#time for me to start hemorrhaging followers again i guess

[fiddleabout]

Would love your thoughts or some links about why you dont like Bernie if you'd be so kind~

there’s, like, so much to delve into there, but to avoid relitigating the 2016 election and primaries, let’s just say that honestly he’s like if the guyinyourmfa twitter ran for president: with no functional qualifications aside from being a white guy, he’s decided he’s the savior of the american people.

mostly i think his flimsy excuses for policies are shit.  his foreign policy is about as well-constructed as a sixth grade essay and he has Big Ideas about the economy…none of which are structured to take into account the ripple effects of their implementation.  one of his big hallmark yelling points– healthcare reform– is a shoddily constructed excuse for a policy that fundamentally misunderstands the healthcare industry.  i work in the healthcare industry– my literal job for the better part of a decade has been, effectively, the functional implementation of healthcare reform to facilitate the move towards a value-based care system– and like…sanders’ plans are shit.  they’re castles in the sky kinda situations, with lots of lofty ideas and no conception of how to implement them, or how they would work.  it’s notable that he started backpedaling from his medicare for all spiel post-2016 and advocating for a incrementalist change (required medicaid expansion in all states and lowering the medicare age to 55 which, coincidentally, was hillary clinton’s proposal during the election) right up until he announced his 2020 bid, and now he’s back screeching about how he’s going to save the world with medicare for all*.  so like.  personality and his behavior aside, i think he’s just a shitty candidate.

also, like, and this is probably more about his supporters than him but still: one of his leftist-purity-test things he kept throwing at clinton during the 2016 primaries was about how he supported gay marriage before her, and how DOMA proved he was The Better Person about such things.  except he didn’t come out in support of gay marriage until 2009.  his opposition to DOMA in 1996 was, per his own campaign, about states’ rights and constitutional authority, not about “values”– you know, the supposed point of the law.  sanders has always been a shrewd politician, but he’s positioned himself as a heavy-left moral purist who votes his conscience and has intentionally situated himself such that he has a horde of supporters who believe that he’s, say, been trying to legalize gay marriage since the 1980s and that the windsor and obergefell decisions were because of his work, not the decades of tireless and thankless work of a huge collection of queer activists.  

also:

there’s that whole thing where he runs as a democrat in the senate primary in vermont to drive out any competition and then refuses the nomination and flips to run as an independent so he doesn’t have to work with the democratic party is just like…the most conniving bit of politics i’ve ever seen from anyone

his “recruiting” tool that “allows everyday supporters to contribute to the campaign’s voter database by logging names and background information of anyone from a family member to a stranger met at a bus stop. It matches each name to a voter record before noting their level of support, priority issue and even union membership.”  that’s horrifying.  people should unequivocally not have the option to shove their friends or family members into the voter database of a candidate without their knowledge.

“some white people aren’t racist, they just don’t feel comfortable voting for black candidates”

there’s more, but that’s what i have links to at this exact moment.  i just.  want bernie sanders to go fucking play parcheesi or whatever the hell it is old white men do when they’re retired.  he has conceptual ideas that i don’t always necessarily disagree with, but absolutely no idea how to institute them and he would utterly fail as a president.

*i support universal coverage but this country is too large to have a functional true single payer system; a hybrid system with a public option safety net and the option to buy price-regulated private insurance is the closest we’re ever likely to get to a single payer system.  but that’s neither here nor there at this point.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Hemorrhage 

Cult girl visits the doctor and deals with the reality of being pregnant.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: pregnancy, scary medical terminology, mention of alcoholism

The plan was simple, but could go wrong at any turn.

Step one: confirm with the gynecologist that you were, in fact, pregnant. While you were there, you made sure to get a new prescription for birth control.

"It's absolutely certain." The nurse midwife said, pulling off her plastic gloves. "You are, without a doubt, expecting."

"Thank you." You responded, lowering your head to obscure your face.

She sat down in her swivel chair and leaned forward with her elbows against her knees. Open, comforting body language. "Now we should discuss what's next. Have you taken some time to consider your options?"

You nodded. "I think I'm going to see the pregnancy through and put the baby up for adoption."

"I see." The nurse midwife stood up, looking concerned. "At the risk of being intrusive, may I ask for the reason why?"

You had forty-five million reasons, but none you could articulate. "I'd rather you not."

"Let me rephrase the question." She clutched her clipboard. "Is somebody coercing you into carrying out this pregnancy against your will?"

Does bribery count as coercion? You thought.

"No." You lied.

"It's just that pregnancy is a very invasive, life-altering process." She rationalized. "A woman at your stage of life shouldn't feel obligated to go through it unless she really wanted to."

Thinking on it for a minute, what she said made sense. By all accounts, you'd be the perfect candidate for an abortion. You were a damned doctoral candidate in the middle of your graduate program. But sometimes, money spoke louder than reason.

"I'm sure." You said, before you could change your mind.

"In that case," She scribbled something down on her paper. "We will be seeing a lot of each other over the next forty weeks."

"Forty weeks?" You repeated.

"You're only a few weeks along, so we'll schedule an appointment to check up on you early next month." She continued. "At that point, we can bring the father in to discuss any potential problems. But you're young and healthy, so this should be a fairly low-risk pregnancy."

"The father?" You said, almost making it sound like an objection.

She gave you a disarming smile. "I'm sorry, I should have asked. Is the father in your life?"

"Oh, yeah." You nodded, realizing what you accidentally implied. "It's my fiancée. We've been living together for, like, three years now. It's just that-"

She raised an eyebrow, urging you to finish your thought.

"He's also a doctor." You said. "A male one. Y'know how it can be annoying when another doctor is in the room, trying to mansplain everything to you?"

You stopped talking before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole.

Great work, [F/N]. You thought. Now your doctor thinks you're dating an anti-choice chauvinist asshole.

Her mouth turned into a smile, but her eyes asked if you needed help. You probably did, all things considered.

"That won't be a problem." She assured you. "Do you think I made it through medical school without learning how to handle sexist male doctors?"

"I guess not." You shrugged.

She cleared her throat. "Let's talk a bit about what to expect."

"Oh, yeah." You said, remembering where you were.

She pointed to your lower abdomen. "Your uterus is about the size of your fist. But as the baby grows, it will grow with it."

You made noises of agreement as you followed along.

"Right now, what you have inside you is an embryo." She explained. "At the end of twelve weeks, it will be a fetus. At that point, most of the major organs and muscle tissue will have developed-"

She dumped so much information that you couldn't even begin to process it all. You tried to keep bullet points in your head, but your brain kept fixating on the scary verbs like "stretch" and "rip".

"Is the third of February good for you?"

You snapped back to reality. "Huh? Oh, yeah."

"Great." She scribbled on her clipboard again. "I will see you then."

She shoved several handfuls of colorful printouts and infographics into your arms before seeing you out.

Before climbing into the car, you sent Hannibal a text.

[F/N]: Definitely, 100% pregnant.

You expected him to take his time, but your notification sound chimed before you could even start the engine.

Hannibal: That is to be expected. I'm rarely wrong about this sort of thing.

You rolled your eyes and fired off another message.

[F/N]: You did this to me and I'll never let you forget it.

Hannibal: I could live with that.

At home, you sat at your computer, trying to familiarize yourself with every unknown word the nurse midwife threw at you. 

“Hey babe?” You called out. 

“Yes, dear?” Hannibal cooed back. 

“How do you spell ‘hemorrhage’?” You asked. “Is there an ‘ae’ or not?” 

Hannibal stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a towel around his waist. “I think it’s spelled with an ‘ae’ outside of the United States. Why?” 

He peered over your shoulder at the search results for ‘antepartum hemorrhage’. He wasn’t fazed in the slightest by the results, but could sense your discomfort. You clutched a stray pamphlet titled ‘First Trimester Dos and Don’ts’ in a tight grip. 

“Are we having second thoughts, my love?” He asked, with no indication of whether this was a good or bad thing. 

“I don’t know.” You sighed, closing the laptop in frustration. “I don’t know if I’m just emotionally numb or in complete denial, but all these scary medical disasters don’t scare me as much as having to give up wine for the next nine months.” 

“And sushi, most organ meat, and charcuterie.” Hannibal added. “Also, anything too high in caffeine.” 

You threw your head back and groaned. “Kill me.” 

Hannibal smirked to himself. You turned on your swivel chair and glared up at him. 

“Enjoying my misery?” You asked, folding your arms. 

“Just admiring the fact that in the face of life-threatening medical emergencies,” He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Your biggest concern is not being able to partake in the culinary adventures to which you’ve grown accustomed.” 

You turned back to your computer. “I’m sure, one way or another, we’re going to come across some fresh meat. I’ll just have to pair it with Sprite or something for the time being.” 

“The infographic doesn’t say anything about properly-prepared human meat, does it?” He tilted his head. 

You leaned back in your chair. “Nope.” 

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 9!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.   Chapter 7. Chapter 8.

Summary: Dick begins the healing process.

By all accounts, Dick should not have survived.

That was what he gleaned from murmured conversations between nurses and snippets of news coverage. His medical records had filled in some blanks, too.

Concussion, multiple fractures, internal hemorrhaging, lacerations, cardiac arrest.

Cardiac arrest. The words had played on a loop in his head ever since his doctor had first said them, and even now Dick couldn’t quite make any sense of it.

The doctor had smiled at him afterwards, informed him of how lucky he was to be alive. “Usually when someone goes into cardiac arrest in the field, they don’t even make it to the hospital,” she’d said. “Good thing Batman was there, huh?”

“Batman?”

“Mhm. EMTs saw him. He must have been doing CPR before they got there.”

“Hm,” was all Dick had offered in response, but internally he had clung to those minor details like a drowning man grasping at driftwood.

The majority of that night was lost to him. Listening to the news helped somewhat, but reporters only knew so much. And none of the others – Barbara, Tim, any of them – had been very forthcoming, either.

Dick hadn’t pressed, though. The haunted look in their eyes whenever they came to visit him in the hospital had been enough for him to decide never to bring that night up again. He already hated that he might have inadvertently become added fodder for future nightmares; no need to throw gas on the fire.

He could live with not-knowing what had happened if it meant keeping them from reliving it.

“Richard?”

The young voice dragged Dick’s gaze away from the curtains he’d been staring at to the doorway. He’d been back at the manor for nearly two days now, in bed mostly, and in that time he had yet to see Damian except for the ride back from the hospital.

Now the boy was standing at the threshold with a tea service in his hands, his mouth curled in an uncertain frown. “Am I… interrupting?”

Dick smirked and made a show of looking around the empty bedroom. “Yeah. I’m pretty swamped here, as you can see.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I know, but it was a dumb question, anyway. You know you’re never interrupting, Damian. C’mon.” Dick waved him in with a jerk of his chin then froze and winced as a jolt of pain shot up his spine and into his head.

Damian entered stiffly and set the tray on the bedside table, shoving aside pill bottles and a glass of water.

“Damian?” Dick asked after what felt like a long pause. Damian’s eyes were locked on the tea set, his face scrunched in a way that made him look nervous and uncomfortable and young.

Dick reached out with his good hand and tugged on the boy’s sleeve. “Hey, you okay?”

“Of course, I am,” Damian snapped, pulling his arm out of reach. He scowled at a bookshelf. “Drake is having a difficult time.”

“Tim?” Dick tried to push himself more upright and quickly aborted that mission with a hiss when he felt a sharp tug at the sutures across his abdomen. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

“He blames himself for what happened. For not locating you sooner.”

“He told you that?”

“I overheard him talking to Stephanie.”

“Aw, Tim.” Tim had been noticeably distant, it was true, but Dick had interpreted it as general anxiety about the whole situation. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Tim had managed to convince himself this was his fault.

Damian muttered something, hands now shoved into his pockets.

“What?”

“I said he is a fool. To act as if he is the one who…” Damian swallowed hard, glowering at the carpet.

Birds were gathering and chirping in a bush by the open window, and though the curtains were drawn to protect Dick’s concussed brain from harsh light, hazy beams still found their way in, spilling across the floor and along the foot of the bed.

“He is not the one to blame,” Damian finished.

“No one is.” Dick couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or his injuries that were making this conversation so hard to follow, but he felt like he was missing something, straggling two steps behind. “At least, not any of you.”

Damian looked at him with open disbelief. “I failed you, Richard. If not for my ineptitude, you wouldn’t have– I should have gone with you when you left that night. None of this would have happened if I had just–”

“Stop.” Dick had meant it to be firm, but the word sounded more like a plea. His head was really pounding now, and keeping the pain out of his voice was becoming increasingly difficult. “You can’t let yourself start doing that or else you’ll never stop. It was a freakish, sucky thing that none of us could have anticipated and therefore probably couldn’t have avoided, either. And yeah, maybe if you had been there it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe something worse would’ve happened instead. We don’t know and we never will, but what I do know is that you did the best you could in the moment.”

“And it was not good enough.”

“Damian–”

“It is my job to be good enough,” Damian maintained. “If I can’t protect you then…” He let the rest go unsaid, his lips pressing together as his eyes glistened. “I am supposed to be able to protect you.”

Oh. So that’s what this was about.

“Damian,” Dick tried again, and what was meant to be a sigh turned into a low groan as his ribs refused to cooperate.

Damian tensed, wide-eyed.

“We’re good. I’m okay,” Dick promised before the boy could sound the alarms. Then, “I’m not Batman anymore, Damian. You’re not my Robin. You don’t have to put that kind of pressure on yourself.”

And again, Damian gave him a look like Dick still just wasn’t getting it, like he missing something glaring and obvious and not worth explaining except to say, “Yes, I do, Richard.”

Dick started to say something, but Damian continued, “You are saying that excessive self-reproach is counter-productive. I understand the sentiment. And I appreciate it. Thank you.”

He turned to the tea service and begin pouring a cup, his entire demeanor changed, suddenly casual . “How is your pain?”

“I…” Dick paused, once again feeling off balance and too slow as the tone and subject of the discussion switched so suddenly. “A four.”

“So, a seven,” Damian deduced, taking one of the pill bottles from the nightstand and opening it after checking the label. “Alfred said if it is above a five then you are to take two of these.”

Dick considered fighting him on this, reluctant to lose the rest of the morning to a drug-fueled haze, but the pulsing ache beneath his skull and the one radiating through his ribs made it difficult. He let Damian tip the capsules into his open palm and threw them back without complaint.

“You got anything planned this morning?” Dick asked, accepting the cup the tea Damian held out.

“Nothing important.”

“Great.” Dick reached across his chest with his good arm to pat the open space in the bed beside him.

After a brief hesitation, Damian circled the mattress and climbed in, his movements so careful that Dick hardly jostled at all.

“What language are you on right now?” Dick asked, settling back into the pillows. It might have been psychosomatic, but already he was feeling drowsy.

“Hungarian.”

“Huh. What happened to Korean?”

“Too easy. I finished that a week ago,” Damian said dismissively, though there was a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Dick chuckled. “Show-off. How far along are you?”

“More or less conversational.”

“Nice.” Dick’s eyes were closed now. “Show me something.”

“I am not circus monkey, Richard.”

“Y’know, I grew up in the circus,” Dick mumbled. “The monkeys were my favorite. Miss those little guys.”

He thought he heard Damian sigh – or maybe it was a laugh – before the boy asked, “What do you want to hear?”

“That song Bruce hums all the time. The one he sings when he thinks he’s alone. What’s it called?”

Damian’s voice sounded muffled and far away when he answered, “Am I Blue.”

“Yeah. That.”

Damian cleared his throat and began to recite the lyrics in near-perfect Hungarian. He paused occasionally to search for a word, at times reversing to correct a conjugation before moving on.

Dick was almost completely gone now. The bed had fallen away, and he felt like he was floating through the air with Damian’s voice as a welcome backdrop.

He didn’t notice the quiet chatter had stopped until Damian asked, “Richard?”

“Mm…?”

“You’re not just Batman to me. I mean, that is not why I feel responsible for your wellbeing.”

“’Kay. Y’too…”

After a brief pause, the gentle half-singing began again, and Dick slipped away on the familiar melody.

______________

All of the lights were off in the den when Alfred breezed in with a tray of hot chocolate just as A Charlie Brown Christmas began on the TV. Cass and Stephanie’s arms sprang up from their spots on the floor like weeds, and he placed mugs in their waiting hands before circling around to the others. Tim, curled up on the sofa, accepted his with a muttered thanks without looking up from his phone. Bruce took one for himself and one for Damian who was smushed into his side, mouth hanging open in dead sleep. When Alfred got to where Barbara and Dick were sharing a blanket on the couch, he smiled and set their mugs on the end table.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick whispered, glancing over at Barbara’s head on his shoulder to find that she had fallen asleep.

“Of course,” Alfred said. He set the tray aside and took a seat in a nearby chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Dick answered, perhaps a bit too quickly because Alfred raised a dubious eyebrow at him.

“Honest,” he added with a rueful grin.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only noise coming from the TV and hushed laughter and whispers between Cassandra and Stephanie on the floor.

The air was thick with the ghost of Thanksgiving dinner and fresh hot chocolate, creating a warm bouquet that was at once comforting and nostalgic. Bruce had a faint smile on his face as he watched the movie, colors and lights splashing across his face. He had one arm draped over Damian’s small frame as if holding him there.

