and guards all swore Naraku had been restrained for the past few weeks. For the first several years, he was a quiet patient. Didn’t ask questions. Took his medication without grief. Only ever talked to a couple other patients in the ward, and those occasions were few and far between. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that he started getting easily agitated. He often talked of getting revenge, bringing his doctor to up his dosage of medication. That didn’t stop Naraku, though. Soon, his eyes started to grow darker, more menacing. He wore a dangerous smile, even at meal time. He wasn’t able to talk to another person without screaming profanities and threatening their lives. A year ago, he almost slashed a guard’s throat with a makeshift, plastic shiv, bringing him to his first of many rounds of restrained isolation. He would be left in a room, his only contact coming to him in doses of medication and food- which he had to be hand fed because he couldn’t always be trusted. After a week, he’d calmed down. He seemed complacent and responsive. He communicated properly, moved slowly, and after months, hadn’t thrown a single tantrum.

Then, he killed a man. An unsuspecting patient. Even licked the blood from his fingers. From then on, he was restrained. Naraku would shout and scream, the leather restraints needing to be replaced several times over due to his consistent and powerful struggle. They’d up his meds, shoot him with sedatives, and enjoy the minimal peace it brought until he came to and started screaming all over again. It was inhumane to constantly keep him locked up, though, so the ward would let him occasionally roam with the necessary supervision. Sometimes he faired nicely. Other times, he ran amuck, kicked and swung, and bellowed that he didn’t belong there over and over until stuck with more sedatives.

“As crazy as this sounds, we have reason to think he may have escaped.” Hojo spoke, speaking loud enough to be heard from the back.

“You’re right, that does sound crazy. He’s watched like a hawk, detective. How the hell would he get out?” The guard said, turning down a hall, the corridor remaining just as narrow.

“Just show us and we’ll be on our way.” Koga ordered. As they turned down another corridor, two guards came into view, sitting in silence on a bench outside of a bulging, metal door. The guard that led them stopped, gripping the small knob to the sliding peephole and sliding the rectangular slab open.

“There.”

Koga looked in, noting the medium-length dark hair, and head that slowly, heavily rolled from one side to the other. He was strapped to a thin hospital bed, mouth parted while saliva dripped from the corners of his lips. The wolf demon looked back at the guard, eyeing him speculatively.

“Open the door, numb nuts. You know this isn’t a qualified visual.”

The guard did as he was told, shaking his head in a manner that said they didn’t know what they were in for. If his meds had worn off, screaming would ensue in a matter of seconds. Still, with the help of one of the other guards, the steel door was opened, and Koga and Hojo proceeded inward with caution.

Things were quiet. Naraku stilled, facing the ceiling with an empty stare. It was almost like his brain had dulled and his body was just hanging out, not quite noticing anything else happening around them. Koga moved closer, harsh scents radiating off of the man, two significantly standing out and, unfortunately, pulling him in. He didn’t know which one to concentrate on, both stenches burning his nostrils and causing his eyes to water. One was sulfuric and slightly musky, but the worst of the two smelled like something had rotted three times over. The baffling part was, it was painfully familiar. How could anything about this man be recognizable? He was restrained to a bed with minimal contact with other beings. It was a scent that was hard to forget, though, and it took him back to walking into Kagome’s ruined apartment.

But, how?

Koga analyzed the lifeless features of Naraku’s face, his deep blue eyes blinking so slowly you’d think time had lagged. He had a mole beneath his left eye, and his lips were chapped and pale. His hair was dark and unwashed, the oil causing it to lay in heavy clumps around his shoulders. Something wasn’t right here. Koga’s gut was screaming that something was so horribly and dangerously wrong.

“Hojo, hand me that picture of Naraku.” Koga said, holding his hand out behind him, not taking his eyes away from the motionless man. A ruffling sound was heard as Hojo revealed a eight-by-ten mugshot from the inner pocket of his coat, slipping the photo into Koga’s hand without a word of question. 

He placed the photo by Naraku’s head, comparing the two faces. The photographed Naraku had red, narrow eyes and no facial blemishes whatsoever. His hair was disgustingly long, matted, and pitch black. Koga dropped the picture to the floor, leaning a couple inches closer to take in the smell of the hospital gown the man was dressed in. It was the source of the pungent stench in Kagome’s home. The smell of his grease-slicked skin radiated the other vile scent.

They'd switched places.

"This isn't him." 

"What?"

Koga turned around, irate, launching at the guard, slamming and pinning him to the painted cinderblock wall, a look of fury blazing through his blue eyes. “This isn’t Naraku!”

“What!?” The guard choked, his neck pressed straight by the wolf demon’s forearm. Hojo stopped the other guards that tried to step in to help, blocking their way and hovering his hand over the gun strapped to his hip as a warning.

“How the hell did he escape while he’s under this vigilant watch you bragged about!?”

“I don’t… I don’t know!”

“You’re a fucking demon, aren’t you!?”

“Y-yes!”

Koga released the guard’s neck, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform and pushing him forcefully toward the restrained man. “Tell me what you smell!”

“He smells… rancid.” The guard was undeniably confused, not knowing what sort of answer the detective was looking for.

“He smells like two different people, you incompetent jackass! They swapped robes! Is that all it takes to get passed you lazy shits!?"

"I don't understand!"

"Well you should understand how much fucking trouble you’re all in!”

"No, this isn't possible!"

"They don't even look all that similar!" Hojo added, stepping inward to take his first thorough look at their unnamed patient. For even him, a human, to be able to tell the difference within a matter of moments, it spoke levels on how insanely blind everyone assigned to watch him must have been. There was no excuse for this level of audacity. 

“Look, I get it! He’s dangerous, but how the hell were we supposed to know!? Most of the time, it’s impossible to get close to the guy, he hides his face whenever someone comes near, our main objective when he's loose is to restrain him, and everyone smells disgusting here so our senses end up dulling for the sake of our own sanity!” One of the officers defended.

“Don’t give me that shit! None of that is a valid excuse for losing a criminal! You’ve had a stand-in taking his place for who knows how long and no one fucking noticed someone was missing? How the fuck does this even happen? Kiss your shields and the credentials of this hellhole goodbye!”

"How 'bout you stop yelling at us so we can call a code-"

“What for? We came because he was a pending suspect in our ongoing investigation. Naraku's been out for, at the very least, four months, so what purpose would it serve? What you need to do is get your captain down here. Now.” Hojo demanded.

Koga shouted some profanities off to the side as he pulled out his phone, dialing out and waiting impatiently until the call was answered.

