#tw: past child abuse (mentioned)

[seedsplease]

The Runaway

A clerical error, they called it. Someone somewhere had listed him as dead, and now he had a living, breathing daughter out there who he'd never met. Until now. Warnings: Past child abuse mentions. References to canon typical violence. Some implied dark themes. Word Count: 9.1k AO3 Thank you to the amazing @minilev who I was very lucky to commission for this piece of Jacob and Calpurnia. I thoroughly recommend commissioning them if you ever get the chance!! Also I am sure that most of this situation is very unrealistic legally but hey shh don't worry about. Please enjoy! <3

The woman exited the car with a click of her heel on cobbled stone. Holding an almost useless umbrella in one hand and clutching a gleaming briefcase tight in the other, she stood and methodically surveyed the sprawling ranch - despite the weather doing its best to send sprays of rainwater into her eyes.

The cherry-stained wood of the house was welcoming and warm, and the lush grounds of the property would give ample room for an inquisitive and creative mind. She also knew there was a river that was only a stone’s throw away that would be a welcome reprieve from heat in the summertime. There was an airstrip behind the house, and the lovely receptionist at the police station had even told her there were supposed to be tennis courts somewhere on the grounds.

It was, in short, idyllic.

She took a few steps up towards one of the multiple entrances to the house, tilting the umbrella slightly into the oncoming wind to try and make it more effective at keeping her dry - and to avoid the flimsy thing flipping inwards. First impressions were everything, she knew; especially with such sensitive matters, and she would prefer to not turn up as a bearer of heavy news looking like a drowned rat.

Eyes glued to the pavement to watch her step, she focused on rehearsing the usual script that came with her profession. Her manner was important, of course; when delivering the news she was, her demeanor was necessary to smooth over any unpredictable reactions. And, when thinking of the one she was representing - ferreted away back in the hotel room across the river - the woman prayed that there would be nothing but ease in these events.

Before she’d even crossed halfway towards the house, she heard the sound of doors opening. A rush of warm but muted light came out from the entrance - a slight flickering in the background indicative of a lit fire, inviting from the chill of the rain. A man dressed in svelte-blue emerged from the warmth of the home, stepping onto the porch with a slow but confident stride.

He stood there for a second, surveying her quickly but thoroughly, before he gestured for her to join him on the front step. She eagerly rushed to do so, giving a quick huff of relief when she fell under the cover of the roof.

Clutching her briefcase tightly - thankfully it had escaped most of the rain - she hurried to try and calm her frazzled appearance; brushing down her jacket and skirt as though it would do anything to help salvage her put-together demeanor. Clearing her throat, she glanced up at the man once more, finally taking him in as her composure slowly returned.

To his credit, he allowed her that period of grace.  

“Good morning,” the man said with a smile that didn’t entirely reach his eyes. He paused, giving a pointed glance to the near overpowering sound of the rain. A few moments passed before it lulled enough for him to speak. “Or perhaps not.” He gave a wry look before continuing. “How might I help you, my dear?”

She faltered for a moment, taking in the sight of him and repressing a frown; he was certainly not the man she was looking for. Did she have the wrong address? The lovely receptionist at the police office had seemed very certain when she’d inquired about the Seed family living in the vicinity. Upon a second look, however, she noticed there was something in the eyes - piercing blue, and slightly too sharp - that seemed vaguely familiar enough for her to chance to continue with a renewed sense of confidence.

“I’m sorry to intrude this morning. My name is Mary McAllister, I’m with social services.” The man’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silently expectant. She withheld a grimace, but continued nonetheless. “I’m looking for a J. Seed.”

The man barked out a laugh.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific, my dear.”

She frowned, and was about to respond before she saw a second man step towards the entryway. He did not leave the house itself, but loomed nearby; eyes trained on her in a way that made her neck prickle like an animal at unease. Camo-decked and broad, with a red-hilted knife strapped to his thigh and arms crossed over his chest, he stared her down with the intent to cow; an expression she was all too familiar with.

Unbeknownst to him, he had utterly given himself away.

“No need,” she replied to the man in blue, while not taking her eyes off the imposing soldier in the doorway. “I believe I’ve found who I’m looking for.”

It had been a rough morning for Rook.

Some idiot had started a fire out the back shed of the goddamn haunted hotel, Miss Mabel was convinced someone had stolen her prized taxidermy fish - she’d forgotten she’d moved it yesterday and decided to call the police before doing the bare minimum of a search - some loser had dropped nails along the Whitetail Road and had punctured her tires, and - to top everything off - the garage at Falls End told her there’d be a few hours wait until someone could come to help. Absolutely brilliant.

The only silver lining was that the Grill Streak was open, and Chad was more than happy to let her plonk herself down in a chair by the window and wait. It could have been worse; she could have been out in the cold, and unfortunately, she was certainly not dressed to be exposed to the elements for hours on end.

As it was, she was content to sit by the window for the slow-trudging passing of the hours, watching little rivulets of rainwater race down the glass as her main form of entertainment, broken up with Chad intermittently coming to the front and checking in on her.

It was about an hour into her dreadful vigil that she saw the girl.

An over-sized flannel was spread out above her head, doing a poor job at keeping the rain away. Her clothes and hair were sodden despite her efforts, even as she tried to shelter underneath a large tree; they weighed her down and were surely uncomfortable to be walking in. Logically, she ought to have rushed towards the diner the second she’d spotted it, yet for some reason, she’d held herself back; trying to stay near the treeline, almost out of sight.

Rook was a deputy in a small barely-a-town in the middle of nowhere; she had enough experience with runaways to clock one at a distance.

She sighed, pushing herself up out of the seat, and called out a quick explanation to Chad out back, before briskly walking towards the glass door. Either the trill of the bell or the sound of the door shutting behind her alerted the young girl to her presence; her head shot up like a deer, furtive eyes latching onto a perceived predator in an instant. Undoubtedly, Rook’s uniform likely gave her no reassurance, and even at a distance, she could hear the clockwork gears ticking in the girl’s head.

Rook slowly raised her hands in the air and lowered her head slightly as she approached, grimacing as she tried to ignore the pinpricks of the harsh rain slamming on the side of her face.

“Hey!” She called out, loud enough to hopefully be heard through the ruckus of the weather. The girl’s head tilted in acknowledgment, but her eyes were narrowed. Rook pretended to be oblivious to the girl’s wariness as she continued. “Hey, the diner’s open! Come wait until the rain goes!”

The girl’s eyes scanned her surroundings furtively, and Rook resisted the urge to groan as she knew that look; that was the look of someone preparing to start running. Fate decided to intervene, it seemed; fate or a very unobservant driver. The truck came careening around the corner onto Whitetail Road with far too much speed to be safe in these conditions, but Rook wasn’t particularly concerned with taking the truck’s details down as the comically large spray of water came down like a burst dam onto her and the girl both.

Rook’s mouth opened in a grimace, no doubt now resembling more a drowned rat than a disgruntled deputy. Across from her, the girl finally lowered her flannel - now at last unable to deny that it was doing little to protect her from the weather. A mixture of frustration and perhaps desperation came across her face, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to scan her surroundings for another option.

Despite the pounding rain’s windswept needles against her skin, Rook held out her hand placatingly.

“Hey,” she said soothingly when the rain quietened down enough so as for her to be heard. “I’m not gonna call anyone, I promise. Just come and sit in the diner until the rain goes. That’s it.”

The girl’s eyes were still narrowed, but the chill seeping into her sodden bones was a powerful motivator. She gave one last look around her, before latching back onto Rook’s sincere expression. There was a moment of hesitation, but she eventually gave a short, slow nod.

“Okay,” she mumbled, the sound barely audible.

Moving before the girl could change her mind, the two set off back across the road - finally fortunate as they passed undercover just as the rain came back with a pounding vengeance. Rook gave a look back onto the road, drenched as it was, and wondered whether there’d be some sort of flood warning by evening.

The girl wasn’t focused on the rain, however, but on Rook’s car, pathetically pushed off to the side of the road - poorly shielded from the weather, naturally, but it was likely the punctured tires that caught the eye first.

Rook sighed and shook her head.

“It’s been a rough day,” she said as her only explanation.

In spite of herself, the girl couldn’t help but give a brief snort of a laugh. Privately, Rook celebrated that; perhaps there was hope.

Chad was waiting for them at the counter when they walked into the diner. She turned to the girl and gestured over at him.

“What do you feel like?” She asked, and when she saw the girl withdraw slightly, she rushed to continue. “My treat.”

The girl still looked hesitant.

“The weather isn’t going anywhere soon,” Rook insisted.

“Just…hot cocoa,” the girl mumbled, staring away and out the window. A flush was spreading on her cheeks, but she glanced down as though to hide it. “Please.”

Chad nodded and scurried away, while Rook and the girl moved over to the table where Rook’s bag still rested. They had barely been there a few seconds before Chad re-emerged and looked heaven-sent as he carried two towels in his hands.

“Oh shit, you’re an angel,” Rook gasped out, before snapping her mouth shut and grimacing at her language as she looked over at her young companion. “I mean…oh, fuck.”

Beside her, the girl couldn’t help but give her little huff of a laugh again. Brilliant; Rook was already being a bad influence.

Dejected, her shoulders were lowered as she reached out for one of the towels, while the girl slowly did the same.

“Thanks, Chad,” Rook said, scrunching at her hair to try and remove the worst of the water.

They made themselves comfortable, sitting down by the window once more as the rain pounded against the glass at their side.

Rook tilted her head, and tried not to look too obvious as she peered curiously at the girl, now that they were given a moment of respite. She had dark rings under her eyes, and her nails had been chewed to the quick - little reddish marks by the nailbeds from picking at them.

The girl hesitantly placed her flannel down on the booth beside her - careful to rest it upon the already dampened towel. Her surprisingly dry backpack (perhaps the flannel had protected something, at least) remained seated on the ground, carefully tucked behind her leg.

“So,” Rook began, placing an elbow on the table and leaning down to rest her chin upon her palm. “You must be damned determined to go on a hike today.”

The girl couldn’t help a snort, but refused to meet her eyes.

“Sort of,” she replied, something of a brick wall.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the eerie whistle of the wind finding a crevice to sing through.

Rook sighed, tossing up which angle she should use.

“You know…there are lots of wild animals around here,” she said, careful to try and avoid spooking her. “Kind of dangerous to go wandering out here on your own. At least without some way to defend yourself.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed red, and she adamantly stared out the window.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I saw a moose.”

Rook’s eyebrows rose, and she felt a flash of panic at the thought of the girl alone by the road with a moose. Perhaps the girl sensed her concern, as she rushed to continue.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head. “It was really far away.”

Rook wanted to say more, but allowed the matter to drop for now - she doubted it would be particularly useful for her to be too forward with her worry. Instead, they lapsed into a silence again, the girl no doubt waiting for the rain to subside before she could make her dash off into the wilderness with the foolhardiness only a teenager could possess. To what end, she likely hadn’t realistically thought out yet; more like she had a vague destination in mind and only a rough idea (if that) of how to get there.

Rook’s hand dropped to the table and her fingers began to drum a soft pattern against the top.

“So I’m Rook,” she said, and paused for a moment before beginning to wade into the fray. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me if you really don’t want to, but…are you okay?”

“Fine,” the girl replied instantly, flat as a note.

The sound of bricks being laid on a wall was near audible.

“Okay.” Rook nodded slowly, retreating proverbially and choosing another angle to try. “It really is dangerous out there on your own though; is there someone I could call for you?”

“Nope.”

Strike two.

Rook sighed, fingers tapping just a little faster before she made the decision to be firmer.

“Look, I’m not going to try and stop you,” she promised, dropping the animal coaxing voice and falling to a normal register, “but this weather is supposed to last for days, and you’re clearly set on running right out into it again.”  

The girl’s eyes snapped to meet her own, narrowing. Rook didn’t let it deter her.

“So the way I see it is that you go running off and spend the night in that”- she jerked her head towards the window meaningfully - “or you stay here for now and have a chat with someone who genuinely wants to help you.”

The girl paused, and for the first time, a flash of uncertainty came across her face. Perhaps now that the adrenaline of her runaway escapade was wearing off, the reality of the situation was beginning to come crashing down on her.

There was another beat of silence before the girl finally spoke.

“I’m Callie,” she said quietly.

Rook internally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Callie,” she replied with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A clerical error, they called it. Someone somewhere had listed him as dead, and now there was a living, breathing, sentient human out there who was alive because of him.

Jacob stood by the fireplace. It merrily lit the room in flickering waves of warm gold, a respite from the howling weather outside the door. Behind him, John was scouring through paperwork. He was good at that sort of thing; he’d been a godsend so far with the social services worker, always getting the right details, asking questions that Jacob wouldn’t have even thought to ask. Now he was reading through everything, leaving no stone unturned; this was far too important a matter for a lack of due diligence.  

A child was involved, after all.

Joseph was handling the worker - probably for the best. John was charming enough in doses, but a little bit too sharp-edged if you paid close attention and Jacob was far too out of his depth to be eloquent enough to handle this situation with the care it needed. Joseph, however, was naturally magnetic, could talk to you in a way that made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

Given how integral he was to Jacob’s life, Joseph’s charisma would likely be the greatest asset in convincing the worker. A foolish part of him wanted to hiss at the thought of needing to convince someone that the child - his child - should be under his care rather than anyone else’s, but then he thought of his own parents. Biology, he knew, was the furthest indicator of parental fitness.

At the least, the project’s actions in the county were still mostly discreet; with the exception of a few murmurings of discontent, there were yet to be any justified stirrings of suspicion among the locals - at least, none that the police had taken seriously. That would come in time, Jacob knew, but by then, he would make sure the flock was ready. As such, their official record was sure to look - for the most part - squeaky clean. And if this worker had really been scouring for blood relatives, then he suspected she might be eager to settle for a good-looking option and wouldn’t dig too deeply regardless.

A child.

He remembered the woman who’d sat next to him at the single visit he'd made to a local bar back in Georgia. Going there at all had been a one-time experiment of sorts; the desperate writhing of one seeing the approaching end of his funds as an inevitable death knell. Others he knew found solace in strange vices, and a drowning man could not shirk any hand held before him. But the woman had been pleasant, chattering away at him about ancient history of all things - her profession, he remembered her saying - and taking his brick wall answers in stride.

It had been one of the most mundane human interactions he’d had in a long time. He wasn’t oblivious though; he’d seen the looks she was giving him, hints to the real motive in her approach. When the ball had dropped, he’d found himself surprisingly approving of her bluntness.

“My now ex-fiance fucked his coworker a few days ago,” she’d said, before her mouth had turned downwards. “Been with him since high school.”

Ah.

“Sorry,” he’d replied, the compulsion of social niceties that he’d yet to tamper down.

She’d scoffed.

“Yeah, me too.” Her nose had crinkled into a frown. “Anyway, I want to fuck someone else now.” She’d taken a sip of her drink and given a contemplative hum, pointing a finger at him from over the rim of the glass. “And you’re just my type.”

Soldiers attracted some sort of attention, he’d found out in the past, but disheveled and marked as he was, he hadn’t particularly anticipated that attitude carrying over. But even then, there had seemed to be something more to the woman’s approach.

“Look like him, do I?” He’d asked, raising an eyebrow.

She’d snorted.

“The opposite,” she’d replied.

Part of him was glad he’d said yes; it was enough of a distraction that he hadn’t burnt through what funds remained to him on an impulsive and desperate experiment. She’d been firm that it would be a one-time thing, and he’d had no qualms about that either. It was another type of experiment, he’d thought, and it served its purpose pleasantly enough.

Doing the math now, by the time the kid had been born, Jacob would likely have been in the shelter. Or potentially, he would have recently reunited with his brothers. If the social services worker was right, the woman had probably tried to reach out to find him.

And a single clerical error meant he was only hearing about this kid now.

“Callie.” The social services worker had revealed the girl’s name. “Calpurnia… technically.” She’d given a small laugh. “You can see why she prefers Callie.”

John had smiled indulgently, all too eager - perhaps more than the girl’s father himself - for any information about his niece.

“It’s Roman,” Jacob had spoken up, already standing vigil by the fireplace. All eyes turned to him, but he didn’t elaborate further.

Joseph and John had taken control, moving smoothly through an unprecedented situation. Jacob might have been frustrated at own his inaction, had he the mental capacity to focus on anything else but the reeling of his head.

What did this mean?

He was a weapon; he lived to carve a bloody path for his brothers and their flock to walk safely when the inevitable Collapse of society arrived. He lived to die; to butcher until he too gave a final whimper and broke like the used husk of a weapon he was. He lived to make sacrifices; to do what others could not.

How the fuck did a child fit into that?

His brothers’ eagerness could barely be contained; he knew they already saw some divine ordainment in this, a lost child of their blood being brought into their fold just before the world would collapse. How could that not be a gift from God? But he knew there was more to it; they loved him for all he did to protect them, but they also worried for him.