At some point, Tim had stowed his phone and turned so that his legs dangled off the armrest and he could see the screen better, hot chocolate clutched between his hands.

It was one of those admittedly rare moments where there was no clock ticking anywhere in the background. There was work to be done, for sure, but it was not a looming obligation. Tonight, the city for once was quiet. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had passed an uninterrupted holiday in this house.

“Something is on your mind,” Alfred noted, taking a small sip from his mug.

“I was just thinking about today.”

“Nothing short of a miracle,” the older man said, instantly understanding.

“No kidding. It almost feels suspicious. Like the calm before the–”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his face illuminated just enough by the TV for Dick to register the stern frown there. “I will not allow you to sully this gift with your dark premonitions. Just enjoy this for what it is: a welcome and much needed respite after the events of the past few weeks.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Dick conceded, cringing a little in self-reproach. “Sorry, Al.”

The old man nodded, his face softening. “Now, would you mind telling me what is actually on your mind?”

Dick let out a breathy, half-hearted laugh. “You’re good.”

“I am indeed.”

With a sigh, he looked toward the TV. A Black Friday commercial was advertising half-priced gaming systems.

“Hey,” Tim whispered, waving his arm at Stephanie.

“What?”

“Get me that.” He pointed at the commercial, and Stephanie scoffed at him before resuming her muted conversation with Cass. After a few days and a much-needed conversation, Dick was happy to see Tim back to his normal self.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted now, returning his attention to Alfred who was watching him patiently, “since I’ve heard from Jason. Over a month, actually. Not the longest we’ve gone without speaking, but it’s the longest in a while.”

The cup paused halfway to Alfred’s mouth, his brow creasing. “Over a month?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “We went on patrol together in October and things got a little rough. I said some stuff and we haven’t spoken since. I’m not even sure he’s still in the city.”

When Alfred continued to look at him, Dick asked, “What?”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how has your memory been as of late?”

Dick adjusted himself, gingerly repositioning Barbara’s head on his shoulder when he felt her beginning to slide off. “Fine now. I can’t remember much of that night. Or, pretty much anything, really. But otherwise I’m all right. Why?”

“And the others? What have they told you?”

“About what happened? I haven’t asked. I didn’t want to... Well, you know.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said with a somber nod, setting down his mug. “It is a night, or a week, rather, that I’m certain we would all like to leave firmly in the past. But even so, I believe there are at least a few details that you ought to know.”

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #32 - Nobody’s Ever Actually Dead in Comic Books

Our band of merry guys-who-weren’t-on-the-Lost-Light-in-issue-#1 approach the shattered husk of the Lost Light, in a gruesome scene that is only slightly marred by the graphic design.

Font doesn’t really suggest danger, does it? Here, for comparison, is something I slapped together in fifteen minutes (including recreation of background) using a font I got off a free font site.

Now, one could say that my version is rather derivative, flat, and arguably cliche, but you know what else it is? Appropriate for the fucking mood of having found a destroyed, hemorrhaging ship after everyone you knew disappeared.

I’m available, IDW! Hit me up.

Theorizing that this is the ship that the Coffin Rodimus came from- remember that? It was a few issues ago- the gang flies in for a closer look. The ship blood is actually something called quantum foam, which allows for quantum space travel to happen. It’s not supposed to be outside of the quantum quills, but the ship’s pretty junked up, so it is.

Because the ship is so very full of holes, the gang can set down for repairs pretty easy. They land in Swerve’s, finding it in less-than-pristine condition. They also find evidence of Crosscut having gotten creative, as a poster for the play he was working on is hung up in the room. Considering he was still writing it when he disappeared, this might seem a bit odd. But then you remember that this is a ship from the future, and it stops being so odd.

Because this is a future ship, with evidence that Crosscut did some stuff, it stands to reason that, at some point, everyone is going to come back from being disappeared.

Just to die.

Which is a bummer, but one crisis at a time.

Megatron disembarks the Rod Pod, with Ravage following, and everyone is just a touch put off by the duo. Everyone but Nautica, who proceeds to commit a microaggression.

Nautica, that’s Soundwave’s father you’re petting like a common animal.

Ravage, angered by this over-familiarity, swats at her. Skids questions letting an active Decepticon roam around, but Megatron brushes off these concerns, saying that finding any still-living crew members is more important. With that, the search begins.

The gang splits up to look for clues, despite Riptide thinking this is a horrible idea. They’re on the clock for this one- the quantum foam is liable to explode if it touches anything, and there’s an awful lot of the stuff floating around right now.

Nightbeat and Nautica leave the rest of the group to their own work, seeing as Nautica has the most appropriate alt-mode for traversing the gaps in the ship.

Man, that’s pretty cool. Wish Nautica hadn’t been regulated to being “girl best friend” for her character arcs, I would have loved to see her do some neat stuff for her own development. Guess that’s what happens when you get introduced as main cast late, and have to compete with all the faves who had dozens of issues to be established and who also don’t have to deal with the whole “token girl character” thing.

The rest of the gang- Megatron, Ravage, Riptide, Skids, and Getaway- start looking in the area they’re already in. Seems a little lopsided, but whatever.

Ravage finds someone almost immediately, identifying Ultra Magnus through smell alone. Only, it isn’t just Ultra Magnus.

The Magnus armor lays not terribly far away, having had its hands cut off to prevent the recall signal from being activated before being gut-murdered.

Gut-murdered wiTH A FUSION CANNON, MEGATRON

Of course, Megatron was forced to destroy his fusion canon after it was decided he would be joining the Lost Light, but you can buy these things off the black market like it’s nothing. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Brainstorm had a few stashed in his lab.

As it currently stands, nobody can trust the guy who has a storied past of killing Autobots, on a future ship where the only folks who could stop him are dead. Megatron, at least, has the good sense to not argue this fact, and suggests that the boys lock both Ravage and himself up until they suss out exactly what happened.

Meanwhile, over with Nautica and Nightbeat, we run through all the weird shit that’s happened in the last day or so.

Nautica, you’ve been on this ship for months now. How did you miss the fact that the only couple within 800 miles got annihilated by way of Phase Sixer? I feel like that attack might have come up at some point.

Since they’re on the subject of spouses, Nightbeat asks Nautica if she’s married, or if she has friends. Though noting that such a direct line of questioning might get him slapped with someone else, Nautica reveals that she is single, though she does have a best friend. Nightbeat is also single, probably because he pulls shit like this.

While this conversation is going on, Nautica uses her Sonic Screwdriver wrench to open a door with the literal push of a button. Brainstorm tricked out her wrench so hard it turned into a magic wand, which is good, because they’re going to need all the help they can get now that space is literally warping around them thanks to the quantum foam.

Nautica kicks something on the elevator, and that something turns out to be Brainstorm’s mysterious briefcase. Too bad Swerve is gone, he was so invested in what it contained. Luckily, Nightbeat is just as interested.

Back over on the other side of the ship, it seems as though Megatron kept his word about not resisting, as both he and Ravage have been locked in a cabinet. Wonder how that’s going for them.

Oh, better than I expected.

Ravage is fucking pissed that Megatron joined the Autobots, thereby turning his back on everyone who supported his cause during the last four million years. Despite this grievous betrayal though, the Decepticons haven’t stopped moving. Turns out, Galvatron’s in charge now.

But only if Autobot Megatron isn’t some sort of ploy.

It’s at this point that we learn just why Ravage is here to begin with- to see if Megatron’s truly given up the Decepticons, and if he has, to murder him. But first he’d like to know why this is happening.

Megatron views himself as a monster, having perpetuated a war that ended the lives of billions, destroyed the Cybertronian way of life, ostracized his race from the rest of the universe, and killing just to have something to do. He doesn’t like feeling this way about himself, so he decided to walk away from that life by joining the other team.

Don’t think it’s quite that easy to do, but okay.

Ravage isn’t so sure that this change of heart is going to stick, still convinced that Megatron will snap back to his old self with just a bit more time. Problem is, Megatron may not have a ton of that resource left.

Didn’t they build that body in like an hour so you wouldn’t die? Yeah, no wonder it feels as ill-fitting as a twenty-dollar suit. Thing’s probably made out of pig iron and duct tape.

The lights come on before further self-reflection can be done, and the duo realize that they’ve had guests this whole time.

Someone put the kettle on.

Obviously some fucked up shit happened on this ship. Megatron isn’t so sure that it’s him who did these dirty deeds, however, as he reaches into Ratchet’s mouth and pulls out his brain. Which feels like something that doesn’t really absolve one of guilt, but okay.

Also, ew.

Back with Nautica and Nightbeat, things are getting weird.

Now, this sequence might seem confusing at first blush, but this is because the laws of reality are collapsing around them. Going by clues in the background, we can find the proper, linear progression of time, and thus is conversation. This is what is actually happening:

With the mystery of Brainstorm’s briefcase eluding us once again, we move on to see more graphic aftermaths of violence. Poor Tailgate has been nailed to the wall with a chunk of a metal beam that’s almost as big as he is. The mood lighting for this scene is gorgeous, but I’ve hit my limit for exposing y’all to gore for this issue, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Then they find something even more interesting.

Who’s ready for Under Cold Blue Stars… 2!

Back over on the opposite side of the ship, Riptide’s found something nasty. It’s a bunch of dead bodies!

Including, uh, Pipes.

Who already died a while ago.

Hm.

All the bodies in this room are in their alts, and it looks like they’ve all been shot and drilled into, for some reason. Skids brings up that he had a friend who could identify the placement of any robot’s brain module just by knowing what they turned into. Then he reaches into a corpse to see what the drill-hole’s all about. It makes him sick, though maybe not for the reason you might think. He gets on the phone with Nightbeat, who’s called to tell them that they’ve found Overlord.

Still locked in his weird body harness.

And decapitated.

Megatron is on the other line, calling because he’s figured out the same thing Skids has. Someone paid a visit to this ship. Someone nasty.

The gang regroups, and Nautica gets the basics on the DJD, because I guess nobody’s mentioned them even in passing in the last six months, either.

God, what do they even talk about on this ship? Certainly not their feelings.

The reason that one room was filled with alt-modes was because of Tarn’s addiction to transforming; t-cogs are easier to remove when they’ve been used recently.

We get a quick 4/5ths-page gore-fest, then it’s back to making it all about Megatron.

Maybe you should have thought about that before you FUCKING DEFECTED, YOU POOL NOODLE.

Nightbeat’s beginning to put two and two together. There’s an Overlord in the basement. That shouldn’t be, because Overlord got exploded by Chromedome when he mercy-killed Rewind. Something is off about the past of this ship.

Before he can establish his MTMTE everybody-lives-but-then-dies AU though, the quantum foam fucks with the ship. These sons of guns need to get the hell out of here, pronto.

Oh god, what now?

Ravage smells someone inside the Magnus armor, someone who isn’t a part of the usual nesting doll lineup. Megatron reaches into the Crackerjack box and pulls out one hell of a prize.

HE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES

Chromedome would be so thrilled, if he still existed.

[knockknockchicagopd]

A SERIE WITH HANK VOIGHT. CHAPTER I.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.1k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

You hate paperwork, but being in your first year of residence that's your main task at the hospital. The real doctors always take advantage of your situation, alleging that you're too intelligent to lose your time taking some classes for medical examinations. So they let you complete their reports and medical records.

Will sticks his head out of the frame door, knocking it to earn your attention. With a heavy sight, you raise up your eyes from the screen of your laptop. The smile curving up his lips makes you now that he needs you. He is something like your sponsor and, sometimes, he gives you the opportunity to attend patients with superficial wounds. You don't ask getting up from your chair, infected by the grin on his face.

Following him quickly through the main hallways, he guides you to a treatment room in the Emergencies, wearing your white coat ready for whatever. Will opens you the door to find three men there. You don't know any of them.

“What 'we got?” You ask going straight to the sink to wash your hands, before wearing a pair of gloves.

“Something simple. Clean shot. Bullet stuck in the right shoulder. Two inches and a half deep”.

In silence, you grab a small glass bottle with lidocaine inside to place it over the removable tray and start to prepare everything you need to heal the man grunting on the stretcher.

“Wait, wait, wait”. The older man sits up with a sarcastic grimace. “Have you lost your damn mind, Halstead? A kid ain't gonna remove that bullet from me”.

Not even looking at the doctor, you frown pressing a hand on the older's bare chest to push him down.

“My hospital, my rules”.

Hearing some giggles behind you from his companions, you raise both eyebrows tilting your chin. When he understands there's no other option, he tries to relax with a hissed fine. Putting the motion lamp over the open wound, you don't lose time on disinfecting it, being thanked that he's suffering a brief hemorrhage. The hole is big enough to not need to open it with a scalpel, studying it while injecting the lidocaine and waiting some seconds till the med makes its effect.

Counting down from ten to zero, you grab the tweezers leaning closer to slide it carefully inside the wound. Two inches and a half. It's easy for you to find the bullet, catching it slowly and pulling your hand up until you have the piece of steel out of him. Inspecting it, you make sure that the shoot has been really clean and there's no shrapnel, before starting to stitch up.

It doesn't take you more than a minute, being an easy task for you, seeing sideways Will proudly crossing his arms on his chest. Covering your small piece of art with a couple of gauzes, you force a smile to the man with his brown eyes glued on yours.

“Come tomorrow morning to check how it's going. Doctor Halstead will prescribe you meds for pain, and it would be good if you use a sling for a week, sir”.

Turning off the motion lamp and taking off the gloves from your hands to throw them into the trash, your sponsor offers you a fist to crash it with yours.

“Good job, (Y/L/N). Take a break of fifteen minutes, I cover your back”.

“Thank you”. Showing him a satisfied smile, you lead your steps to the outside of the room, stopping on your tracks under the frame. Turning around and grabbing a shape-heart lollipop from your coat pocket, you leave it over the stretcher. “For being a good boy”.

You can't help but waver him, narrowing your eyes.

“I ain't exactly a good boy, sweetheart”.

“And I'm not exactly a sweetheart”.

He spits a chuckle, kissing his teeth not being able to put his eyes off from you and that aura of cockiness that follows you everywhere.

“Gentlemen, Doc'”. Your head bows down with a short nod, before continuing your steps to the cafeteria.

Being sure that your work for today is already done and you have all your medical records organized over your desk for Will, you say your goodbyes and leave the hospital. The cold breeze of Chicago oblige you to zip your jacket over your chest, keeping your hands inside the pockets, prior to starting walking your way back home. You have always loved November's weather in your hometown, but you're starting to hate it since your car is in the workshop because someone had the brilliant idea of ripping your tires.

Closing the door behind you and leaving your bag in the entrance, you take off your jacket to hang it in the coat rack next to Matt's.

“Hey!” You shout, not sure where your housemate is.

“Kitchen!”

Stretching your arms over your head, you continue to the mentioned place, sitting on the marble counter highing five with the fireman.

“How was your day?” He asks turning the meat in the pan to the other side and season it with salt and pepper.

“Hm… interesting”. You reply pressing your lips and tilting your head. “Yours?”

“Quiet, actually”.

“Yeah, it's surprising when we don't get any patients from fire accid— what's that?” Your words are interrupted by your curiosity, pointing at the bucket of red roses in a jar over the dinner table. “Another old lady who fell in love with you, casanova?”

“Actually, I'm not the one who stole a heart today”.

Raising an eyebrow greatly taken aback, you put down yourself from the counter to grab his open beer. Having a sip, you hold the small paper card handwritten.

“I lost the lollipop, sorry”. You can't help but laugh softly like an idiot, under Matt's attentive look. As soon as you turn at him, you clear your throat erasing the goofy gesture from your face. “Halstead let me take care of a bullet wound. The guy was an idiot, so I laughed on his face giving him a lollipop. I think he was a cop”.

“Look at you… hanging out with the elite of Chicago”. Teasing you with some tickles, he places an arm over your shoulders. “How is his name? I must know him”.

“Dunno, he didn't say it. Will either. But he has to come back tomorrow for a revision”.

“Yeah… for a revision”.

“Aw, you jealous, Casey? How sweet…” Palming his chest and joking on him, you try to feign feeling touched. “Don't worry, no man will take your best friend's position”.

“I feel much better now. Should we order a pizza to celebrate it?”

“Please. I'm starving”.

“Let me guess…” Placing himself in front of you, walking backwards to the living room, Matt points at you with a forefinger. “Cheetos and Arizona tea for lunch again?”

“Who told you? Gabi or Sylvie?”

“Severide went to the hospital, and he had a glimpse of you in the cafeteria”.

“I knew you couldn't be this smart”.

[aforrestofstuff]

BROOOOOO THAT NEW CHAPTER

RIGHT, lotta stuff happened. And I have a few guesses as to who that super-Jesus monster is buried next to Saitama and Flash, and yes they’re crack and make no sense but damnit this series is fucking whack anyway who cares. Wanna talk about DK and Genos.

As well all know DK and Genos combined into a megazord to pool their power into murdering Psykos, and while I do think that whole sequence was metal as fuck, it’s really leading up to the grand reveal of what kind of hero Drive Knight really is.