"Inuyasha. You were right. He escaped."

[funsize-lucifer-hongjoong]

We Are Stars For Each Other Ch.3 - Hearts Awakened

Genre: fluff, eventual smut, and some angst. NSFW

Female reader X Hongjoong 

Word count: 3,558

So Here’s Chapter 3, released because our boys got their first win and let’s spread some ATEEZ love, Yeah? 

The evening seems to end so fast. It's as though it didn't happen at all. You're home now, a few hours have passed since you left the venue, heartbroken and crushed.

"It's all a game to them." you sigh as you sit down, "They were born to do this to women, or maybe they just like to." Laying back you stare up at the ceiling in distaste.

You lay there, trying to figure out what went wrong. You did everything you could think of. Wooyoung didn't want anything to do with you, and if he did, he was sending mixed signals. Rolling to the side to face the wall, you notice a few tears leaking from your eyes. Had it really hurt you that bad? Maybe it's just because this is your first crush since the breakup. Yeah, that had to be the answer.

"No more fan events for me." steeling yourself and wiping the tears from your cheeks, "And no more K-pop."

Maybe that would be a vain threat to yourself. You had to work all week and there was just too much going on to put any more energy into it.

"I'm an adult, in my 30's. I can't just catch feelings for some random guy, crushes are for teenagers." Rolling over, you decide, it's just for the best.

You fall asleep, not seeing beautiful cat-like eyes, but expressive grey ones, and a beaming smile.

Waking up proved to be harder than you expected when Monday came to pass. It seemed so boring now. It was the same gross Monday morning, with the same ugly outfit, in the same beige building.

Going to work was becoming a chore. You wanted to sit at home and mope, feeling sorry for yourself. The foul mood you were sporting from a bruised ego and busted confidence shined here. It was almost as if, the longer you were in this building, the worse you felt.

Walking home was no different. There were posters on cafe doors of Ateez.

"Fuck my life." You mumble as you walk through the door, "Will these guys never go away? It's like they're haunting me."

You just need to get something to eat, and then you can go back home. Pajamas and junk food were the only things left on your to-do list.

The woman at the counter takes the order, and you sit in a corner booth. Looking out the window wishing for the mess you've made to clean itself up.

A buzzing startles you from a lovely daydream about warm summer weather. Your food is finished and you walk quickly to grab it, and back out the door past that poster again.

"I just want to go home." tears slip from your eyes. You were starting to think that it did hurt more than you originally thought.

It didn't stop you from grabbing the paper off the door, with every intention of throwing it in the nearest garbage can. Once you're in front of one, you can't bring yourself to chuck it in.

"I've got to be the worst at life. I'm just hurting myself." Stuffing the paper in your bag, you walk toward home.

Pajamas and Junk food achieved and Min Seo out of the country for a shoot, you're home alone. Just your whirling thoughts to keep you company.

"Alright Y/N, just pull that poster out and read it. Then throw it straight into the trash." You grab the paper out, reading it aloud, "Ateez Fan sign, at KBS Studios, Friday"

"It must be for an Afterschool pop chart show or something. Why else would KBS be involved?" you question softly

"I understand the whole promotion for the new album, but why are there so many different fan events?" You sit down on the floor, advertisement still in hand.

"Wooyoung looks so gorgeous here. He's so gorgeous all the time." Closing your eyes to the pain ripping through your chest.

"Maybe if I go see him, and just be myself, it'll all work out. Just one more time." A tear hits the paper, staining it and making the ink run. "I could sneak my phone number to him in a gift. Then I'll see what his intentions are."

You tilt your head back, laying the paper down to wipe both hands over your cheeks. Staining them with your pain.

"This is my last chance. I have to make it count." You stand, sticking the poster up to the fridge with a magnet. "Min Seo won't be home for another week, so I'll have to go at it alone. I got this."

With a reserve of confidence you didn't know you had. You snatched up your phone and bought the ticket, walking back to the bedroom.

"I have to do this for my own sanity. If not, I may just go crazy. You've got this Y/N!" Nodding at yourself in the mirror.

"I'm just gonna go to work the rest of the week and before I know it, it'll be Friday." You flop onto your bed.

The rest of the week goes by agonizingly slow. Anxiety bares it's teeth every time you think of how close you're getting.

When you get off of work Thursday you remember something very important, "Oh shit, the gift! I have to get something I can hide my number in. Shhhiiiittt." smacking your palm to your forehead.

"I'm so damn forgetful. Why is it always me?!" you say to the sky, where you hope someone is listening to give some kind of answer to your stupidity.

This plan won't work without the proper pieces, and you didn't remember the main one. Now instead of going home to relax, you have a pain in the ass trip to Hongdae to try to find the perfect gift for Wooyoung.

Hongdae is always busy in the evening. You liked it here when you first moved, but now you see it for what it is. A nightclub infested haven for young people, and the inability to avoid stepping in vomit on the sidewalks.

"So. Fucking. Gross." As you step around, dodging the drunk and the sick.

A small shop in a back alley catches your eye, tiny keychains hang from racks in the window. You walk through the glass door, greeting the older woman behind the counter with a smile.

You see it out of the corner of your eye as you walk the back row. A keychain coin purse shaped like a skull and crossbones, it even had a tiny zipper on the back.

"Perfect." You snatch it up and nearly run up to the woman at the counter. You were so excited you could hardly pull out your card to pay.

You found the perfect gift. What happens tomorrow is decided by fate, and maybe you could pick up a nice dress on your way back to the bus stop.

4 hours in Hongdae and a crammed bus ride later, you're finally home. Kicking off your shoes in the entryway you jog into your room, dumping out a bag onto the bed.

"Here's Wooyoung's present," you smirk, "And here's my new dress." You pick it up and hold it to yourself. The dress was beautiful on the mannequin in the shop window. The length hit just above your knee, in a grey toned fabric with the collar in white.

You hang it from the closet door and grab your phone to text Min Seo. Your fingers flying across the letters, excitement coursing through you.

**Min Seo, I'm going to the Ateez thing tomorrow at KBS.

You weren't expecting her reply so fast.

**Y/N! You're going without me? :(

You smiled at that, she hated to be left out of the fun.

**Yes Minie, I got a new dress for the occasion, I have a plan to get Wooyoung's attention this time.

**Oh yeah? Tell me this plan, maybe I can use it on San

Her reply comes bookended with drooling and eggplant emojis. You can't help but roll your eyes.