“You are our protector,” Joseph had told him once, grasping him by the shoulders and bringing his head close enough to his own to see his earnest expression, “but you are my brother.” He’d shaken his head gently, something like sorrow crossing his eyes. “I want to see you live.”

Jacob knew John felt the same. They meant well, but they didn’t understand. That was okay; he made the sacrifices he did so that they wouldn’t have to understand. But he knew they saw this girl as more than just family; she was an opportunity.

Joseph had taken the social services worker through the house, showing where the girl would live. It would be short work to convince the woman, Jacob thought - he’d seen the cross on her necklace, how she’d warmed up when Joseph had introduced himself as a church leader.

Before sitting down to begin poring over the paperwork, John had approached Jacob by the fireplace, leaning against the warm stone and looking towards the front door absentmindedly.

“You know,” John had begun softly, eyes slowly flicking over to Jacob, “our newest dear sister can never be alone with the girl.”

Jacob had immediately understood his brother’s warning.

“Dear Faith will have such thoughts running through her mind,” John had continued, voice light despite his ominous subject. “So desperate to please the Father… however will she take a strange new interloper joining our family?”

Jacob’s mouth had twitched.

“Not as much an interloper as she is,” he’d replied, surprisingly irked at the thought.

“Yes, and that’s precisely what she’ll fear; a blood daughter making the role of a sister irrelevant.” He then sighed, peering over to the table. “And who knows what she might do in such fear?”

John had pushed himself off the wall, reaching out to clasp his elder brother on the shoulder and leaning in to softly speak.

“Little Callie is going to need a protector,” he’d said, before he’d turned to go and begin the arduous labour of paperwork.

Manipulative little shit.

Jacob sighed, looking down into the fire as a nail dug itself insistently into his head. Knowing that he was being manipulated was surprisingly ineffective at preventing it.

“Everything looks to be in order.” John’s voice now cut through the soft silence, a final page flipping back into place.

From the entryway to the kitchen, Joseph and the social services worker peered over at them. Joseph had been taking the woman on an impromptu tour through the house and judging by the woman’s pleased expression, John’s ranch had passed with flying colours.

They congregated by the table; John smoothing down the files with a self-assured smile. The social services worker rushed to confirm the details - the time passing like a blur in Jacob’s eyes, almost seeing himself from a distance standing as a scarecrow off to the side. It was only when the woman spoke that Jacob was wrenched back into reality.

“I’ll make the call,” she said with a gentle smile, nodding at them as she wandered off towards the front porch for a moment of privacy.

Jacob blinked a few times, scolding himself internally for not paying more attention. What was the call for? To meet the girl? To have her brought here? His rational mind was telling him to steel himself; he needed to be strong. He needed to be better than him.

This was family. And he protects the family.

Joseph’s hand came down on his shoulder, making him take a sharp breath and glancing over to meet his brother’s eyes. Underneath the familiar golden glasses, Joseph’s face was solemn but gentle nonetheless.

“This is a gift,” he murmured. “She has been brought to us now, when we can protect her from the Collapse. I know this is what God wanted.” His eyes sharpened slightly, intense but no less intimate. “You know this too.”  

Jacob had never quite figured out the difference between believing his brother or wanting to believe him. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He nodded, because even without Joseph - even without John - he would have come to the same conclusion himself. His purpose remained unchanged; he would cull the herd, so that his family might live. What did it matter that his family had an extra addition now?

The sound of hurried footsteps made them all turn to see the worker rushing back towards them, phone in hand and looking more frazzled than they’d seen her all day. His eyes narrowed, the foreboding evoking only a cold apathy in him - the best way to steel himself for taking action.

“It’s…the girl,” the worker began, voice reedy and broken as she snapped her head to and fro between all three brothers in a panic. “She’s supposed to be in the hotel. But she's...run away.”

There was a strange sort of thrill, a smugness in his chest that was ill-suited for the concerning situation, something he could never utter aloud. Something proud; something strangely reminiscent of the headstrong and foolish boy he’d once been. Of course she’d run away.

It seemed she was his daughter, after all.  

"I’m sorry for your loss,” Rook said.

The girl nodded, finger thumbing along the edge of her flannel, which still sat damp beside her. Rook could see she was tracing along the shape of two sewn letters, S.F. The thread was faded, but the flannel itself was well-worn.

“How long…” Rook trailed off, eyes carefully scanning the girl in front of her to try and figure whether saying the words out loud would be detrimental.

“Since she died?” Callie finished for her, eyebrows twitching in what might have been annoyance. “A few months.”

Bluntness was preferred, it seemed. Perhaps Rook should have figured that; it had taken her removing the kid gloves to get the girl to even start opening up at all.

"So you’ve got family here?” Rook asked, playing for a bit more nonchalance as she took a sip from her coffee. “People who’ll take you in?”

The girl shrugged, staring down at her own drink.

“I guess.” She lapsed into silence, letting the steam from the mug rise to brush against her face. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold, but the time inside the diner had helped soothe her somewhat, both physically and mentally. At the very least, she was no longer staring a little too hard at the front door.

“Well, that’s…good?” Rook spoke the words like a question, hesitant and lame.

Callie’s nose crinkled, brows pinching together.

“I had family back home,” she said, the words close to a whine. “Why can’t I just stay with them?” She sniffled quickly, and raised a hand to rub at her nose. Her cheeks were flushing again, and Rook suspected it was also from embarrassment. “This is so stupid.”

Rook nodded, but moreso to think rather than to placate. She knew by now that placating would only be met with derision at best and withdrawal at worst. Presumably, there was a good reason that the girl had been brought here rather than where she’d previously lived.

“What family do you have here?” She asked, voice light to try and distract the girl from her thoughts.

She shrugged.

“A dad,” Callie replied, the word spoken with surprising - or perhaps forced - apathy.

Rook raised her eyebrows.

“You haven’t met him before?” She asked, then winced and hoped she hadn’t come off as judgemental.

Callie shook her head, face turning fully sideways to stare out of the window at the ceaseless rain. Her fingers tugged at the collar of her drying flannel next to her, but Rook couldn’t see her expression.

“Mom said he was dead,” she said, her voice successfully staying even. “They were looking for any family on my dad’s side, and saw he wasn’t.” Rook assumed ‘they’ meant social services. The girl continued, voice turning back into a huff as she busied at her metaphorical and angry, open wound again. “I could’ve just stayed with my aunt; this is so stupid.”

Eager to interrupt that train of thought once more, Rook leaned forward slightly over the table, her fingers toying with the handle of her pleasantly warm coffee mug.

“Do you…not want to meet him, then?” Rook asked, voice as neutral as possible.

The girl shrugged, but stubbornly said nothing. Perhaps she didn’t know the answer herself.

Rook didn’t quite know what to say; she did not want to try and influence the girl’s thoughts - that wouldn’t be fair when she didn’t know her circumstances intimately. She also understood, however, that the alternative was for this girl to go running off into the wilderness or else be forced to stay with her hitherto unknown father and - if she had any grasp on Callie’s personality - potentially sour the relationship entirely.

"Do you know anything about him?” She asked instead; she might be new to the county, but it wasn’t impossible for her to answer.

“They said he was a soldier or something,” Callie replied, shrugging again. “Last name’s Seed.” She rolled her eyes while staring down at her flannel, and muttered to herself: “Stupid name.”

Rook bit back a smile - even she knew better than to encourage that attitude in a teenager - and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe don’t tell him that.”

The girl huffed a laugh.

Rook thought for a moment, trying to recall anything about a Seed; it was certainly an unusual name and not one she was likely to forget. It took a few seconds, but it eventually came to her; she’d vaguely heard the name mentioned in relation to the relatively new church out by the river somewhere. She wasn’t too familiar with it herself, but the talkative receptionist at the police station, Nancy, spoke highly of them. They’d apparently been quite proactive in the community - setting up a few initiatives and taking over the youth camp near the Henbane River when it had been threatened with bankruptcy.

“Don’t know if it’s the same one, but I’ve heard a little about some Seed family around here,” Rook told her, frowning thoughtfully. The girl was poorly hiding her flash of curiosity as Rook continued. “I think they head up a local church; they run a few things in the area.”

Callie nodded slowly, not looking at her but clearly taking in the information with at least a little bit of interest. Rook wondered whether the girl - or her late mother - was religious; if they were, it could help smooth over some of the introduction, give her and her father something to bond over. Or perhaps she was just being desperately optimistic.

A too-eager churchgoer for the girl’s father left Rook feeling a sense of worry in her stomach. She’d spent only a small amount of time with her, but given the state this girl was in after her mother’s death - the way she seemed to have been dealing with it in a prickly, anger-prone nature - Rook worried whether an exuberant or overly pushy figure in her life might lead the girl to reject him entirely. And that, she knew, would no doubt lead to another runaway attempt - one that might prove more successful than the current one, if the weather was willing.

She began to tap a small rhythm on her coffee mug again thoughtfully.

“Are you…not even a little curious?” Rook asked gently, tilting her head. The girl’s eyes flickered over to her, brow creasing as Rook continued. “What he’s like?” She hesitated a second and her voice lowered as she pressed on with caution. “Do you…really not want to even meet him?”

The girl didn’t answer, but a flash of hesitation came over her. Rook frowned, but didn’t want to press her further as the girl’s eyes fell down to the flannel at her side. Her face twisted into something like anguish, as her brow creased and her eyes welled up in frustration; hand rising only to clench into a fist and fall back on her leg too forcefully to be accidental.

It hit Rook in an instant. The hesitation, the acting out, the runaway; the girl felt guilty. She probably was curious about the stranger who was now her father, she probably did want to see him. But in doing so - in even wanting to do so - did she feel like it was a betrayal? Like she was conceding something; saying that her mother was somehow replaceable.

In playing such a pantomime; the self-sacrificial martyr could see her mother at the end of her days and proudly proclaim that she had never betrayed her. Yet, Rook knew that the sort of person who could inspire such love was unlikely to be pleased with their daughter deliberately isolating herself from a misplaced sense of loyalty.

It was a foolish thought. Yet grief was rarely anything else.

“You’re allowed to be curious, you know,” Rook said, quiet but firm - if this girl had created her own moral restrictions, then all Rook could do was provide opposing permissions.

The girl didn’t reply, still not looking up. For a moment, Rook wondered whether she’d even been heard. She pressed on nonetheless.

“You’re allowed to meet him,” Rook continued.

This time, the girl looked up at her, and in her eyes was the expression of every runaway; someone desperate and lost. Someone who wants to go home, even if they don’t yet know what their home might be.

Rook breathed in deeply, before reaching down to her bag. She rummaged around for a few moments - cursing her own lack of organisation - and pulled out a slightly crinkled notepad and pen. Flicking it open, she scribbled down her work number.

“Here,” she said, tearing the page off and passing it over. “Whatever you decide to do, you can take this and give me a call if you need help.”

She hoped that if things didn’t go well, that maybe having a number to call would prevent the girl from wandering off into the wilderness and never being heard from again. But perhaps, if she knew that there was someone who was on her side, she might feel brave enough to move forward.

A flash of headlights interrupted the moment, and Rook glanced out the window to see one of the local mechanics from Falls End pulling into the carpark. Her eyes boggled - it had only been an hour and a half since she’d made the call; this sort of efficiency was highly disturbing in Hope County.

The mechanic stepped out and glanced over to where Rook’s sad little car sat off to the side of the road, deflated tires looking like a wretched, popped balloon. She swore she saw the man laugh.

“That’s me,” she said, picking up her cooled drink and downing the rest in a large gulp. “I’ve gotta go sort this out.”

She was stepping away and about to head to the door when the girl’s voice stopped her.

“I’ll do it,” Callie said, voice soft and reedy. Her brow furrowed and she cleared her throat before speaking again, firmer this time. “I’ll go meet him.” She shrank again, eyes falling back to the table. “Could you… come with me?”

Rook stood still for a moment, processing. It was certainly not lost on her how difficult it must have been for the girl to ask. Rook’s eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly.

“Sure thing, kid.”

One hour and a phone call to a very distressed social services worker later, they pulled into the Seed ranch.

Rook hadn’t been here before, but she remembered hearing Nancy rave about what a lovely place it was and how it could “really put Hope County on the real estate map!” The last comment had resulted in groans from the other deputies; the last thing they wanted was an influx of rich city folk looking for a novel country house to sit empty until it was used at a whim.

While this sprawling ranch looked large, it did not look empty.

Three brothers stood in the driveway as she pulled in. The rain was gentle now; not pinpricks but a pattering, deigning to relent in mercy for the meeting taking place. Two umbrellas stood tall, offering the brothers some comfort as they watched her car amble into the driveway.

Rook and Callie sat for a moment, the girl’s own window facing away from the men, something she was taking full advantage of as she stared out at the trees without really seeing anything.

“Hey,” Rook said softly. “How are you feeling?”

The girl was silent for a moment, before turning her head to look at her - the rustling of the movement sounding as loud as a gunshot inside the car. Her flannel had dried enough for her to wear again, and she pulled it at the sleeves to draw it tight as a blanket around her.

“It’s huge,” Callie replied, pointedly looking through the front windshield. “That’s a fucking airstrip.”

“Language.” Rook sighed - she really hoped that wasn’t her brief influence - then raised an eyebrow. “Hey, if you want to run away again, at least you can do it in style now.”

The girl snorted, before letting her eyes fall down to her backpack between her legs. Her hands were curled tightly around one of its arms.

Rook gave a quick glance towards the men in the driveway, waiting patiently for them. A woman was stumbling out of the house to join them, awkwardly shaking out her own umbrella - Rook assumed that was the social services worker she’d spoken to on the phone.

She turned back to the girl.

“Shall we?”

“Wait,” Callie said sharply, staring somewhat furiously down at her lap.

A few moments passed in silence, before the girl took a large, almost gulp of air.

“Okay,” she said, impulsively wrenching her side door open and stepping out forcefully - as though afraid she’d change her own mind.

They stepped out into the driveway - Rook having pilfered an umbrella out of the car’s backseat - and walked towards the congregation. From a distance, she’d already figured out which of the men in front of her was the girl’s father - camo-decked, tall and face withdrawn in an expression she’d seen far too many times that day to count.

It was to her surprise then, when the man beside him stepped out from underneath the umbrella and walked towards them. His expression was welcoming, magnetic and he was oddly unfazed by the rain seeping into his bone-white shirt.

Behind him, the other two men slowly followed.

“Hello, my child,” the first man said, smiling gently. He knelt down in front of the girl, a strange move that put him well below her height rather than level with her - something that ought to have been awkward, but the man had an indescribable charisma that managed to pull it off.  

Rook’s eyebrows rose.

“You’re her father?” She asked, trying to keep the surprise from her voice even as her eyes unwillingly glanced over to the redhead coming up behind him.

The man looked at her now, peering up through yellow glasses.

“I am not,” he said, giving a sheepish laugh and a shake of his head. “It’s simply a habit.” He turned his eyes back to the girl in front of him. “My name is Joseph. I am your uncle.”

“You’re the… church leader?” Rook asked, trailing off as she wasn’t certain what denomination she was dealing with.

The man smiled indulgently.

“I am the Father, yes,” he replied.

Catholic, she assumed.

Joseph stood once more and glanced at the tall man behind him.

“And this is my brother, Jacob,” he said softly, smiling down at his niece.

But the girl was not looking at her uncle; her eyes had already latched onto the redhead who had come to stand at his younger brother’s side.

He was staring right back at her.

The two were in a strange sort of deadlock, perhaps not even consciously, yet it seemed to Rook that neither were actually seeing the other. They stared as though seeing someone in a television screen, someone real, someone they could watch without needing to be present - without needing to be perceived themselves. They could see the other, but safely from a distance.

Unlike his brother, Jacob did not kneel to be below the girl’s level. Somehow, Rook knew that Callie preferred it that way.

Joseph gestured to Jacob, even though he surely knew that the two already were well aware of who it was they were looking at.

“Your father,” he said, the words quiet but they could have truly been a whisper for all they still sounded like shattering glass.

The girl seemed to snap out of her strange trance, and whipped her head to the side, face scrunching up into a frown. Her hand reached out to clasp Rook’s, squeezing tightly as a vice with unexpected strength that nearly made Rook wince.

It was a surprising gesture, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Rook met the girl’s eyes and gave a reassuring smile. Whether it worked or not was unclear, but at the very least, Callie turned her head back around again.

She did not look at her father, however; her eyes latched onto the frazzled social services worker standing behind the men. Sometime in the past few minutes, the woman’s umbrella had flipped inwards - making her scowl as she was trying to right it. The last of the three men - a man dressed in blue - had been gracious enough to give the woman some coverage with his own umbrella as she worked.

A flash of guilt came across the girl’s face.

“Sorry, Mary,” she mumbled, mouth twisting.

Rook wondered if Callie was aware of how every man in that driveway seemed to hang onto her every word.

Glancing over at the young girl, Mary’s face smoothed out into an exasperated smile.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she huffed out. Her umbrella back in place, she stepped away from the other man with a grateful nod, and seemed content to stand a distance away and allow the meeting between the girl and her family to take place with a semblance of privacy.