All of our suspicions will either be confirmed or denied following Drive Knight’s commitment to Genos’ wishes. Is he going to prioritize stopping Psykos or saving Genos? Are he and Metal Knight the same in their willingness to let go of others just to get the job done? Am I gonna get to suck him off? Find out next time on Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers.

Also we got confirmation that the shit in Genos’ chest is, in fact, a nuclear reactor as shown in this panel that was so kindly translated by GoFancyNinjaWorld in this post.

Says some shit like “Nuclear reactor at it’s limit” idk I was too lazy to copy and paste. While that makes a lot of sense because he obviously isn’t battery-powered, it’s a wonder how he hasn’t blown up yet seeing as how often he gets his shit kicked in. I mean, you’d think that’d pose some major safety violations and give any physicist brain hemorrhages but hey, it is what it is.

There’s a superhero I always found very stark similarities in when it comes to Genos, and that’s Firestorm from DC Comics. You know, teenager undergoes some fucked up shit, comes out a warrior for justice, has an old scientist best friend, that kinda thing.

Well, Firestorm is also powered by a nuclear reactor in his chest. And it’s how he dies in multiple storylines. Not saying that’s how Genos is going to go too, but things have lined up just a bit too well. They’re both too reckless, reliant on their raw power, but the difference is Genos’ fate is in someone else’s hands, albeit a very morally dubious robot/cyborg. Again, Genos is probably not going to die because he’s just a bit too important to the story and has a lot of unresolved shit going on, but if he does, it’s going to be because of the ticking time bomb in his chest and not by getting his face broken one too many times.

Now, as for the theories as to what this thing is:

My first thought was it’s monsterized Blast. I understand that this is bogus and probably 100% wrong but hear me out here, who else could it be and why would they have Blast’s cube buried so close to them? All this buildup with Tatsumaki’s backstory and the bitching from DK, and we get this reveal. It has to be him, or at least someone somewhat related to him. It would explain where he’s been all this time, and why he hasn’t been responding to the world-ending threats that have been happening every five minutes since the series started. However, what isn’t lining up for me is how the FUCK Blast could become this. Psykos said she had many experiments before Orochi, but none as great as Orochi himself. Could this be what she was talking about?

Second thought was that it’s God but I think God is like, a sphere or whatever now so that doesn’t really line up. I’m getting a headache Murata please just fucking tweet something I can’t wait another month to see who the dormant goblin underneath the Monster Association HQ is.

Anyways, yeah. That’s my thoughts. I’m now shipping Genos and Drive Knight until further notice. I mean, how could you watch two dudes Voltron each other and not go “wow they’d look really cute holding hands”, because if you didn’t then you’re lying. Thanks for the ask, anon! ❤️❤️

[r00m203]

after birth

i’ve always been mad that we never got to see what happened when mulder went in to bring scully to the hospital after she gave birth to wiliam, so this is that scene. 

big big thanks to my favorite ladies @absolutetosh @scintillatingbluefishies and @stellaxxgibson for the beta and love. 

also i’m on ao3 now. https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00M203

_____________

He rushes in. The sounds of screeching tires and car horns are thick and muffled in his pounding ears. 

“Scully! Scully!! Where is she?!”

He isn’t  sure if he is  actually speaking; his senses overwhelmed by swirling dust, helicopter roar, moving cars, and complete, utter panic. 

Peering through moving windows at lifeless eyes, he screams her name for what feels like hours.

Through the polluted air he sees a familiar face. The surrounding erratic movement makes him dizzy, but he walks towards the face, struggling to move quickly, feeling as if his body is submerged in molasses. 

Monica. 

“Mulder!” She calls, finally spotting him through the smokey lights. 

He tries to analyze her expression, but can’t discern if her apparent  lack of panic is real or just what he is trying so desperately to see. 

“How is she?” he yells, finally picking up speed towards her. The ground beneath his feet feels like beach sand, seemingly requiring every muscle to move forward. 

“She’s inside!”  

As if breaking through a barrier, he pushes past her through the splintered wooden doorway. Monica catches his arm. 

“She needs to get to the hospital.” 

He nods, pausing for the first time in what seems like days to prepare himself for what he’s about to see. He breathes in, and enters. 

Scully is laying on a small metal framed bed, in a grey t-shirt he’s never seen. She’s underneath what he guesses used to be white sheets, but are now stained red. Red, he takes note, that is still pooling between her legs. She glows in the candle light, wet hair stuck to her skin, face glistening in a mixture of tears and sweat. Her eyes flutter inconsistently. She cradles a bundle on her chest. 

“Scully,” he exhales, a breath that seemingly propels his stuck feet toward her. 

Her drooping eyes snap as he reaches her. She turns, using the last of her strength to shield the bundle beneath her.

“MONICA,” she screams. 

He feels the pulsing in his chest quicken. He’s never heard such piercing panic in her voice. Not in all of the kidnappings, attacks, or abductions had he heard such penetrating fear erupt from her. She always seemed eerily calm when her life was threatened. His stomach churns at the realization that this time it wasn’t her life she was fighting for. 

“Scully, it’s me. I’m here. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” 

“Get away from me!” She spits, her head still turned away from him, her spine curving protectively over the now crying bundle. “Don’t touch my baby.” 

Her breath begins to quicken. She groans quietly under her breath. 

She needs to get to the hospital. 

Just as he remembers Monica’s words, he hears her voice. 

“Dana, it’s okay, it’s just Mulder,” she soothes, rushing to the other side of the bed. 

“How do you know?! They can look like ANYONE,” she gasps. “He’s normal …. he’s not what you thought …. please …. leave my baby alone.” She pants into the bundle, her voice getting weaker the longer she talks. She’s struggling for air. 

“It’s a boy,” Mulder whispers, his heart suddenly in his throat. At the sight of blood still pooling between her legs, he suddenly snaps into gear. 

“Scully, it’s me! Look!” He gestures to Monica who helps tilt her face towards him. He turns around, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she exhales, a breath that quickly transforms into an exhausted sob. “How did you find us?” 

“She’s losing too much blood,” Monica warns. “We need to get her to the helicopter now.” 

“No– NO,” Scully suddenly spouts in another adrenaline filled burst. “You can’t move me until the umbilical cord is cut, and he needs at least another 3 minutes.” 

“Scully,” Mulder starts, kneeling down to her, “You’re losing a lot of blood. We need to get you to a hos-” 

“I know I’m losing blood,” she shakes her head back and forth, “I’ve been losing blood. But he isn’t … My vitals are low so it’s taking longer … for him to get the nutrients he needs.” She pants, out of breath, “Please … a few more minutes.” 

She adjusts the baby on her chest, the shirt stretched down and over him so his skin is against hers. Mulder sees the top of his head– wet and red. Normal. 

The baby turns his little face to see what all the commotion is about. As Mulder watches the small blue eyes darting about the room and the tiny hands clutching at Scully’s collar bone, he feels a tightness spread across his chest. Tears flood his eyes. He reaches out to touch him gently, then her. Scully closes her eyes and releases the weight of her head against his hand. 

“Scully, you’re freezing,” he whispers. 

“I’m going into shock,” she says plainly. “I’m hemorrhaging … not enough blood is getting to my organs … so my body is … shutting down.” She shakes her head and gulps in an attempt to control her breath. “It could be because my… uterus didn’t contract enough … after he was born … or there could be a tear …or–”  

“Scully, we need to go,” Monica starts. 

“One more minute,” she commands in a voice so powerful they both know there is no way to refuse. 

Feeling unbearably helpless, Mulder tucks a strand of drenched hair behind her ear. She smiles slightly. 

“Monica, I need you … to massage my lower stomach … it stimulates contractions which …   slows the shock,” she chokes out, her voice getting smaller with each word. 

Monica jumps to her feet and presses into her abdomen. Scully cries out involuntarily and Monica freezes. 

“No … that’s right … keep going,” she grimaces and lets out a sharp exhale. Mulder squeezes her clammy hand. 

“Listen to me, Mulder,” she starts, looking into his flooding eyes intently. “In thirty seconds … you need to cut …the umbilical cord. Then…you both are going to… fuck,” she closes her eyes in frustration and inhales as slowly as she can, “pull out my placenta.” She exhales, exhausted, clearly using all the strength in her body to continue talking. 

He nods as she continues. “I don’t know …if I can stay awake…. to talk you through it.” Tears flood her eyes and he moves a hand to wipe the escaped ones away, ignoring the wetness scattering across his own hot cheeks.

“Once the umbilical cord…. is cut…. one of you needs to press on my stomach…. like,” she gestures to Monica’s current motion, “and the other needs to grab the cord…. and pull gently.” 

He nods eagerly, fear evidently plastered across his face. She winces but continues to talk, her voice noticeably straining. 

“Now….when it’s out…. ah…. there’s going to be even more blood,” she gulps and takes as deep a breath as she can muster, “Mulder–” 

He cradles her head in his hands and listens more intently than he ever has in his entire life. 

“Everything you need for him…. is in my apartment…”

“Scully, what are you–”

“Don’t buy storebrand formula…. it's not good for him… my mom will tell you what kind to buy…. since I won’t be able to–”

“Scully, stop.”

“And hold him against your skin…. when you feed him….it’s bonding… for both of you.” 

“Scully you don’t–” 

“And sing to him …. when you put him to sleep.” Her chest rises and falls quickly. She lays her head back. “I know you hate your voice but–”

“Scully, listen to me,” he takes her face in his hands. “You don’t need to tell me these things because you’re going to do them. We’re going to get both of you out of here. Safely. Okay?” 

She looks at him dreamily, her eyes beginning to gloss over. She’s not reacting to the pain anymore. 

“Scully— Scully, I can’t do this without you. You have to stay with me. Please–” his voice catches as his throat constricts. He gulps down a rising sob.

“Kiss me,” she whispers. 

Holding the back of her damp neck, he presses his lips to hers with more fear and love and pain than he thought was possible. They inhale together. He pulls back and looks into her closing eyes.

“I love you,” she breathes into his parted lips. 

He kisses her again, but this time she doesn’t inhale with him. He feels her suddenly limp in his hands, beneath his lips. He pulls away. 

“Scully? Scully!” He yells, lifting her face up, trying to shake her awake. 

“I’m cutting it now,” he announces to Monica, who’s already handing him scissors. 

“Press here,” Monica orders, moving to the red space between her legs as he replaces her hands with his. 

He does, and as she pulls, he feels movement beneath his hands, beneath her cold skin. Monica gasps as she successfully removes the placenta and the increased amount of blood Scully warned of spills from her too.  

“I’ll carry her. Tell the pilot we’re coming,” Mulder shouts, already drenched in red as he hooks his arms under her legs. 

“I’ll grab the baby,” Monica starts but Mulder quickly interrupts. 

“No, leave him,” he pants, “I have them both.” 

Not about to waste any time arguing, Monica runs out of the little wooden house into the dust storm that is now outside. 

Mulder scoops up Scully, making sure the baby is still perfectly nestled in her arms. The baby begins to squirm, letting out a quiet cry. 

“It’s okay little one, you’re safe. Everything’s gonna be okay.” He repeats the last thought again, more to himself than to his son. 

Her head bobs as he runs, as quickly as he can, to the helicopter. He tries to shield their faces from the swirling dust. Unconscious, she still cradles the baby perfectly against her chest. 

It takes Mulder, Monica, and the Pilot to get her limp body into the helicopter safely. Mulder follows. He cradles her and their child in his lap, forgetting the blood, forgetting the super soldiers, forgetting everything. He rocks back and forth, whispering the closest thing he’s ever said to a prayer against her cold, soft hair curling against his lips.  

_____________

thank you for reading and indulging in the ~drama~ 

tagging the women who inspire me as usual @scintillatingbluefishies @stellaxxgibson @absolutetosh @storybycorey @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @sarie-fairy @gaycrouton

[tropical-gothic]

To the world

Angel/Demon AU headcanons for Yasha and Sasori

@multisasori Well, it’s technically a Good Omens AU. Take a guess on who’s the demon (who is just a little bit of a good person), and who’s the angel (who is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing).

Special thanks to @thatshipcat for fueling these headcanons and for sharing quite a few that I’ve incorporated here.

1. Angel and Angel turned Demon

Sasori started out, like all demons, as an angel. That was, until he made one fateful trip down to earth to Babylon.

“I’ve received a notice about a tower outside building regulations—-“

Said tower may or may not have been the base of a handful of demons. The angel who came to inspect may or may not have liked the aesthetic—- Sasori thinks he would look more beautiful in black, even if his beauty was already beyond mortal comprehension.

“Where is Sasori?” Yasha had long since finished his own job, and ended up stumbling on a bunch of confused people who couldn’t seem to understand each other. “He’s never been late.”

“Yasha,” rang a voice in his head, with some static— likely calling from an underground source. “Can’t make it back today. I’m being indoctrinated into demon hood. I’m going to have such awesome black wings.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Yasha said, brushing his own white wings. They looked awesome enough to him. “Okay, you stay safe.” The static stopped and Sasori’s voice disappeared. Yashamaru sighed. “Michael’s going to be pissed.”

2. The Aesthetic

So, there are good and bad things that come with the whole demon aesthetic, Sasori realized.

Yes, black looked absolutely wonderful in him. He was drop dead gorgeous and people have even more languages now to tell him how beautiful he was. Except that he wasn’t a fan of the whole… snake skin issue. That was Orochimaru’s thing and somehow that becomes everyone’s thing as well (at least in “Akatsuki”— which Sasori also found a cool name for demons).

But it definitely wasn’t Sasori’s thing. He complained to Yasha about it often enough— even carved himself his own set of wooden clogs. Better the clogs than snake skin— /oh, okay, all shoes become snake skin when I wear it. Perfect./

Another thing Sasori liked about being a demon was the black wings that came with the indoctrination. It was his color, after all, and it made him feel larger than life— even if the wing size didn’t actually change.

Except that demons didn’t quite groom their wings the way angels did and Sasori did not take to change very well. So he still kicks down the door of whatever mortal space Yasha is occupying on earth and insist that he help Sasori comb the spots he can’t reach.

Which Yasha does, with a certain gentleness that Sasori will never admit to liking.

3. The Black Plague and the Renaissance

Somewhere during the Middle Ages, Sasori was convinced that Yashamaru was an angel of death (the last heavenly meeting he was in, they were discussing this— though no one was assigned the part… as far as Sasori could recall). Either that or he was just a strangely morbid angel.

See, the guy always hovered very close to death. Be it a war or this century’s plague that’s ravaging Europe. Not that Yasha would admit to it—- he insisted that it was because this was where people needed the “comfort of God’s love” the most. (That may be why Sasori has worked a few miracles here and there too— keep them alive long enough for them to become selfish bastards again.)

“You need to get out more,” Sasori said, poking at the bird beak of the angel’s protective suit. “Air this out so you don’t smell like death. We won’t be able to have dinner if you smell like that.” Yasha would pout— but he would miracle out of the fashion disaster and into better clothes.

Yashamaru, on the other hand, was convinced that Sasori has made it a project to influence every art movement on earth. He’s always there when the big ones happen— so Yasha knows that something will happen after the plague (that would be called the Renaissance, later on).

“Back when these black wings were still new, I used to create my own gods— and have humans create them as well. Give their offerings of gold and blood to these beautifully carved idols.”

Yasha doesn’t believe him, of course. Sasori likes to create things and finds things beautiful— in and of themselves, without the work of temptation weaved into them. Sasori wouldn’t listen, of course, so Yasha just gives a few words of encouragement every so often.

4. The Antichrist

Sasori’s biggest assignment to date was a delivery. A package of sorts, straight from hell. He was to deliver the Antichrist— the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness.

Straight forward job— get the parcel, dive around town in his new car (which matches his aesthetic and even has a name), switch it with someAn other pre-selected baby, perhaps get a tip for the fast delivery service. Well, it should have been a straightforward job. Except that Sasori took a peek a the baby.

And was, perhaps, a bit more taken by the tuft of red hair, the large green eyes, and the little arms that reached out to him, than he would like to admit.

In another part of the city, Yashamaru was predictably hovering near death once more. This time, it was the death of a mother— still young, with blonde hair, and two children waiting for her at home. There should have been a third child, but the baby has already been wheeled into the ICU, and then wheeled out looking even smaller and a lot more limp. The little one had been born too early.

Yashamaru hovered near death, and stood beside her husband— a tall and stern man who bore the heavy weight of grief. It was too early to think about the future--- if he thinks of a life without his wife, it might come true. They were both leaning against the wall by the glass window, waiting for the hemorrhaging to stop— for better or for worse, when—

“So, Yashamaru,” Sasori suddenly appeared, sticking his head through the window. “What sort of diapers do you think the Lord of Darkness would prefer?”

“I— what? Wait— Sasori, now is not the time. I’m in the middle of—— /oh, he’s so cute./“

“Right!”

For a moment, Sasori told Yashamaru about Hell’s plans to bring the Antichrist over and then eventually the end of the world. With some added gloating as Sasori was won’t to do. For a moment, Yashamaru considered what to do with the child— now that the babe was in front of him. Ethically speaking? Morally speaking? As an angel? He should have the answer to this, innately, but he doesn’t. If the Antichrist were to kill everyone—-

“Excuse me?”