**Damn girl, calm down. Lol. I'm gonna put my phone number in this

You take a picture of the tiny toy and send it to her

****Image 234 sent

**OMG Y/N. Why didn't I think of something this brilliant? Ugh. Hey, while you're there, can you tell San I said hello? See if he remembers me, and make sure you tell me EVERYTHING ASAP!

**Alright Minie, I'll do it all for you. Cuz you da real MVP. Lol!

You finish it off with a few heart emojis and a rolling laughing before tossing your phone on the bed.

"Well, tomorrow is the big day. Let's not fuck it up now." Your pep talk ends in a sigh. Closing your eyes for any sleep you can seem to get.

Sleep didn't last as long as the excitement did. You found out quick that it was gonna be a long night, and an even longer day tomorrow.

A long day it was, filled with boring meetings and your mind drifting off to Wooyoung. What would you say to him without sounding like a stalker? This was looking like less of a good idea, the longer you thought about it.

The thought of walking home seemed like torture and taking the bus, worse. A cab seemed like the best option, even though you hated how high the rates were. You flagged one down and rode home in silence. Your mind racing.

Walking into the apartment, shutting the door and leaning against it. The fatigue of sleep loss and the excitement had you burned out at this point.

"Just get it over with. You'll feel better tomorrow, and you can sleep when you die." throwing your bag on the couch and throwing off clothes in every direction on your way to the bathroom.

The process of makeup and hair without Min Seo's help was daunting. It had to be done, even if it was subpar. When you finished, standing to brush the wrinkles from your dress, you thought it was passable at best.

Black heels, your hair braided loosely to one shoulder. The makeup was minimal, only what you knew how to put on. Your eyes were lined, and pink lipstick. You were hoping it was enough to entice Wooyoung, but then you remembered you were going to be yourself.

Dressing up like a high dollar whore last time was an epic fail. Dressing down the first time got no reaction at all. This time it was just you, and you couldn't help the feeling of it not being enough as you walked out the door. All you could hear over the thundering in your chest was the lock clicking behind you.

KBS studio was a bright building at the end of the block. You'd walked through here with Min Seo, but never by yourself. That thought shot fear through you.

Ticket in hand, you walked to the guard at the door. "Hm, no line." You thought, glancing around to confirm no one else was around.

The guard asked about your purse and the stuffed toy in your hand. You nearly forgot to put your number in it, but as he unzipped the top and looked inside to find it empty, you were grateful for your forgetful brain.

"You can pass." The guard nodded his head to the side, "Door 3. The line is in there."

"Thank you!" You scrambled to grab your bag, hooking the keychain on it.

The building itself was much larger than it looked from the street. You followed where the guard pointed you, hearing hushed voices from behind the door stamped with a red 3.

"He wasn't joking. This line is ridiculous." standing with crossed arms you realized why Min Seo always wanted to leave the apartment early.

The table At the front of the room had Ateez seated neatly in a row. Between you and them, a winding queue that looked like a snake of people.

This time was different, it looked more professional than the last fan event. Security stood at either end of the table and between the 8 boys. As the line moved slowly you could take your time to look. You knew mostly who was who now, although you did mix up Yunho and Seonghwa a few times.

Your eyes fell on Wooyoung immediately. He looked so adorable in his sweater with leather straps across his chest. His hair was paler now, almost blonde. His eyes a piercing steel blue.

Grabbing a pen and a small sticky note from your purse you wrote your number down. It was clearly legible. Below the number a tiny heart and Y/N. You folded it up, the line moving slowly still, before putting it in the pouch and pulling the zipper closed.

You were close enough now to hear them talking across the table to the fans stood before them. You clutched the toy skull in your hand, threatening to crush it.

The first one you stood in front of was Yeosang. His smile was adorable, if not a bit mischievous. His hands were thin with long fingers, a piano players hands. A few words were spoken between you as you moved to the next.

Mingi was the bad boy trope. He glanced up at you and bit his lip. While asking if you were excited to see him.

"Is this dude so full of himself that he thinks this actually works?!" You thought, smiling back at him before moving down the line.

When you looked down the table, you saw them. The trio of devilry and filth, sitting like a row of ducks in a pond. San, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong. All sitting beside each other at the end.

"Damn my luck." you said louder then you thought, "Of course they'd all sit together, they probably scheme up which poor girl they're gonna pick on to see if she faints."

You heard Jongho laugh as the next girl had taken your place in front of him. He must've heard you. At least they found you funny, even if they didn't find you charming.

"Well last I checked the score was San had 4, Wooyoung had 6, and Hongjoong had 3. That's been a week ago though." Jongho said as he smirked in your direction.

"Are you planning to be number 5, 7, or 4?" He continued his smile deepening around his eyes.

"I'll just be the first one for you Jongho." You fired back, batting your eyelashes at him. The apples of his smiling cheeks turning rosy.

The line was moving and now you were standing in front of San, and away from Jongho and his inflated ego. You were beside Wooyoung though, and that alone had you nervous.

San seemed to recognize you right away. "Y/N, you came to see me again. Where's Min Seo?"

You noticed he looked a bit sad, not seeing her with you. "She had a modeling contract, so she'll be gone the rest of the week. I came alone this time."

San replied softly, "Ah, tell her to come see me, I miss her lovely smile." he seemed to light up at the thought. It made your heart warm that he felt that way about Min Seo.

While talking with San, you hadn't noticed the eyes that looked over from Wooyoung's other side. Hongjoong was admiring you. "Such a beautiful girl." He thought, as his lip curled into a smirk. He knew you weren't there for him. He had told Wooyoung everything after the last fan event you went to.

Wooyoung had felt so sad for his Hyung then. It seemed to always be like that for Hongjoong. He wasn't the stereotypically pretty man. He was short, with long hair. He didn't follow beauty or fashion trends. There was no way, in his mind, that he could get you away from Wooyoung.

The line moved again, and this was it. Standing in front of Wooyoung. "Goddamnit, why is he so perfect?" you screamed in your head.

Wooyoung glanced up, "Y/N?"

He remembered you. Of all the people he had seen today alone, he knew your name. Your heart soared with new found confidence.

"Wooyoung, you remember my name?" you said, shocked.

"Of course, sweetheart. How can I forget you?" Wooyoung smiled then, but he wouldn't tell you the truth. He knew you alright, if only because Hongjoong Hyung constantly talked about you like you were the last woman on earth.

You stuttered slightly before choking out, "Uh..uhm...I got you something. I put something very special in the pocket, please don't lose it. Alright?"

You handed the toy skull to Wooyoung, your heart hammering away. When he grabbed it from you, his hand brushed yours. Your breath caught in your throat.