The man in blue, now free, seemed all too eager to approach the others. Of all the men, he seemed the most cautious, however; he appeared to be aware of how tenuous the situation truly was - that their very presence was not going to inherently make a happy family - and thus he wanted to give her some space even as he came to meet them.

Though he could not hide his eagerness, he at least made an attempt to not stare directly at her and risk her discomfort, even as his eyes shined with poorly-concealed curiosity.

Instead, he turned towards Rook.

“You have my thanks for delivering my niece to us safely.” His smile was too sharp, but Rook simply attributed that to the stress of the situation. “You are a deputy, yes?”

She nodded.

“Deputy Rook,” she introduced herself politely, yet continued to keep an eye on the girl beside her, who was intermittently staring at her father (and looking away again) as Joseph tried to coax her into some sort of conversation. Her father, similarly, did not speak a word.

“Then you have my thanks, Deputy Rook,” John repeated, stressing her name.

Rook smiled back half-heartedly, but she sensed the polite dismissal for what it was.

She knew it was time to go.

She squeezed the girl’s hand to get her attention, and the girl turned to face her - breaking off from one of her many staring contests.

Rook passed the handle of the umbrella over to Callie, who frowned and opened her mouth to protest.

“I’ve got others at home,” Rook said before the girl could speak. “You keep this one.”

Callie’s eyes widened as she realised that Rook was about to leave. She managed to somehow squeeze Rook’s hand even tighter, as though it would keep her there, but she said nothing. Pride, perhaps; a desire to not look like a child at the school gate begging a parent to stay.

But Rook was merely an interloper here, after all.

She smiled reassuringly, and with a small nod over to the men, she and the girl took a few steps off to the side for some semblance of momentary privacy. Behind them, Rook could feel the stares of the brothers like pinpricks against her skin, but she paid them no heed.

“Hey, these guys are real excited to meet you,” Rook murmured, the girl’s eyes owlish but intently focused on her. “They want you here. They want to look after you.”

The girl’s face scrunched into a frown again, but Rook saw the genuine temptation in the expression - the hope - and she knew that everything was going to be okay.

And perhaps she might have left it at that. She might have walked away without a second thought, and left the girl to reunite with her family in a picturesque happy ending.

She might have been content, were it not for a sudden, very illogical pang of unease in her stomach.

There was no reason for it - the three men in the driveway seemed innocuous, and she had heard only good things about them from the station’s receptionist. But as she felt their eyes trained on her as she spoke to the newest member of their family, there was a strange, almost primal prickling at the nape of her neck that made her reach down to her jacket pocket.

Discreetly, she caught the girl’s eye, and glanced meaningfully down at the phone that was just visible to only her.

“Remember,” she reminded the girl, who picked up on her meaning instantly. “Anything you need.”

Callie’s eyes narrowed, the expression oddly mature on her young face, and nodded intently.

Rook straightened back up, smiling again and thoroughly unaware that in only a few months, she would receive a message only hours before the county fell into chaos. That the runaway in front of her would make good on her habit once more and Rook would find out that the girl’s father and uncles would tear the county apart to try and find the girl in their own, incredibly misguided attempt to protect her.

And that she and Callie both would find themselves in Jacob Seed’s bunker come the end of the world.  

Rook shook off her unexplained anxiety, smiling down at the girl reassuringly as she stepped back to face the crowd beside her. She bid a quick farewell, and soon watched the back of a flash of red hair in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the Seed Ranch’s driveway.

She should be proud, Rook knew. She’d helped reunite a family. She’d helped deliver a runaway to her new - and surprisingly large - home. Things were undoubtedly looking up for the girl she’d only barely been able to convince to not run off into the wilderness.

She’d done a good deed today.

Merrily, she drove towards Falls End, and allowed the resurging storm outside to drown out the soft alarm bells ringing in her head.

She looked like him, Joseph had said.

She looked like him, but not like the old man…and that was surely a mercy.

Her eyes were trained on the table - finding some hidden meaning in the ripples of the wood. A flannel shirt - faintly sodden - clung to her skin, a gentle sort of protection against the weather. It might have given her comfort, Jacob thought, seeing the way her fingers curled around the edges of her sleeves like a blanket she could draw over herself to keep her fears at bay.

To keep him at bay. A father she didn’t know, had never asked for, and didn’t want. The way she’d clung to that deputy’s hand like she was half-tempted to ask them to spirit her away. A lesser man might have let her; might have let themselves take the easy way out, to leap on the first opportunity to let the unforeseen daughter willingly scurry back out of their life and believe it a mercy.

But Jacob would be strong. Jacob would not be a lesser man.

A gentle cough - almost missed - came from the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes flickered over to see John standing by with two plates, still steaming from the stove-top. Casting a quick look back to the girl - satisfied she would not go running off into the storm in his momentary absence - he walked over to take the meals from his brother.

“Not joining us?” He asked softly.

John shook his head, despite giving a glance over to the girl with poorly-concealed curiosity.

“Not yet,” he replied. “I convinced Joseph that she will need some time alone with you first.”

With her father, Jacob thought, filling in the blanks with a startled jolt.

John gave a rueful half-smile. “Joseph wanted to argue, of course.”

Jacob could certainly believe it. He hadn’t entirely been convinced of the resemblance between the girl and himself when he’d first caught sight of her - that would be the mercy; to look more like the bright woman he remembered than he who bore the face of a madman. But then he’d seen Joseph’s expression; the way his eyes had softened the second he’d seen her, lips parting in a soundless, almost reverent gasp, and Jacob had immediately been convinced.

Joseph saw the brat of a boy that Jacob had been. Joseph did not see the face of a mad preacher.

Jacob must have been silent for too long, absently staring over at the little girl who was now his daughter, as John gave a soft contemplative hum.

“She has nothing to compare you to,” he said, almost callously apathetic for what he revealed. His brothers had been busy with the social services worker, it seemed. “You have no… replacement father that she is secretly wishing to return to. This family shall be her first…proper harbor.”

A lifetime ago, the calculated nature of his brother’s words might have alarmed him, but now only a deep-seated part of him was callously glad that he would be her only father. A late father, but the only.

There was an even darker part of him that knew there was spite in his gladness; a final chance of vindictiveness to the mad preacher - that in this, he might meet the old man at the end of his days and relish his success at his father’s disgusting failure.

He nodded to John, giving a soft noise of acknowledgment before he took the plates in hand and returned to the table where his…daughter still sat in silence. The sound of his setting the meal down in front of her felt like cannon fire, down to a harsh reverberation ringing in his chest.

The girl briefly looked up, eyes snapping to him quickly before determinedly falling down to stare at the cooling vegetables and meat. Her brow creased, and something like uncertainty crossed her face.

She cleared her throat and paused a moment before she spoke.

“I…don’t know if I can eat all this,” were the first words his daughter ever said to him.

He was silent, hands leaning on the back of the wooden chair for support as he stared down at the girl who looked like him. A spell had been broken, it seemed; a fugue state shattering now that she had spoken to him for the first time. Now, the present truly hit him. Now, it was real.

He blinked abruptly, raising his head to stare away at the distant window - rain hitting the glass like tiny rubber bullets. With one of his men, Jacob might have been critical; the privilege of denying oneself food was one he viewed with no shortage of disdain. But this was his child, a sudden creature to whom he now had a god-given role as protector and living sword.  

“That’s okay,” he murmured in reply.

They lapsed once more into a silence, but this time it felt more comfortable; something they both initiated but were content to sit in. He took his place beside her, setting to eat his own share. The warmth of the fireplace seeped into their very bones, and he imagined the girl was glad for it - having been out in the rain for most of the day.

He wondered if she would try to run again. He wondered what he would do. It was the project’s way to know - and enforce - what their flock needed better than they did themselves. And yet, the thought of trying to assert his own will over his child left him feeling somewhat disconcerted. Would that not be like him?

He dismissed the thought quickly; he would never raise a hand against her, and anything he did would be for her own benefit. The Collapse was coming, and this girl sitting now beside him, digging through her food with a fork and clutching at the hem of a well-worn flannel, would be kept safe from it.

Jacob would ensure it.

I hope you enjoyed! Calpurnia is technically my New Dawn captain, but in my 'canon' au, she obviously never meets Jacob. I wanted to be a little realistic in the dynamic between them here, in that yes, Jacob obviously wants to look after her and takes his role seriously here, but also he is still doing everything that he does in the cult and that will still affect his mindset. I don't intend her to be facing any physical violence in her future from them, but they will of course be trying to 'keep her safe from the Collapse.' Cult leader exceptionalism is playing a big part here of course, but I view that as pretty true to the game - the brothers all have a lot of cult leader exceptionalism going on, so I'm naturally extending that to Callie here too. She gets to go through the gates because she's a Seed, she doesn't have to do anything like atonement (one because she's a child and it's not shown whether that's expected of children in the cult), especially if Jacob doesn't want her to - if Joseph even suggested it, he'd be blocking it, in my opinion. Anyway, thank you for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed! <3

[northstarscowboyhat]

I apologize if you answered this already, I can't find if you did. How much does Starlo and Ceroba know about Clover's past in the Lucky Clover AU? I ask cause it is implied his past wasn't exactly the best before the underground. Like do they know alot of it, or is it more of a, "less our kid talks about, the better" kind of deal?

No worries! I don't mind any questions!

As I had it, Clover is very secretive about their past on the surface before they fell into the Underground. They don't like to talk about their previous home, or their previous family, but it's pretty easy for the adults in their life to pick up on the fact that they didn't come from a happy, loving household. Starlo and Ceroba are especially perceptive of this, as any parental gestures or actions by then are treated with surprise from Clover, as if they didn't know that actually, parents are supposed to love and support you no matter what.

They try and gently encourage Clover to talk about their past, but Clover remains pretty secretive. I imagine the truth comes out in tiny bits and pieces as Clover gradually becomes more comfortable sharing their past. They still prefer not to talk much about it, but by the time they're a young adult, Ceroba and Starlo have the general gist; Clover came from a very unstable and unloving household with an abusive father and a mother who passed away when they were at a young age.

Neither of them push Clover to talk about it unless the situation absolutely calls for it or Clover themself wants to talk about it. They don't need to know all the details to reassure Clover that they'll always have loving parents with the two of them.

[obsidiancreates]

Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing. 

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression… 

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt. 

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks. 

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees. 

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately. 

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could’ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold. 

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says. 

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing. 

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles. 

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves. 

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes. 

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away. 

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

[navysealt4t]

first official day of napowrimo!!! april 1st prompt is: poem that recounts the plot of a novel you haven't read in a while. (warning for themes of war, bombing, & past abuse)

overnight in a bomb shelter

if the world ends this week  please brush my hair  i won’t ask you to be gentle  let me walk barefoot  farther away than the eye can see  in weather cold or warm  i may bite you  sting and curse you  don’t come too close  feed me and bathe me  that’s all i ask   but bombs scream overhead  planes shriek with their engines  sirens blare from the streets  in a murky shelter  buried beneath the mud  of your childhood home  your calloused hands are soft  dropping a blanket ‘round my shoulders  reading a book in the dark  my ears ring and my hands shake  you shield me with your palms  you promise to teach me to sew  to read and write  to run and climb  in moments in the dark  where the world might end  where all i smell is mold  you treat me like a child  who has never known love  i treat you like a woman  who has never known love  and for a moment  the world feels right  as the bombs scream overhead  ‘cause the world might end tonight

[queermentaldisaster]

“There's a Revolution Coming”, part three of “The Devil Made Me Do It; But I Also Kinda Wanted To”.

First thing's first. If you read this on AO3, please, please, please pay attention to the tags. I will add sufficient warnings for each chapter here as well, but this is very much a Dead Dove fic. What you see is what you get. So please, proceed with caution when you see the tws/tags.

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @axelaxolotl09 @im-here-and-im-confused @bringinsexybackk69 @rainerestored @8-rae-rae-8 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist please inform me)

(Possible) tw: Children in captivity, mental breakdown, mentions of torture and mind control, discrimination towards demons, and implied child abuse. Proceed with caution.

Chapter 1 under the cut.

The helo landed, and Mirror grabbed Soap's bound wrists and began dragging him towards the military base. Soap's eyes trailed upwards, and his eyes narrowed. With the amount of security around this place, it reminded him of a castle. He looked back down, taking a deep breath. ‘Och, poor Si…he's probably terrified right now and masking it with anger…’ he thought. His thoughts were on Ghost, even as Mirror dragged him through the base. Then, he looked up, and saw just how many demons were here. More than a thousand. The rest must've come from all over the world, then. ‘How many demons did Meister break?’ Soap thought, as his mind drifted back to a conversation Ghost and him had while he was still recovering.

“You know, Meister tortured us to make us weak to mind control.” Ghost murmured. Soap's head snapped up from his sketchbook. “Mind control?” He asked. Ghost nodded. “Affirmative.” He brought his hand up to his neck. “He’d collar us, then attack us. He saw us as nothing more than tools.” Ghost's wings tightened around himself. Soap's eyes softened and he touched Ghost's hand. “Yer so much more than a tool to me, Simon. Yer as alive as the rest of us.” he murmured. Ghost looked back at Soap and his eyes spoke volumes. “Thanks, Johnny.”

A tear rolled down Soap's cheek. God, he hoped Ghost was looking for him. He was scared.

Mirror dragged him into a room, shoving him in and locking the door behind him. Soap fell to the floor, and knelt there, his hands clenched into fists. He let the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, as he tried not to sob. He was in the lion's den and all alone. Too weak to fight against demons and vampires and…whatever Shepard was. God, he'd never wished for anything, not even to be a monster…but now, he was cursing his human heritage. ‘Ah’m useless. Cannae even save maself, much less love Simon how he wants.’ He bit his tongue. ‘Ah’m pathetic. Fought tooth ‘n nail ta get where ah was, and now ah'm here. In an empty room, captured, unable to save maself.’ A sob escaped from the gag, and the dam broke. He curled up, sobbing.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

He didn't know how long had passed, and he didn't care. He'd managed to get the gag out at some point, and he was now staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six-” He was interrupted by the door flying open. Graves was standing there, his eyes narrowed. “Do you ever shut up!?” He snapped. Soap sat up, placing his bound wrists on his knees. “Ya ken, Graves, ye have a really bad track record with kidnapping. Twice in two months. Ghost isnae goin’ tae be happy with this.”

Graves's eyes narrowed. “I do not care what that beast thinks. He's nothing more than an animal, a tool to use as we see fit. He doesn't have feelings, he can't.” Soap's eyes narrowed. “...” He lunged at Graves, only to be tackled by one of the other demon guards. Graves's eyes narrowed. “Take him to the little room.” The demon nodded and dragged Soap off as Soap screamed his head off at Graves, in pure rage.

The demon threw Soap in another room, this one with three beds, and paper strewn around the room. He hit the ground roughly, and he let out a groan. He felt hands grab his binds and he almost struck the person…until he looked ahead…and saw a child with pale tannish skin, her right eye being a purple color, her left eye being a pink color, blonde hair, and tiny red horns. “Evelyn! He could be a threat!” came a voice. He turned his head and saw a girl, no older than fourteen, shielding a smaller boy. The girl had light grayish pinkish-purple hair, her right eye being orange and her left eye being a dark grayish magenta color. She had a burn scar by her right eye, and she had horns of a dull gold color that curved like a ram's. Soap looked around, spotting two other kids. His heart sank.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

for Day 7 of MungroveWeek @mungroveweek

rating: teen

prompts: Big Spoon/Little Spoon, Touched after being touch-starved, Bruised skin, First kiss, Dungeons and Dragons.

content warnings: Referenced child abuse and abandonment, past relationship abuse, and mental health struggles.

————

Billy is the kind of guy that sees sex as the endgame in a relationship.

All the flirting and the posturing and the touchy-ness, it’s all just the build up until whoever is on the other end can get him in their bed, and then it’s over.

Not that he’s scared of commitment, that’s all that he could really want is some damn stability for once in his life, but he’s scared of what comes next. After they get that first time under the covers with him, they only want more and more from there. They just want to keep taking and taking and taking from him, until they’re demanding those three little words he hasn’t been able to utter in forever, and he can’t bear it.

Love just isn’t something Billy Hargrove is good at. That’s what he’s decided anyhow. It scares him and makes him think too much. But when he holds hands with a girl and feels that swell of pride in his chest, he wonders how much more intense that feeling would be like if there was a ring on her finger. When he kisses a boy and feels warmth all over, he wants that vulnerability to be a feeling he wakes up to every morning. So, maybe he’s just too messy to settle.

But the future isn’t something he has the luxury of looking forward to when he’s always stuck in the past.

So when Eddie Munson comes along in the harshest winter of his life, Billy gets attached real quick.

They don’t even have to touch for the butterflies to start twisting him up on the inside. Just that snarky laugh is enough to have him blushing like some goofy cartoon character. Eddie’s sort of like that, all animated and full of life.