For a moment, Yashamaru and Sasori forgot that there was another person standing close by.

“You’re not humans?” the human asked.

“Oh no! We’re absolutely—“

“Of course, we’re not,” Sasori shrugged. “He’s an angel, I’m a demon, and this is the antichrist.”

“Right…” Yashamaru refused to let go of his smile. Positive thoughts.

“You can do miracles,” Rasa said, pointing to labor and delivery room. “My wife. She needs to live. We’ve already lost the baby.”

Sasori leaned close to Yasha— “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I��m thinking that we’re imposing on a family undergoing the worst tragedy of their lives.”

“Worst tragedy so far—- but that’s a stupid thought. What I’m thinking is that— I take the dude’s soul back to home with me and the world gets to keep the lady.”

“Sasori! That’s deplorable!”

“He’s handsome!”

Yashamaru smacked Sasori on the side. “Focus! I don’t even know what we’re thinking about— I understand this is a great deal for this family. But the greater deal is the future of the whole world. And that’s dependent on him—“ he pointed at the little red haired baby, who was making little spit bubbles while they deliberated his fate.

“You’re right,” Sasori nodded his head. “We should adopt him.”

“What! No— “ Yasha said, more than a little taken aback. “I don’t think we’re ready for this responsibility. The finances alone— did we ever settle that diaper question? Wait! No, we can’t— we’re not allowed to intervene in human lives. Raising someone would count.”

Sasori paused. “How about indirectly?”

They both turned to the human who looked too confused to follow the conversation.

“What’s your name?” Sasori asked.

“Rasa.”

“Okay, Rasa. He can get your lady love back from the clutches of death—“

“Sasori—“

“Make it happen, Yasha. But in return, you have to take this little one.”

Rasa looked at the child. “The Antichrist?”

“Yep. And he also comes with two godfathers. If we are to prevent him from realizing his full powers which could annihilate all of us and cause the end times, then we need to be present in his life as well.”

“That’s a lot to take in,” Rasa said. Nevertheless, he took the child and cradled him. Rasa told himself that this was the child they had been waiting for— even if the circumstances weren’t as expected.

“So—“ Yasha turned to Sasori, “we’d be like godfathers, then!”

“Yasha, go save the girl.”

“Right!”

Bonus:

“You’re telling me,” Sasori said, rocking the antichrist to sleep (for his parents who were fast asleep and too tired to tend to the child). “That she thinks you’re her brother? I thought she was an only child.”

“I panicked!” Yasha said, placing the milk into a tiny cup. “She asked who I was and I couldn’t say I’m an angel… I gave her good childhood memories if that’s any consolation.”

Sasori sighed.

[myhauntedsalem]

20 Doctors And Nurses Share The Creepiest Last Words Uttered By A Patient Before Dying

1.

I work in a cardiac ICU. We had a patient who had a pulmonary artery rupture (a rare, but known complication of a Swan-Ganz catheter). One minute he was joking around with us and the next bright red blood was spewing out of his mouth. His last words before he died were “why is this happening to me?”

It still haunts me years later.

2.

I’m an RT and had a vented trach patient in angio have the same thing happen. Vent waveforms got a little funky showing she needed suctioned. I walked up to her and saw bright red blood just start shooting up the vent circuit and immediately obstruct it.

I immediately said “she’s hemorrhaging” and the vascular surgeon said “no it’s just a little blood” thinking I was referring to his access site in her groin.

I popped her off of the vent and blood just started pouring out of her trach, mouth, and nose. She looked at me and said, “just let me die.”

The puddle of blood was about 6 feet in diameter on the floor within just a couple of minutes and I was covered from the chest down.

I’ve seen some shit, but that was the worst,

3.

“But I don’t know how to get there…” Grandpa in hospice. Hadn’t spoken in days. Died about 2 hours later.

4.

I’m a nurse and was previously working at an assisted living community on the dementia/Alzheimer’s unit. My very favorite patient had been declining pretty steadily so I was checking on him very frequently. We would have long chats and joke around with each other, but in the last two weeks of his life, he stopped talking completely and didn’t really acknowledge conversation directed at him at all.

I finished my medication rounds for the evening and went to see him before I left. I told him I was leaving for the night and that I’d see him the following day, and he looked me in the eyes and smiled SO genuinely and said, “You look like an angel.” I thought it was so sweet because he had not seemed lucid in weeks.

He died the next morning. It really messed with me.

5.

I overheard an old lady whisper this to her old husband dying of kidney problems.

“You are going to beat this, you got away with murder, this is nothing”

6.

Nurse here – had a patient come into the ER with shortness of breath. He started deteriorating in the ER, and then quite rapidly on the transport up the ICU. We got him wheeled into his room, replaced the ER lines and tubes with our own, and transferred him from the transport stretcher to his ICU bed.

He actually did most of the transfer himself. He didn’t say anything, but just before he died he pleasantly adjusted his own pillow, laid his head down, and then his eyes went blank. This man just made himself comfortable before laying down to die.

7.

Dad had MS. He’d had it since he was 18. Diagnosed at 20, married my mom at 24, had me at 29, died 15 days short of 45. Six months before that, he was put on hospice. He and Mom were discussing funeral arrangements, and my mom jokingly said, “You know Tim, the best thing you could do would be to die on a Wednesday. That way we can have the body prepared on Thursday, the viewing on Friday, and the memorial on Saturday, so more people could come.

The morning we got the call that it was time, my mom, two sisters, and I were about five minutes too late. After we said our goodbyes, the nurse pulled my mom aside and asked if that day had any significance. It’s not even 6 am yet, so Mom doesn’t even know what day it IS much less if it’s important. The nurse tells her it’s May 21st. No… nothing is coming to mind.

The nurse told her that the previous day he kept asking what day it was and they’d tell him it was the 20th. He’d look irritated but accept it. That morning, he asked what day it was, and they said, “It’s Wednesday, May 21st.” He smiled, squeezed his favorite nurse’s hand, and was gone almost immediately.

It was Memorial Day weekend, and we did just as he and Mom had planned. And despite many friends being out of town for the holiday, we had over 250 people show up at the memorial service, overflowing the tiny church more than it had ever been filled. To his dying day, he was trying to make things easier for our family. I miss him.

8.

My grandfather on his deathbed said “they have no eyes,” still give me chills.

9.

“Get home safe, little one.” It wasn’t what he said – he said the same thing to me any time I had him as a patient for the evening. It was how he said it. He gave me this look and pause like he knew. The DNR’s in my experience, always know when it’s time. It’s creepy.

10.

Checked in on a patient before the end of my shift and she was in good spirits, had been joking with me the whole time. Her condition was tenuous (new trach) but she had been positive throughout. I asked how she was doing and she replied by singing “The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be” and wished me a good night.

I came in the next morning and she had coded and died overnight.

11.

Came into an early shift and was handed over a patient who’d been very anxious and had a panic attack overnight. He was anxious all morning but obs all fine, ecg fine and so I just asked someone to sit with him to keep an eye on him/reassure him for me. He gets worse, really panicky, heavy breathing, he’s on his side in the fetal position.

Drs will be in in 10 minutes so I tell him I’ll get them to him as soon as they come in but ask if he’ll lie on his back for me to help his breathing. He tells me he won’t make it until they get here and that he won’t face the other way. Obs still all fine at this point but he’s more agitated so again I suggest he move position for comfort and that’s when he says, ‘I won’t make it until the Drs get here. If I turn to face the other way I’ll die’. He repeated this a few times to me.

He arrested literally as the Drs walked in and he died on the side he’d been refusing to turn to. I’m convinced he knew.

12.

I’m an apprentice funeral director. We went to a nursing home on a removal and as we were walking down the hall one of the patients got antsy and opened the door to his room and saw us walking with the stretcher.

“I’ll see you next week boys”

And guess who we had to pick up the next week.

13.

I found one of my “comfort measures only” patients standing at the side of his bed. It surprised me because he had been mostly unresponsive during my shift. I helped him back into bed and he asked me why all these people were in his room.

He suddenly became quiet again and I noticed he wasn’t breathing. He was a DNR so there wasn’t anything to do to try to bring him back. Looking back he may have been talking about me and the CNA that was helping me get him back into bed, but who knows what or who he was seeing the last minutes of his life. Still creeps me out a little when I think about it.

14.

I had a cousin that had cancer and died when he was a little kid. He once asked her mother why all these people visited and she said: “Because your cousins, aunts and uncles love you very much and want you to get better” and he answered, “I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about the ones that visit me at night.”

15.

My first hospice case. She was on morphine and started mock smoking. She looked at me, took my hand and said “please” in the most pleading voice I’ve ever heard. I sat with her body until the corner arrived. She has no friends or family. Only her lawyer showed up. I’ve only done one hospice case since.

16.

I’ve commented this somewhere before but it’s stayed with me! I’m an RN and while I was a student I was caring for a lady who had end stage renal failure, had a DNAR and was shutting down. We were having a little chat, well I was chatting away while helping her put on some lotion, when she stopped, looked over my shoulder and said, “Bill’s here love, I’ve got to go” and swiftly stopped breathing. Read her old notes and Bill was her deceased husband.

17.

DNR patient was on comfort cares. Was on a high dose of morphine and hallucinating. She would alternate between grasping for things not there and trying to climb out of bed. She was too unsteady to walk so my job was to sit in the room and make sure she was safe. She tried to get up and I went to ask her what she needed. She grabbed my arm and pulled me down towards her face and said, very angrily, “kill me”. That one fucked with me for awhile.

18.

Back when I was a CNA this one resident fell off a bike for exercise in pt and seized, they came to and became lucid and said, “I think I’m dying,” but everyone in the room assured her that wasn’t going to happen, she seized up and was dead within minutes.

19.

Last year: my grandfather started desperately pleading for his life with his German captors from WWII

The doctor present was smart and said in German: “You are free, Herr Caticature. You are free.” And then he died.

20.

I actually have 3 that stick out in my mind. An 83 year old woman that said “My mom’s here. Are we going?” She died a few minutes later.

Another older lady said “I think I’m going to die today…” we took vitals, everything seemed fine. She was stable. She had a heart attack a couple hours later. Not her last words, but the last she ever said to me.

The last one is definitely the creepiest. A nice old lady who told my CNA she wanted to wear all white. When asked why, she said “The man in black is here.”

She looked in the corner of the room. The CNA looked, but there was no one there. That’s when I came into the room. We asked her to describe what she was seeing and she said “he’s in all black, and he’s got a top hat on.” Then she whispered “and his eyes are red” while her eyes moved across the room to directly behind the CNA, like she was watching him move closer to us. She died later that night. But it was unexpected. That room creeped me out for a long time after that.

[toomuchtv95]

Struggling Chapter 2

Characters: Jay Halstead,  Hank Voight, Antonio Dawson

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Eventually)

Word Count: 3k+

Chapter Warnings: Swearing ( I think that’s all)

A/N: I am working on a Damon Salvatore x Reader imagine because I am been re-watching TVD and I forgot how much I love Damon so of course I had to write something. So just keep an eye out for that. I am also working on Chapter 3

Series MasterList

You had a busy week at work, and you haven’t had time to think about what Antonio said about moving on. And unfortunately, you ran out of time to think, today was the 2nd anniversary of Ryan's death. Waking up this morning, you already started to feel like you were going to cry. While taking a shower, you had some time to think about moving on and how to do that. After showering, you went to the flower shop that sat on the corner of your block before heading to the cemetery. As you walked through the cemetery, you carefully stepped over the headstones as you made your way over to his headstone. The gravesite looked untouched like it always does. Ryan had no family that was close by to take care of the site, expect you.

Kneeling you placed the flowers on the ground and cleaned up the grass and leaves. "I know I haven't been around in a while and I'm sorry, but I'm been struggling a little more than usual.” You whispered as tears formed in your eyes causing blurriness. “It’s been two years and I still feel like it was yesterday when I got the news.”

"I still think that you are going to walk through the door and kiss me and tell you to love me, but you're not because you're gone. I'm mad at you for leaving me and I shouldn't because it's not your fault. We were barely married when you left, I wanted a life with you, I wanted kids with you and now that's not happening." Your voice cracked as choked out a sob. "The last two years have been hell and today is even worse, because I came here to tell you that I can't keep thinking you're coming home. I need to move on. You're not coming back, and I have to learn to live with that."

“I know it’s going to be hard, but I need to do it for myself. I need to be happy again because I am tired of being broken and alone.” You wiped your tears just as fresh ones formed. “I’ve read your letter again, and I think your right about letting go and finding someone else.” Taking a deep breath, you wiped the tears again, “last week one night, I spent the night eating take-out and watching a corny TV movie with a guy who cares for me more than a friend, but he would never tell me that because he knows I would just push him away. I think he could be someone to be more than a friend, but I will never know if I keep holding on to you." Taking a deep breath, you stood up and placed a hand on the headstone. "I love you and I always will, but I need to let you go and move on." Leaning down, you kissed the top of the headstone before turning around to see Antonio keeping a fair distance.

Antonio opened his arms as you approached him. You collided into arms and lot out a sob that you couldn’t hold back anymore. “It’s going to be okay," Antonio whispered as he rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “I know that was hard for you.”

You pulled away to wipe the tears, “yeah it was, but I have to move on. He’s not coming back.” Antonio wrapped his arm around your shoulder as the two of head back towards his car. Originally you weren’t going to go to work but staying at home and sulking around isn't healthy.  You needed to go to work.

Once the two of you were in his car, Antonio’s phone started to ring, which he took the call. You glanced over at him and you could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong. Once the call ended, you turned to look at Antonio, “what is it?” Antonio hesitated which caused you to worry. “Just tell me.”

“Jay’s security team was ambushed.” Jay was working his security job today and apparently while they were doing a deposit the team was ambushed and one of the guys was injured.

The whole car ride to the district you felt tense as you thought about Jay. Since the beginning of the year, you and Jay have gotten closer ever since you saved him when he was kidnapped while working an undercover op. Then when Jay took you home, and brought you food and stayed the night, you have just been feeling closer to him. Once the two of you got to the district, Antonio headed upstairs while you waited in the garage for Jay to show up. You paced the floor as your anxiety rose. You came to a stop when you saw Al walk in with Jay right behind him.

“Jay.” You immediately walked over to Jay and hugged him tightly.

"Y/N, I'm okay," Jay whispered against your hair as he wrapped an arm you. “Any word from Med about Terry?”

“No nothing yet.” The two of you pulled away and headed upstairs. Once the two of you made it upstairs your father looked at both and the two of you headed into this office.

“You are not taking me off this case.” Stood behind Jay as you closed the door. You leaned against the door with your arms crossed. Your father glanced at you then back at Jay.

“That is not your call to make.”

“This is Terry’s blood.” Jay pointed at this sleeve that was covered in blood. “I saw the guys. You need me.” Your father looked at you which you gave him a slight nod. After agreeing to let him stay on the case, he left the room to go clean up, leaving you and your dad alone.

“I know what-” Your father pulled you into a hug which you hugged back without hesitation. “I’m okay. I went to his grave this morning.” You pulled away and sat on the arm of the sofa. "You know the last 2 years, things have been a struggle, but I need to move on and learn to live my life. He’s not coming back, and I have to accept that.”

“Whatever you need to help you through this let me know.” Your dad squeezed your shoulder for comfort.

"Actually, there is one thing that I can think of right now." Your dad hummed in response. "I want to be with Jay on this one. I know you won't understand, but just trust me." Your father nodded his head in agreement as you pushed yourself off the couch and left the office.

“Jay.” You walked into the room where Jay was watching your dad and Antonio finishing up question Brianna Logan, who was Jay’s boss at the marijuana dispenser. “I just heard from Med. Terry didn’t make it. Massive hemorrhaging.” Jay turned to look at you and without saying a word he left the room. After a few moments, the interview was over and you exited the room only to be stopped by Adam, who said that the lab was able to get prints on the gun they found at the scene. You nodded your head and went to find Jay, only to see him and Brianna talking as you rounded the corner.

You couldn't help but hear the last first things exchange between the two. "I can't help but feel responsible for what happens to Terry." There was something about this Brianna woman that you didn’t like. Maybe it’s because she was clearly into Jay. Not that it should bother you. He a single man and he can do what and who he wants.

“You’re not. I am.” You could clearly hear the guilt in Jay’s voice which caused your heart to sink.

“Please tell Terry’s wife that I will take care of all the funeral costs." Brianna reached over and placed a hand on jay's bicep causing your to jealously raise. Okay, why does this bother you so much?

“He was in the marines, so he’ll get a military send off.”

“Hey, Jay we got something off the gun.” You took a step closer causing Brianna to step back. Jay told Brianna to lay low and that they would call her if they needed anything else. Once she left, you and Jay headed back into the bullpen to find the rest of the team.

"Okay, so the lab managed to pull a partial print off the clip inside the gun that was left at the scene. They matched to a guy named Joseph "Joey" Ortiz." Adam taped up the photo on the board as he spoke.

"Ortiz? Yeah, he's a known member of the Insane King crew. They don't sell drugs. Their M.O. is to follow the cartel mules with a large amount of money after big drug deals then they rob them. I had a run-in with them once when I worked a joint case with narcotics a few years ago.” You explained it to the team.