The warmth from his fingers and it seemed like all the noise of the event drowned out to silence. It was just the two of you now. He was looking at you with soft eyes and a smile.

"Something special for me?" He looked at the pirate skull noticing the tiny zipper and clipped it to his belt loop. "I'm sure you wrote me a lovely letter, sweetheart. I promise not to let anyone else read it."

Little did you know that Hongjoong had been listening in, barely paying attention to the crying fan in front of him. "She went out of her way for Wooyoung. I'm never going to make this work." He thought to himself, a fake smile plastered on his face.

You stepped in front of Hongjoong, after telling Wooyoung goodbye.

"Hello pink cheeks, back to see me so soon?" Hongjoong spoke softly as he grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers with his smaller ones.

"Of course Shorty, I need to see my guys every now and then." You crinkled your nose at him, absentmindedly playing with the ring he wore.

He laughed. It was a breathy sound, almost as if it were just for you.

"Did you miss me so much?" He said then, pouting.

You smirked at him, two could play this game, and with no concert, there wasn't a chance for him to lure you in with his hip-swinging ways.

"Hongjoong, are you always so flirty with your fans?" You leaned in, "For a man so small, you have a huge ego."

The words had fallen out of your mouth so quickly you couldn't stop them, and Hongjoong turned a shade of red you hadn't seen before. Wooyoung must've overheard it, by the sound of the squeaking laugh to your left.

Hongjoong leaned closer to you, just as the guard was readying you to leave. "Y/N, don't assume I have a huge anything, that's for me to know, and you to find out."

You glanced into his eyes, and it was over. Time stopped, and it was Hongjoong. His pupils were blown out, and his bottom lip between his teeth. When he let go of your hand, the world started spinning again.

"Come see me again Pink cheeks, I'll miss you." He blew you a kiss.

You nodded and walked to your right in a daze. What the hell just happened, and right in front of Wooyoung? Does Hongjoong have no fucking manners?

"He's the fucking devil." You remarked as you turned back from one more look.

Wooyoung wasn't paying attention but Hongjoong was. His eyes were trained on you. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and you felt goosebumps run down your arms.

Hongjoong knew you weren't just playing with him. Somewhere deep down, you meant the things you had said. He just hoped he hadn't scared you.

As the fan event wrapped up, and he had watched you walk through the door and back outside, he turned to Wooyoung.

"What was it?! What did she give you? I need to know." Hongjoong sounded desperate and it broke Wooyoung's heart.

"Here hyung, open it and tell me." Wooyoung unclipped the toy and tossed it to Hongjoong.

He opened it quickly, under the table. A small piece of paper was inside and on it a neatly written phone number with a heart. Hongjoong laid his head on the table. You gave Wooyoung your number, maybe he was wrong.

"What was it, Hyung?" Wooyoung asked, concerned for the color draining from Hongjoong's face.

Hongjoong handed Wooyoung the slip of paper, but he didn't lift his head up. When Wooyoung saw what it was, he swallowed hard.

"Hyung, you know I don't want her! I swear! I can't help it!" Wooyoung said quickly, pulling at Hongjoong's sleeve in an attempt to look pitiful and get mercy.

Hongjoong lifted his head and laid his hand on Wooyoung's.

"I know Wooyoung, I know. I'm not mad at you. Would you mind if I kept her number though?" Hongjoong continued, "I need to know if I'm ever on her mind"

Wooyoung smiled at his leader. Hongjoong was tough, but he had a soft spot and you hit it.

"Sure Hyung, keep it, just don't drag me into it." Wooyoung handed the paper back to his hyung. Who then stuffed it into his wallet.

Hongjoong was going to get his answers, one way or another. Just like a pirate, he was ruthless and wouldn't give up until he had his treasure.

[jellalism]

we are... BACK!! with a NEW story about KAI AND DAMIAN!!!! AAAAAAAAAA LET’S GO

1556 words. Features swearing. Content warning for a bit of transphobia.

“Are you nervous?” “How can I not be? It’s the first time I’m meeting your parents.” We’re standing in front of his house, hand in hand. I’m feeling kind of sorry for Kai because my hands are sweaty and it can’t possibly feel good to him. He squeezes my hand. “It’ll be fine, Damian. They’re nice people.” Kai’s demeanor manages to calm me down. He is not usually that calm, but when he is, it’s always at the right moment. “Alright.” I take a deep breath. “Let’s go, then,” I say, and start walking the short distance towards the door. Kai whips out his keys and opens the door. He has a slight smile on his face – it’s cute to see him excited about my meeting his parents, and it makes me a bit more relaxed. He goes through the door first. “Welcome to my house!” he says, not even turning around. He kicks off his sneakers, not even bothering to put them away on the shoe rack properly. “I’m home!” he yells, moving to the living room door. I take it a little easier and put both my and his shoes and the shoe rack before following him. Upon entering the living room, I see his parents sitting on a luxurious couch. Suddenly I’m hit with a wave of fear and nausea. Shit. What if they don’t like me, what if they hate me, what if they reject me like my parents did, what if…? My legs want to run away, but instead I find myself frozen in place. I don’t even know for how long I stand there, but suddenly Kai is standing in front of me and takes my hand. “Come take a seat,” he says, locking eyes with me. Right. Kai is here. It’s all good. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. He gently pulls me along to the couch, and we sit down, not letting go of each other’s hands. “Glad you’re here, Damian,” Kai’s father says to me. It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me, even though that’s stupid. Who else could he be talking to? “I’m George, and this,” he said, gesturing to his wife, “is Samantha.” I can’t really place him. Is he a good person? His demeanor is kind, but appearances can be deceiving. “Thanks for having me,” I manage to respond. I’m completely detached from myself and the situation; I feel like I’m in a dream, and my voice sounds like it’s someone else’s. But somehow it sounds convincingly confident and clear. “We’ve heard a lot about you from Kai,” Samantha says. “It’s so nice to have my son be so excited about a boy.” I look at Kai, who is getting red. “Oh my God, Mom.” “What? It’s true!” She chuckles. She likes teasing her son, that much is clear. “You barely ever shut up about him. So it was about time we met this angel of yours.” We all laugh. But inside, I’m wondering. Angel? I feel myself wanting to both laugh and cry. Angel. What an irony. What I heard from my mother is that I’m an abomination. I’m Satan incarnate to her, the furthest thing one can be from an angel. “Anyway, Damian,” Samantha continues, “I’d like to get to know you better.” I barely manage to suppress a shiver. Alarm bells are ringing in my head, even though I don’t want them to. These are Kai’s parents, and Kai said they are nice and good people, that they’ll be supportive. And I want to trust Kai on that. But I can’t help but be suspicious. I know parents have a responsibility to be supportive, but God knows that they can really slack on that one. “I’m surprised to see you look like you do, actually.” I suppose she means my piercings, dark clothing style, and the whole thing. “You’re like the opposite of Kai. Kai is such a rainbow-child. In more ways than one.” I laugh at her joke, but it doesn’t come naturally to me. “Yeah, well, opposites attract after all.” She laughs back. “I hope that means you’ll be a good counterbalance to him. Be a little more levelheaded than him, alright?” “That’ll be easy, knowing him.” Kai makes an exasperated noise. “You’re supposed to be my boyfriend!” he chimes in, fake angry. “Say good things about me!” I oblige. “But in return, he’ll be the counterbalance to my pessimism,” I say to Samantha. She laughs again. “Anyhow, I’m sorry to leave you alone already, but I should go and set the table,” she says and gets up. “Dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes.” “So,” George begins, taking over the conversation, “what do you study? Or do you work already?” “I’m studying physics. I’m working on my master’s degree.” George whistles, impressed. “A young genius, then. What do you want to do with it later?” “I’m not sure yet, but I hope to get a job at the university. Just performing research. Especially particle physics and quantum physics interest me, and there’s plenty of research left to be done in that area.” I stop talking as I become self-conscious. Have I been talking too much about myself? Did I elaborate too much? Is he even actually interested? But then I look at George again, and his eyes contain genuine curiosity. “Really? I don’t know much about quantum physics at all. What even is it?” I almost sigh, both from relief and nervousness. Relief, because I hadn’t overshared; nervousness, because I need to explain it and not bore him. “Well,” I start, searching for words, but failing to find them. “It’s a bit difficult to explain shortly. Mind if I make the explanation a bit longer?” “Go ahead.”