Mostly in that Billy can’t believe he’s real.

That somehow he’s fallen in love all over again with some dork who brings him pretty leaves he found in the woods and who steals Billy’s pencils and returns them with ink all over them and who knows prose and lyrical shit from his musical endeavors but can’t pronounce Hargrove without a tiny bit of his uncle’s southern drawl slipping into his accent.

Everything about him is endearing, except maybe how he leaves crumbs in Billy’s car and doesn’t brush his hair more than once every three months, but that’s just part of his charm, as Eddie easily convinces him.

Especially since the first time he’s in Eddie’s bed, it isn’t for sex.

Before he could even get his hopes or his fears reared up, he’d been beaten back down, literally, and the only place he had to go was Eddie’s.

Eddie, who didn’t care that Neil Hargrove called him a fag and a bad influence as he hit his child just for knowing him. Eddie, who wrapped his lanky arms around Billy’s bruised up body and told him a story about a raccoon he saw from the window they’re both looking out of. Though Billy’s vision is blurred with tears, he’s just happy to be settled back to chest with his crush, held and cared for for the first time in hell, probably his eighteen years.

There’s no sex appeal to showing up snotty and bloody on Eddie’s stoop, just like there’s no ulterior motive to helping him.

It’s more like…

“Oh hey, the shaking stopped! That’s a sign, that’s a sign.” Eddie trying to break the silence is what it’s like. But Billy isn’t ready. His thoughts are racing too fast for his own good.

Nervousness clamps his stomach like a vice and makes him feel sick. So it’s back to Eddie to keep it from becoming too real, “Want me to give you some space?”

Somehow, that seems worse. Right now, Billy’s comfortable, safe. Take Eddie away, and he loses that glimpse at security. He hopes he doesn’t sound as distraught as he feels when he gives his brief answer to the air, “No.”

Audible panic or not, Eddie stays, well, Eddie. All nonchalant, like he’s done this a thousand and one times before. Billy hopes, despite himself, that that isn’t the case. Selfish maybe, but he’d really like this sort of care all to himself.

“Cool. I might fall asleep back here though. I can’t wiggle.”

Oh. Maybe he’d gotten his hopes up.

Billy acts to apologize, not only saying, “Sorry,” but also peeling away from Eddie's big spoon, about to slip out of the bed when those skinny arms flex and are able to use whatever they can muster to get Billy to stay. Call it desperation, judging from the speed and the airiness in Eddie’s voice once he pleads with him.

“No, it’s good. Wiggling is bad. It keeps me up all night and then I pass out in the middle of English class. Again. And when I conk off in English class I fail, and then I’ll stay up all night for the rest of my life thinking about being a loser. A never ending cycle.”

At least Billy isn’t the only one that feels like he isn’t enough. Not that it would’ve taken that to convince him, but he decides to breathe out his tension, and let Eddie bring their position back to the center of the mattress. The way he talks, so honestly and smoothly, it’s no wonder Billy’s chest feels like it could explode from how his heart pounds against his ribs.

To distract from the obvious, he decides to leave the moping and join in on the higher energy, to tease Eddie, pull his puffy pigtails a bit, “Now you’re gonna put me to sleep.”

“That’s a first. I'm usually annoying everyone clear into like, outer space levels of awake.” Eddie retorts, but there’s way too much emotion in it to just be a reciprocal joke.

Billy tries, in an overly casual way, to help, since Eddie is doing so much for him right now. The least he can do is let him vent back, and maybe offer a little comfort, “Nah. More like white noise to me.”

It lands. He can almost hear Eddies smile turn back on like the flick of a light switch, though he can’t see his face with the way Eddie is cuddling him like a child with his favorite teddy bear.

“That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me they’re ignoring me. And I mean that.” The actual words there are just light hearted and jokey, but his tone sells something a lot sweeter. Something that restarts Billy’s heart all over again, especially when the context catches up in Eddie’s next soft response, “You’re different, Billy.”

His instinct is to reject that comment, obviously said with warm intent, “Yeah. What other queer would show up and ask for fucking cuddles from a dude?”

But Eddie doesn’t flinch for even a second. Actually, he stuns Billy yet again with an even sappier comeback, “I dunno, I would probably. Especially from you. ‘Cause I like you so much.”

“You don’t gotta lie to me.” Billy’s voice quivers slightly. He can’t tell if he’s shaking in Eddie’s arms, but he feels like he should be.

Eddie Munson said he fucking likes him. While he’s in his bed. Honestly Billy should be used to that, but maybe it’s the outcome he knows is coming that makes him feel so anxious. He can’t stand to have to let go already.

That or it’s the never ending ease with which Eddie talks to him, like he’s this suave prince charming even though he’s seen the guy eat off of the cafeteria floor. That gentleness sends ripples of warmth down his spine from where Eddie’s breath puffs by his ear, “Who’s lying? Are you lying?”

Somehow that inspires Billy to be honest. As if that will change the outcome he has yet to avoid. He hopes, and he says, “Kind of. To myself.”

“So what’s the truth?” Eddie asks, even though, deep down, Billy was hoping he wouldn’t.

Because then he has to admit.. “That I like you back.”

A beat. Then Eddie squeezes him a tiny bit tighter, and says, like it’s the most casual thing, “Cool.”

Billy’s reaction of disbelief is visceral, a snorted, breathless laugh accompanied by a brief questioning, “That’s it? Just.. cool?”

Eddie’s arms move in what feels like a shrugging motion. Billy should have known he just said that and hadn’t meant it, should have the routine memorized enough by now to realize that he wouldn’t like him in that way.

Besides, Eddie has ICD. He doesn’t have control over his impulses the way most people do. It was stupid to assign meaning to the words that tumbled out of his friend's mouth just because he was being selfish. Or he was just hopeful that this time, the other person would care about him too.

Behind him, Eddie makes a sound like he’s thinking long and hard about it, before announcing, one hundred percent genuine, “Actually, no. I also meant to say- Yay!”

That’s all Billy can take. He just doesn’t get it. He wants to believe that Eddie isn’t just fucking with him, but his heart has been used too many times before. Seeking answers, and comfort, and a real love connection, Billy wiggles out of Eddie’s cuddles just to turn around and face him with questions in his eyes.

The happy little grin on Eddie’s face drops off when he sees that look in Billy’s.

Suddenly he’s so serious, and that almost hurts worse than any kind of rejection or loss, “Oh. Did I mess something up?”

Billy shakes his head to tell him that, no, Eddie hasn’t done a damn thing wrong. It’s his own stupid self that did this. But he does consider, for a moment, that the confession was authentic. He runs with it, can’t let go of that hope.

Still, he doesn’t understand why Eddie didn’t seem to want to take things a few bases ahead like everyone before him had, if he wasn’t lying about having feelings for Billy. “

You.. don’t want anything else?”

“Honestly, I’m just happy you didn’t climb out the window when I said I liked you.” As he speaks, Eddie smiles again, like he can’t keep the happiness away. He's always so lighthearted and genuine about everything.

Billy envies him. And loves him with so much of his heart, he can’t bring himself to speak for a moment.

Since he stays silent, letting his feelings play out through his expressions instead, Eddie offers a suggestion, emphasizing it with a gently placed hand to Billy’s cheek, “Let’s just take this at your pace. No expectations.”

“Kiss me?” Billy wills himself to ask, sacrificing his comfort in the silence to prepare for disappointment.

But Eddie provides something much more fulfilling, “Sounds easy enough.”

And he stays true to his word too.

Adjusting to once again close the tiny bit of space Billy had made between them when he turned to face this way, Eddie kisses him. It’s just a calm thing, the press of warm, slightly chapped lips together. The hand on Billy’s face cupping his jaw now instead, to make the gesture as strong and sturdy as the feelings behind it.

It doesn’t last long enough before Eddie dips away, so Billy decides to initiate another one. He misses the mark slightly in his overeagerness to reconnect, but Eddie either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, not even when that corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile beneath his kiss.

Billy decides then and there that he’s going to take more chances, if this was going to be the reward.

~~~~~

“Are you positive you want to stay?”

Billy has all but moved into the trailer at this point, spending long nights and weekends on Eddie's couch or in his bed, wherever he falls asleep. Right now, it was the couch, with the hand crocheted blanket from Eddie’s late aunt Roxie around his shoulders, and his hair all tousled about from sleeping on it. He passed out hard last night, coming here straight after another argument with Neil that hadn’t ended well.

Eddie eventually had to wake him up, only to inform him that a group of his friends would be over this weekend to play some campaign they’d agreed on weeks ago and Eddie had forgotten until the Henderson kid called him that morning to say that Maddie would be filling for Gareth, since he couldn’t make it and apparently decided to tell Henderson first.

All of that was over Billy’s head, half of the names Eddie is rambling off to him barely recognizable when all is said and done, maybe more from his memory getting fucky again than anything else. There’s lots of reasons for why his head gets foggy, but his doctor wasn’t sure if they could blame it on being knocked around too many times or a little something called constant chronic pain.

Either way he was being dragged to Hawkins before any such diagnosis was official.

And here he is now, comfortable as fuck on Eddie’s old worn-in couch, wearing his flannel because it’s he only thing his boyfriend owns that isn’t several sizes too small for his shoulders, and using his family heirloom blankets.

He’s here to stay.

“I’m not goin’ home, so.. why not?”

Eddie still looks skeptical, and voices as much in a doubtful tone, “Okay, but, this is your final warning. It can get really intense. Like, really really.”

Somehow Billy gets the feeling this wouldn’t be the first time someone told Eddie his interests were too much. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the way he’s looking out for him, but Billy doesn’t want to be the one to crush his boyfriend's spirit.

So he makes a light joke of it, “It’s a board game, Eds. And I’m sorry, but you thought Jaws 3-D was a masterpiece. I’m not sure your definition of intense and mine are the same”

Special interest mode, activated.

“It is! It perfectly parallels how humans think poetic justice is only valid if they personally can identify with the hero! That’s all it takes to be defined as a hero or a villain!! That kicks ass!” Eddie rants passionately for the hundredth time, though the pointed laugh before he starts speaking is Billy’s sign that it’s all in fun.

So he keeps it going, “Eddie. As your boyfriend I feel obligated to tell you this, but whatever commentary a movie about a revenge driven, computer generator shark has to offer, it probably wasn’t intentional.”

“It’s not meant to be realistic. Metaphors, baby!” Eddie defends, the actual depth of this conversation many times gone over already. This is just a summary of it for a little joke, though they could be here for hours if they wanted to.

Which means it’s Billy’s turn to infodump, all those years spent researching the ocean in the library and local California museums not gone to waste yet.

“But sharks don’t even raise their young! Real world or not! Revenge doesn’t matter to the creatures that don’t even stay a day after their shark babies are born to abandon them. I mean, they could at least wait ten years like my ma-”

Stop. Oops.

That wasn’t exactly what he was supposed to say. Or even what he meant to.

He’s always defended his mommas decisions to leave him behind. Something about Neil constantly reminding him how difficult he was as a kid probably did some numbers on his ability to process the whole thing. But sometimes, his heart reveals some sadder truths in this process of healing it.

Eddie's love wraps around his bones like an extra layer of support, seeping out all the bad. Sometimes he’s got to expel those thoughts whether or not he realizes it until they come pouring out of his mouth.

And then he feels sad.

Because he’s thinking about his momma.

Eddie moves quickly into caring mode, holding his arms out to invite Billy for a cuddle. The whole boundaries thing is still a pretty big deal, even though it’s been weeks, proving Eddie meant it when he said they didn’t have to rush this. Hell, Billy thinks Eddie might never stop asking for his consent for even just cheek kisses, in the silent language the two of them are slowly developing.

There’s trust there that Billy isn’t used to. Throwing himself blindly into love and hoping to be caught hadn’t worked, and neither had acting cold. Then Eddie had shown him other options, and there was no going back.

Billy leans into his hug, pushing just a little so Eddie lays back against the armrest with his arms still around Billy, pulling them together into the perfectly nested out, cozy spot where Billy slept last night.

Even though they slept only feet away from each other, he had missed Eddie. He missed waking up from a nightmare and kissing him, the warmth and the pressure of his limbs scattered all over the bed and over Billy, and even the sound of his not so gentle snoring. He’s become the routine, the only constant in Billy’s life that he’s desperate never to let go of.

Still, Eddie is the one to change the conversation, so the effort, and the intention of their love, must be equal, “Agree to disagree?”

“Sure.” Billy gives him that, too comfortable to argue about stupid things or bring up more trauma. He hadn’t meant to and now he feels a little drained. Nothing a little early morning spoon session can’t fix.

That’s why he has the confidence to push the boundary again, just enough comfort flowing through their connected energies now that he isn’t afraid of making Eddie upset, “Still coming to dnd tonight though.”

~~~~~

“What bet did you lose?”

There’s six people, all wearing matching shirts, all accessorized in various articles of plaid and leather and whatever else they think makes them look like Eddie. Serious respect to the one who actually asked the question, he’s guessing Maddie from the previous conversation, who wears her shirt like a cutoff and actually has her own taste.

That proves Eddie right though. Billy had walked out of the bedroom for all of two seconds before he’s being glared at and asked stupid questions.

He just hadn’t realized the implications of Eddie’s friends being the overwhelming part, rather than the game. The confusing, twisting, hell of a game he’s too afraid to even attempt.

“Excuse me?”

Even being used to fighting and drama, Billy just isn’t really sure how to respond to that. He knows what Eddie’s friend means, but at the same time, he doesn’t. As far as he knew, everyone in town had heard about Billy Hargrove’s fall from grace after a few nights ago when Neil went on a bender looking for his runaway son and telling anyone who asked exactly what he thought of his kid. And for punching said kid in the face again, which is why Billy had come here to begin with.

But maybe the lowest of the Hawkins High hierarchy doesn’t fill up on the products of the rumor mill as quickly as he’s used to from his spot near the top.

One of the other nameless ones chimes in next, even more sarcastic and cold than the girl, “What ungodly punishment are you subjecting yourself to by being here?”

Billy just doesn’t understand what he did. His most notorious moments in school were still mostly aimed at whichever groupies tried to get too close to him. The best he can come up with is that these nerds were all jealous of him living with Eddie now, but, no offense to the love of his life, that doesn’t seem very likely.

Thankfully, Eddie takes the heat and changes the subject before Billy is forced to figure out what kind of response is needed from that level of passive-aggressiveness.

He steps right in the center of the room and claps his hands a few times, both to get everyone’s attention and to put accentuation on his demands, “Hey. Shoes off in my house, dorkuses. Or need I remind you of the last time?”

That sounds like there’s a story there just waiting to be told, and considering Billy would rather hear that than keep being questioned, he takes the obvious bait, “What happened last time?”

“Why, dear Jeffrey over there tracked in some dog shit surprise. Had to cut a square out of the carpet because it-“ Eddie starts to explain, but before he gets too graphic with it, Billy interrupts.

“I got it, Eds. Don’t need all the details.”

The obvious disgust on his face is probably what makes Eddie giggle like a self-satisfied little kid, before he says, “Suit yourself. Just be lucky you met me after. Took months to get the stink out.”

Dustin, the only one of the freshmen trio that still shows up to these things often enough to be considered an official member, is of course the one to interrupt the flow between Billy and Eddie, just because the smug little bastard would be, “Funny. I thought you still smelled like dog shit.”

Billy’s got to give it to the kid, if that wasn’t a snide comment about his boyfriend, he’d absolutely be laughing right now. And okay, maybe he can’t suppress just the tiniest chuckle, which of course gets noticed in an instant by Eddie.

Which is enough to make him spring into action against the insult, literal physical action because he puts Dustin in a headlock and ruffles the shit out of the kids hair after knocking his hat off.

Seeing that the tension has been successfully defused, Billy decides he’s no longer needed. That and, even though he’s grateful Eddie cooled the situation off, he’s not really looking to have to defend himself constantly.

Over the ruckus of the play-fighting teenagers and the crowd of their friends chanting for who they’re placing soda-pop bets on, Billy announces, “I’ll order a pizza and fuck off again.”

Instantly Eddie freezes, his hair half-way in his eyes and his shirt wrinkled like Billy hadn’t carefully hung it on the line this morning from all the commotion, “You know you don’t have to do that.”

Billy isn’t sure if he’s talking about the pizza or the leaving, but he’s down for both. He’ll make an appearance again when it’s time to eat. Slow integration with all this noise and personality will probably be the best for him anyways.

He challenges Eddie’s question so he doesn’t have to worry, “Who else is going to?”

Eddie doesn’t do phone calls. It’s one thing to be loud and energetic in person, but put a speaker up to him and it’s like he has no clue what to say. Maybe it’s his wired different brain, but something about not being able to stare people in the face makes it a hell of a lot harder to get his point across.

So yeah, Billy’s got him beat there. Whatever Eddie’s problem is though, times it by twenty for the amount of anxiety sitting around this place at this very moment. This is the best decision and Billy would’ve stood by it even if Eddie said anything else. But he doesn’t.