“Okay, put an investigative alert on Ortiz.” You nodded your head as you sat at your desk and picked up the phone.

“Okay, I gotta ask. Are you sleeping with this woman?” You stopped what you were doing and looked at your dad who was standing next to Jay by the board.

“Who Brianna?” Your dad looked at Jay with a stern face. “What does that have to do with the case?”

“All right, one more time. Are you sleeping with her?” You held your breath as you waited for him to answer. You also weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“No.” Jay came right out and said it and relief washed over you.

This case has really taken a toll on Jay the last few days but thankfully it was over. Al and Adam went to sweep the dispensary for bugs, and they found a bunch of bugs throughout her office. They were able to get serials numbers off them it turned out that Brianna’s soon-to-be ex-husband hired a PI to get dirt on her. Then after questioning the PI, we found out that he was in on the robbery along with a guy them Brigs but turned out that a crew that worked for Brigs was the one who did it. After the case was solved, Jay went to tell Brianna that he was quitting which made you secretly happy.

“Hey, need a ride home?” You looked up from your paperwork and saw Antonio putting on his coat.

“No, I’m good.” You fiddled with the pen in your hand. “I’m actually grabbing a beer with Jay at Molly’s after he’s done talking with Hank. I decided to tell Jay about Ryan.”

“Yeah? Are you sure?” Antonio sat on the edge of your desk.

“Yeah. It’s time.” You stood up from your chair and tossed the pen on your desk. “Lately, I’ve just been feeling, I guess you can say, closer to Jay and I thought I would feel guilty about it, but I don’t.” Tears built up in your eyes and you had no idea why you wanted to cry.

"Yeah, I've noticed that. This is a sign that you are moving in the right direction. Remember letting go and moving on. I know the last two years have been a struggle for you, but this could be the first step to figuring things out." Antonio placed his hands on your shoulders and rubbed your arms up and down. “So, if telling Jay about Ryan is what you feel is right then do it and then figure things out from there.”

You nodded your head before hugging Antonio. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You pulled away just as Jay exited the office.

“Ready to go? I can really use that drink.” You nodded your head as Antonio left leaving just you and Jay alone.

20mins Later

"Hey, detective." Herrmann leaned forward against the counter with a smile on his face.

"Hey, Herrmann.” You smiled back as you ordered two beers along with two shots. “Thanks.” You grabbed the drinks and moved through the crowd over to were Jay was sitting. "Alright, here we go." You handed Jay his beer along with the shot of whatever Herrmann gave you.

“To Terry.” The two of you raised your shot glasses in the air before chugging them down.

“How your cheek?” You motioned at Jay’s cheek where he got into an altercation with one of the crew members.

“I’ll be fine.” Jay took a swing of his beer. “Are you okay? You seem a little off the last couple of days.” You picked at the label on the beer bottle while trying to figure out a way to tell Jay. You wanted to tell Jay, but your nerves were getting the best of you and you were having second thoughts. “Y/N, whatever is you can tell me.” Jay reached over and grabbed your hand.

“There something I need to tell you and I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this fragile piece of glass.” You looked up at Jay and when his green eyes locked with yours, you instantly felt at ease. “Two years ago, I lost my husband.”

“Your husband?” Jay looked at you with complete shock.

“Yeah. I guess I should start from the beginning.” You took a deep breath then took a sip of your beer. "Well as you know I was in the Army and the reason why the left was because during my last mission I was taken, hostage. It was days until the rest of the team found me. When they did find me, I was in bad shape. I had two broken ribs, a broken wrist, a concussion, and a collapsed lung. I thought I was going to die."

“It was about a 6-month long recovery and it was hell. I did half my recover overseas in German and the other half back home in North Carolina, that was my post was at the time. Then after I left Army I can back home to Chicago. I moved back in with parents until I was able to get back on my feet. Coming back and adjusting to living was hard and it just triggered things. My father sent me to therapy to help with the problems I was dealing with and I was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety. Once I got things under control, I joined the police force, and then about 3 years into the job I met my late husband. I was working my first case in Vice and he was working security detail for one of the victims." You stopped to take a sip of your beer than taking a deep breath.

“His name was Lieutenant Commander Ryan Campbell. He was Navy Seal before he decided to join the reserves. We dated for about 2years before he asked me to marry him and of course, I said yes. We were engaged for a little while before he got the call telling him that he was needed for active duty. We deiced to get married at the courthouse because we didn’t want to wait until he came back home because we didn’t know long, he was going to be deployed for. It was 6 months later when the officers showed up at my step and I knew.” Tears started to form in your eyes as you thought back to that day. Two Navy Officers stood at your door and you knew the drill. You knew Ryan wasn’t coming back.

“Hey,” Jay squeezed your hand causing you to come back to reality. “How did it happen?” Jay spoke low almost a whisper.

“IED overseas in Iraq. Getting that news was devastating, but deep down I knew that it could happen. My PTSD was triggered again, and I need time off to deal with everything. I eventually got onto some medicine and seeing someone once a week and it helped but I struggled to deal with the loss of Ryan. I still struggle, but I’m learning to accept that he’s got coming back and I need to move on.” You looked down closing your eyes to stop the tears, but it was too late. Jay removed his hand from yours and walked over to your side of the table and sat next to you and pulled you into a side hug. “Sometimes I feel so broken that I don’t know if I can put myself back together.”

"You are not broken," Jay muttered into your hair. “I don’t think you realize how strong you are. You may feel like your broken, but I don’t think you are.” You pulled away and Jay looked at you with a soft smile. “This doesn't change the way I look you. I don't see you as a fragile piece of glass." Jay reached over and wiped the tears that were rolling down your cheek.

After the two of you finished your drinks, Jay drove you home, walked you to your door, and to be honest you felt great that you were able to tell Jay about everything. You felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. “Thanks for listening tonight. I really need to tell you.”

“Always. If you ever need to talk about anything. Just know that I am here.” You grabbed your keys from your purse, turned to unlock the door, and once you unlocked the door you turned back around. Looking at Jay, a smile formed on your face and something inside of you sparked. Without thinking, you leaned over and connected your lips to his. You could feel Jay was hesitant at your sudden actions and causing you to pull away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You whispered as you turned back around and opened the door to head inside your apartment. Jay was about to stop you but decided against it, not wanting to make the situation worse. Once you were inside, you locked your door and leaned your back against before sliding down to the floor. What have you done? Did you misread the signals over the last couple of months? Maybe he found someone who wasn’t broken. For the first time in a long time, you thought you could be happy but you guess you were too late.

Series TagList: @hehurst23 @tyzerman91 @ceotoddross-blog @halstudandruz @corebore123 @myplaceofheavenorhell @baker151910 @katierpblogg @talicat713 @kadygirl @esauthor @jay-haisteads @onechicago18 @secretsinflame @weepingbluebirdmentality @jasminfelling @lovecatystuff @oncechicagolove @bellag1128 @yzas-stuff @mxgdx7 @andreiaafaria @fullwattpadmusictree @itsdesiree86 @mamanurin @lil-bita-everything @ngwelburn @lisemaria0719 @a-dorky-book-keeper @chrisrandumness @perfectnightbouquetgoddess @Ima1986 @123happyllama @delcateswift @gfountainsblog @pollyyates24 @scatchia @ld-1204 @daenerys-targaryen @beachfan412 @theelvishmermaid @fofisstilinski @levelneunzehn @wemma554 @wicked-laugh @totalllytrashy @onechicagofan20 @wearesodrica @haileymatthewss @danielacastellon @smalltowngirly05 @faithhasnowords @music-is-my-escape71 @olihju @detective29 @sevschicago @lifeisalohaa @singingtree2012 @nikki1dxx @mandybug39 @mheart27 @lovecatystuff @alex-blackmoon @beckisaurusrex @kicksomeasskatherine @miranda0102 @fearless-to-die @readbasoeverything @deedee220802 @zizzlekwum @melmenya @lovingfanofupstead @thevelvetseries @panaitbeatrice @hehurst23 @musicgurl162010

[pastlivesandsecretdreams]

paradise - chapter four

chapter four - a documentary

mike dodds  x oc (cecilia “cecily” elizabeth sinatra kennedy)

warnings :: mention of death, loss, airplane crash, hemorrhage mention

song(s) of the chapter : cardigan by taylor swift 

word count : 1,740+

“all i’ve ever known is loss…” cecily told the camera that sat in front of her. she had been asked to make a documentary about her life thus far, and they got some old videos and photos of her from her aunt and her godmother. “fifteen minutes after i was born, my mother died of-” she hadn’t noticed that she had started to cry, until she felt the droplets fall onto her shirt. “-a hemorrhage. so for the first few years of my life, it was just me and my father.” a producer handed her a tissue box. “thank you.” she told him, wiping the tissues away. “i loved my father. he was the first great love of my life, i always say. because like i said, it was just us for the first few years of my life. then, he started bringing this pretty lady around the apartment. i loved carolyn! i never had any female presence besides my aunt caroline. so i was always in love with carolyn. she gave me love and attention and cookies. god, she made amazing cookies!” cecily started to laugh at what she had said. “and i got to be the flower girl in their wedding. i was just happy the two people i loved most were getting married! and that i got to wear a pretty dress. and then…” her face fell as she thought of their end. “i got sick from my school friend, josey. it was a bad stomach bug. like i was throwing up, and when i wasn’t, i was so incredibly nauseous. my father almost didn’t go to the wedding. i remember he was adamant on staying home to take care of me. but my step-aunt, auntie lauren, talked to my father and step-mother, who were fighting. their perfect marriage wasn’t as perfect as i thought. in my mind, they were the king and queen of the castle. but...they weren’t. and yet, there was so much love between them. my aunt caroline ended up taking me to her place until my parents would come back. normally, i would’ve slept with my cousins, but because i was sick, i was put in the guest room.

 i sat in bed after a long ass nap. i had written my father a letter, and i had planned to give it to his assistant, so when he next went to work, it would be a nice surprise on his desk. but...as i placed the letter inside the envelope, my aunt caroline walked into the room and just...wrapped her arms tightly around me. that's when i was told the people i loved most...were dead. and again, i became acquainted with loss. i remember nothing of the night after that. i guess my mind blocked it out. but i do remember waking up the next morning and everyone was treating me like i was a porcelain doll that was gonna break, if they so much as breathed heavily towards me. i stayed with them until the day after the funeral. at the age of seven, i was alone. i was an orphan. until my mother’s best friend and my godmother, alix, came to america. she packed everything i owned and shipped it to her home...in france. so, she uprooted me and brought me to reims, where i would grow up. i love my aunt alix, i do, but i wouldn’t have taken me across the pond. because, in a time where i was so fragile, she took me away from my family and friends. i understand she wanted me to get away from all that...but i needed to hold onto whatever sense of family and normalcy i had left.” she started to cry harder and harder, until her best friend, and possible cousin, ronan farrow walked over and hugged her. “you’re okay...you’re okay… deep breathes.” he whispered to her. “let’s take five.” he said to the producer, who nodded and left with the camera guy. “sweetie, it’s only been a few weeks since you gave birth. you need to relax.” she wiped her eyes and blew her nose into the tissue. “i’ve been on the go since i was seven. i need to do this. it will help me process a lot.” he nodded, starting to understand what she was getting on about. the girl had so much that she had never worked through, but now it wasn’t just her. she was a mother of four now, and still never came to terms with a lot of her demons. “can we start again?” ronan kissed her forehead and left the room to grab the producer and camera guy. “are you okay enough to continue?” she nodded as they started rolling again. “what was the last thing i said…?” she asked the producer. “your godmother taking you away from normalcy.” cecily nodded and took a drink of her water. the babies started to cry down, but mike quickly tended to them, so not to interrupt. he had been so good with taking care of her, and agreed that it would be good to get it all out there. “so, i never really made friends after that… because i was terrified of losing them because of all the loss in my life. i’ve hated feeling so alone. and i was alone...until i came back home to new york. then, six weeks after...i met this boy.” mike walked into the room with the twins, causing her to beam at him. “sorry to interrupt… teddy wants you.” she held out her arms, giggling softly as the baby was placed in her arms. “i just got to the best part in the story.” she told her beloved husband. “which is?” the baby latched onto her hand, nuzzling against her chest. “the part about me meeting this cute boy.” he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “he sounds...amazing.” she let out a melodious laugh, which seemingly echoed through the room. “trust me, he is. he’s the love of my life.” she smiled down the camera lens. “obviously...that boy became my husband the following year. we got engaged about eight months in and we just...couldn’t wait too long. about two months after that, we got married. luckily due to our family connections we got a wedding thrown together rather quickly. i had felt it coming on-” he looked at her shocked. “you did?!” cecily nodded and laughed again. “i did! one day you came into my apartment- which is the same apartment that belonged to my father- and what we live in now. and you just...seemed so sure about us. and i knew...i knew i was right for letting you into my life.” he moved and rested his forehead against hers. “i love you…” they said softly to each other. “you’ve been the light of my life.” cecily told him. “you and the children.” the both babies in their arms were fast sleep, loving being held by their parents. “then, on our wedding day, my cousin jack led me down the aisle. and we got married. and that night, at the reception, i told him what i had found out a week before.” her husband smiled at her, then the camera. “she was pregnant with eliza.” she giggled and nodded. “hell yeah, i was.” he looked enamoured by her laughter, by her, by the children they had made together. “it explained a lot. and after that, i knew i had to open up. so, he came with me to see a therapist. after all, he had some problems as well.” mike nodded and sighed softly. “before we met...i had been in the army. and i had seen so much. and i knew that we both had to work through some stuff.” cecily leaned over and wiped his tears away and kissed where they had been. “and we did it how we’ve done everything.” at the same time, they said, “together, or not at all.” they had added that into their vows last minute, and since then, it was a promise they kept. “and now that we have six dozen children-” this caused her to let out another beautiful laugh. “we- gladly- don’t have that many. we have four.” he smiled at her again, loving the sound that came out of her mouth. he could live on her laugh alone, if possible. “-yet. but!” this caused her to playfully hit his arm. “play nice, monkey!” the twins had woken up due to their mother’s laughter and looked up at them. almost if he understood, cassie started to make monkey-like noises. “oh my god!” the entire room fell into laughter at the two newest additions. “please tell me you got that on camera!” she was given a thumbs up from the camera guy. “can you please send me that bit?” once again, she was given a thumbs up. “thank you, timmy! but oh my god, we have a whole zoo in this apartment.” teddy started to babble to his mother. “yes, you too. yes, you too!” the two older kids waddled into the room, jack following behind them. “it seems the rest of our zoo is home!” the two children brought stools and sat next to their parents. “we missed you. kisses!” both children leaned in and kissed her cheeks, then their fathers. “wanna introduce the kiddies?” the producer asked them. “this is elizabeth jaymes. she’s five. we call her “eliza”. this is john fitzgerald, he’s four and we call him “john john” like how the media called my dad. and these two are the newest. we thought we were having one more...then it seems we got a two for one deal. the one i’m holding is edward arthur. we call him “teddy”. and last but not least, this is cassiopeia star. we call her “cassie”. and the twins are about a month old now.” the two older kids waved to the camera. “what does you daddy do for a living?” the producer asked the older two. “he keeps the bad guys off the streets!” eliza answered before her brother could say anything. “and mama?” he asked john john. “she makes houses!” cecily giggled towards her son. “i’m an interior designer.” she told him. “thats what i said!” another round of laughs came from the room. for a moment, their lives were peaceful. but cecily knew it wouldn’t last.

___________________________

hey everyone! i hope you’re having a good holiday season and that you’re all staying safe! here is chapter four, which i actually wrote on christmas eve, but didn’t have time to post it until now! i love you all! 

xoxo,

gracie

tag list : @evans-dejong​

[mercury-retrograde-concept]

what are your thoughts on that lee soo man/blockberry creative partnership and loona's financial situation during the post-butterfly hiatus?

Oh, juicy question! Full disclosure time: from the moment I started this blog I intended to address this issue, because I’m intensely curious about it. This is one of those kpop situations where you have just enough information to kind of guess what might have happened. But there’s just enough ambiguity that you end up hoping the tarot cards come through for you. 

And after doing this reading I feel like I do have a better idea of what might have done down.  

Disclaimer: This tarot reading is for entertainment purposes only. All speculation comes from my interpretation only.

This question basically involves two question. Namely, what forces might have been at play during Loona’s long hiatus after Butterfly, as well as what’s up with the SM/Blockberry creative partnership. I separated these two questions in to two different segments, however it was the same pull (i.e. I didn’t put the cards back together and shuffle) because I feel as though the latter was influenced by the former. Also, since each questions involves three different entities I used some of Caroline Myss’s archetype cards in order to better anchor this reading. 

Okay, y’all ready? Let’s goooooo! love_4_eva.mp3. 