“Here you go,” Samantha says as she puts the plate of lasagna in front of me. “Guests first, of course.” “Thank you.” The lasagna looks delicious. I tell her so. “Oh, thank you! I hope it tastes as good as it looks,” she answers. When she has served everyone, they start eating. I awkwardly realize I had been waiting to start eating until after the prayer, even though it should have been obvious from the start they weren’t going to pray. Old habits die hard. I take a bite from the lasagna, and burn my tongue. “Be careful, it’s hot!” Samantha warns, too late. I grab the glass of water in front of me and throw the water in my mouth right with the lasagna. “Are you alright?” Samantha asks. I breathe a couple of times in the palm of my hand before chewing and swallowing. “Yeah,” I answer. “Don’t die, dude,” Kai adds. “Thanks for the tip.” “So, Samantha,” George begins after a while, “turns out Damian here is studying some crazy physics. He taught me all about quantum physics just now.” “Oh, jeez, please don’t start. I’m terrible at the STEM subjects. Hopeless,” Samantha answers. “A shame. It’s a fascinating topic,” he says, winking at me. “Damn right,” Kai chimes in again. “I could barely follow Damian’s explanation, but it was interesting.” “Barely? But you could follow it?” Samantha throws a surprised look at me. “He’s normally not into physics at all and can’t understand it, so good job explaining.” “It’s easier to pay attention when the person explaining it is so attractive,” Kai says. Everyone laughs. I laugh too. A laugh from the heart, one of letting go. A disarming laugh. I feel my body relax under the laugh. “What? What’s wrong, Damian?” George asks me. I wonder what he means, but then I feel a tear rolling down my cheek. And another one. And another one. Then I start full-on crying. Crying for the times I never had. The peace. The acceptance. The place where one can just laugh without a care in the world. I’ve never had all those things. And I’ve never realized it, but I missed those things. The tears keep coming and coming, a waterfall of bittersweet emotions. Kai has left his seat and wraps his warm arms around me. “It’s okay,” he whispers, and I know he knows. He knows why I’m crying, knows all the past coming back to haunt me now that it’s in the past more than it ever was. “Thank you,” I whisper, to no one in particular. “Thank you.” Kai’s arms wrap around me a little tighter in response.

“Well, that was nice,” I say awkwardly as Kai and I stand outside later that evening. He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. My parents have taken a liking to you. You can come over as often as you like.” I feel that I would like that, God, I’d like that. But I don’t dare take his words at face value. “Thanks,” I just say. Kai’s face turns serious. “Really though, don’t worry about it. My parents are understanding. They know that everyone has their own shit to deal with, and that it sometimes… flows over.” I hug him in response. “Your parents are great. And they totally ruined my image of being a tough guy.” He laughs. “I already knew your soft side, sweetheart.” The last word makes me melt inside. I lift his chin up towards my face. Then I press my lips against his. Maybe, someday, I will call this home.

[someobscurereference]

Characters holding eachother, scared that the other is dead is also my kink, and you have some good taste. :ok_hand: Niles seems like he’d be the most snuggly after one happened to leo/odin. While Odin+Leo are the ones who cry first, and hover over the other one later. At least until they’re invited to snuggle. Any hc’s you have on their reactions? I don’t think you’ve written Odin reacting to Leo/Niles having a near death experience before ٩( 'ω' )و

(referring to this post) Ayy, glad to know you’re into this just as much as I am, anon ;D Those tropes are honestly!! My #1 favorite!! I want them in every fic!!

Niles is actually much softer and sweeter in a romance than some people might think given his tendency to be rude to others before he realizes how uncalled for it is (see: in S-Supports he tends to say “wherever you go, I’ll follow” to his spouse quite easily/seriously and if he marries the Avatar, he tends to comment that he worries if they stay out late, coyly mentions that he brought them flowers, etc. Some of this is teasing but I think it’s also genuine too.) Which is to say I agree! Niles had a hard life and he’s used to roughness, so while he’s a realest, I think he’s also rather soft w/ his spouse too. Which means he really wants to comfort them/comfort himself if anything bad were to almost happen to them!

I’ve definitely written them fussing over Odin before (and am writing it again now because I’m weak, RIP), but you’re right that I don’t think I’ve done Leo/Niles being the ones who were in trouble before! I recently wanted to write Niles being the one to have a near death experience, but I got side tracked and started writing a different fic instead, lol. But I do want to see it! And write it! So here are some shorthand HCs for those kind of experiences for all three of them! 

Odin:

I think he remembers his near experiences quite well and they do haunt him a bit. Specifically that one by the bridge haunts him the most, and that’s why he’s afraid of heights. 