So Billy puts his hand in the shape of a phone and shakes it, wanting to go kiss Eddie before he leaves the room but restraining the urge in front of all these people that probably wouldn’t get it, “Just call for me when Aggy gets here with the pizzas.”

~~~~

Later when everything’s said and done, they’re back to where they started.

Eddie is flat on his back, lanky limbs spread out like a starfish, while Billy curls up into his side, more like a koala. There’s a quilt over their tangle of bodies, but the slightly awkward yet somehow very comfortable position means they’re barely covered by it, though that’s fine anyways because Billy runs hot.

In his own little self-sustained furnace at his boyfriend's side, Billy’s also about to fall asleep, even just listening to Eddie’s extroverted self socialize all day having made him tired. His eyes snap open when Eddie asks him a question.

“Was today okay?”

The startle the abrupt cut in the silence gave him also earns him an apology kiss on the forehead from Eddie.

He’s okay though, because it reminds him that he wanted to put his head on Eddie’s chest, readjusting to get closer and comfier. His response is a sleepy after thought, a soft little hum of agreement, “Mhm.”

Eddie takes the opportunity to put his fingers in Billy’s hair and gently play with it, as he talks up at the ceiling, “I'm glad. Because I didn’t want to have to cut all of those dudes out of my life.”

“Like you’d choose me over all of them.” Billy murmurs, though he’s actually flattered that Eddie has even chosen him at all, no matter the order of importance.

And it only gets better when Eddie says..“I would. A thousand times over, I would. I love you, man.”

Because he says it so easily, like it isn’t a big deal.

Like it’s just a normal thing. Which it is. Billy can’t lie and say he doesn’t feel the same, but they haven’t said it out loud yet. He didn’t think they ever would, a fact he’d been okay with since the first time he realized he liked dudes and girls.

“Love.. me..?”

Eddie flushes red in an instant, all the way down under the collar of his shirt to where Billy’s head is resting, and he quickly tries to correct it like the questioning means he did something wrong, “Sorry. I promised to pace myself. I’ll take it back and lock it back up in my heart until you’re ready.”

Now Billy is just glad he already loves Eddie back, because that sickly sweet proclamation would have done him in otherwise. To ease the worry in his lover's pounding heart, he makes sure to let him know.

��No. S’okay. I love you too.”

So maybe Billy isn’t as bad at being in love as he thought.

He was once someone who thought all he mattered for was sex, a few moments of distraction for somebody who would forget him anyways. Over time, he’s been proven wrong

Billy Hargrove can be loved. It just took the right person- his match in love, the other half to his soul he found in Eddie- to show him that.

[wayward-sherlock]

alexa play thumbs by lucy dacus (wip from one of my @bylerween2023 fics!)

@willelmikes >:)

[the-dist-ortionist]

Something I've noticed recently is people just adding trauma to their ocs for no reason. Like obviously it makes sense for ocs to have trauma but I mean some people are treating it like a "let's add every trauma ever‼️‼️" and it kinda irritates me, it's stupid but it does. Like there's a difference between a child being abused, neglected whatever than a character randomly turning into a biblicly accurate angel just because and it having almost no reason or relevance and it happening just because.

Like everything that happens to my ocs happens for a reason, if even one out of Aya, Ivonne, Ari, 206 and Nettle had not had trauma, the main plot would not have happened. And with characters like Saoirse and Sierra, they act the way they do in order to protect themselves from trauma again. Like it affects the characters.

But I've seen people just be like "oh yeah my oc was just walking in the park and then turned into a decaying corpse randomly and there's no other lore or character‼️‼️‼️" and it just bothers me since that is not how stuff works.

[livestosave]

@flightofaqrow asked: (Ironwood) 🍁 + What was his family like 

      “...I take it you mean my...biological family?”

      The general leaned back from his desk, folding his hands. What was his family like...

      “I’ll give you the answer to both, and hope it does not disappoint you, hm?” The small half-smile was faint, but there, sighing softly as he steeled himself against the memories. It was likely best to start with the unpleasantness and...move to gentler thoughts afterward.

      “My mother was a dust trader from Mantle. From what little I know of her, she was a bright, beautiful woman, who loved with all she had. When she was home, she was always playing with me, and...I remember her laugh. She had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh right along with her. She traveled a lot for work, and left me with my father.”

      And if, more than four decades later, his hand still clenched tightly enough that his glove audibly strained, well. It had never become easy to talk about.

      “He...he was from Mistral, I think. Or maybe from Argus. I assume they met when she was there for work, but eventually he moved to Mantle. He worked in the mines, and took care of me when my mother was away for work...which was most times. And he was...” A hesitation, and the headmaster forced his eyes to shut. It was easier that way. “He was cruel. Abusive. I only really remember being afraid, and angry. I don’t even know what he looked like, beyond a fist coming at me.”

      With a soft breath, James opened his eyes, tipping his head slightly and managing a small smile. Gentle, and...deeply, deeply fond.

      “I ran away when I was about six or seven. Lived on the streets for a few years. Then I picked the pocket of a well to-do gentleman, hoping for something good...and got caught. Luckily for me, old Goodkind was always far softer than he ever let on.” Sapphire eyes soften, full of both warmth and a nostalgic pain. An old grief. “I don’t know how many remember old Goodkind properly...he was a general in the Great War, and was General and Headmaster before me. He took me in, though at the time I didn’t fully realize it.”

      He fell silent for a moment, gloved left hand reaching up to stroke over his beard as he lost himself in fond memories for a moment.

      “Goodkind was a stoat faunus, and one of the old nobility from the Kingdom of Mantle. He was...brilliant. A bit standoffish, unless he liked you. A brave warrior, a fierce politician, a bright academic, and wonderful teacher...and he was very wise. And kind. And gentle. I was a feral child when he took me in, and he never pushed. Never caged. In hindsight, he treated me like you might a feral cat, and it worked. Eventually, without my ever realizing it...he became my father. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss his guidance dearly. And the sharp wit that often accompanied it.” The thought brought a soft huff of laughter from the tired general, even as his hands folded across his middle. All the tension from before bled out of him, to be replaced with a warm amusement and relaxation. “Did I mention he had a sharp tongue? When he was a general in the war, he tore out throats, and I think in peacetime, he decided to see if he could do it figuratively.”

      After another moment’s quiet, he rolled a shoulder, and looked back down to his desk. “I suppose old Lark ( @couplct​ ) counts too. Another General during the Great War, Robert lark was Goodkind’s dearest friend...and something of an uncle to me, I suppose. Maybe even a second father. He and Goodkind were always visiting each other when the schools had breaks. Lark was big, and loud, and brash, and did absolutely nothing by halves. He could be a tough, mean old bastard, or one of the gentlest, warmest men I’ve ever known.”

      The sadness and grief in his eyes only deepened, as the general finally leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his desk and folding his hands. “When Lark finally passed, Goodkind followed him five years to the day. And I miss them both terribly.”

[henrysglock]

it's not wip wednesday but any day is wip wednesday if you try hard enough.

anyway, paper faces chapter 15

[allykakamatsu]

The Demon Siblings, Chapter 2

First

Rating: T

Original Characters

Chapter 2 Trigger Warning: Referenced past child abuse

Story as a whole loosely based on @yusuke-of-valla Demon Fam Au.

Henry swore that puberty wasn't meant to happen until you were a teenager, and if nothing else he knew it didn't involve growing horns.

The Plan

9 years and 11 months ago, Henry

“Ugh…..” I groan as I wake up to the now familiar sight of obsidian walls and the large oak desk at the end of my bed. 

I also check the clock to see if I slept properly tonight, and…. Nope, it’s only 4 in the morning. Ah, dang it. The Burning Hells are starting to feel like home, but everything still feels so empty and, while I know no one here will hurt me anymore, unlike what dad apparently did, I’m still scared someone will try to kill me.

Still, speaking of Dad, least I didn’t have a nightmare about him tonight, and also no flesh demons who disliked Miss Aravni came in to try kill us so that’s an improvement at least, but doesn’t change the fact that I’m probably not getting back to sleep for a while so it’s time for some tea.

Before I do though I take a glance at my two honorary siblings to see if there awake and need some as well.

First I look like Ayra who’s been tossing and turning by the looks of her hair but outside of that she looks very peaceful, which isn’t a surprise, based on what she told us her home was the real hell so this place has been heaven for her. Meanwhile Yuna….. isn’t in her bed at all.

“Oh no…” I mumble as I slip on my slippers and sneak out of the room to try find her. Yuna’s pretty much been the complete opposite of Ayra, she still partially blames herself for her mother selling her to Aravni and while she’s getting along with all of us now she has been having a horrific time settling in.

After a bit I manage to make it to the kitchen, which is where we usually go when we have a bad time sleeping and don’t want to bother anyone else, and while I can’t see anyone else the lights are on so I know someone’s in here.

“Yuna? Are you in here?” I ask quietly as I close the door behind me, and as I do I hear a small yelp behind the giant counter so it looks like I was right.

“!! A Ah, Henry… you’re awake too….?” Yuna asks nervously as she barely peaks out.

“Yeah, still getting used to everything,” I tell her as I go to her but she backs away?, “hey, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m not going to judge you for having a nightmare.”

“N No…. It’s not that….,” she explains now fully hidden, “it’s…. This is happening again and I know you’ll hate me if you see it….”

Happening again? Wait, how has this happened before? “Hey, don’t worry, we’re technically family with demons now, in this month alone I’ve seen so much, whatever it is I won’t judge.”

After a few moments of awkward silence Yuna hesitantly peeks her head out again. “….. Promise?”

“I promise.” With that she hesitantly comes out with her usual long purple-ish blue hair, grey-blue eyes, her white nightdress and….. a pair of blue fox tails?! Wait, that is what she was so worried about?

“That’s what you were afraid of? Okay, it is very random, but that’s not too bad, but it’s also so adorable! They look so fluffy!”

“You…. You like them….?” Yuna asks looking surprised.

“Of course!,” I confirm with a smile as I hold her hands, “we’ll have to ask Queen Aravni what’s going on but these aren’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Yuna just stands there in shock for a moment before she starts crying?! “I…. This happened before and…. Mom freaked out and she said everyone else would hate me for it… so she took me to a doctor to cut them off…. The more I’ve been thinking about it….. the more I’m thinking this might’ve been the reason she was so ready to get rid of me…. So her ‘monster kid’ wouldn’t ruin her reputation…..And I was worried off you’d found out you’d try to cut them off too…”

“Well then she’s even worse than I thought,” I tell her, “look, I know most humans aren’t cool with demons, but any parent who’s going to cut something off their child just because they’re only worried about it hurting them and not the kid is horrible, and no one down here is going to do that to you here, okay?”

“….. Got it,” Yuna replies after calming down a little and smiling, “thank you Henry…”

“I’m glad I could help,” I assure her with a smile, making her smile more before looking confused, “huh? Is something wrong?”

“Um….” she mumbles before pointing at my head but not saying anything, so I hesitantly feel around up there….. only to grasp what feels like a pair of small horns?!

“Huh?!,” I yelp before running to the window because it’s closer than a mirror and yup I have a pair of small dark pink horns?!, “okay, let’s hope Queen Aravni is still awake because we have to ask her about this!”

“Ask Aravni about what?,” Ayra(?!) asks as she comes in before staring at us, “….. huh, you two have demon stuff, neat.”

“Thank you?” Yuna replies both relived and confused (oh god her mom really did traumatise her into thinking she was a freak didn’t she?)

“Sorry if I woke you.” I apologise as I assume me leaving is what woke her up.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Ayra assures me, “but I did pass Aravni’s door on the way here, there was a light under it so I do think she’s awake, so might as well ask her now.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” I admit as I grab Yuna’s hand as the three of us leave the room and make it to the Demon Queen’s door and quietly open it and see she’s talking to two people, one is a very professional male Demon with grey hair and also has a tail and horns like Aravni albeit smaller and blue, and the other is a regal woman with dark grey hair wearing a black and grey wispy dress and had black horns and bat wings.

“-so in conclusion, we have eleven years roughly to do this before Gabriel tries to destroy us all.” The man explains sternly- wait destroy us?!

“Ugh, I knew this was coming, and at least we’re mostly prepared, but I still gotta deal with the seal so I can get out of here and help.” Aravni groans frustrated but not surprised.

“Well, that’s what the kids are for, isn’t it?” The woman asks somewhat coldly.

“Well it’s why I was making contacts with humans,” Aravni fires back, “but I was hoping for adults, not to drag innocent kids into this, especially since Henry and Ayra will barely be adults by then, and Yuna won’t even be that.”

“I know, trust me if it was Marianne I wouldn’t want her getting involved either,” the woman adds with her arms crossed, “but the barrier won’t be unstable enough for you to make any more contracts until about 3 years before the deadline, and that won’t be enough time to get any mortals ready.”

“Imogen is right your majesty, you have to tell them.” The man agrees making Aravni make an ‘I know’ face.

“Tell us what?” Ayra asks as she opens the door more and getting all three of the Demons attention.

“!! Kids! Wasn’t expecting you three up this late-!,” Aravni yelps looking surprised before that surprise gets mixed with joy, “oh my god you’re half demons and you all look adorable!!”

“Half-AGH!!” Yuna yelps as the demon queen swoops all of us up into a hug.

“…..To be a bit more specific,” the woman Imogen chimes in after looking at us puzzled for a moment, “the boy is half Demon, the younger girl is half Kitsune, and the older girl is a Witch.”

“A Witch? Haven’t heard that one before. Also Aravni can you put us down please.” Ayra states bluntly.

“Ah, sorry, I’m just so proud of my little babies!” Aravni apologises as she puts us down while cooing.

“Ahem, continuing,” the man states while clearing his throat, “a Witch is essentially a human with the potential to use demon magic, they’re our equivalent to Exorcists.”

“Pfft, Father will be so mad if he ever finds out.” Ayra says with a chuckle.

“S Still… are you sure…?,” Yuna asks nervously, “K Kitsune’s have always seemed so pretty but kinda scary in the pictures…. If Mom’s reaction is anything to go by then I’m just the latter…. A And before you say it I know I shouldn’t be listening to what she says but….. well until I came here she was pretty much the only person I was ever able to talk to….. So she’s really my main reference for things….”

“….. We’re killing her in a few years right?” Imogen asks after a few moments of stunned silence making Yuna go pale.

“Ehe, she’s just joking,” Aravni assures her but gives Imogen a look that screams ‘we’ll plan it when the kids aren’t here’, “but yeah, you are, and you are adorable Yuna sweetie!”

“….. Ehe, thank you Miss Aravni.” Yuna replies with a smile and… oh my god her tails wag when she’s happy that’s adorable!! Ahem… better not let her hear that, that’ll probably freak her out any more.

“Ahem, anyway,” I say turning to the guy, “what were you all talking about mister?”

“Just call me Seth,” he introduces professionally, “but to make a long story short well, how to I explain this in a way kids raised in the mortal realm would get….the God of this world, Gabriel, he only cares for two things, mortals and angels obeying him, and exterminating all demons.”

“Pretty much, but he doesn’t even care about them either, he’ll happily kill them if they disobey him or just to get to a Demon,” Imogen continues still stone faced but now her eyes are hiding rage, “and now he’s planning on proving it by going through all of humanity to get to us.”

“!!! W W Why?!” I ask now freaking out while an even more afraid Yuna is holding on to Ayra who’s looking panicked for the first time since we got here.

“He’s an emotionless bastard who thinks we’re abominations that’s why,” Aravni answers also getting annoyed, “that’s why I was making the soul contracts to begin with. The only way to stop him is the seven divine weapons, and Demons can’t touch those so I was trying to get some humans on my side.”

“Instead, our asshole parents gave you us instead,” Ayra finishes, “so unless you can get more contracts out we’ve gotta get those weapons.”

“Pretty much,” Aravni admits with a sigh, “I’m sorry to put this on you kids but short of a miracle I don’t think the barrier will weaken enough for me to get anyone else in time.”

“It’s fine your Majesty,” I assure the Demon Queen as I do my best to try be the emotionally stable one, “at least we have a few years to prepare, and hey, I did always like the idea of being a hero so I guess it all works out.”

“Y You’re taking this really well Henry…” Yuna mumbles looking as terrified as she was on her first day.

“Ehe, better look on the bright side then be afraid,” I admit as I mess with her hair a little, “and hey, this is a good way to prove to our parents that we’re worth more than what they sold us for and show them up, no faster way to be well liked than being a hero and saving the world.”

“A hero….,” Yuna mumbles a bit before looking up with a determined smile, “that…. Sounds nice.”

“Welp, if there was ever any doubt that I was in, you two agreeing put them to rest,” Ayra adds smirking, “though now I’ve gotta come up with some plans for when we go back up.”

“Yay!! Sibling adventure!!” Raquel says as she gets out from under the bed- wait Raquel?!

“AH!!” Yuna yelps as she jumps onto me, making Ayra chuckle and the rest of the adults look not impressed.

“Aravni, I thought you said Raquel didn’t sneak in this time?” Seth asks with a sigh as Imogen just rolls her eyes.

“I did, I checked under the bed and she wasn’t there,” Aravni defends herself  before turning to her daughter, “and sweetie I thought I told you to stay out of these meetings.”

“You did, but I don’t care,” Aravni fires back, “this stuff involves me too, and I’m not a kid anymore mom, I’m seventeen thousand. I can’t afford to just sit outside and wait for you to tell me the news in the most PG way possible, I’m the Princess of the Burning Hells, I need to know this stuff so I can keep my home safe.”

“She’s right and you guys know it.” A new voice chimes in from under the bed and who crawls out is a girl about Raquel’s age with short ‘so dark it’s almost black’ grey hair, grey eyes, black horns, a pair of small grey wings at her hips and wearing a long and elegant black, white and purple dress.

“What the- Marianne you too?” Imogen asks with a ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed’ face.

“I’m sorry Mother,” Marianne apologises with a bow before standing firm, “but Raquel is right, this concerns us and we’re old enough, we have the right to know.”