Post-Butterfly hiatus

Heart of the problem: Four of Pentacles (Reversed), The Hanged Man BBC role: Monk Nun Archetype Card What BBC wanted: Ten of Wands (Reversed), The Empress Jaden Jeong role: Trickster Archetype Card What Jaden Jeong wanted: King of Wands (Reversed), Four of Swords (Reversed) Loona role: Servant Archetype Card What Loona wanted: Three of Pentacles (Reversed), Seven of Pentacles (Reversed)

So, shortly after Butterfly, it appears as though BBC realized they were essentially hemorrhaging money. From what I’ve read over the years - and readers please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong - it appears as though BBC is better off than most k-entertainment companies, in terms of finances. However, that doesn’t mean that their resources are infinite either. While it often feels like Loona is someone’s passion project - and it definitely was Jaden Jeong’s (more on that in a second) - this is still a company. They still would like to make some money back on such an investment. More than that it also feels as though BBC also wanted attention and acclaim and other things that are hallmarks of soft power. Loona obviously has its die-hard fans, but I think it’s fair to say Hi High and Butterfly didn’t take off the way that matched the pre-debut hype. 

As a result, it appears as though BBC kind of panicked and worried about becoming something of a laughingstock. They went back to the drawing board with their plans for Loona, and became incredibly fearful of doing anything with this group.  They put the breaks on everything, to the point of giving everyone involved some metaphorical whiplash. While it’s a good thing to consider one’s budget and goals, management was so in their own heads about what to do that they stopped doing things they should do. Including following through with some deals they made with investors. They also kept these concerns close to their chest, rarely communicated well about them, and made a lot of promises they had no intention of keeping. Because, again, they didn’t want to do anything. Essentially, the company basically saw Loona as an albatross and didn’t know what to do with them, so they just buried their heads in the sand for a while. Surprisingly, the problem didn’t go away. 

This would have been annoying to any creative director, but the cards are indicating Jaden Jeong was especially agitated by this whole situation. He also probably further aggravated it in some ways. I cannot stress enough how little he cared about the financial situation of BBC. He was only concerned about the creative side of things and getting to execute his vision. He really wanted to do a group that’s on the more avant-garde side of things and he thought he finally had a chance to fully pull this off with Loona. Practical logistics were not that important to him. He wasn’t shy about confronting BBC about this, either. This probably made BBC double down on their stinginess, which in turn made Jaden Jeong act out even more. It was a vicious cycle that was bound to fall apart. Eventually, he decided to just bounce. 

As for Loona’s role in all of this ... they didn’t really have any agency to speak of. They were basically treated as pawns during this situation. BBC made it pretty clear they thought of them as a liability, while for Jaden Jeong they were pretty much avatars to fulfill his creative vision. The members were effected by this, too. It was a rude awakening after the excitement of the pre-debut era. They struggled with feeling like a cohesive unit at this point because they hadn’t gotten to do much as a group, and their future was up in the air. 

Lee Soo-man Involvement

What drew Lee Soo-man to Loona: Ten of Swords, Queen of Wands Lee Soo-man role: Teacher Archetype Card What Lee Soo-man wanted: Five of Pentacles, Temperance BBC role: Warrior Archetype Card What BBC wanted: Chariot (Reversed), Two of Swords Loona role: Exorcist Archetype Card What Loona wanted: Death, Seven of Cups (Reversed)

This was interesting and not entirely what I expected. 

Lee Soo-man’s interest in Loona appears to have been sparked by being stung by disappointment in the financial state of SM. I had a vague memory of reading that SM operated on a financial loss in 2019. I googled this and ... yep. Appears to have been the case (again, correct me if I’m wrong.) This was really, really bothering him at the end of 2019. Part of it was because the dude was a CEO and just wants the company he founded to still be making money. There’s a bit more to it, though. Beyond wanting his company to be known as the best of the best in terms of making money, he also seems to want it to be renowned for it’s creativity and boundary pushing. He appears to take it incredibly personally when an idea of his doesn’t instantly take off. 

This is where Loona comes in. It seems that he was rather flattered by the fact that they covered NCT over any other SM group (I know NCT is doing well, but the structure of the group has been something of an acquired taste, and SM seems invested in proving that this rotational structure is workable. It’s partially about money but also partially about being right.) It also didn’t escape his attention that Loona is a meme around the world.  I’ve seen some people speculate over the past few months that he was trying to sabotage Loona’s career. I really don’t see that indicated in the cards. He wouldn’t have lost sleep if the concept change costed Loona all their fans, but he generally wanted those comebacks to make a splash.

This is because investing in Loona is a win/win for his ego. If his contributions to Loona are successful, then he can take credit for ‘rescuing’ this group with a lot of potential. If their Lee Soo-man backed comebacks flop ... Well, it’s disappointing but it’s not like they’re an SM group. Any failure of theirs won’t really be seem by the public as SM failing.  Essentially, these creative partnerships with BBC allow for him to do creative work and try to push some of the more unusual songs in SM’s catalogue without getting any real pushback about it. 

Regarding Blockberry Creative, I have to wonder if they got some new leadership? I tried to google this but came up empty. They were definitely more assertive in 2020 given that they managed to pull off 2.5 comebacks (counting Star as one.) They’re still a little tentative, though. It’s not quite as bad as things were in 2019, but they were relieved to be having Lee Soo-man take the reins in 2020. They still haven’t decided what direction Loona should go in, let alone what to do with all the lore. 

As for Loona, I get the sense that 2020 was interesting for them. They were frustrated about some things, but they were still very, very ready to move on from the stagnation of 2020. They aren’t sure if they’re on board with their 2020 comebacks but they were mostly just excited to have something to do. Even if there was clear room for improvement, they still committed to their work as much as possible. They’re also working on being more proactive in their careers. 

[il-papa-patata]

Cold Earth, Cold Body

Mary visits a familiar place while they’re on tour. Swiss comes along as moral support.

Rating: T

Ghost is Ghosts AU, Mary is Special Ghoul AU, Established Swiss/Mary, mentioned Mary/Terzo, catharsis, gravedigging, mentions of death

It's just a little... detour.

Imperator packed the schedule tight around the Czech Republic, Hungary, Austria-

But...

There's some time, anyway. Just a day here.

Swiss follows behind as Mary weaves his way easy through trees, breath harsh in the winter air. The new winter coat – the Ghouls' standard wool coat with the black-fur collar – flares behind him as he moves, hanging open over his chest.

Swiss says nothing. There's no space to – there's a gnarl of trees, then a brief lash of fence; they aren't hurrying but Mary moves brisk and quick.

There's nothing to say. And Mary's been quiet since they stepped off the train and into that station – an old thing, not as old as Swiss but older than Mary. There's just. A tension.

Swiss knows why, of course, but it's not easier that he knows, and he's really just coming along to help out, although he feels like maybe it shouldn't be him, but Terzo along for this because he and Mary are made of the same stuff and understood each other better anyway-

Swiss focuses again.

Mary stops, teetering in his tracks.

“Ah.”

It's- well, it was a sturdy building at some point. Maybe. Swiss isn't sure, but Mary is, the way his mouth twists into something that's supposed to be a grin but fails to be.

It's this yard – surrounded by an old wrought-iron fence with a chain-link behind it, taller than Swiss. And then – walls, although there are more holes in them than there are walls, marks of graffiti and rubble and the roof all caving in.

Mary is scrambling up the fence before Swiss can think, and then he has to clamber up as well, landing on the other side of the tall fence with a heavy thud. And Mary again is not going slow, but he isn't rushing either, drawn forward by some invisible thread, a line that he follows like a bloodhound after a scent-

They venture inside. Here- rows and rows of old machinery, chairs thrown about haphazardly, some stacked in a pile – Mary moves past them all. There's signs of urbex around, which he thinks is fair – tags and ill-moved furniture and things with dust smeared off them in uneven clumps – but it isn't what Mary is after.

There's this area – solid holes punched in the roof that let in the thin, wintry daylight, but a surprisingly empty floor, all smooth, crack-your-head concrete.

“Ha,” Mary barks, moving further in, back into the corner of the building – the factory, Swiss thinks – to a spot on the concrete.

Now, here, it doesn't look like much. Just kind of a brownish smudge. But Mary is pointing with his not-grin and so Swiss ventures-

“Blood?”

Mary nods, his grin breaking uneven, pointing to himself.

“Oh,” Swiss says, as Mary sits down and lies out on the cold concrete, adjusting himself minutely until the blood form a halo around his head. And then almost proudly, in the way a child might celebrate first tying their shoes, Mary throws his arms out and kicks his feet up.

Swiss can't really find it all that funny.

Mary repeats the unfurling another two times, each a little more impatient, before he lies back fully, going limp against the floor, wet in places where it snowed recently. The sun shines through onto Mary's face – he turns his head away, hand limp on his stomach, almost-

And then turns back, looking up at Swiss and laughing, rolling back up to sitting, every part of him jagged and fragile at the same time.

Swiss takes his hands when Mary wiggles them and helps him up, only letting go once he's squeezed them gently, reminding Mary he's here too. Mary's weird grin falters.

He laces their fingers. Sways close to Swiss, rests his head on Swiss's shoulder.

So they breathe for a moment, in the wintry air, Mary's other hand fiddling with the buttons of Swiss's coat. Mary's hand wanders, stroking up along the seam of the coat-front, into the plush collar, up to stroke Swiss's face gently.

Mary's hands are cold, but Swiss leans into it, looking down at the ferocious man now looking up at him with quiet – but unflinching – warmth.

Swiss kisses him. Just gently. A press of his lips to Mary's, just warm, Mary's breath fanning out along his cheek as they readjust and kiss again.

Mary sighs.

Turns, and heads towards one of the holes punched in the walls, but doesn't let go of Swiss's hand, pulling him along.

They wander the grounds a bit – there's the start of a forest behind the building, with old elms and pines intermingled. There's clumps of snow around, albeit not that many. Most of it’s melted. The sun's warm despite the temperature, but Mary's ungloved hands are colder and colder.

Swiss wonders if he feels cold the same way, like a sunburn on the back of the neck, brilliant and bright. Swiss thinks many things were different after he died, but he can't really remember how he was before his death. He remembers his sister – remembers his carpentry, can still do everything he did when he was alive, still remembers watching over the neighborhood kids but-

He doesn't remember falling sick. He doesn't remember lingering as his skin blackened and swelled, until his body was consumed – he can look at his skin, blistered with the markings of where the buboes sat, and know it happened, but he can't remember a moment of it.

He doesn't remember dying, although it definitely happened.

Mary stops. Grips his hand tight.

At first, Swiss doesn't know what he looks at. There's a sort of depression in the earth, although it's not that noticeable.

But then Mary lets go of his hand and picks up a stone sitting by the dip in the earth.

“Ha,” Mary says again, “Ha- hahaha!”

Mary laughs. Mary laughs and laughs.

It's sharp and barking, but not the way his laugh normally is. This is different. This is worse.

It sounds like he's choking, the laughter worming its way around the usual rasp in his lungs, half-cough.

And then it forgets to be laughter at all. And Mary starts to sob.

Mary clutches the stone to his chest, sobbing and sobbing, heart-rending hiccups and inhuman keening, his usually sharp face crumpling.

Swiss is there. Pulling Mary into his chest, steadying the man. Running his hands down Mary's back, tucking his head into his shoulder.

It takes a little bit. The two of them in this old factory yard, on the edge of this deep forest. The factory is old and broken, but the forest old and whole, still thriving – perhaps like them. Mary just sobs, looks at the stone occasionally, his tears restarting. But eventually he stops, taking deep lungfuls of winter air and wiping at his tear-striped, blotchy face with his cold hands.

“You okay?” Swiss murmurs, reaching up to cup Mary's cheek, stroke at his sideburn.

“Ha,” Mary hiccups, face smeared with eyeliner, “Ha, yeah, I'm okay now. Thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Mary sighs out another deep breath. Looks up at Swiss. Then down at the stone.

“You remember how I told you I died? How I had TB and my friends – my comrades, who I didn't think liked me that much – ha – ended up burying me?”

“Yeah.”

“It was here.”

“I guessed.”

“That brown spot was – I think now they'd call it a lung hemorrhage. I drowned in my own blood while I was sleeping,” Mary laughs, just once, “Fuckin' awful way to go.”

“You remember it?”

“Yeah. Every second. Thinking how unfair it all was. How much I'd miss. How of course I was gonna die from the thing that killed my family but I couldn't have the dignity of dying with them.”

Swiss just strokes Mary's temple again, hums.

“My- friend, Esther. The one I was in love with. She'd tried to sing me to sleep. And she- when she thought I was asleep she told me she loved me, but why would I believe-”

Mary stops. Lifts the stone and settles it into Swiss's hands.

In a brief, but beautiful handwriting, worn with age but still marked on the stone –

Mary Goore. 1863-1890. Our dearest friend and the one who gave us our name – the Repugnants. We lost today what can never be replaced. May his memory be a blessing.

“I spent-” Mary warbles, resting a hand on his throat, “So much time so sure... I crawled out of this grave and I was consumed with the need to go to Italy, to meet Copia, to- to start over. To find purpose. What else had I come back for but that? I was so sure that they all just moved on after I died, that they didn't care. Like they were burying a stray dog.”

Mary holds out his hands for the stone, and Swiss hands it back to him.

Mary sets the stone back down by the impression – no, the grave, worn down and made natural by 130 years of weather, and turns back to Swiss, coming over to him and kissing him again.

This is different.

They'd been together a long time. Swiss was quite proud to feel like – like yes, he understood Mary, and he could get at the man's depths, and they could meld together-

But this is different.

Mary's mouth is warm, and his hands are covered in grave dirt, and when they pull back for air, Mary's eyes are electric, even surrounded by washed-away eyeliner.

Mary smiles.

“Whoa,” Swiss says, pulling Mary close by the waist and kissing him again, a bright thing, “That's a lethal smile, sweetheart. Gonna knock me out over here.”

“Shut up,” Mary sighs, leaning up and lacing his arms around Swiss's neck, kissing him again.

The whole jagged line of Mary is finally – relaxed. One hundred thirty years of them knowing each other and Mary is loose and pliable and molding up along the curve of Swiss's chest, and Swiss is pulling him closer and groans when Mary sags into him.

“Hehe,” Mary giggles, nipping at Swiss's lower lip.

“Hehe,” Swiss replies.

“I wanna fuck,” Mary murmurs.

“Here?” Swiss darts his eyes to the old grave, to the winter-bare trees, to the plumes of mist that haze around their mouths.

Mary also seems to realize this, cheeks fading into a pretty pink.

“You don't want to fuck a dead man? Engage in some necrophilia?”

“Is it necrophilia if both parties are dead though?”

Mary's brow furrows and he focuses on one of the buttons of Swiss's coat, pulling back a bit. “Hm. Is it? Legally?”

“Might be. Laws are weird about us.”

“Damn, ain't that true.” Mary settles back, his cold hands on Swiss's cheeks. “We'll make some bureaucrat hard with this write-up then. Once we get back. It's cold.”

Swiss just chuckles, clutching Mary close again and kissing him some more.

[myarmsaretoolong]

Psych 101

@whumptober2020​ Prompt #11: Psych 101 | AltPrompt 14: Shot

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: Gun Violence | Blood

Synopsis: Tony and Peter are attacked at what should have been a simple press conference revealing the next heir to Stark Industries

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

“Alright, you ready for this, kiddo?” Tony said as he and Peter weaved through the halls of the Avengers Facility. It was a big day, Peter’s first appearance in a press conference - Spider-Man aside - and the announcement of a new heir to Stark Industries would cover the headlines for days.

Peter rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fists trying to work out his nervous energy. “No, not really. But yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll have your back in there.”

“Are there any rules I should know about? Like a ‘Do’s and Don’ts’ kind of thing?”

Tony hummed. “Well, firstly you gotta think before you say anything, but not for so long that it looks like you’re thinking. If you don’t like a question they ask, just turn it into a joke - or give me a nudge and I’ll handle it. And give them a flash of that Parker smile, it’s been known to melt hearts-”

“Yours included?”

“Yup,” Tony nodded once. “Mine included. How did you think you got here?”

“Hard work and dedication?”

“That too, I suppose. Oh, and don’t mention Spider-Man at all. Superhero stuff tends to lead down a rabbit hole and we both know you’re prone to rambling as is.”

Peter threw his arms in the air and sighed. “Great, well now all I’m thinking about is Spider-Man.” Tony chuckled. “Try not to overthink it. Remember, I’ll be beside you the whole time.” They came to a stop outside the door to the press room, Happy, vigilantly standing guard outside, nodded a greeting. “Last chance to back out, Pete.”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I can do this.”

Tony wrapped his arm over Peter’s shoulder and pulled him into his side, pressing a kiss to the bird’s nest he called hair. “That’s my boy. Now,” Tony turned his attention to Happy by the door, “If you’d do the honours, Mister Hogan.”

“Gladly,” Happy replied. Though he clearly tried to hide it, a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, just barely visible before he turned and cracked open the door. Before letting Tony and Peter enter, he stuck his head through the gap and surveyed the room. Seemingly content with what he saw, Happy stepped back and allowed the others the file through. “You’ll do great, kid,” he whispered, following close behind Peter, “I know it.”

“Thanks, Happy,” Peter muttered over his shoulder. He turned his head towards the at least thirty strong crowd all pointing flashing cameras in his and Tony’s direction, some even calling out questions. Tony strode to the centre of the stage at the front of the room, one arm held out to welcome Peter to join him, he did so, tucking himself just slightly behind his mentor for safety.