He’s in a difference place now than he was at like age 16 though, so while he was really ready to sacrifice himself back then (canonically bc it seemed like a hero move to do and also in my heart bc he was probably Very Tired of the bad future and was thinking about giving up if it meant he could rest while everyone else could make it out okay), he’s not so ready to do that self-sacrificial stuff anymore.

Not that he wouldn’t sacrifice himself now, because he would, but he does very much want to live more now than in the Bad Timeline, I think. I think that’s part of the reason he retreats like Selena in Birthright if beaten in battle

Anyway, he’s used to being the one who does crazy stuff, Niles is very capable and isn’t normally hurt all that badly, and Leo is obscenely powerful, a prince, and has the two of them keeping him safe. So if either Niles or Leo were to be hurt seriously (especially doing something to keep Odin safe), he’d be pretty shocked.

Would absolutely tell Niles/Leo how cool they looked doing whatever it was they did. Or at the very least recounting it all in dramatic fashion to anyone willing to listen.

When he’s not recounting these events like a TV show, he does drop character to be serious

While he can appreciate the storytelling elements of whatever happened at a later date, this “wow, that was kind of cool” comes much later/acts as a front initially. Because after Bad Timeline, he seriously (of course) Does Not want to lose anybody ever again and the fear of it happening right there where he can see but can’t act is real.

So he probably makes them promise not to do that stuff again/to leave the stunts to him, a true hero

Also fusses obnoxiously. Definitely suggesting something new every two minutes to make Leo/Niles feel better. Only calms down when he’s specifically called out about being too antsy and told to lay down with them. He just has a lot of energy and nowhere to direct it. Probably still freaked out and trying not to show it.

Very Fidgety and going to be thinking about what could have happened for a long time. But ironically, for having the biggest mouth, he’s the most likely to lock that shit up inside and not bring it up again unless called out (so Niles and Leo have to call him out. Otherwise he’ll cool down in his own time)

Niles:

Again, I think Niles is much softer in his romantic life than out of it/with other people.

Even if he says coy/teasing things, if it’s to his spouse, he genuinely means it. 11/10 likes cuddles the most.

But because of his past he definitely knows just how rough and cruel the world can be (similar to Odin but still different) and so the prospect of anything happening to Leo or Odin is very real in his mind. And he’s right. The reality of this is just sharper to him even off the battlefield.

So if something really were to happen to either of them, his fears would become the sharpest. 

In exchange, he becomes even softer with the injured person. He wants to lay there and just hold them and listen to them breathe. He’s awake even when they fall asleep.

If they’re in his arms, he can tell himself they’re safe and sound 

If they got hurt some stupid way, he’s going to be annoyed. But he also trusts Leo and Odin 110% as his lord and his partner (respectively) on top of the fact they’re in love, so if they made a case for why they did XYZ, he’d probably relent and believe/trust in them to have made the right call

As soft as he is with them, though, Niles will also become more withdrawn into his own head after an event like this, even if only for a few days.

Similar to his Support with Leo: Catch Niles staring into space and just thinking to himself with nobody around.

He’ll talk about what he’s imagining much more readily than Odin if asked. He surprisingly doesn’t really have any qualms sharing his memories or fears before, especially with someone he trusts. Probably secretly wants to share them?

So expect his response to be “I’m thinking about how close I came to losing you” or something similar if asked, even if how candid he is catches his SO off guard the first few times. He’s 100% candid.

This just means he’s even more grateful Leo/Odin lived.

It’s stressful for sure. Niles requires a lot of winding down after something like that.

He also might chide himself for not doing more, but being a realist also means realizing when there was nothing he could have done to prevent something worse from happening too.

This doesn’t necessarily make it easier. It just is.

Leo:

Also a realest like Niles, but he’s also fussy like Odin, though usually fussier more about the events than the aftermath.

By which I mean, he’s the one who says “Why did you do X… You could have YZ… In the future, don’t take risks, etc.” That kind of thing.

It’s coming from a place of love and worry, even if it can seem kind of moot a whole day later when Niles/Odin is laying in bed recovering.

Niles accepts these comments with relative ease bc he knows it makes Leo feel better, but Odin might be the type to say “Milord!! I wanted to but! That wasn’t an option!” Not a fight bc he loves and respects Leo a lot too but Odin doesn’t bend very much either if he did what he thought was right. Leo is usually the one to win for a variety of reasons though

Canonically quite the smooth-talker in his romance Supports and I don’t act on that enough. So he probably is very thoughtful and ensures Niles/Odin have as convenient a time as possible while they are recovering even when Leo can’t be there himself. He doesn’t want them to strain any more than they already are.

Niles and Odin’s duties to him as retainers come first even when they’re all together, and Leo understands that very well. So he understands that sometimes they have to do things he’d rather not do in the name of Nohr/Leo.

That said, he specifically never wants them to risk themselves more than strictly necessary (see: his Odin Support where he says this explicitly, his Support with Niles where Niles is a little more difficult to dissuade and so Leo sidesteps moreso than outright saying no but is obviously a little uncomfortable), and he will be Upset if they did something that wasn’t worth it, even if they did it for him.

Not the type to hide what he feels when it’s not necessary, so he’s going to be Obviously Scared/Relieved when he sees Niles/Odin hurt and then realizes they’ll be alright. He composes himself pretty soon after, but he has a lot more emotions than other diplomats/royals might pick up on considering the image a prince of Nohr must keep up. Niles and Odin get to see them all.

Unlike Niles (who usually relents) or Odin (who stays firm in his own convictions but realizes a lot of things can happen very quickly in a battle), if Leo puts his foot down, it stays down.

This could lead to a fight later if Odin/Niles hurt themselves after Leo told them not to, but at the end of the day they’re all doing it for each other, tbh

This list might be a little more aftermath focused than actual “stumbling upon nearly dead SO,” but that reaction depends on the exact situation. And also I’ll try to save dramatic reactions for actual written scenes. Hopefully I’ll do one for Niles soon like I originally wanted to! 

I’m a fan of asks like these, so thanks so much! ;D

[himbowelsh]

I know it's not Halloween anymore but can I have sth kinda spooky with Webgott as two ghost stuck in same building? You know they both died there but at different time, so they didn't know each other before they became ghosts. Maybe it's kinda ones fault that the other is dead and stuck in this place? It's a lot of bitching and trying to get on the others nerves. And maybe other guys are there to check out this haunted house but instead of scary brooding ghosts hey find two arguing twats.