“Okay, before we continue, is anyone listening in?” Seth asks with a glare- wait why did Ayra pull me and Yuna back-?!

“AGH!!!” Ryoko(?!) yelps as she falls out of an air vent, quickly followed by Akio and a demon boy I don’t recognise with brown hair, a ‘business style that I can still kick your ass in’ outfit, and eyes, tail and horns that match Seth- oh.

“Big brother, your majesty, Lady Imogen, I’m sorry, they talked me into it…” the new guy apologises to the three while Ryoko gives a ‘worth it’ smirk and Akio just facepalms.

“Markus, we’ll talk about this more later,” Seth tells his embarrassed younger brother before sighing, “and as much as you all spying on us is obnoxious, you do have a point.”

“Hmm….,” Aravni hums before her eyes light up a little, “adults huddle! Kids give us a few seconds!” With that, and Imogen eye rolling, the adults huddle up leaving the rest of us to stand and wait.

“Um, congrats on the demon thing by the way.” Akio tells us somewhat awkwardly to break the silence.

“Agreed, you’re even more awesome and kick ass now!” Raquel adds while messing with our hair.

“How many times are you going to keep doing that?” Ayra asks semi annoyed but still clearly enjoying it.

“Ehe, glad to see you and your new siblings are getting along so well Raquel,” Marianne chuckles before looking a bit shocked, “oh! I should probably introduce myself properly, I’m Marianne, it’s a pleasure to meet you three.”

“Same here,” I agree with a little bow, “I’m Henry, and these are my new little siblings Ayra and Yuna.”

“He’s only older by two months.” Ayra grumbles while Yuna shyly waves.

“I know the feeling, Seth is only older by two hundred years and now I never hear the end of it,” Markus adds with a sigh, “oh, I’m Markus by the way, though you probably already got that.”

“Yay! We’re all introduced now!” Ryoko cheers  with her big flappy sleeves going wild, but before anyone can say anything else the adults end their huddle.

“Alright,” Imogen states looking not the most pleased but accepted what’s happening, “we have decided to let you all in on everything from now on, but, if we’re telling you, all of you have to be all in.”

“All in on what Lady Imogen?” Akio asks as I start getting nervous and excited.

“The plan to get the weapons!,” Aravni continues, “Henry, Ayra and Yuna are the only three who can use them, but they’re going to need help to get to them, so if we tell you what’s going on, you’re going up to the mortal realm with them and helping with the mission. So, you kids in?”

“Do you even need to ask Mom, of course we’re in!” Raquel agrees with everyone else nodding to confirm, though Markus does look a tad more nervous so I squeeze his hand to try calm him down.

“Alright then,” Seth states as Aravni looks proud and Imogen pulls Marianne aside for what looks like a ‘concerned parent’ talk, “it’s late even by demon standards and we were about to wrap this meeting up anyway so you all go back to sleep. I’ll fill Mahiro and Saya in on the fact there’s going to be a…. Few more people in on the plan now, and we’ll go into more details in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, thanks you three!” Ryoko says cheerfully as all us kids (besides Marianne and the now being lightly scolded Markus) leave the Demon Queen’s room and split up-

“Um… Raquel,” Yuna asks our ‘big sis’ nervously making me and Ayra stop and wait, “I…. Can I sleep with you tonight please….?”

“Aww! Of course you can!,” Raquel agrees while giving her a hug and turning to us, “do you two want to as well?”

“Eh, why not.” Ayra agrees with an embarrassed blush and I nod as well as we follow her to her room and I can’t help but smile. Being down here is great, and I’ll do whatever I can to protect it.

[countlessrealities]

MEMORIES OF MY CHILDHOOD

Bold all that apply to your muse. Repost, don't reblog ! TW: contains mentions of abuse / neglect / death / trauma

scraped knees, silent tears in a locked room, slamming doors, pervasive loneliness, a dog barking, rain on a metal roof, flinching at movement, the creak of an old house, forced laughter, wandering in the dark woods, wondering how you made it through, sudden loss, trying to make sense of the noise, hiding what you love to protect it, trying to explain but your words falter, invaded privacy, confusion at the pain, running barefoot in the grass, wondering what you did wrong and coming up with nothing, realizing you aren’t a priority, grass stains on white clothing, trying to earn love you will never have, being threatened over the smallest mistake, secrets you are warned not to share, the feeling of never being good enough, the hope things might someday get better, grief that aches in your bones, childish dares andbjjjj pranks, the sense that your body isn’t yours, shame and guilt that aren’t yours to carry, sledding down a frozen hill, absentmindedly following snakes through the grass, punching a tree until your knuckles bleed, tears over every dead creature you find, searching out small places you can hide… just in case, climbing the tallest tree so they can’t touch you, the feeling of something tainted under your skin, a curious child told to stop asking, floral dresses, body tensing at approaching footsteps, anger with nowhere to go, brief escapes from the chaos, the purr of a contented cat, taking the blame to keep the peace, being told you’re too sensitive, the creaking springs of a trampoline on a sunny day

scraped knees, silent tears in a locked room, slamming doors, pervasive loneliness, a dog barking, rain on a metal roof, flinching at movement, the creak of an old house, forced laughter, wandering in the dark woods, wondering how you made it through, sudden loss, trying to make sense of the noise, hiding what you love to protect it, trying to explain but your words falter, invaded privacy, confusion at the pain, running barefoot in the grass, wondering what you did wrong and coming up with nothing, realizing you aren’t a priority, grass stains on white clothing, trying to earn love you will never have, being threatened over the smallest mistake, secrets you are warned not to share, the feeling of never being good enough, the hope things might someday get better, grief that aches in your bones, childish dares and pranks, the sense that your body isn’t yours, shame and guilt that aren’t yours to carry, sledding down a frozen hill, absentmindedly following snakes through the grass, punching a tree until your knuckles bleed, tears over every dead creature you find, searching out small places you can hide… just in case, climbing the tallest tree so they can’t touch you, the feeling of something tainted under your skin, a curious child told to stop asking, floral dresses, body tensing at approaching footsteps, anger with nowhere to go, brief escapes from the chaos, the purr of a contented cat, taking the blame to keep the peace, being told you’re too sensitive, the creaking springs of a trampoline on a sunny day

tagged by: @shctupmeg tagging: Steal it !

[polyamorouspunk]

You seem like a nice guy but probs a bit scary to get on your bad side. And you fight terfs so bonus points ig

I’m gonna say yes to that because I have bpd and I’m VERY good at manipulating people and gaslighting them and playing the blame game and it’s very easy for me to frame myself as the victim and anyone else as the “bad guy” and that spills out when I’m upset and a lot of times even “taking accountability for my own actions” feels like just a piece in my “games” if you will to make myself more credible. I’m not so much of a scary angry person so much as a I will make you cry and make you feel like you’re the one at fault while I’m bully you. I DON’T do that anymore, I do want to be clear about that, but before my bpd started to be treated I was a very shitty person who sometimes made people feel bad about themselves just from them disagreeing with me. However, yes, I have dissociated and done some violent things or said some violent things and I think that leans more towards “angry violence” stuff. I’ve had people fear that I was going to attack them with a knife and kill them legitimately so like yeah, I have Scary Cluster B Mental Illness That Makes Me Prone To Angry Outburts, but like, I am harmless really, like, I’m *not* going to stab someone in their sleep, it’s a lot of that misunderstanding like oh of course the girl with the scary mental illness is a serial killer! vibe which I embrace for the aesthetic.

[warrenwilkinson]

Someone to stay

TIME: March 18th, 2023 PLACE: Warren & Maya’s place / Seattle BETWEEN: Maya ( @msmayaparker ) & Warren NOTES: Written on Discord. NSFW. Several TW (see tags) Title from here

It had been a mistake doing this. Or no, it hadn't been a mistake. Maya knew that at some point she needed to start wearing dresses again. The only way forward was, indeed, forward. She had waited until day two of Warren's business trip. It had gone about as terribly as she had expected. A full blown panic attack had seized her the moment she'd caught sight of herself in the mirror. Now, she lay curled up in their shared bed, tears drying on her cheeks. Hermes had curled up next to her. He woofed softly, trying to comfort her.

Not so long ago, Maya would've taken this feeling and gone out to find someone, anyone to want her or gone to fight club. Certainly, she would be halfway to drunk. Now though, she picked up the phone to ring Warren. It was still early. With any luck, he would still be at work. She just wanted to hear his voice. She didn't want him to know she was struggling. It would just make him feel bad, just add another strike against whatever invisible scorecard existed in people's minds about her. "Hi," she said when he answered the phone, "Are you busy?"

Warren wasn’t so happy about this trip. He wasn’t fond of leaving Maya after just a few weeks after she had recovered her memories. He probably had developed certain dependency and maybe in another time of his life he’s notice how bad it was for him but now, he didn’t care. His love for her overpassed anything else.

They texted and talked almost every day and he was never too busy for her. Even on meetings he would answer the texts no matter what. That’s exactly why as soon as his prone started vibrating with a call, he raised a finger to stop one of the managers from keep talking and picked the call, “Hey, sugar, never too busy for you. Just give me a minute,” he smiled and pulled the phone away enough to dismiss everyone, “We’ll continue after lunch ok? Please order something nice and charge it to the company,” he said with an apologetic smile as their employees nodded and left the conference room, “I’m all yours now, baby girl, how are you doing?” he asked still unable to notice something was off.

"Wait, you don't have to..." Maya started to say. She worried her bottom lip as Warren spoke to whoever was in his meeting. She wanted to be important to him, of course she did. But sometimes it felt like she was too important to him, like he was setting aside the rest of his life for her. "I'm safe," she said, which was not a lie, "I missed you. But if you're in a meeting, you can get back to it." After all, she was being silly. A dress couldn't hurt her. The man who has hurt her was dead, thanks to the man she was currently on the phone with. There was nothing to be afraid of and yet here she was falling apart anyway. Maya curled tighter into Warren's side of the bed, feeling safer surrounded by his scent.

He heard her but he was already dismissing his team, “It’s ok, Maya, we hadn’t eaten so I’ sure they’re thankful for the break. Besides, they’re gonna be eating something nice,” he reassured her so she wouldn’t worry about it. The way she answered was enough for him to sit straighter and frown, “you’re safe but not ok,” he pointed slowly, “I miss you too, baby girl,” he added, “No, no, I’m all yours and I wanna know what happened. You sound sad,” he started to loosen his tie as he listened.

Maybe she should've gone to fight club. This was just making things worse. There wasn't much he could do for her and now she was getting in the way of his business. Maya swallowed when he picked up on the fact she had said that she was safe as opposed to good or even fine. "No, it’s okay," she insisted, "You shouldn't mess up your business on my account. You already took all those days off because of me. Everyone's okay here."

He sighed as she spoke, sad to hear her hold back again, “Are you gonna lie to me?” he asked in a sad tone, “my business is years old, I could take a decade off and it’d be fine,” he assured, “I love you and I want to know what happened and why you sound so sad. I really want to know,” he insisted. He had never told her how he actually didn’t even need to work. His fortune was big enough for him to live the rest of eternity without worries but he knew that might be too much for Maya to feel comfortable with it.

"I'm not lying," she said, voice immediately sharp. She didn't lie. She wasn't a liar, no matter what people had said about her. She didn't always tell the full truth, but that was not the same thing. "It doesn't matter, it’s stupid," she said. Old habits were easy to slip into when she felt like this, and her defensiveness was returning. This was a mistake. She shouldn't have called. She shouldn't have tried to put the stupid dress on. She shouldn't have done any of this. It was stupid; she was stupid.

“But there’s something you’re not telling me, I can tell,” he said still sounding sad, “it’s not stupid if it made you feel bad and I need to know tht you’re really ok. I’ll cancel the rest of the trip and go back right now to make sure if you don’t tell me,” maybe it was a low blow but he wanted to make sure everything was really fine. He knew about her nightmares and her insecurities, but he wanted to figure out what had hurt her while he was away.

Maya could hear the sadness in his voice and it only intensified the dark spiral in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her face turned further into his pillow. Knowing that she was fucking up didn't manage to stop her from continuing. "I'll be fine," she argued, "You don't need to ruin your trip because of me. You can't threaten me into talking." With that, Maya hung up. She knew that she sounded like the petulant teenage she felt like.

Turning fully into the pillow, she started to cry. She was so stupid and weak. There was a reason she had waited until Warren was gone. She needed to figure this out on her own without bothering him with it.

He didn’t have the chance to say anything when she snapped and hung up on him. He swallowed hard cause he had pushed too far. He should have listened and let her tell him on her own. He was torn about calling her back or just drop everything and take a flight back home. Either way she’d be mad at him, and he deserved it cause he should have stopped when she said she was ok. He dialed her number and waiting, hoping she would pick up and even if she did, he would flight back home that same night no matter what.

Even with her face buried in Warren's pillow, she could hear her phone buzz. She let it ring. Her crying wouldn't allow her to speak anyway, but at the moment she didn't know how to apologize. It had been wrong of her to snap at him. Warren had just been trying to help.

Hermes laid his head on her side, trying his best to help as well. She curled away from the gentleness. She didn't deserve gentleness. Eventually, Maya quieted. But she stayed there and pulled the covers over her head. The sequined silver dress she had bought lay abandoned on the floor, slightly torn from where she had ripped it off. A few sequins glinted in the bedroom light.

His heart sunk when she didn’t answer the phone and he didn’t insist. Instead, he called his assistant and arranged a flight back home. He could finish that meeting through skype and his team would probably be happy to go back home sooner so after his arrangements he joined the team on the room where they were eating and let them know they all could go back home and take a few days off fully paid. They all seemed relieved of not having to spend two more days in eternal meetings with him.

The flight back felt longer than ever, and he was glad there was a car waiting for him at the airport to drive him home. He hated he couldn’t just appear at will like other of his siblings cause it’d be a lot easier. The house was silent and dark when he was dropped off and he sighed knowing whatever had happened was bad and he only hoped she was home and not out alone. He entered the house and moved to the bedroom right away to find Maya on their bed, more specifically on his side. When he turned on the lights he found out what had happened when he noticed the dress on the floor, “I’m home baby girl,” he said softly as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

Time passed, Maya wasn't sure how much. Hermes wiggled into her embrace and eventually she started to pet him. It helped a little. After some time, she willed herself to get up. She couldn't backslide. She wouldn't let herself. But her thoughts were a tangled snarl of self-doubt and fear. The Bernese Rottie followed her closely. In the kitchen, she managed to make herself a sandwich and get a glass of water. It was something, she reminded herself, even when back in the bedroom she only convinced herself to eat a few bites of it.

She fell asleep, dreams a stormy sea of fraught emotions. It wasn't long before she woke up again, still curled up on Warren's side of the bed. Maya laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to think her way out of how she felt. It didn't help. In fact, it made it worse. After some time, Hermes leapt from the bed, barking happily. Warren must be home. Covering herself with the comforter, she curled further into the bed. After a minute or two, Maya heard the door open a little more as Hermes returned to the room, no doubt with Warren. The bed dipped twice as the two of them joined her in her little corner. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "You didn't have to cut your trip short."

He reached to place his hand over what he thought was Maya’s back, “don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he assured but still didn’t try to peel away the cover from her, “I know I didn’t have to but I wanted to. I could feel something was off and I wasn’t gonna be able to focus and trust me, you might as well be my marketing team favorite person right now cause they didn’t have to spend more days with me,” he tried to joke, “can I get a hug and a kiss?” he asked hoping that might be incentive enough for her to come out from under the covers.

 Deep down he knew in a way he had been responsible for whatever Maya had pushed herself to because he had been the one bringing up the dresses subject without knowing at first why it was such a big issue for Maya. Now that he did, he really regretted to have ever sent a dress to her. Now he felt like she thought she needed to force herself to cross that bridge and it was clear she wasn’t ready for it and he had no rush either. He didn’t care if she never wore a dress at all but he also knew she was not gonna accept that as a definitive answer on the subject.

Maya considered staying curled under the covers. It felt like the safer option. After a moment though, she emerged to crawl into his lap and curl herself against him instead. It was warm and comfortable there. Warm and comfortable was good. Hermes too curled up next to them. She hadn't managed to get dressed yet, instead wearing just a black bra and boy shorts with little stars on them. The warmth of Warren's body meant she didn't feel the cold.

She knew she had to stand on her own two feet, eventually and metaphorically. She felt guilty that Warren might feel like she would backslide without his support. "I can't be your whole life," Maya said softly, "You shouldn't feel like you have to drop everything just because I'm sad." She sighed, "I'm sad kind of a lot."

He was glad that Maya came out from her hiding spot and moved to her rightful place on his lap. Warren wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against the top of her head, "is it bad that you are?" He asked with a frown cause little did Maya know that she had truly became his life, "it had been a very, very long time since I had a real reason to live and then I found you," he admitted.

"But that's what you do when you love someone right? You're there for them no matter what," he kissed her hair, "I hope I can help to make you less sad for longer."

"That's a lot of pressure," she replied. She understood that her own estimation of her worth was below the truth. But she was still only one person. There was another important factor. "Plus, I have to die eventually. Not for a long time, but someday." He didn't like to hear it, she knew, but that didn't make it any less true. He was always going to outlive her by generations.