“Alright, alright,” Tony called over the racket of clicking camera shutters, an easy going grin on his face. “You’re gonna scare the kid, it’s his first time out here so cut him a little slack.”

“Tony!” Peter hissed, lightly punching Tony’s back with his hidden arm.

Chuckling, Tony held his arms out in a welcoming manner. “Thanks, everyone, for coming out here. Believe me when I say your bosses are going to love you come the morning prints, this one’s a real doozy.” A series of mutters broke out amongst the crowd, an excited buzz filling the room. “This,” carefully, Tony manoeuvred Peter to stand by his side, his arm secured over the kid’s shoulders. “Is a very special kid I’d like you all to meet. Peter Parker, my personal intern here at Stark Industries.”

Tony paused, allowing a few seconds as another flare of camera flashes started up. Peter held up his hand and waved. Noticing the quiet tremor in said hand, Tony squeezed a little tighter and rubbed his thumb in small, calming circles. Maybe the kid could do with a little pep talk. “He’s diligent, hardworking, and most importantly trustworthy. If my life rested in his hands, I wouldn’t have a fear.”

Peter smiled wide, but muttered through gritted teeth. “I don’t see how this is helping. Now it seems like I’m going to murder you.”

“I digress.” Tony clapped his hand twice against Peter’s shoulder. “The reason I’ve dragged the kid out here in front of you today is to announce him as the heir to Stark Industries.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the room exploded. Much the same as his other infamous press conference. Reporters leapt up out of their seats, stammering to yell their questions and jostling for the best photograph position.

That’s when it all went wrong.

Tony felt Peter’s shoulders tense under his grip. At first, he assumed it to be nerves, but then he noticed the way the kid’s head swivelled about the room wildly. Scanning the faces of every reporter in the room. Happy noticed it too and half stepped forward, half reached out to grab the door handle behind him. They both knew what this meant.

At the last second, Tony spotted the guy violently forcing his way through the crowd, something small and metal clasped in one hand. There wasn’t time to react. Not for Tony, at least.

The guy levelled his gun at Tony’s chest. Screams broke out, Happy’s included as he started across the stage. Peter slipped from Tony’s grip and turned, shoving his mentor down to the ground with a full bodied tackle. A horrific shot rang out. The guy fled.

Happy reached them first. He grabbed Tony’s shoulders and rolled him onto his back, already searching for the gunshot wound. Tony pushed his hands away and scrambled to his hands and knees, crawling towards Peter. The kid’s face already held the sheen of a layer of sweat and he clutched a hand over his abdomen. Blood seeped between his fingers and trickled to the floor where it pooled together.

The security team began shouting orders. Some chased after the attacker, while others fought to remove the press, most of whom stood in a state of shock. Some - monsters, Tony would later describe them as - pulled out their cameras and took photos. The image of a young man laying on the floor, weakly reaching out for his equally terrified father-figure would cover every news outlet the next morning.

Tony grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled the kid into his lap, his other hand pressed down over Peter’s wound. “Sorry, kiddo,” he whispered when Peter’s face curled up in pain. “I have to.”

“I think I’ve been shot,” Peter rasped. Tony couldn’t tell if he was trying to make a joke, or simply in a state of shock. Why not both.

“Yeah, Pete, me too.” Tony turned his head towards Happy who now stood, his phone pressed to his ear. “Hap?”

“Doctor Cho’s on her way down here from the mebay. She’s bringing a stretcher. Two minutes.” Happy relayed the information quickly before kneeling by Peter’s side. “Hey, did you hear that? Hang on a little longer, then Cho can dose you up with some of the good stuff.”

Peter chuckled wettly. Blood specking his lips. “I don’t think ‘Do Drugs’ is a message you’re supposed to give to kids.”

A tear slipped over Tony’s cheek, followed by countless more. He didn’t - couldn’t - let go of Peter’s hand, so let them fall without wiping them away. “Hey, we never said Happy was Uncle of the Year.” His joke fell flat, the delivery ruined by his voice cracking. Still, Peter laughed again, this time ending in a coughing fit. “Shhh,” Tony hummed while Happy rubbed circles of Peter’s arm. “It’s okay, Pete. We’re here.”

Doctor Cho burst through the door, a pair of nurses following her and dragging a stretcher between them. Happy backed up to allow her room, Tony couldn’t bring himself to move away. “Prepare the mebay for major hemorrhage protocol,” Doctor Cho ordered one of the nurses - who ran out of the room - before turning her attention to examining Peter. “Dammit,” she hissed, “there’s no exit wound. The bullet could have lodged anywhere inside his chest or abdomen. Help me get him on the stretcher, stat.” She looked up at Tony expectantly, he could only offer wordless bobbing of his mouth in reply.

“I’ve got it.” Happy stepped forward and helped Cho and the remaining nurse transfer Peter onto the stretcher. “Tony,” he whispered, gently pulling his hands away from the kid so Cho could apply a temporary bandage to stem the bleeding. “Let her work. She’s the best shot we have.”

Tony looked down at his blood stained hands, then watched as they whisked Peter away. “I-I was supposed to have his back.”

Happy nodded and started to guide Tony out of the room. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

After washing away Peter’s blood from his hands and changing into clean clothes, Tony stood by Peter’s bedside, Happy opposite, and May somewhere between the city and the Facility.

Peter’s hand twitched, and Tony instinctively reached down to take hold. Relief flooded his body when he squeezed back, weak, but there. “Hey, kid.” Tony gently brushed his hand through Peter’s hair. “You awake?”

“Mm-hm,” Peter murmured, his eyes fluttering open only to squint against the bright light. “What happened?”

“Someone attacked the press conference, do you remember?”

Peter reached up and splayed his hand over his face. “Right, yeah. The gun.”

“I think I owe a thank you for that.”

“It was nothing,” Peter said.

“Nothing?” Happy huffed disbelievingly. “Kid, you could have died. The bullet missed your heart by a millimetre according to Cho. It’s a miracle you’re not dead.”

Peter’s grip on Tony’s hand increased tenfold. Tony shot Happy a disapproving glare. “Nice work, Hap.”

“Uncle of the Year,” Peter laughed.

“Ah, so you remember all of it, then?”

Peter nodded slowly, his hand falling back to his side as he met Tony’s eye. “I guess I had your back, huh?”

“You sure did, Pete.”

“I love you, Tony.”

Tony’s heart filled with the same warmth it did every time the kid said those simple words, a genuine, not press-faked smile lit up his face. “Love you too.”

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 13- Home, Again

Warnings: swearing, mentions of torture and injuries, family drama and stuff? (if there’s something in this chapter that you want me to tag, let me know, I’m just not sure what to classify some of this stuff as)

Ch 12 | Ch 14

~ ~ ~

Beck threw herself into her sister’s arms as Lydia entered the waiting room.

“Thank god. Lydia, I’m so sorry, but I’m so scared. Watching her fall apart like that, then start seizing- What would we do if we lost her? What would I do? The system will take in Katie and Adam, but I… I’d be alone.”

Lydia pulled away to look into her sister’s cloudy eyes. “You will never be alone. If something actually happened to Sonia, you could come to DC with me in a heartbeat. Please don’t ever think I’d leave you alone.”

“You hate me,” Beck claimed. Her face was a blotchy mess and she didn’t make it any better be rubbing her hands over it frustratedly. She’d recently cut her hair short, which was perhaps the only thing stopping her from ripping it out. “I’ve been such an ass. I wouldn’t blame you if you left me here and went back to Virginia. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a college degree, I don’t even know how to drive a car! I’m useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Lydia insisted, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You’re stubborn. You were angry. But you know who knows even more about anger than you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing you, you menace?”

They both giggled, Rebecca hiccuping slightly through more tears.

“So, you won’t leave me to be a homeless prostitute?”

“Not this month,” Lydia joked. “What have you heard? Did they dissolve the blood clot?”

Beck nodded. “It’s gone. Now the only concern is figuring out how much damage it did.”

“Okay. Well then, one of us should stay here and wait for news and the other has to take Katie and Adam home and get them to bed. I really think you could use the rest, but I’m okay with either.”

The two twins were seated in the corner of the room. Katie was asleep across the armrest between her and her brother’s chair. Adam looked bored out of his mind, picking at his fingernails.

Beck looked back at them, then bit down on her bottom lip. “I need to make sure she’s okay. I don’t think I could fall asleep if I went home anyway.”

Lydia could understand that. She gave her sister a nod, before stepping around her and approaching the kids. “Hey Adam. Long time, no see!”

He pushed himself out of his chair quickly and wrapped his arms around Lydia’s waist. “Hi Lydie! Why didn’t you come home for Christmas this year?”

“I had to work,” she admitted, feigning disgust.

“You have to see the Legos that Becky got me! I already built them all!”

“That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me once we get home.”

He bounced excitedly, turning around to wake up his sister. “Katie! Lydie’s here!”

The girl blinked, rubbing her face where it was previously squished against her arm. “Adam,” she grumbled. “What do you want?”

Lydia knelt down next to her seat. “Hey Katie,” she said, softly. “I’m here to take you two hooligans home.”

Katie blinked, recognizing Lydia’s voice and her silly nickname for the twins. “Lydie? Mommy didn’t say you were coming home.”

Lydia didn’t want to freak them out by making them think the stroke was a big deal, so she held up a finger to her lips and said, “Sonia doesn’t know yet. It’s a surprise.”

“Is mommy sick?” Adam asked. “Becky said she was hurt, but when I hurt my arm, I didn’t have to stay at the doctor’s this long.”

“Mommy did get hurt,” Lydia admitted. “But she’s super strong. Right now, you two have to get some sleep. In your own beds. Okay?”

They nodded and followed her out, saying their goodbyes to Rebecca as they passed. Lydia called a cab to meet them outside and take them back to Sonia’s house.

As they were packing in, her phone rang. Spencer. Shit…

“Spence, hey…” she began, but couldn’t for the life of her come up with anything else to say.

“Lydia? Hotch told us that you had a family emergency, what happened?? Are you okay? Did you get home?”

She sighed, relieved he wasn’t angry about her sudden disappearance. They’d just been talking face to face and then she was on her way to the airport. “Can we start with one questions at a time? I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, quickly. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m leaving a hospital in Oakland, California, on my way to my foster mom, Sonia’s, house.”

“Why were you at the hospital?”

“Sonia had a stroke.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry. What kind of stroke?”

“Uh… I’m not sure? I didn’t speak to any of the doctors directly.”

“Do you know if she had a hemorrhage or-?”

“No. No, it was a blot clot.”

“That’s good!” he said immediately. “The chances of surviving a ischemic stroke are higher than a hemorrhagic stroke. There’s also a higher likelihood of a full recovery.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Spence. How did the case go?”

“We found and recovered all the kids, but Jane and Frank disappeared.”

“Oh no…” she fretted. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about? You weren’t even in Nevada when it happened.”

“But I was… I told him we could negotiate for Jane and-”

“You saw her,” Spencer reasoned. “She was throwing herself at him. Frank would have gotten away either way and Jane would have followed him. You helped us get those kids back.”

“When did you become so good at cheering me up?” she teased. He didn’t reply, so she kept going. “Spencer, I should go. I’m almost at Sonia's house. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

“Lydia? What are you doing here?” Sonia demanded as Lydia walked into her room the next morning.

“What are you doing in a hospital bed?” she fired back. “You went and scared the hell out of us!”

“Honey, I’m old. It happens.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Not old enough. You’re like… one of the least likely people to get a stroke. You’re 50, you’re a woman, you’re Asain… do you have any blood pressure problems I don’t know about?”

“Apparently I have blood pressure problems that I don’t even know about,” she chuckled, trying not to focus on how bad that could be. “Since when do you know so much about stroke statistics?”

Lydia was perfectly ready to tell her that she’d done a bunch of research at the airport, but it was a lie. Spencer had been sending her little tidbits of information all day. Some to try to cheer her up, others to help prepare her for how Sonia’s recovery might go. As she thought about those texts, a smile pulled at her lips and Sonia was on her in an instant.

“What’s that? That smile. You just got all blushy on me, what happened?”

“I work with profilers and somehow you’re already onto my little secret, hm?” She rubbed her forehead. “You should probably go work for my team if you’re going to be so observational.”

“You should probably stop being so obvious,” she argued. “You’ve got a crush written all over you. Did he tell you about the stroke statistics?”

“His name is Spencer, he texted them to me to make me feel better, and I’m not crushing on him.”

“Oh please!” she cried. “Your cheeks are bright red! I know a crush when I see one. Tell me about this Spencer. Where did you meet him?”

“We work together. And I’m not lying, I’m not crushing on Spencer… because we’ve been dating for almost a year now.”

“You what?!” she exclaimed. “Lydia, you have to tell me these things! Almost a year?”

“Yeah. It started last year in April.”

“Why would you hide this from me? Look at you! You’re so happy!”

Lydia bit her tongue in contemplation. Why hadn’t she told her family? “Because I’ve been keeping it a secret anyway. None of the team knows we’re together. We never agreed that we wouldn’t tell our families, but… I don’t know, I guess I got so caught up in the lie that I didn’t even think about telling you guys.”

“Why are you hiding?” Sonia asked.

“Our work.” Lydia shrugged. “When we went on our first date, we didn’t want the whole team to be invested in a relationship that might not last. We didn’t want things to get weird. But now, it feels wrong, you know? Our boss wouldn’t be happy if he found out that we’ve been lying to him all this time. Spencer’s an agent, so in-office relationships are frowned upon for him.”

Lydia’s phone buzzed in her hand and instinctively, she looked down at it.

“Did he just text you?” Sonia teased.

Lydia glared back. “Fucking profilers.”

~ ~ ~

“Katie! Adam!” Lydia called as she shuffled upstairs.

“Hold on!” Katie’s muffled squealing came from the twin’s room.

Lydia smiled at what she could only imagine to be wild shenanigans going on behind that door. But, she turned and walked farther down the hall, opening up the door to Sonia’s room.

She’d been let go from the hospital after about a week, and had been recovering quickly. Lydia was glad to see her sitting up in bed stretching her arms out in front of her. Her left arm was weak and shook dramatically, but it was an improvement.

“Good morning, Sonia,” she greeted, walking over to the side of her bed. “Make sure to do your leg stretches as well today. I know they’re uncomfortable, but if you don’t build up that strength again, you’re going to end up with only one working leg. I want you to think about how frustrating that would be.”

She dropped her head back. “You’re right. That would be awful. Then I’d look like you.”

“Very funny,” Lydia deadpanned. “But my leg works fine, thank you. At this point, I’d say better than yours. But nevermind that, I won’t be here and neither will the car. If something happens, Beck will handle it and I’ll be back before your physical therapy appointment, okay?”

Lydia leaned down and gave her foster mother a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m ready, Lydie!” Adam shouted as he burst into the room. His backpack hung loosely from his shoulders, seeing as there probably wasn’t more in it than a folder.

“Is Katie ready?” she asked.

“No. Katie’s tying her shoes.”

“Oh, well then she’s almost ready. Let’s start heading down, shall we?”

He nodded, eagerly. “Bye, Mommy!” he said, before scurrying downstairs.

“Bye, Sonia,” Lydia followed suit, closing the door behind her as she left. “Beck?”

Her sister popped her head out of the bathroom, only half her makeup done, looking thoroughly unamused. “Must you be so loud?”

“Make sure Sonia gets up soon,” she ordered. “I won’t have my phone with me, so if something happens, call the doctor.”

“Won’t have your phone…?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you not coming back after dropping the twin’s off?”

“No. I thought Sonia told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I’m ready!” Katie cried, rushing down the stairs to meet her brother.

“Head out to the car, little hooligans!” Lydia instructed. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Where are you going?” Beck tried again.

Lydia sighed. “I’m visiting Dad today.”

~ ~ ~

Not that visiting a prison was ever a pleasant experience, but Lydia was comforted to find the place exactly the same. She had enough anxiety going in as is, but trying to navigate new rules or requirements would have made it ten times worse. Her dad didn’t even seem to notice her walk into the room, sitting alone at a table, staring intently at a wall.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Um, hey Dad.”

He blinked at her for a moment, before pulling her into a hug. “Lydia! Look at you! You’ve changed so much, sweetheart!”

She shrunk away from him, slightly as he spoke, both because the guards would yell at them if they were in contact for too long and because it had been so long. It was just weird.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s been a crazy two years.”

“I hear,” he said, the two of them sitting across from one another. “Rebecca tells me that you work for the FBI full-time now.”

“Not exactly. I’m contracted out by one of their teams. Sometimes I’m home for a few weeks, other times we solve one case and fly straight to the next. It isn’t exactly 9 to 5.”

“I’m really proud of you.” He smiled and Lydia’s lip twitched as well. “I was shocked to hear you were coming. Rebecca says you very rarely visit.”

“I’m not in California for a visit,” she admitted. “Sonia had a stroke, so I’ve taken some time off work to look out for her and the other kids in her care.”

Her dad had warmed up to Sonia over the years, seeing as she had to escort Lydia and Beck to the prison when they were still minors. He looked genuinely sad to hear the news. “That’s terrible. Tell her I hope she gets well soon.”