Addition to ghost Webgott. I just can’t get that image of my head. Luz sets up his heavy machinery to hear any potential ghost talking and first thing they all hear is “God, Joe, you’re such a dick!” and Liebgott repeating with all the grace of five year old in slightly girlish voice “God, Joe, you’re such a dick!”. + Web is the kind of ghost who summons all his celestial energy just to turn TV on and watch shark documentaries and Lieb for some reason sits with him every time.

The camera flickers on to catch a close-up of furrowed brows and a set of focused brown eyes.

After a second, the frustration clears from the man’s face. He leans back just enough to adjust it, flashing a wide grin, before stepping away from the camera.

“Okay,” he announces, taking a step away from the camera stand. “We’re set! Who’s ready to roll, huh?”

“Nice goin’, Luz, you just have ‘em a huge shot of your face,” a gravelly voice offscreen chides. Luz looks past the camera, cheshire grin widening.

“They oughta be grateful. C’mon Joe, get over here, let them see you too. We gotta show who’s in charge of this whole thing. For when we get famous later.”

Reluctantly, another man steps into the frame. He looks awkward as awkward in front of the camera as Joe does comfortable, even as Luz tugs him down to crouch next to him.

Luz turns to him, officious and commanding, as he adjusts a pair of invisible spectacles. “Mr. Toye,” he says, in a spot-on impersonation of that one guy from 60 Minutes, “how does it feel to be the first person to get definitive scientific evidence that ghosts exist?”

“It feels like I’m in an old crackhouse at midnight being interrogated by a crazy person,” Toye replies flatly, casting a sideways glance at the camera lens. When Luz flares up in indignation, he is ignored.

“Okay, this wasn’t a crackhouse. This was a boarding house, you know? Where people used to live back in olden times.”

“Then it was abandoned. Then it turned into a crackhouse.” Toye’s gaze bores into the camera; it's like he’s trying to make it more uncomfortable than its making him.

Luz rolls his eyes. “The point is that it’s not a crackhouse now. This place has been abandoned for years.”

Toye is determined not to lose his impromptu staring contest. “Sure. When can we be done here?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Luz extols. “We’re here all night. As soon as those two get done setting up the sound equipment —“ He pauses. His gaze wanders past the camera again, brow furrowing. “Where the hell are Bill and Babe with the sound equipment?”

“Oh my god,” says Toye, and smacks his hand against his face as he slumps over.

In another part of the house, a high-tech voice recorder is finally activated, after fifteen minutes of tinkering, puzzling, thumping, and “how the hell does this thing work”s to kill a man from boredom.

“Hey, here it is!” exclaims a supremely thrilled voice, too close to the speaker — his voice is a static scream. “I got it, the little bastard!”

“Move away from the thing,” another voice demands. “What the hell are you tryin’ to do, kiss it? Whisper sweet nothings? Get back, genius.”

“Watch it!” exclaims the first voice. Then, after a few seconds: “How’s your stuff coming? Pick anything up?”

“No, I haven't picked anything up, because I’ve barely got the thing turned on yet. What, d’you think all this ghost shit’s just gonna happen at once?”

“Well. I was hoping.”

“Sure you were,” Bill huffs. “I know this is your first hunt, Babe, so get used to waiting. It gets a lot more boring than this.”

“My brain’s gonna melt out of my skull.” Babe pauses, considering. “Hey, Bill, you think people would find that spooky?”

“Jesus,” mutters Bill. If he was hoping Babe was done, though, he’s out of luck.

“I mean, the deaths before were pretty weird too, right? The ones George told us about. This place was a boarding house from the 1930s to 60s, and then sometime in the 60s that author guy — Werner?”

“Webster,” contributes Bill absently.

“Right, Webster died. He drowned in his bathtub, right? Only they don’t know how it happened because he was supposed to be a really strong swimmer. Plus it was a bathtub. I mean, that’s weird.“

“The guy was having a rough night, had a bit too much to drink, fell asleep in the water. It ain’t much of a mystery, Babe.”

“Okay, sure. Even though people kept saying someone killed him — I’m just saying, that’s creepy! And then in the 90s, the other kid —“

“The drug addict. Come on, that’s not weird.”

“They found him with half his blood painting the room, Bill! And the news article said he drowned! How the hell do you drown on dry land? That’s freaky as anything!”

“No, it’s not. The guy got in a fight, because this used to be a crackhouse, and fights happen in places like that. The article says he was stabbed. He probably... bled out, drowned in his own blood or something.”

“Doesn’t say that. Just says drowned. If it were blood, it would say blood.”

“So who the hell cares how he died? Point is, he’s dead now. And after he showed up dead, the cops cleaned this house up, so there’s no more drugs here now. We’re as safe as we can get.”

“Yeah, ‘cept for the ghosts.”

“For the last time, Babe, there are no fuckin’ —“

It’s funny to see how the duo jumps when one of the ancient books suddenly topples from the bookshelf onto the floor. Joe has to hold back a snort at the sight of them.  The redhead almost leaps out of his skin, while the stockier man with the iron-cut jaw has assumed a position like a threatened hedgehog. His eyes are wide, his fists are in the air, and he’s in full fight-or-fight mode.

It’s hilarious.

This group is hardly the first so-called “ghost hunters” who have come to observe the house, but Joe gets the feeling they’ll be the most fun to mess with. From the two in the other room, who are too busy pretending they’re making a damn documentary, to these guys, who can hardly get the equipment working… screwing with them will be like taking candy from a baby.

“Will you quit that?”

Joe tenses up. Like terrorizing small children, however, there’s always going to be someone around who ruins your fun.

When he turns, he finds Webster leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He’s got that sour look on his face again, like he’s sucking on a lemon. “It’s immature.”

Believing in ghosts is immature, in Joe’s (totally non-ghostly) opinion. As far as he’s concerned, these four dumbasses have got it coming.

He could say this to Web, but by now he’s learned there’s no point. Webster makes a point of discarding his opinions at every opportunity. Joe can’t reason with the guy. He can’t make him see logic when he’s already devoted to his opinion. No, there’s only one surefire way to get through to Webster, and that’s to pick a fight with him. Joe’s had enough arguments to last an eternity — which is, coincidentally, as long as he has to spend in this house.

With Webster.

Webster, who haunted this house long before Joe decided to die there. Webster, who was the last thing Joe saw, like an angel appearing in the midst of a fever dream, before he started choking on liquid that should not have been in his lungs. Webster, who Joe’s still not certain didn’t kill him. Webster, the most pretentious ghost on the damn planet.

Fate can be a bitch sometimes.

So instead of saying anything reasonable to Web, he just looks over his shoulder and sneers. “Why d’you care what I do? Butt out, author boy. Go back to your room.”