"Maybe," she replied. She sighed. "I think I have to be sad though," she continued, "Not forever, but the only way to heal from what happened to me back then is to feel it. And it was sad. I think it’s okay for me to be sad about it."

Warren hummed considering her words, “It shouldn’t be… I chose that because I love you and I care and it doesn’t mean you have to do anything to keep that status or do anything for my sake,” he added not wanting her to feel pressured in any way. His expression got more serious when she talked about her imminent death, “I try very hard not to think about that, baby girl, it makes me feel like I can’t breathe when I do,” he confessed swallowing hard to keep himself from telling her that he didn’t plan to outlive her for long.

She was right and he knew it, He didn’t like it but he understood why she needed to cross that bridge even if It hurt, “yeah but that doesn’t mean you have to endure it alone… I’ll always be here to help in any way I can,” he promised pressing his lips against her forehead, “is there any particular reason why you tried to test yourself today?” he asked curiously.

She swallowed. It felt like a pedestal, like a place she could fall from. More importantly though, it didn't sound like a full life. She wanted him to have a full, happy life. Maya licked her lips, not sure how to express her concern properly. "I just want you to be happy," was all she settled on saying.  As far as the fact she would die, she swallowed again. She knew that he didn't like to talk about it, that it made him upset. But she had lived a life where ignoring things that made one upset just meant one was unprepared for them. For her, it didn't seem soon, but time probably worked differently when you lived forever. "Doesn't change that it’s going to happen," she said, voice half muffled into his neck, "And I want to know you'll be taken care of after."

It felt like something that maybe she should go through alone. It was her problem, her brokenness. She should be the one to fix it. Maybe that was her old way of thinking though. Yes, she needed to stand on her own two, metaphorical, feet, but that didn't mean she couldn't lean on someone. Maya turned her face further into the safety of his embrace. It took her a moment to answer his actual question. "You were gone," she admitted, "Sebastian asked me to be his best man and I thought maybe if I started now, I could have my shit together by their actual wedding. And then..." She trailed off, shaking her head. It was silly. Sure, she had thought maybe, if they ever got married, possibly, she would like to wear a dress that day without worrying about it. But that was a passing fancy, an imaginary thing she didn't really expect.

He smiled a little top her words, “You make me happy, Maya. Happier than I’ve ever been and you don’t even have to try,” he assured caressing her back. When she insisted his expression turned a little darker than he’d like. He didn’t want her to know but he was not gonna lie either, “I refuse to live in a world without you, sugar and by the time that happens, I’ve had already lived all that I need to,” he said simply cause he knew in this trip it would be just them. No family left behind cause he could never give her that and she might not even want it.

Warren hummed for her to continue, and it suddenly clicked. It hadn’t been an idea that came solely from her desire to conquer that fear. It was somehow the pressure she felt not to disappoint someone who was important to her, “the hunter is marrying the wolf,” he pointed with a small smile, “I can’t say it surprises me or that he chose you to be his best man but I’m very sure he won’t judge you if you decide to rock suit pants instead of a dress,” he said softly before kissing her forehead, “can we make a deal?” he asked waiting for her to look at him, “whenever you want to try to face those fears and demons, let me know. I won’t be there if you don’t want me to, but I’ll be near enough if you need me…. But most importantly, how about you do it for your own benefit?” he asked with a sad expression, “not to please me or anyone else. I don’t care if you never wear a dress and I’m sure Sebastian doesn’t care either. We just want you to feel comfortable and happy. To be yourself.”

"I'm not the only thing that makes you happy though," she replied, "Like the ducks." A frown creased her brow as his next words. It took her a moment to think through them, to ensure she wasn't reading something into them that wasn't there. Pulling back to look at him properly, Maya shook her head. "No," she said, "It doesn't work like that, no." She shook her head again, "Unless you became mortal somehow, that would be..." Now it was getting hard for her breathe. "No," she said again.

She settled back into the comfort of his embrace. Her death, she knows believed, was a long way off. More pressing was her current predicament. "I know," she said, a little emphatically. Maya didn't want to give the impression Sebastian had done anything to pressure her. It had seemed like a good goal, a thing to work towards. Looking at him, she shook her head. "That's the thing. It is for me. If I'm going to be part of these big celebrations, I don't want to have this be part of it anymore. I don't want him to have any power over me when I'm celebrating. Maybe I'll end up in a suit, but I want the choice. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Warren chuckled when she mentioned the ducks even if his smile turned sad when he remembered his sibling. Gilmore had been the closest to a best friend and he missed every day, but he understood the reasons of their departure and Maya probably didn’t know how much he could see himself on Gilmore. How he would turn exactly like death if he lost her the way Gil had lost Uriel. Life had always been meaningless for them. They were create like that and suddenly Uriel, Barachiel and Maya came along to change it all. What does someone without purpose do when they find it and lose it again? Living doesn’t seem appealing anymore and he imagined Maya wouldn’t see it like that, “Shhhh. Let’s not go there, ok? I promise to look for ways for me to turn mortal if it soothes your mind,” he promised trying to smile even if he had tried it before when he and Barachiel had tried to bear a child. He knew it was impossible, but she didn’t need to know.

It took a moment for him to understand until she explained why she was doing it for her and no one else. Fear was something he had experienced just a handful of times and it had never been for himself so it was still a little foreign for him but he did understood that she wanted to have the options, that she wanted to have the control to decide without a ghost haunting her, “ok, is there anything I can do to help?” he asked feeling lost on how he could make this whole traumatic experience better for her, desperate to know how to help her cross that bridge.

Maya could admit she didn't hate the idea of growing old with Warren. It wasn't possible, of course, at least not to her knowledge. "You don't have to do that," she replied, "It's just..." She sighed and shook her head. She didn't like the idea of him being that unhappy, of being the cause of so much pain. But that was the bitch of it. They were always going to be separated, eventually. Her whole life though had been defined by living in the after. She had to keep on living after the death of her parents. There wasn't anything for it, but to do your best to keep living. After a moment, she added, "I love you."

She didn't like the silence that followed. There were things about her past she knew weren't easy to understand, not unless you had been through it too. And luckily, Warren hadn't been through it. As far as help though, she shrugged at his question. It was nice to have him here, but she didn't think she could always have him around. "Don't be mad," she offered. She swallowed, remembering not how he had treated her, but how she had been treated before. "I know it makes me difficult and bad at taking care of myself, but I'm trying. I promise, I'm trying," she said.

He offered her a smile, a real one this time, “Maya, do you really think, after all this time together that I do things, I don’t want to do?” he asked before pressing his lips to hers in a very soft kiss. A reassuring one. The smile got bigger and brighter at her words, “And I love you. Very, very much,” he added for good measure.

“I could never be mad at you,” he frowned a bit when he realized that maybe she thought he had gotten mad and that was the reason why he came back earlier, “I’m not mad at you, sugar. I worry because you’re very important to me and I just want to…” he trailed off unsure how to explain it without her feeling pressured like before, “I know I can be a little overprotective and that’s only because I love you and sometimes I don’t know what to do with that,” he shrugged, “It just comes in a package I guess, the loving caring and getting worried about the one you love,” he explained lamely. He shook his head, “you’re not difficult and trust me, I know you’re trying cause I can see it… when you lost your memories you reminded me how things were before we got together, and it made me realized how much you’ve changed in so little time. Love does that. And friends, and happiness so when I got you back I promised myself to keep making you happy so you could keep on turning into a happier you.”

She didn't think he did things he didn't want to do. But he always said yes to her. There was no way he wanted to do everything she asked. Was there? Maya let him kiss her softly and did her best to smile back. She tried to draw the line between her past and her present. People in her past were not Warren and Warren was not one of the people from her past. She couldn't use that to go on.

Her eyes watched him as he spoke. That he could never be mad at her she didn't believe. There had to be something. But she could believe he wasn't angry with her now. "I am sorry though," she said after he had finished, "I shouldn't have snapped at you and hung up. I just..." She licked her lips. "I don't lie. I'm not a liar," she insisted. It was an old wound, one that felt especially tender at the moment. She was difficult. Maya knew that, even if he claimed she wasn't. Her past had left scars on her that still affected her and their relationship. "I sounded like I was 15 again, I could hear it."

“I’m sorry too… I pushed too far,” he said with regret cause he knew he should have stopped, “I know you’re not a liar. I didn’t mean that you were a liar. I just knew you were keeping something form me and it scared me,” he admitted, “I should have listened and waited until you were ready to tell me how you were feeling,” he was aware of his mistake. “Is that how you sounded when you were that age?” he asked trying to change the direction to wanting to know more about her young self than about the call that had made her think he might be upset with her, “sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I had found you sooner… I have the feeling that you wouldn’t have liked me very much,” he tried to joke.

"I didn't want to keep it from you. I just felt stupid, being so upset over a piece of fabric. He can't hurt me anymore," she confessed. She shouldn't have called, she had settled on. If she had just kept this to herself, it wouldn't have hurt anyone.

At his question, Maya laughed and shook her head. "Worse," she replied, "I probably would've told you to go fuck yourself." As far as whether or not she would've liked him back then, she shrugged. "I didn't like much of anyone back then," she said. Well, she had liked people, she was just so afraid of getting hurt that she had pushed them away. "I probably would've tried to hit on you. I spent a lot of time in dive bars back then, letting men who were too old for me have whatever they wanted from me," she said. As she spoke, she settled against his chest again. She should probably get dressed or maybe try to finish the sandwich. But mostly she felt sad as she remembered who she had been at fifteen.

“It’s not stupid… but you know what? I am glad you called cause that’s a step in the right direction of what we have. You called instead of just keep it from me and torture yourself on your own,” and it might not have gone in the best direction but every single time Maya reached out to him when she needed him was a good sign of her trust in him.

Warren hummed and wrapped his arms tighter around her, “yeah and I would’ve laughed until that,” he sighed, “you would’ve hated me for rejecting your advances and for punching whoever wanted to take advantage of you,” he said a bit more serious, “I’m ashamed to admit that I was not always like that. I did things I regret deeply. I once took advantage of innocence and it pains me that I had to experience it myself to understand… or at least experience the intentions of someone trying to take advantage of me because they had no idea what I was… after that I never let anyone hurt someone like that again when I was around,” it was something he hadn’t told her about yet. How he was guilty of the same crimes those monsters she ran from. He had changed but he knew others wouldn’t and some would never change.

"I knew hearing your voice would make me feel better," she said.

Maya laughed, the sound hollow and a little bitter. "Just for the second part. It wasn't like I never got rejected back then, just less than I should've," she said. She sighed, "I would've argued I wasn't being taken advantage of, not when I was giving it away. I did make that argument a couple of times." She wasn't proud of it. But it was part of who she was. She understood now that she had only wanted someone to want her, that she was seeking the only validation she had been successful in finding.

When he talked about his past, she listened. It wasn't something he had talked much about, and she wouldn't call it pleasant to hear. She couldn't blame him though. The world had been different then. "When you were a woman?" she asked. When he had experienced it himself, he had changed. Wasn't that all she could ask?

"And yet I fucked up and made you feel worse," his expression fell when he realized he had failed to comfort her as he should've.

Warren wasn't surprised of how Maya used to think about herself and what she did back then, "you were young and hurting, it makes sense you didn't think it through but they should have," he said trying not to get upset about something he couldn't change.

He nodded, "it was actually a little before that. It started when I saw her. She was a body slave, but she never really gave up. I decided I was gonna make her strong and make them pay for what they did to her," he shared something he had never told anyone. "The first night I took upon her, the guards came to the chamber. They thought it was gonna be easy because they had done it before," his eyes flashed that orange light for just a second. "She was still there. I was just adjusting so I could feel her fear and disgust, but she was fierce and wasn't about to back down. Everyone in that villa died. Everyone but all the slaves and that's how I started my army being the first woman ruling and conquering." Those details weren't in any book in history, but Warren remembered all too well.

"It wasn't your fault. You were just trying to help," she replied.

Maya's smile didn't quite reach her eyes when he told her that it made sense she had acted as she had. "It wasn't all bad, you know? I mean, if you had wanted to start throwing punches Officer Baer would've helped. He got into a few bar fights because of me," a more genuine smile curled her lips. "He's who found me the night my parents died," she explained, "I was so mean to him back then. He was just trying to keep me safe, as much as he could."

It wasn't often that Warren shared about his past. Now Maya soaked in every detail. "I like her already," she said when he described his former vessel. It should upset her, maybe, to hear that he had killed a whole villa. But she knew that for some people violence was the only language they understood. Although she had denied herself revenge for many years, she'd never been afraid to fight on behalf of people who needed her help. "How long was she your vessel?" she asked.

Warren didn't argue when she said he just wanted to help cause it was true. He did wanted to make it better but it all backfired.

"You mentioned him before. Did you ever reach out again? I think I like him," he smiled making a mental note to find that man and find a way to repay what he had done to protect Maya in her younger years.

Warren smiled a bit, "She was formidable before I took upon her. I wanted a better future for her," he sighed sadly, "I only had her for 13 years... during that time I met Barachiel, and I lowered my guard. She's the vessel I lost when they took my ring and tried to kill me," he swallowed hard.

Maya shook her head. "At first I couldn't think about any of it for long. Then I felt so ashamed for how I was turning out. And now...?" She sighed. "I mean how could I apologize for turning my back on him? He probably hates me." She truly believes her words. While Spencer Baer might understand why she had done what she had, she didn't expect him to forgive her for how she had treated him.

She nodded. The part about Barachiel she remembered. "Are you afraid of that happening again?" she asked, "Of someone trying to kill this vessel?"

Warren nodded because it sounded like something Maya had been dealing with all her life. The guilt of pushing people away was something she had been dealing with for a long time, "You don't know that, sugar. Some people might surprise you," he smiled trying to encourage her, "would you ever want to know how he's doing?" He asked curiously.

It took him a moment to answer because he wasn't sure, "I've become smarter after that. Never letting anyone get too close but it's different with you. Loving you doesn't make me feel weak," he admitted.

She curled against him tighter, making herself smaller. Maybe people could surprise her. But after her grandparents, she was afraid. A rush of air escaped her. "Of course," she said, "Of course I want to know how he is, but...I mean, it's been so long, and I was so mean."

She smiled against his neck. "Good, I don't want to make you feel weak," Maya said. For a moment, she was quiet, thinking and digesting all they had talked about. "How many vessels have you had?" she asked.

He kept his arms around her as she shrunk against him, "I can do some research and find out how he's doing and get you a way to contact him when you feel ready," he offered because he knew deep down, one day, Maya would want to thank him for what he did for her.

"You don't. It's different with you. You make me feel less of a monster. Like I deserve a chance for happiness," he smiled. He hummed before answering, "only four. Nike was the one I had before this one. I've had this one ever since," he smiled remembering how different his vessel looked when he first chose him, "he had dreadlocks when I picked him," he grinned.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Sometimes, she would read her hometown newspaper to see what he was up to, but so far it had yet to be successful. Once she had tried to Google him. He'd never been one for social media. Maya wanted to know if he was okay. And just because she could contact him didn't mean she had to. After a long moment, she nodded, "Yeah, yeah that'd be nice." She swallowed, "I'm just...I'm scared, you know? I was so shit when I met my grandparents."

She sighed, the tightness in her chest relaxing. She was glad that she made him feel worthy. "You do the same for me," she said. Although, today might not suggest that. Maya nodded as he told her more about his past. Four seemed like a low number, but she knew that was hard to kill. It was a fact she took comfort in on darker nights. Her nose scrunched though when Warren revealed that his current vessel used to have dreadlocks. "It was a good call to get rid of them," she said, "I like you like this."

Warren definitively understood that, "well I know one thing tho, he cared about you and he wanted to help. Your grandparents didn't. They were selfish and didn't deserve having you in their lives. This official wanted the best for you, and I have a good feeling that he'll be happy to see you're happy now," maybe one day when she felt ready they could visit him.

"I guess that's why we work. We're good for each other," he smiled truly believing it. He laughed at his reaction, "it was customary for his people. He was from the East of the Rhine. Now Germany. All warriors there used dreadlocks and he was a gladiator, so I kept them for a while," he smiled, "I do like my hair like this better and it makes me happy that you do too."