“I will. It was pretty mild it seems. She’s regaining strength quickly.”

They didn’t have the time for this small talk. Her father knew that. But Lydia almost hoped that they could keep the conversation going. As if he wasn’t an inmate in a prison. As if they weren’t being watched carefully. As if she didn’t have mixed feelings about speaking to him.

“So, Lydia, why did you come?”

Lydia blinked, pushing up her glasses habitually. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen you for two years…”

“I know,” he chuckled. “But if you wanted to come say hi to me, you’d do it when you were visiting home. Not when you’re busy taking care of a whole family.”

“Well… your sentence is almost done. Seven years… And I was talking to Sonia about it and she asked when the last time I saw you was… I felt bad.” She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Because he knew that wasn’t it. “I haven’t really… told anyone in DC that my dad’s in prison. And with this new job, I talk to serial killers. I learn a lot about them, get into their heads. And in the end, we always put them away. And now I see prison in this whole different light and I think I needed to prove to myself that you… you aren’t one of the bad guys.”

“Okay, so… how do I prove I’m not a bad guy?” he asked.

“You don’t. You just-” Lydia’s eyes started to burn and she stopped herself from getting emotional. “I wanted to see you. That’s all. Recently, it feels like I can’t remember much about anyone in the family.”

“Is this about your mom?”

“I don’t know what this is about,” she rambled. “I just… I was finally starting to be okay in college and then, the whole Jenna thing happened and I was an angry monster again. And when I realized I had settled down, I was a different person. I worked for the FBI for crying out loud! And I’m looking at the people around me, and they look different, too, but I can’t figure out if it’s them who’ve changed or just my view of them. And I’ve always-”

She was tearing up again. Lydia gritted her teeth, feeling frustrated. She came here to check up on him, not have a meltdown. But if she shut down, he would keep bugging her about it, so might as well keep going.

“I’ve always been so mad at you,” she said, gnashing her teeth like an animal. “And then I’m looking through a serial killer's house and all I can think is, ‘At least my dad didn’t become this’. And I feel guilty that I’ve been so hard on you for seven years. So, I came here because I needed to prove to myself that this face belongs to my dad and not a bad guy.”

“Could it be both?”

Lydia glared at him, but didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t need the ambiguous question right now.

“Lydia, I know what I did was stupid and it hurt people. And all the excuses I made for it at the time don’t justify my actions. I wasn’t wrongfully accused and I’m not trying to pretend I was.”

“I don’t want to have an argument with you,” she grumbled. “I want to look at you with my new profiling eyes and determine whether it’s worth rebuilding a relationship with you when you get out.”

That shut him up. Lydia’s face burned in shame, but there was no taking it back. They sat there in silence for what felt like years. She didn’t know what there was to say. It had been on her mind for months now that his release was approaching. She’d considered Beck to be her only family for almost 7 years. Her father was a distant memory. But maybe when his time was up… maybe it’d be nice to have a dad again. But she had sworn at 16 never to forgive him.

“Did you decide?” he asked, his voice grim.

Why did she have to decide? Why couldn’t someone tell her that she was going to have to learn to live with or without him and be done with it? Why did it have to be her to walk away or make the effort. Shouldn’t family come naturally?

But for now, at least, she knew what she wanted.

“I want my family back. I don’t want to leave California one day and never have a reason to come back… I want to know my mom… And maybe, just maybe, I want to remember my dad, too. Because somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, he was a cool dude.”

“I’m sorry that I ever left you,” he said.

Finally, Lydia felt a sense of relief. She stood up. “I need to go, Dad. Luckily, the next time I see you, you probably won’t be behind bars.” And then, she opened up her arms, welcoming him in for a hug.

For the past seven years, she’d never been the one to initiate a hug with her father, but it felt like it was time. Her stubbornness had kept her from too much. She’d missed out on so many opportunities to be happy all because she was hinged on being in complete control of the image of herself that other’s saw. And she hadn’t felt like she’d had a parental figure in a long time.

He accepted quickly. “Go be an amazing bad-guy-catcher,” he teased.

“I will,” she replied with a smile. “Keep being a neutral guy, alright?”

As she headed for the door, he said, “Lydia? One more thing…”

She raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Happy birthday.”

He remembered. She didn’t expect him to, for some reason. She didn’t really expect him to know the exact date.

“I love you,” she told him, but didn’t wait around to hear his response. She didn’t plan on spilling any tears today.

~ ~ ~

“You’re hunched over your computer like Quasimodo,” Rebecca joked as she dropped a bowl of ice cream next to her sister.

Poor Lydia was so wrapped up in her paper, she didn’t even notice the gift, ignoring the dessert completely. “I need Spencer,” she admitted. “He’d be able to give me more accurate information than these pathetic websites.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Sonia offered from across the table.

“He told me this morning that he was leaving for a case. Really bad one, too. He doesn’t need the distraction.”

Beck rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually going to get a PhD for this guy.”

“I’m not getting this for Spencer,” she tried to argue. “But I mean, look at me! I’m set to graduate in the spring. Have you ever seen someone get a doctorate in 2 years? Spencer did that for me. I could become a college professor in about a year, all thanks to him. At 23 years old.”

“Don’t act like you’re not a genius all by yourself,” Beck grumbled. “Just because he’s super charismatic-” Lydia laughed out loud when she said that “-does not mean that he got you your PhD.”

“I’m not saying that!” she tried to argue. “Think about how much money I’ve saved! I mean, I was terrified when I took that internship at the BAU that once it was up, I’d be stuck. With this, I have so many options open that I-”

She paused, noticing her phone screen light up with Hotch’s name. Rebecca and Sonia gave her funny looks, but she held up a finger.

“My boss is calling me. Strange.”

“If he says you have to go back to Virginia, do it. You’ve taken enough to time off as it is,” Sonia instructed, but Lydia just rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Hotch,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“Lydia, I’m going to need your help with something…”

“That’s fine. Is it case related?”

“No it’s…” He sounded exhausted and Lydia wondered where he could be. It was 9 in California, so unless he was on the west coast, it was late. “Lydia, Reid has been taken captive by an unsub.”

Her heart stopped. Seeing her family's confused faces across from her, she jumped up from the table and rushed out of the room.

“What? I- What are you… How bad of an unsub?” she sputtered.

“He’s sending us a live feed of it. As of right now, Reid’s forehead has a large gash in it and one of his feet is mangled. We’re doing everything we can to find him.”

“Is there something I can do?” Her breathing was labored and her chest, constricting. This was all wrong. Spencer had to be okay. He needed to be…

“Lydia, Spencer’s strong. He’ll keep fighting until we can get to him. But I have a feeling when he gets out, he’s going to want to see your face.”

She was far too stressed to even consider what he was implying. “You want me to- I’m not sure if I can-”

“Two days. That’s all. I’ll get you a ticket to Georgia as soon as possible. He’ll need your support. Can you be here?”

Leaving suddenly, once again. But Spencer might need her. Hotch was certain he would. And after news like that… she’d need to see him for herself to even imagine that he was going to be okay.

“I’ll pack my things now. Send me that plane ticket and the case file. I need to know what to expect when I get there.”

“I’ll let you know if anything changes,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

She heard him hang up the phone, but didn’t move it away from her ear. All she could hear was her heartbeat in her ears, as if it was trying to break out. She blinked a couple of times and turned to see that her sister had followed her into the next room, eyes wide.

A tear slipped down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. “I need to go,” she told Beck and ran to her room to gather some things.

Tag List: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224, @spencerelds​

[meta-squash]

I wrote a (non-fanfiction) short story tonight for the first time in a very long time, maybe years? I don’t know. But I’m rusty on original stories so uhhh don’t judge too harshly, I guess?

____________________

It came to him in the night, this impossible heir to a fortune he could never understand or afford. Seventeen years old and father downstairs smoking cigars with his buddies asking loud enough to be heard over the radiator rattle, “What is that boy doing with his life and when is he going to get some sense, some street smarts, that sharpknife spark in his eye like his older brothers?”

It came to him in the dark, lying on his back in bed, staring out at the grease-yellow streetlamp slowly dimming in the sweaty haze. No sharpknife spark had ever pierced through into his gaze; it remained soft smouldering coals and he felt the hotiron glare of his father when he spoke so gentle --but-- he had felt that spark last Saturday night hopping getaway fences with brothers and their friends. Leapt a wooden wall and found himself short-breathed and staring at a dew-glittered rose garden. The shouts of men being boys rose around him but for the first time in his life he understood what the word beauty meant, felt its thorns pierce his eyes and his eyes pierce right back. If he couldn’t be sharp like his brothers, too young to be heir to his father’s crooked fortune, he’d go his own way. Steal riches in beauty instead of violence never raw enough to satisfy.

Smog-thawed lights barely noticed him in the alley as he walked a four AM wander towards that square of soft dewy beauty. Barely noticed had his life always been, curtained behind older, louder boys-growing-into-men and brushed aside by flying fists or the cold, heavy, silent gavel of his father’s gaze. The wooden wall barely felt his hands as he vaulted over and found himself again panting to touch the velveteen petals, the sandpaper-splintered leaves, the solidly mobile stem, the gently smiling threat of the thorns.

He felt every anatomical part in his fingers like a child exploring the world for the first time, eyes wide in the darkness and heart so loud in his ears he almost didn’t hear the wind rustle the laden stems or the cherry tree only a few paces away. Only something in the breeze whispered and he looked around himself, spark-eyes wild and frantic thinking somebody’s here! only it was just the wind and the devil in a single tree.

No scissors, not even a knife--god his father would be ashamed--he twisted and ripped at the supple-strong stems, hemorrhaging petals on the dirt below, sprinkling drops of blood and clots of sweet green sap across the mangled stalks. Then up and over the wall again, holding in some wild joyous laughter, stumbling home to hide the shambolic bouquet under his bed. His room smelled like roses and blood and the sickly green scent of dying flowers.

Every night for weeks, even after jobs well done, his father’s voice lamenting the warm amber state of his youngest son. Every night the slowly drooping petals under his bed saying, “Jesse boy, you’ve got a spark, he just can’t see it.”

Three times now he’d gone back to that garden, three times now in the thick darkness, eyes only for the soft petals on their impossibly thin, impossibly strong stems. Never noticing the windows of the dark house. Never noticing the slowly lightening sky.

Now there were scissors, rusted and dull from the garage and he didn’t want to think about whatever else might be dulling the once gleaming metal. Quiet, barely noticed, he leapt into the garden and into the warm accusing arms of light spilling from the open back door.

“I’ve seen you,” said the girl with the brazen hip leaning in the doorway. “Wait, don’t go. My mom’s mad. I didn’t think I’d see a boy like you stealing roses.”

“I like them,” he snapped. Sounded like his brothers before a punch-up.

“Your girlfriend might appreciate something from the store a little more, y’know.”

“They’re not for my girlfriend. I just like them.”

“Alright, don’t get worked up. C’mere, I clipped some for you.” She grinned, and it had the teeth of an animal that had only barely been tamed.

“How did you--”

“You come every week and a half. I was ready. Don’t bring those nasty things inside.”

Jesse put the rusted scissors down on the top step. Half a dozen flowers in a jar sat under the stained glass kitchen lamp. He ran a thumb across a cluster of petals.

“A boy who steals flowers,” she startled him out of the quiet, “in this neighborhood?”

“I like them.” He’s a broken record. He’s a thorn-spark sharpness thrown bare and strange in the soft peach-yellow kitchen light.

“I collected butterflies for a while. I’d unfold them and pin them to a board. Grandma said they were like living roses.” She looked up at him with a gaze half-feral, half-sweet. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Seventeen. My name’s Jesse. I’ll stop if you want.”

“No, don’t. I think it’s fun. I’m Vic. I’ll just clip them for you from now on. Less blood. More petals.”

She let him out through the front door, tiptoe whispering about the sadistic joy of her mother’s fury. Jesse felt like he’d found a bulldog with a lipstick print on her forehead, frightening and tough and lovable at once. He forgot the old scissors on the back stairs. Already a middling spectre of doom. But things get forgotten in romance, in haste.

And roses don’t last forever. Six weeks she met him at his leap over the wall. This week there are no roses left to give.

“You can kiss me instead,” she says, knowing he has wanted to, seeing every night that under his eyes are red hearts of love.

Six more weeks he plucks roses from her lips instead of her fingers. Sometimes the kitchen light rings her holy and haloed in the yard. Sometimes the moon glints wild and doglike in her eyes and off her wide white smile. A bulldog with his heart in her mouth.

He wishes he could be something more solid, like those impossibly-small, impossibly-strong stems that hold the most beautiful parts of the rose aloft.

And downstairs he can hear his father planning something, some damnation for a lost trust.

And in the night she holds up something silhouetted in black. “These are yours. Dad put them in the shed and I found them. You left them here that first night, remember?”

And downstairs they’ve got a proper skeleton of a crew. Just Jesse and his brothers. “If you can’t trust anybody else to do the job right,” Dad says, “At least you can trust family. Right?”

Saturday night, he’s short-breathed in the gloom in the back of a car driving circles through half-familiar streets. Never been on a serious job before, not like this, not with corner-blind fury like this.

“Time to scrape the velvet off ya,” Dad had said, “Start butting heads with the rest.”

He puts a hand in his pocket. Gun. Scissors. Cash. A butterfly Vic had unfolded and given to him, its wings stiff and fragile and nearly as soft as the roses. He puts a hand to his forehead and feels the gleaming sweat that darkens his hairline and shines the hearts under his eyes. He looks forward into the night but all he can see are smears on the glass. Someone switches on the radio. Someone else switches it off.

They park and get out. Main road, long row of houses lit by punctuations of streetlights in the soggy dark. The boulevard at night has the look of murder.

That’s because it knows, Jesse things, absently, dreamily, a little wild.

Someone’s pounding on the door. “Open up!” Jesse joins his brothers on the step. “We know you’re in there, open up!”

Door swings open ghostly silent on old greasy hinges. “Oh, hello sweetheart, we just need to pay your father a little visit. Mind letting us inside?”

Clocked eyes locked over silhouetted heads and shoulders, wide-eyed shock bewilderment fear, and that feral grin turned more than saccharine sweet. “Come on in.” There’s a jar of roses on the coffee table. Passing by, he can’t help but reach out and stroke the soft pink petals. Only they’re strange, flat where they should be velvety, too smooth where they should be rough. Fake.

“Sweetheart, where’s your father? We need to speak with him.”

A glance, knowing, feral, accusing, sweet. “He’s upstairs. Don’t call me sweetheart.”

Fingers grip her face but the bulldog doesn’t back down. Holds the gaze. “I call you what I like.”

Is that lipstick on her teeth, or blood?

Jesse caught in the sweep of an up-the-stairs wave, trapped between brothers each step feels like a gauntlet, a guilt trip, thorns in his palms and round his head. Something crushing into the temples of his skull. In the crowded hallway he reaches into his pocket--whatever his fingers land on first, that’ll be what he wants. At the bottom is some sort of powdery, papery fragments, sticking to the sweat of his grip. The butterfly, crumbled in the crush of bodies on the doorstep. He blinks and pulls his hand away.

“Two each to a door.” In the dark, bodies rustle shuffling shifting movement sorting out who goes where and then silence, waiting.

Vic stands at the top of the landing. A gestured conversation, making a cruel mockery of mime. Jesse’s eyes follow the pointing brother finger to his own door. She stares. Feral, frozen, and everyone knows. Viper smile, sneer, nod, that condescending ‘go on’ gesture like she’s a schoolchild that needs prompting. Four steps forward.

Her head just under his nose she smells sweet. Vanilla and jasmine and rotting flowers and old blood. She doesn’t look at him. He wants to cover his eyes.

The latch releasing sounds like a gunshot. The door swings open. One step into the room, two, and in the dim suggestion of the sickly yellow street lamp outside, her shoulders go up, maybe about to sigh, maybe about to speak up, maybe nothing. Slender shoulders, brash and feral-sweet like her hips and her eyes and her smile and he wants to reach out and grab them, pull her back and hold her close in the dark. Hide her under the bed like he hid his old stolen roses, protecting their beauty from knifesharp eyes of everyone-- everyone else. But these scissors weigh him down in his pockets, feeling small enough to fit inside his own pockets, smaller than a clot of blood or sap, smaller than a crushed butterfly.

Her shoulders go up, and someone else steps forward, two someones, one on each distant end of the distant end of the room. Two someones swing arms up black with silhouette, black with the near-silent brush of sleeve sliding subtly back, the white hint of a wrist not the right place to look for white but it’s good enough and then the entire world is flashing, crashing, the crack-boom of half a dozen guns ringing out blinding his ears deafening his sight the grating metal harsh of half a dozen knifeblade eyes staring down the sight of each perfectly manicured steel barrel, the heavy, empty thud of two bodies making the interminable-instant journey to the floor.

Someone finds a light switch in the hallway. A car alarm is screaming down the street. Jesse has not moved, one hip still leaning in the doorway, one hand still tucked inside his pocket.

He feels his eyes go all rustybladed and sore. There’s no one there, he thinks with desperation, just the holes in the doors and wounds in the floor.