“My room has got two more ‘investigators’ in it.” Web sounds phenomenally put out. Joe can’t find it in himself to be sympathetic.

“Boo-fuckin’ hoo. Go scare ‘em off.”

“Wow, great idea.” Webster sounds dismissive, but Joe knows the truth. He doesn’t want to exert the energy that manifesting will actually take. It will leave him exhausted for days, and Web just hates it when his “aura is drained”. In Joe’s opinion, he’s a lazy ass.

“Do you want me to do it? I will. I’ll write in blood on the walls. I’ll bang on windows, I’ll throw their fancy thousand dollar equipment around. I’ll whisper naughty words in their little machines.” Joe can’t help smiling at the thought of the investigators’ faces lit up with terror. “Hell, I’ll drag one of ‘em through the house by their hair. That’ll get the ghost hunters excited.”

It looks like Webster wants to smile, for just a second; but he ducks his head, and when he looks up, he’s the same old superior Webster. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

Maybe he’d been hoping for a different reaction. Joe doesn’t know, and convinced himself he doesn’t care as he turns away from the other ghost. “You’re an asshole.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re a prick with a ninety year old superiority complex.”

“You’re a drug addict.”

“Was,” Joe shoots back, finally flaring up. That was a low blow. “You drowned in a fuckin’ bathtub!”

“I was murdered! My landlady —“

“You want to have been murdered, you dumb ass! You didn’t sleep for three days, and passed out in the bath! Your landlady has nothing to do with it! Saying you were murdered just sounds cooler, doesn’t it?”

Webster’s eyes narrow, while the rest of him puffs up in righteous indignation. “You know, at least you can say you were killed —“

“Yeah, I was! By you, fucker!”

“You were stabbed!”

“You drowned me!”

“You were dying anyway!”

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

Web falls silent, still flared up and furious. Veins throb at the temples of his flushed face. His chest heaves; his shoulders shake. He looks two seconds from throwing a punch, and Joe almost hopes he does. Let them get into one of their wild, all out, shake-the-walls-and-ceilings fights. Give the investigators a real show.

“I can’t stand being stuck with you for all eternity,” Web finally says, voice tight and furious.

“Yeah, me too. I’d rather die. Oh, wait, guess what, I’m already dead!”

He watches with no small amount of glee as Webster’s lips curl back in a snarl, exposing rows of perfect bared teeth. He looks two seconds away from conniption, and it’s glorious. Nothing satisfies Joe more than leaving the eloquent bastard speechless. “Ficken arschloch!” Webster spits after a moment, and Joe allows a wide, manic grin to spread across his face.

“That’s it, liebling. Erzähl mir mehr! Bitte!”

“Fick dich!”

“So eloquent —“ He moans, tossing his head back in mock-ecstasy.

That’s the moment Web really does try to punch him.

They wind up fleeing the house in blind panic as the walls rattle, doors slamming at their heels. Babe doesn’t stop screaming until they’re already speeding down a side street, kicking and clambering over each other to find their seats in Bill’s oversized truck. Their equipment clatters where it’s been haphazardly thrown in the trunk. Were Luz not so distracted, he would be mourning the inevitable damage.

He’s too busy screaming. “Oh jesus. Oh jesus! Jesus, Mary, and the holy fuckin’ ghost, what was that?”

“That was exactly what you think it was!” Bill hollers back. “It was a fuckin’ ghost!”

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit —“ Babe choruses. He sounds like he’s sobbing.

Toye just drives. He does not look behind him. He does not take his eyes off the road. He just drives.

The first misadventure of the Pennsylvania (and Rhode Island, By Technicality) Paranormal Research Society has come to a premature end.

It’s not until they review the evidence they’ve collected later that night that they realize something was really wild in that house.

To be fair, they all knew that to begin with. The slamming doors had left little question of that; the way books flew off the shelves, broken furniture spun across the room,  and windows slammed open and shut left no question of that. There was something in that house and it wanted them gone so much that it chased them out.

It’s only when they’re safe and sound, holed up in Babe’s basement and clustered around George’s laptop, that they realize exactly what they caught.

“Am I losing it,” says Babe, “or does that sound like German?”

“No,” replies Luz. “That’s definitely German.”

“What’s he saying?”

“How should I know?”

“Shut up,” Toye hisses, and fast forwards to a particular part of the audio clip. Here, a very clear voice can be hear saying, “Joe, you’re an asshole!”

And then it sounds almost like someone mimicking him back, in a higher voice. The group thinks it’s a woman for all of a split second before it dawns on them. The first ghost is being mocked.

“I... think we found the ghosts of an old a married couple,” says Babe.

“A gay married couple.” Bill scrunches his nose up. “Gay ghosts? Can that happen?”

“They fact that they’re ghosts shouldn’t mean they can’t be gay. Straight ghosts can happen.”

“How do you know so much about ghosts?” Bill demands. “Have you met any?”

“No!” retorts Babe. “Just, ghosts can be as gay as anybody else! Maybe every ghost is a little gay, who knows? We ain’t here to make judgements on any ghost’s lifestyle! There’s nothing weird about being a gay ghost!”

“Oh my god,” Toye says again, and slams his forehead down into his hands.

Next time Luz wants to do a “fun group thing”, they should all go rock climbing or learn to hotwire a car. It would be less chaotic than ghost hunting.

Webster seems much happier after the investigators leave, which Joe supposes is a good thing. A happy Web is less inclined to be a pain in the ass, especially if he’s allowed to curl up in front of the TV in his room.

Technically, the house doesn’t have cable. The house doesn’t have power. Ghosts can get around the laws of physics, so this isn’t a huge problem. Web’s biggest worry in his afterlife is making sure he doesn’t miss any shark documentaries when they pop up on the Discovery Channel.

Webster is a weird, weird dude.

“Think they liked the show?” Joe asks, plopping down on one side of the couch. Webster is slumped over, using his hands to pillow his head (the energy it takes to turn on the TV would be enough to wear him out, even if they didn’t mess around with the house earlier). He just makes a weird grunting noise and shifts over until his head is resting in Joe’s lap.

Joe allows it. Webster smells nice, in a faint, ghostly way; and his hair is fluffy. Laying on him is one of the least annoying things he could do. At least he’s quiet.

They argue all the time, but their fights never last for long. There’s no point holding grudges when you’ve got an eternity with someone, after all. Joe and Webster are both going to be here a long time.

Maybe fate is kind of cruel, but Joe is sure there are worst places he could have ended up than at Webster’s side. All things considered, it’s not the worst afterlife in the world.