"Yeah, maybe..." she swallowed, face heating up with embarrassment. She did her best to bury her face more into his chest. "Maybe you could ask though. If you find him, you could ask if he wants to see me again," she said, "Or if I hurt him too bad."

She smiled back, coming out from hiding a bit more. She liked that. He was good for her. Maya knew that for certain. But she worried at times that she wasn't good for him, especially times like now where he had to skip out on business because of her. As for his dreadlocks, she sat up a little straighter, trying to imagine him with dreadlocks. Her nose stayed scrunched. "There's no accounting for fashion I guess," she said. Running her fingers through his hair, she sighed. "I should probably get dressed," she said, "Maybe try to eat again." She wasn't hungry, but she knew that she should eat, and she was unlikely to feel hungry for a while.

Warren rubbed her back when she hid her face further against his chest, “I can definitively do that, yes,” he agreed knowing it was something he could arrange. He’d feel a lot better to contact him now that Maya had asked him to, “I’ll reach out and let him know you’re ok and that you’d like to talk to him if he’s ok with it,” Warren was sure he’d say yes.

Her comment made him laugh again, “I was wearing a subligaculum, a manicae, dreadlocks and the blood of my enemies so I don’t think fashion was a thing back then,” he smiled a bit… it’s a shame there are no pictures but I have an old painting, I’ll show it to you one day,” he wondered what Maya would think of how he looked back then. He nodded, “I can make you something while you put on something warmer,” he offered, “I probably should change too,” he smiled, “wanna help me get rid of these boring clothes?” he asked in a teasing tone cause he actually loved wearing suits.

"Thank you," she said softly. She wasn't so sure that Officer Baer would want to see her. After all, she had turned her back on everyone from her hometown. In her anger and her hurt, she had been cruel to him in a way she knew even then that he didn't deserve.

"You know I don't know what half of those mean," she replied. She smiled at the prospect of seeing even an old painting of him. "I'd like that," she said.

As far as his offer, Maya glanced over at her sandwich. "I'd made myself something. I was trying to be good," she said. Whatever Warren made would be better though, she knew that. She made a face at his second request. She teased, "That seems like a dangerous proposition. I'm liable to get distracted." Even as she said it, she sat up properly in order to untie his tie. It was a graceful, practiced motion. By now, she had taken off his tie so many times. It was almost comforting in its familiarity.

He smiled to her and pecked her lips, “You’re very welcome, sugar,” he relaxed when she seemed a bit less stressed.

She had a point and he chuckled when she said it like that, “ok uhm a subligaculum is just some kind of clothe I used to cover my junk and the manicae was some kind of protection for my arm made of metal… I didn0t have a full armor at first, that’s why I got that scar on my chest,” he explained, “I looked hot,” he joked.

“I noticed and I’m glad but if you’re tired, I love cooking for you so I could take upon the kitchen for tonight,” he offered again, “we could also order something in case you want me undivided attention,” he smirked. “I’ll keep you focused,” he promised sighing when her fingers undid his tie expectedly, “I like it when you help me undress,” he admitted.

Her fingers brushed over his scar at its mention. Her heart couldn't help but clench at the idea of him so under protected. Of course, she had seen him fight at fight club with less. But no one was armed at fight club. "You always look hot," she replied.

"I'm not hungry," she admitted. She then added, "But I know I should eat. It’s been awhile." She had eaten before she had tried on the dress and Maya wasn't entirely sure how long ago that had been. Once it was untied, her slender and calloused fingers played with the smooth silk of his tie. While she felt a bit better, those old ways of thinking and behaving lurked just below the surface. "Do you want to have sex?" she asked, "We can have sex if you want."  She was straddling him now, the position more comfortable for helping him undress. Her green eyes darted up to meet his and there was a flash of hesitancy in them.

“Thanks, though I think you’re a little biased,” he chuckled, “but I like it that you think so,” he winked.

He was glad she was aware that she needed to eat even if she wasn’t hungry, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked about what kind of comfort food you prefer,” he said with a small frown, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned it. That was a tricky question because he knew she relied on sex to feel better, but he didn’t want her to feel used. He never wanted to make her feel like that. “You know I always want you, I can’t deny that, but now, I think it’s better if we get comfortable and you let me hold you for a little while,” he cupped her face with both hands and looked at her in the eyes, “sex is not everything when I’m with you,” he assured.

Maya considered for a moment. She didn't really have a comfort food. Whenever she was having a hard time, she tended not to eat or to eat something simple like cereal. Once she lived in Boston, she didn't let anyone take care of her enough to have a comfort food. Before that she had tried to hide when she was upset. "I don't really have one," she replied eventually.

She let him tilt her face up to look at him. Her green eyes were soft and unsure. When he confirmed that he always wanted her, she gave a small nod. Something in her shoulders relaxed when he said that he just wanted to hold her. There was something tugging at the back of her mind, an instinct from years long past. Maya tried not to examine it too closely. "Okay," she said, nodding, "Okay." She unbuttoned his shirt before standing. Her eyes fell to the dress on the floor. She swallowed. The tension returned to her shoulders.

Warren waited for her to mention anything that might bring her some comfort. He was even tempted to ask about what she liked to eat when her parents spoiled her, but he kept himself from it and when she answered saying she didn’t have any comfort food, he smiled a bit trying not to show any negative feelings towards it, “then that only means we have a chance to explore options util you find one,” he offered.

He relaxed when she did and helped her back on her feet when she climbed off his lap and helped him take off his shirt. It didn’t go unnoticed how she tense again when she spotted the dress on the floor, “do you wanna wait for me downstairs?” he asked moving to stand between her and the offending garment, “I’ll just put on something more comfortable and join you,” he reached to tilt her face up to look at him, “you can steal another hoodie if you get cold,” he smiled cause they both knew he didn’t wear them more and the only reason why he had bought a few lately was for her.

She nodded. It still felt like she should have something, like it was a gap in her life she should fill. After licking her lips, she added, "My parents used to make me pancakes sometimes. I don't know if I was sad, but..." She licked her lips again, "It was nice."

Her eyes flicked briefly up to meet his. "Okay," she said before nodding. It felt almost like she was on autopilot. A not insignificant part of her mind was still fixated on keeping the darker thoughts from pulling her under. After another moment of staring at the dress, Maya turned away. She pulled on one of his black hoodies. It was one of the ones that actually smelled like him. She disappeared downstairs, Hermes followed closely behind her. She sat down in the kitchen, eyes darting around as if searching for some sign that the life she was living was only a dream.

Warren smiled a bit, "I could make some pancakes if you're in the mood for those," he offered unsure if she would accept or if she'd like to keep that as something she did with her parents.

It was hard to see her struggling with herself. There was something in her eyes that clearly said she wasn't ok, but he gave her some space, letting her put on his hoodie and going downstairs. He finished undressing and only put on some loose sweats and a sleeveless shirt before joining her, "coffee?" He asked softly as he moved around the kitchen.

Maya nodded. Pancakes sounded nice. On some level, she couldn't stop the thought that it didn't matter what they ate. She just needed to eat something. It was practical. She always tended towards the practical when it came to her survival mode. There hadn't been much room for anything else in her past. Things were different now though. She could let Warren take care of her. Pancakes might be a good start.

Sitting in the kitchen, she pulled her knees up to her chest as much as she could. It felt safer to make herself small. Hermes curled up on the floor beside her, unwilling to stray far from his human. Her gaze jumped to Warren as he entered the kitchen. Recognizing him immediately. she relaxed a little. "Yeah, okay," she replied, "Thanks." She swallowed, watching him move around the kitchen. It felt like she was doing the wrong thing. She shouldn't be letting him cook. It was her job. "I can cook," Maya offered, "I'm sorry, I..."

It was an old instinct, something instilled in her rather than native to her. She tried to explain, "It feels like I'm supposed to cook. It was always my job. Especially after I had a tantrum." That was how it would've been described, a tantrum. She was the problem, how she felt was the problem.

Warren smiled and easily moved in the kitchen. He knew where everything was and even tho he wasn't as great as she was when it came to cooking, he wasn't that bad either. He shook his head at her offer, "no, it's ok, I wanna do it," he assured in a soft tone as he put on the coffee machine and gathered the ingredients for the pancakes.

"You're not supposed to do anything you don't want to, sugar," he said still in a soft tone. The worse he could do right now would be sounding upset because she was probably in that mindset that she had done something wrong. He stopped what he was doing and moved close to her, his hands reaching for hers, "that wasn't a tantrum and cooking is not your job, sugar. I'm very much ok with you doing the cooking here because you enjoy it but it's not your job and right now I wanna do something nice for you. Is that ok?" He looked at her in the eyes and gave her hands a small squeeze

Her teeth bit into the inside of her bottom lip. She nodded. He didn't do things that he didn't want to she reminded herself as he started the coffee machine. As he moved closer, her eyes gauged his approached, careful and guarded. She swallowed. The idea that she wasn't supposed to do anything she didn't want to wasn't entirely foreign to her. "I'm not supposed to want things," she said. When she had moved out of her hometown, Maya had tried to only do the things she wanted. But the problem was twofold. She didn't know what she wanted, and it didn't feel like she had the right to ask for the things she knew she wanted. She had claimed it though. Even as a kid, she always said she only did what she wanted. Letting him take her hands, she rested her chin on her knee. She felt all wrong or at least mixed up. Her expectations, her reactions, they were all wrong.

While it was difficult to trust herself at the moment, she knew that she could trust Warren. She nodded. "Yeah, yeah it's okay," she said. It was okay. She was safe, she reminded herself, she was okay.

"Yes you are, Maya," he frowned this time, "you're supposed to want things and to have those things. You deserve them and that's only because you do. It doesn't matter what others had ever said. You're here to live and be happy. That's what humans were created for... at some points some found a way to use that to manipulate other making them believe they have to earn things like happiness," he sighed because he had seen it a lot. Hell! He had even used it on his advantage during wars, but it hurt now to see how deep that stupid thought was rooted into Maya's mind.

He swallowed hard, unsure of what to do to help Maya now. It didn't seem like his useless attempts were doing any good. It actually seemed the opposite. "Please look at me," he said still holding her hands, "what do you need, baby girl? What can I do?" He didn't want to make it worse for her, but he felt a little lost because she seemed stuck right then.

She blinked, eyes filling with tears. It was what she had needed someone to tell her then. She didn't have to earn happiness. Or safety. She nodded. As much as she could, she tried to internalize it. It was getting easier, in her better moments she even really believed it. She didn't know if she should say more, if she should talk about the things that had happened to her. It would hurt Warren, she knew. He was likely to blame himself for some part of it. Maya didn't say anything. She needed to get out of this mindset, be the happier version of herself she had been when he'd left for his business trip. She should be better than this.

Lifting her gaze, she felt her heart cracking at the look of concern and confusion on her face. She was hurting him. This was why she had waiting until he left. Throwing her arms around his neck, she burrowed her face in the crook of his shoulder. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't know," she said, voice broken, "I know the things I used to do to feel better are bad. But I don't know how else to fix it. I don't know."

Warren let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when she threw herself into his arms, “It’s ok,” he cooed not wanting her to get more mortified, “we’ll figure it out, we’ll do it together,” he kept his arms wrapped around her. He wished he knew what to do to make it better for her. He felt useless sometimes when it was about those kind of things. He wished he knew more of how to comfort someone, but he was feeling lost and sad for her.

“We don’t have to fix it,” he kissed her forehead, “sometimes we need to feel sad and a little raw to go through things but the catch is that you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore,” he smiled, “we can order Chinese and watch crappy tv and just feel miserable together on the couch. I know I might be pressing you to feel better but the truth is that if you need to feel shitty and pass through it to get better, I’ll hold your hand through it and I’ll be there when you feel better and whenever you don’t, I’ll still be there,” he smiled a bit, “I want you to remember that there’s nothing that’s gonna keep me from loving you,” he promised, “We’re both broken in different ways but we work because we understand… you don’t want to change me and I don’t want to change you… we just want to make each other happy.”

She held him tightly, trying desperately not to cry. She tried too not to think about all the times she had felt like this and the reception hadn't been this gentle. Or there had been no reception at all. More often than not the no reception at all had been her own self-imposed hurt, a reaction to the times when the reception hadn't been kind. "Okay," she said, agreeing with him even if she didn't know what figuring it out together meant. Of course, everything else so far, they had figured out together.

Pulling away enough to look at him, she kept her arms around his neck. A few stray tears had escaped the corners of her eyes. "I wish you had been there," she confessed before she could think better of it. Now that she had it, she realized just how desperately she needed someone to stay with her when it got hard. Officer Baer had tried, but work and his other commitments had gotten in the way. And there were times when she had pushed hard enough that he stayed away for a while. Never forever, but for a while. She added, "I don't want you to be miserable too though."

Warren was glad she had agreed and didn't argue saying that she had to do it on her own. She used to do that a lot before but maybe now she was seeing they were a package deal now.

"I know," he said sadly, "but I'm here now and I'll be here whenever you need me," he assured. "Well but it works like that when you love someone. If you're sad, I'm sad for you and I have the feeling that it works the other way around too... when it's me dealing with something you worry and feel bad too. Love includes the good and bad days," he reached to wipe away her tears.

Maya nodded again. She felt like she had nodded a lot since he came home. That was probably good, better than fighting every second at least. "I love you," she said as he wiped her tears, "I love you so much. And there wouldn't be a hope of trying this if you weren't with me." Maya had never seriously considered it before Hollow's Creek. She moved to stand. "Couch?" She asked.

Once there she settled comfortably in his embrace. It was safe and warm there. She made a mental list of all the things that hadn't gone wrong. She wasn't drunk, she wasn't fucking a stranger who couldn't care less about her, and she wasn't in a bar fight. That was something. As messy as this was, it was better. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I know it makes you upset when I'm upset and I didn't know how much easier it would make it having you here.

Warren's expression softened at her words, "I love you too, Maya," he smiled and pressed a kiss on her forehead, "yes, couch," he agreed and tangled their fingers together to move to the couch, whistling to Hermes so he would join them.

"It's ok. I understand why you didn't and why you wanted to try it on your own," he smiled a bit, "it's part of a whole, sugar, we get to share everything together, even the not so nice parts," she had been there for him when he almost lost himself so this was the least he could do just by being there for her. "If you ever feel like trying with me around, you know I'll be here."

Maya nodded against his chest. It felt, to her, like usually the not so nice parts were her fault. She was the one falling apart. Closing her eyes briefly, she reminded herself that it wasn't a competition, no one was keeping score. She tucked he feet underneath herself. Hermes joined them, laying his head in Warren's lap. She wouldn't exactly say she was happy. However, Maya didn't feel quite so sad. She didn't really pay attention to whatever they were watching. When food arrived, she ate a little. She tried to eat, knowing that she needed to do it and it would probably help. But she still didn't feel especially hungry. Eventually, she fell asleep, chest rising and falling slowly.

Warren never imagined his life could be like this. Having Maya in his arms after that small burst out and horrible reminder of her past gave him the best feeling cause he could see now how much she really trusted him now. He immediately noticed the moment she had fallen asleep, and he couldn’t help to smile. Moments like this were the ones that reinforced how much he loved Maya and how he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He picked her up effortlessly to take her back to their bed and settled in it with her, wrapping his arms around her middle and even if he wasn’t tired at all, he fell asleep with a smile on his face cause today had proved that they could get over their past and just be happy together.

[missxnsuppxrt]

@dimensionalspades asked: “Stay still. You’ve been wounded.” (from Leon)

Ingrid gasped as pain lanced through her chest while Leon untied her arms. She’d known when she helped Helena and Leon once Simmons declared them enemies of the state, she was putting herself at risk. That didn’t matter though. She’d been waiting anxiously for word from Leon about escaping the missile with the biological agent payload, but then she’d felt arms wrap around her. Her throat ended up in someone’s elbow as she slowly choked. It was such slow torture. The burning in her lungs, she pinching of her neck in the person’s grip. The feeling of slowly slipping into dark, watching it slowly encroach from the corners of her vision. 

She woke in some…facility. She assumed it was the Family. They had her tied to a chair. They didn't inject her with anything, thank god, but they did take a few swings. Nothing she hadn't felt before during her time at the orphanage. She kind of just...slipped out. Disassociated until it was over. A mechanism she never thought she'd have to use again. She was about to start going again when the door opened. Only to see Leon.

Tears filled her eyes as he knelt beside her. She never thought she'd see him again. Without caring about her own pain, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "God, I'm so happy you're okay," she croaked. "I've never been happier to see you in my life."